HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK
by Meta4. Chapter 11.
The Eleven (Elven?) Commandments
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Thou shalt bow to J.K. Rowling, creator of the Potterverse!
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Thou shalt acknowledge all characters created by Her.
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Thou shalt acknowledge the trademarks of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
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Thou shalt not read the story herein if Slash offendeth you.
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Thou shalt not read this story if thou art not old enough so to do.
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Thou shalt not pass the work herein as thine own.
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Thou shalt not gain profit from distributing the work herein.
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Respect thy mother and thy father - only read this work when they are out.
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Thou shalt acknowledge My copyright
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Thou shalt contact Me if thou likest or thou detesteth this work.
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Thou shalt never piss off an Elf...
HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK
by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org
CHAPTER ELEVEN:: Philosophy.
AUTHORS' NOTE: Apologies for the long delay between chapters, unfortunately real life managed to get in the way! Things should get back to normal now, though :-)
Harry had very quickly regained his full composure after the incident in the hospital wing, the look of grim determination now set upon his face once more. Although I missed the relaxed benign appearance of while he was unconscious, I couldn't say his present demeanour was unjustified.
I, however, was finding it more difficult. I had been in Dumbledore's presence for barely more than a couple of hours, yet I felt a great allegiance to the man, and a debt of gratitude for allowing me to study at Hogwarts despite the irregularities of it all.
And then there was my father. If he wasn't dead he was certainly being held against his will as he'd never have made a conscious decision to hand all of his worldly wealth over to me.
Finally, there was Draco Malfoy. From what the others had said, the insufferable little bastard was usually left to his own devices and being pulled out of school early was most irregular.
As the four of us walked through the cloisters back to Gryffindor tower, Harry filled Ron and Hermione in on the letter McGonagall had asked me to look at. The wind whipped the snow into a fury in the quad around which we were walking, causing me to shiver and pull my cloak tighter around my neck.
I stopped and turned to look at the snow. Gazing into it, I expected to feel relaxed and calmed by the pseudo-randomness of the mini-blizzard. Instead, the more I looked at it, the more uncomfortable I felt. I jumped as Harry placed a hand on my shoulder.
"You OK?" he asked.
"There's something very wrong here," I replied, still gazing out into they myriad of snowflakes.
"How d'you mean?"
"There's something behind all of this. It all feels too organised - Dumbledore's capture, my Father's disappearance... I just got this feeling Malfoy is tied up in this somehow, as is the snow..."
"The snow?" asked Hermione.
"Look at it. Have you ever known snow this heavy and consistent? I mean I know we're in Scotland, but even so..."
They all shook their heads. "It's like a Boa Constrictor gradually suffocating its prey. Before anyone knows what's happened, it'll be too late to do anything about it. It's smothering the country and before anyone knows it, they'll be stuck in their houses. It'll keep getting colder and colder and by the time someone realises 'this is a bit odd, isn't it?' they'll be powerless to do anything about it."
"But who's doing this? I doubt even Voldemort could conjure up something as large as a country-wide blizzard..."
"But we don't know for sure that it's covering all of England," countered Ron.
"We do: It was in Dumbledore's - or whoever's it was - letter. McGonagall said she couldn't find anything untruthful about it, so I suppose we can take that as a fact." replied Harry.
"Hermione - I think we're going to have to call on your expertise with Madam Pince's indexing system again," I smiled.
We changed course and made our way to the Library. The omnipresent Madam Pince looked mildly surprised at our entrance, yet pleased that some students had decided to avail themselves of her domain on a Saturday. She smiled cordially as Hermione asked if she may use the index.
I, meanwhile, noted with some amusement that the book she had previously been waging war against when we'd last visited the Library had been vanquished. It was now firmly Spellotaped shut and had a large, heavy glass inkwell placed on top of it, although it was still shaking and emitting sporadic, muffled growls.
"So, what are we looking for?"
It's rather difficult to find something when you're not exactly sure what it is you're after. Rather predictably, all the books on meteorology told us everything we ever wanted to know about the scientific formation of frozen precipitation, but no insight as to what unnatural forces may invoke it.
"Do we have anything like a weather almanac?"
Ron, who was balanced precariously on the top of one of the ladders to reach the upper shelves, unearthed a rather large, well-thumbed volume entitled "Severe Storms and Countless Clouds: A collection of the coldest, wettest and most inhospitable weather from the British Isles".
Ron managed to pull it from the shelf and drop it into Harry's waiting arms. We cleared a space for the comically sized book and opened it to the index page. I couldn't help but smile at some of the hyperbolic titles for the sections, but one of them quite suddenly caught my eye.
"The Dark Blizzard of 1903 - the Winter Britain Froze," I read aloud. I flicked through the rather brittle pages of the book until I came upon the relevant chapter.
"'In the last month of AD 1903, it is recorded that Great Britain did endure one of the hardest winters that any living man had ever seen. It is said that the Snowfall wasn't overly heavy, more that it endured for many days and nights. Both highways and byways became blocked and the country as a whole was brought to a standstill. Meteorologists of the time could find no explanation for the arctic conditions, however contemporary stareomancers surmised that it was due to ancient Rites of Dark Magick (sic). Legends concerning the periodic Rise of the Dark abound in their various forms, however none have ever been proven, either demonstrably or empirically.'"
"What's stareomancy when it's at home?" asked Ron as he climbed down the ladder.
"It's a form of Divination, just like Arithmancy or Lecanomancy," explained Hermione. "It's where witches and wizards try and make predictions based on the weather."
"So where would we find stuff on the Rise of the Dark then?" asked Harry.
Hermione paused for a moment before striding round into the adjacent aisle and reappearing a moment later with a copy of "Wizarding Lore - stories based on fact, fiction and the downright ludicrous."
She opened the book on top of 'Severe Storms and Countless Clouds' and flicked through the various chapters.
"There," she said, pointing at one of the headings. "The Rising of the Dark! 'Every five score years the Powers that comprise the Dark grow weary of their previous submission to the Light. This restlessness provokes the Rising, an event where all creatures and beings of the Dark wage war against those of the Light. It is believed that precursors to the uprising can include bizarre weather patterns (the last uprising, thought to be circa 1903, coincided with one of the worst winters recorded), the disappearance of key figures within contemporary society and general feelings of disquiet amongst those predisposed to perceiving the general atmosphere of the world around them.'"
"Well that kinda hits the nail on the head, doesn't it?" said Ron, looking more than a little concerned. Hermione continued.
"'The Dark is fabled to be fought and turned back by the Circle - six individuals, each of which bear a Sign of the Light. The coincidence of the Circle is arranged by the Orchestrator - a man charged with gathering the members of the Circle by conscious request or otherwise. This position was held by Merlin many centuries ago and is bequeathed to another on the vanquishing of the dark.'"
"And what happens if the Dark isn't turned back?" asked Harry, staring intently at nothing in particular as he did when he was concentrating hard.
Hermione scanned down the page. "'If the Light is unsuccessful in its charge to repel the Dark, the Light will be overthrown as the dominant influence over the world. The Dark will replace it until the next Rising - one hundred years hence.'"
"Doesn't leave a second chance really, does it?" I asked, forcing a weak smile.
"It does say that this stuff is based in fiction as well as fact," reminded Hermione. "I mean, how much of that is actually true?"
"I have this really horrible feeling we're going to find out one way or another," I replied.
"So what's the plan, then?" asked Ron.
"Well, I need to find out what happened to my Dad one way or another, so I suggest we start there."
We tidied the books we had managed to pile up around us back on to their original shelves, thanked Madam Pince and resumed our original course to Gryffindor Tower.
As we climbed the stairs to the second floor, I paused as I heard Snape's unmistakably slimy voice echo up from the ground floor.
"...is to leave this afternoon and Draco Malfoy has already left in accordance with his Father's instructions to travel to one of his more obscure relations in Surrey."
McGonagall's voice replied. "I don't like this at all, Severus. There's a worrying correlation there between those that have been ordered to leave early and the families that are known to have had dealings with the Dark. How many are left in Slytherin now?"
"Only fourteen, the majority of which are muggle-borns. I would imagine it's safe to assume that you have a full compliment?"
"With the exception of Colin Creevy who was with Dumbledore when he disappeared, yes."
"So you are convinced that he has been taken against his will?"
"Even without the confirmation I have received I would have considered his letter extremely strange."
"Confirmation?"
"Liam Blackdon was good enough to cast his eye over it and said that whoever sent it didn't want anyone knowing exactly where it had come from."
"Is that so? Prey tell, Professor McGonagall: How is it that the students with the most extreme talents always seem to gravitate towards your house?"
"In all truth I do not know, Professor Snape. Perhaps it is just meant to be," said McGonagall in a very proud voice.
"Indeed," replied Snape, sounding rather put out at the answer he'd just received.
"Curiouser and curiouser," I mulled as the two members of staff went their separate ways. "Do pupils normally leave before the end of term?"
"Not usually," replied Harry as we resumed our walk towards Gryffindor Tower. "In fact, a lot of us stay here."
"What, over Christmas itself?"
He nodded. "For some of us school is better than home."
"Oh, yeah," I added, remembering what he'd told me about his Aunt and Uncle. "Don't they live in Surrey too?"
"Yeah... I bet Aunt Petunia's well annoyed with this snow," Harry smiled. "She hates anything that messes up the garden."
"Want to borrow Monty for a week? I'm sure he'd make short work of the lawns."
"Thanks, but I'm not sure even he could survive Aunt Petunia in one of her rages..."
We reached the portrait hole and found the fat lady busy knitting what looked to be a pair of leggings.
"For my sister, you know. She lives in a very drafty canvas up by the astronomy tower," she explained.
Ron gave the password ("Danglement") and she swung aside, allowing us to climb through.
It was lovely and warm in the common room, and quiet too. I guessed that most of the other Gryffindors were probably still in Hogsmeade. We settled down into our respective armchairs and sofa, Harry and I immediately being set upon by Monty who had obviously decided that we'd left him forever and, as such, was stupidly excited to see us again.
After he'd settled down on my lap with me scratching behind his ears, we started discussing what exactly we'd do.
"So the Dark, then," I started. "It's still very much on the forefront of people's minds?"
"Well, our minds at least," said Harry. "After Voldemort tried to kill me and hurt himself instead, most people seemed to think that he was gone forever. I think the whole idea of the dark is so scary to people that they'd rather just try and ignore it and hope it doesn't bother them."
"To be honest, Voldemort aside, I don't know much about the Dark," admitted Hermione.
"I'm sorry? Do my ears deceive me?" grinned Ron. Hermione continued after giving him a playful clip round the ear.
"I don't think any of us considered there was anything more evil beyond Voldemort. He was like the embodiment of all things bad, but if there's more to this than that - which when you think about it there must be - it's altogether more frightening."
"So where do we start?" asked Ron, playing up rubbing his ear for Hermione's sake.
"Well, it might be an idea to see if we can find out why all of these Slytherins have been sent home early," suggested Harry. "Seeing as out of all of them we know Malfoy the best I reckon we should try and find him. And from what Dobby says his Father is also as 'in' as he can be with the Dark whilst maintaining a supposedly respectable public face."
"We know he's in Surrey, so how do we find out where exactly?" I asked.
"Snape said he was staying with a relation down there. I know the school keeps records of next of kin and such should they find that something has happened to a pupil's parents. It might be an idea to look there first," suggested Hermione.
"You wouldn't happen to know where these records are kept would you?" Harry asked.
"The Headmaster's study," I replied. "When I first arrived he showed me the records of one of my ancestors. They're kept in all those books behind his desk."
"So we're going to break into Dumbledore's office?" asked Ron looking more than a little concerned.
"Uh huh."
"Tonight?"
"Uh huh."
"And this doesn't concern you? I mean, we're breaking and entering into the office of Britain's greatest wizard - don't you think he might have some kind of ward in place to stop that?"
"Oh I'm sure," smiled Harry. "But he also seems to have a knack of turning a blind eye when he knows its for the best. I don't see why his office security would be any different."
"OK - Dumbledore's office tonight. If we find what we're looking for, we'll set off to see Mr. Malfoy via Liam's house. If not, we'll regroup Sunday morning and go from there. Agreed?"
"Agreed. We'll meet here at 1AM, OK?"
Everyone concurred. Hermione and Ron made some excuse about wanting to learn more about the Dark and headed off back towards the library, leaving Harry and myself alone on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. Bliss.
"Are we doing the right thing, d'you think?" asked Harry after we'd been sat snuggling for one of those indeterminate periods of time you suddenly realise has passed when you're with someone you love.
"To be honest - I don't know. What I do know is that I'm not willing to stand by knowing that both Dumbledore and my Father have just vanished without a trace."
"In which case, it's the right thing," surmised Harry. "You do know that whenever we undertake this kind of thing it usually seems to rapidly spiral out of control."
"Well, if it's any consolation, I feel like I could take on the world with you by my side. And if you weren't by my side for whatever reason, I'd take on the world to get to you."
Harry turned to look at me. "You're awfully sweet for a car thief," he smiled.
I kissed him on the nose. "I think those days are behind me now. You have to remember that breaking and entering is a life-skill, though: Could be quite useful this evening."
"This is true," he said, and kissed me back on the lips.
"Do you believe in fate?"
"I don't know," Harry pondered. "I mean, it was extraordinarily lucky you nicked that car. If you hadn't..."
"I'd never have met Colin and Ron..."
"And you'd never have come here..."
"And we wouldn't have met. Then again, you can reverse-engineer any chain of events. I mean, what if your Dad hadn't met your Mum - you'd never have been born and even if I did come here we still wouldn't have met."
"And Voldemort might have been ruling the country."
"Oh, shit yeah - never thought about that."
"I mean, was I destined to be Voldemort's antit... antisi... an..." He frowned. "Worst nightmare?"
"This could do your brain in after a while," I smiled. "Although if you take this to its extreme, you could blame everything that happened on one event - the big bang, or the creation of the world or whatever you want to call it."
"True, but doesn't it say that God gave us free will?"
"Yeah - so that means everything is just chance."
"Can't be. There is a higher order to things, I think, but what if it was more like a gentle nudge in a particular direction? Like, we're offered the choice and it's weighted so that we're more likely to take one route than another - it's free will, yet directed at the same time."
"What, like a subconscious suggestion?"
"Something like that."
"Or someone 'charged with gathering the members of the Circle by conscious request or otherwise'," I said.
Harry sat up on the sofa causing Monty to stir and snuggle down again. The light was well on the way to disappearing outside and we were now illuminated by little other than the warm glow of the fire.
"D'you think we're circle members?"
"I have no idea. I suppose everything we've done up to now has been totally reactive - it's all been in response to events that have occurred, but what if someone's controlling those events?"
"We'd be shepherded down a certain route,"
"Exactly."
"Do you think we could be part of the Circle?"
"I don't see why not - someone who's near-as-dammit killed the corporeal form of the Dark and an Elf that can make his will reality: Sound like a pair of candidates to me."
"So... Say we were two of the Six: How on earth would we know what to do?" asked Harry.
"I'm guessing we wouldn't if we came into the 'or otherwise' category. We'd just have to carry on doing what we're doing and trust in fate. Or rather the Orchestrator."
"I certainly hope HE knows what he's doing."
"Well, assuming he's had his oar in since the start of all this, he's done a pretty good job when you think about it..."
"I suppose... Still, he could've just come and asked."
"Maybe. But perhaps then we wouldn't have done something, or done something differently, had he done so."
"You know, you're absolutely right: This does hurt your brain!"
==========
"Thanks for helping," smiled Draco as he and Will flopped onto the rather large bed in his room in Mrs. Pettigrew's house. Will marvelled at how the house was furnished - everything looked to be extremely old and worn, yet somehow exuded a solidity that the Ikean monstrosities at his own house couldn't even hope to approximate.
"It's not a problem, Draco, honestly! How long are you here for?"
"Not sure, actually. My Father got me here from school for some reason."
"Oh, cool. Where d'you go to school?"
"Scotland. It's a private school for... Uh... Talented students. How about you?"
"Me? I just go to the local comprehensive. Nothin' special really."
"Ahh."
There was a slightly uncomfortable silence before Will stood.
"Right, well, I'd better be going," he said. "Nice to meet you, Draco,"
"Uh - would you like to stay for lunch?" offered Draco quickly, scrabbling for an excuse to keep Will with him.
"Thank you, but no. Nothing personal," he added as he saw Draco deflate quite visibly. "It's just that my family are expecting me for lunch. I'd invite you round, but I'm afraid the whole family are back for once."
"Oh? How many of you are there?"
"Well, there's me, the youngest. Paul's 16, Luke and John are both 18 - they're twins, Chris is 23 and Jim is 25. And Mum and Dad of course."
"Hehe one short," said Draco.
"Huh?"
"You'd have been a seventh son,"
"And that's good because..."
"Oh, nothing really," said Draco dismissively. "It's an old myth that a seventh son can have a gift for healing people or something like that. They say if you're a seventh son of a seventh son then you can have almost supernatural powers."
"Really?"
"As I say - old wives tales. I'll have to ask Mrs. Pettigrew about it," he grinned.
Will smiled back. "I'll see you around, Draco - I live in the next house down - just drop by if you want."
"I will do. Thanks again Will."
"See ya."
And with that, Will jogged down the stairs, waved to Mrs. Pettigrew on the way out and pulled the collar of his coat up to his ears as he stepped out into the snow once again.
He turned out of the driveway on to the road and was suddenly engulfed by a flurry of snowflakes whipped up by a wind so strong he found it difficult to catch his breath. Barely able to see where he was going, Will leaned into the wind and battled on down towards his own house, but as he did so the wind continued to rise.
In exasperation and more than a little fear, he grabbed on to what little of the hedge was protruding from the snow drift he'd stumbled in to. Taking a moment to get his breath back, he suddenly became aware of a figure standing on the far side of the road.
The figure was looking directly at Will and, as it did so, lifted its arm and pointed at him. He could feel his head swimming with confusion and wasn't even sure exactly where his own house was or even where he'd just come from. All he could concentrate on was the dark, cloaked figure with an outstretched arm.
In fact, he was so tied up with the stranger that he was not at all ready for the large hand that grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him out of the snowdrift. He screamed out loud, not knowing what on earth was happening to him.
"Easy there, Will," boomed the deep voice of the hand's owner. "You looked ready enough to pass out!"
"Uh... Uncle Merry? Uncle Merry!" yelled Will, wrapping his arms around the man's waist.
"Hello, William," he chuckled. "You want to be careful walking alone. These are Dark times, and there is only one man that is truly at ease by himself in these conditions. Come on - let's get you inside."
And with that, he took Will's hand and led him towards the house. Will looked over his shoulder as they walked, but there was no sign of the cloaked figure, and the wind seemed to have dropped just as quickly as it had arrived.
He looked up to see the familiar profile of Merriman Lyon's face silhouetted against the grey sky, complete with his trademark hooked nose, square chin and sou'wester.
When they reached the Stantons' front door, Merriman did as he always did and rang the doorbell. To the Stantons, he had some very strange mannerisms and traditions, this being one of them: No matter who he was accompanied by, be it family member, friend or relative, Merry insisted on ringing the doorbell and waiting until he was invited inside. In this instance, Will's curiosity got the better of him.
"Why do you do that Uncle Merry?"
"What's that, William?"
"Ring the doorbell when you know Dad's said you can just let yourself in."
"Ahh," said Merriman in his 'I'm just about to impart some wisdom' voice. "You are never truly welcome in a man's house until that man invites you across the threshold. A man's house is his castle, Will - never forget that."
The answer that Merriman gave was to Will as elegant as it was useless. He knew, however, that once Merry had given his answer, there would be no elaboration unless it was strictly necessary.
The door was opened a moment later by Mr. Stanton.
"And there's the king of the castle now," he smiled.
"Merry! Good to see you again!" smiled Mr. Stanton, pulling the handshake he was sharing with Merriman into a hug.
"I found something of yours out in the snow," he said, standing aside to reveal Will. "You know you should tie small items down in storms."
"Hey - I've grown lots since you were last here," snorted Will indignantly.
"Indeed you have, William, but your growing is yet to be completed. May I come in, Mr. Stanton?"
"As ever, you are more than welcome, Merry. C'mon, Will - let's get you warmed up. Sue! Merry's here!"
From the opposite side of the road, the cloaked figure watched Merriman Lyon and Will Stanton enter the house before vanishing in a flurry of snowflakes.
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Well, that's all for the moment. Let us know what you think (good or bad) at meta4@meta4.org, or visit our web site at http://www.meta4.org.