Rising of the Dark

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK

by Meta4. Chapter 06.

The Eleven (Elven?) Commandments

================================

1. Thou shalt bow to J.K. Rowling, creator of the Potterverse!

2. Thou shalt acknowledge all characters created by Her.

3. Thou shalt acknowledge the trademarks of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

4. Thou shalt not read the story herein if Slash offendeth you.

5. Thou shalt not read this story if thou art not old enough so to do.

6. Thou shalt not pass the work herein as thine own.

7. Thou shalt not gain profit from distributing the work herein.

8. Respect thy mother and thy father - only read this work when they are out.

9. Thou shalt acknowledge My copyright

10. Thou shalt contact Me if thou likest or thou detesteth this work.

11. Thou shalt never piss off an Elf...

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK

by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org

CHAPTER SIX:: Taken.

At the opposite end of the country to Hogwarts there was a rather grotty looking building. In that building was a rather decrepit looking room and in that room there was a Wizard. The Wizard sat in a high-backed, threadbare chair with his fingertips touching in front of his shadow-cast face.

In front of him knelt another wizard, trembling slightly.

"And so what happened to this boy?" asked the Wizard in the chair in an ill-sounding, rather high pitched voice.

"He was hit by a muggle car, m'lord,"

"So he was killed?"

The kneeling wizard swallowed to prevent his voice from failing him. "I thought so."

"You thought so?"

"I went to check, but the car had stopped. The driver looked like he was only a child - perhaps fourteen or fifteen."

"So you killed them both," stated the seated man, leaning forward.

"I... I tried, m'lord, but..." spluttered the kneeler, starting to loose what little coherence he had left.

"You tried?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, m'lord," replied the kneeling man, almost sobbing his response.

"Then they are still alive?"

"I do not know, m'lord. The muggle police were coming so I fled."

"Fool," he whispered.

"Please, m'lord,"

The man's voice dropped dangerously quiet. "Time and again situations like this occur, and without fail my supposedly loyal subjects fail to complete the task in hand."

"My lord, please - I... I shall never fail you again," sobbed the man, now almost curled up on the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

"You are quite correct: You shall never fail me again. CRUCIO!"

The moment the cowering man had been fearing came as his body was immersed in flesh-tearing agony. He thrashed and writhed around on the floor, feeling as if every bone in his body was being bent to the verge of breaking before ripples of staccato, stabbing agony snapped each one over and over in quick succession. As a wretched overtone to all this, all he was aware of was the sadistic laughter of Lord Voldemort.

Just as he was about to loose consciousness, the pain stopped as quickly as it had started. After a moment, Voldemort spoke again.

"Kneel before me, Malfoy,"

Lucius Malfoy summoned every last ounce of strength and pushed himself upright, not truly believing his bones could withstand his own weight.

"You will finish what you have started, Lucius," said Voldemort, the sibilants of Malfoy's name rolling off his tongue like a snake's hiss. "Find those boys and eradicate them. We can not allow the months of planning that has gone in to getting Dumbledore out of that infernal castle of his to be thwarted by something as seemingly inconsequential as two children."

"I know where they live, m'lord," gasped Malfoy. "It will be done tonight."

"Good. And ensure that anything you do does not involve Potter. Anything to do with that confounded child inevitably spirals out of all control. Do not fail me again or both you and your family will pay the price." Malfoy's breath caught in his throat. "Yesss," hissed Voldemort, seeing that he had hit a soft spot with Malfoy. "I will kill you all should you fail me again. Now get out of my sight, and woe betide you should anything... unexpected... happen."

Malfoy bowed his head and staggered to his feet, still woozy from the aftershocks of the intense pain to which he'd just been subjected. Wanting to protect his family, he set off into the night to perform his task. Silently, he cursed Voldemort, but knew that he was in far to deep to be helped by anyone. With renewed resolve, he set off toward the Derbyshire Dales.

==========

"C'min," shouted Bob from inside his flat over in the staff tower. When he saw me and Harry, he leaped from his chair next to the fire and helped us down the couple of steps into his room. "What on earth happened to you?"

"I was kind of hoping you could tell us," said Harry, the look of concern on his face still rather acute.

Bob leaped in front of us and cleared the books and clothes off the sofa, allowing us to sit down. "So, what were you up to?"

"What makes you think we were up to anything?" asked Harry defensively.

"Come off it lads," grinned Bob. "You've been slobbering over each other ever since you met! You don't even have to be an Elf to see that."

"Well, we were in the same bed," - I ignored the 'thought so' look Bob gave - "and I... I touched Harry's scar. I didn't mean to, it was by accident, and I saw... I saw his parents being killed."

Harry squeezed my hand in reassurance that he was still there. I loved him for doing that - it was as if he knew exactly when I needed reassurance.

"Harry, may I see your scar?" asked Bob, looking slightly concerned. The expression didn't ride easily on his usually jovial face.

He nodded and brushed his hair back, revealing the darker, lightning-shaped glyph left by Voldemort. Bob knelt down in front of Harry and held his hand over it, gradually letting it get closer and closer. Just before he actually touched Harry's forehead, he pulled his hand away again, eyes tightly closed.

"I'm not surprised you don't look too hot," said Bob, forcing a smile. "I think you're learning quicker than I can teach you. Ya see, Elves have a way of seeing events 'through' things, especially if they have a lot of emotions attached to them. Liam, when you touched Harry's scar, you were seeing the events that were attached to it - probably more, in fact - almost experiencing them. It can be a very overwhelming experience when you're not prepared for it but, with practise, you can make sense of what's going on. Which, when you think about it, can be very useful indeed."

"So this could happen every time I touch anything?"

"In theory, yes," sighed Bob. "You get a feeling though for the things that carry these feelings. Look at Harry: Sorry Harry - I'm gonna use you for a bit of a demonstration..."

Harry nodded.

"See his scar?"

"Uh huh,"

"Concentrate on it. See the glow that seems more intense than the rest of him?"

"You mean I look like I'm glowing?" interjected Harry.

"Everyone does to an Elf if the Elf wants them to,"

"Oh..."

I could see what Bob was describing - Harry's scar seemed to be glowing in the same manner as himself, but far more intensely.

"If you see something glowing like that, you want to prepare your mind before you actually touch it. When you've recovered a bit, we'll try some of this kind of work, but for the moment I want you to get some sleep. This will have shaken you about quite a bit: You need to get some rest."

Bob made a slight flourish with his hands and conjured up a pair of steaming mugs, handing one to each of us.

"What's this?" asked Harry.

"An ancient Chinese infusion of leaves, lactose and sucrose."

"Sweet, milky tea, then?"

"Nothing better to calm the nerves," smiled Bob. "Tell you what, why don't you two love birds settle in here for tonight - it's nice and warm and away from the others for a bit."

"What makes you so sure that we're... You know..."

"Oh, I dunno - could be something to do with that lovely trophy on your neck," grinned Bob. He walked over to the large oak sideboard and pulled out a large red blanket and threw it over us. "Night lads - sleep tight."

==========

Later that night, or rather very early the following morning, I suddenly found myself wide awake, albeit slightly disoriented. Then it came flooding back - the memories of Harry's parents' death, Bob offering us his sofa for the night... Harry and I sharing ourselves with each other... I hugged the scruffy-haired teen closer to me. He mumbled incoherently in his sleep and snuggled into my arms. Gently, I kissed him on the head and allowed myself to drift back off to sleep.

Little did I know that a couple of hundred miles away, the house that I had lived in for my entire life seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

==========

Dumbledore sat with Colin Creevy in a compartment on the Hogwarts express.

Colin had eventually managed to settle in to his copy of Quidditch Quarterly and was avidly reading an article on rogue bludgers. Up until the point where Dumbledore managed to find said magazine in the side pocket of the carriage, he had been bombarded by question after question from Colin. Add to this the enthusiasm with which he regaled Dumbledore as to how much he was enjoying his work experience at the Daily Prophet and you had the potential for an exceedingly long train journey.

Dumbledore made a mental note to drop past the Daily Prophet offices and have words with the editor about his staff putting one of his students in undue danger: They should do so more often.

Now though he found himself idly thumbing through a rather dog-eared copy of the Daily Prophet he'd found next to the copy of Quidditch Quarterly. He really didn't like the paper all that much as sensationalism and scandal seemed to outnumber factual reporting by at least eight-to-one, however buried amongst all of the embellishments could usually be found at least some semblance of fact.

Today's edition was more trivial than usual and so he shoved it into the arm rest where he'd found it. He pulled his briefcase out from under his legs and started rifling through its contents, eventually pulling out a large quantity of loosely-bound parchment.

"Ministry of Magic - proposed legislation for the control of illegal enchantment, installation and commissioning of percussive, ballistic and incendiary public refuse receptacles," Dumbledore read, chuckling to himself. He found it extremely hard to believe that despite all of the evidence, the Ministry of Magic would rather busy themselves with laws about exploding litter bins than consider the return of Lord Voldemort.

As much as he felt he ought to be reading this excruciatingly bureaucratic and petty document, Dumbledore's mind repeatedly wandered. He felt anxious that he wasn't at Hogwarts to personally supervise the education of the first true Woodland Elf to be found in over a hundred-and-fifty years and, just to add to the mix, he felt that something was ill at ease.

Apparently it was Colin. He took a whole minute explaining the reasons why he needed to visit the bathroom and, after apologising for disturbing Dumbledore, left the compartment.

Dumbledore shook his head in good-natured amusement, allowing his thoughts to return to more serious issues.

Over his considerable life, Dumbledore had found that he usually had a good feel for things and prided himself on being able to make the correct decision. The one decision he had made that he still questioned, however, was that of placing Harry with his Aunt and Uncle for those eleven years.

It occurred to him that allowing him to stay with another wizarding family such as the Weasleys - who he knew would have taken baby Harry without question or condition - may have been better for him in a pastoral sense. However, he found it extremely difficult to weigh that benefit against the detriment of him inescapably knowing the fate of his parents from a very early age and all the emotional baggage that went along with that.

Even now, Dumbledore was acutely aware of the holes that Harry still had in his knowledge regarding exactly what had happened that fateful night in Goderick's Hollow. While the broad picture was there, the few details that were missing could prove shocking, nay devastating, to Harry and the relationships with his fellow pupils.

'And then there's Liam,' mulled Dumbledore. 'I can only hope his gift takes its time in developing, if only to allow Harry's unexorcised demons to stay buried for just a little longer...'

Despite all of this being chewed over by his mind, Dumbledore was still alert to potential threats around him. As ever, he presented himself with his usual calm, serene exterior, but the old man had become wise to the ways of the Dark and knew that to let his guard down - even for a second - was inviting trouble. Invited or not, trouble came anyway, but in a way he was most definitely not expecting.

With a dull thud, a lump-hammer was dropped from directly above his head, knocking him out cold.

In the adjacent compartment, Wormtail leaped up and down with glee. He'd done it, and more to the point it had been his idea. Dumbledore was his.

==========

"Morning, chaps," announced Bob as he threw the curtains back in his living room. "Lovely day for some sparring."

My brain, never suited to early mornings, responded with the most intelligent thing it could produce at half-past six in the morning: "Mhrnnnngph...."

Harry, who was beginning to stir also, hugged himself to me and pressed his morning stiffy into my crotch. "Morning," he whispered, planting a kiss on my cheek.

"Hey, hey - none of that while adults are around," grinned Bob. "That kind of debauchery is scowled upon by this lot and I'm supposed to scowl on it too."

He didn't seem too convinced.

"How old are you, Bob?" I yawned.

"Uh, how d'you mean?"

Harry laughed. "I think he means 'how many years have gone by since you were born,"

"Oh, uh..." he started to count on his fingers.

"Shit, H, we're gonna be here all day!"

"H?"

"Oh, uh, Harry?"

"No, I like H - no-one's ever called me that before."

"A hundred and fifty-one."

"What, months?"

"Years."

"No way!"

"No, you're right actually - a hundred and fifty-two."

"You're over a hundred and fifty years old?"

"Ummm - I think so, yeah."

"You're kidding - you look like you're eighteen!"

"Well, duh..."

"Why do you look so young?"

"I'd have thought you'd have got this one by now, Liam - because I want to." He walked round the sofa and sat opposite us in his armchair. "I know I can look like I'm eighteen, so I do."

"So, if I KNOW I can look like a dog..."

"Then you'll look like a dog."

"Really?"

"Yeah - although don't go trying it just yet - I need to explain some stuff about that."

"Isn't that like being an animagi?" asked Harry.

"Like the whole transfiguration thing - kinda. Same result but a whole lot easier to do."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Bob, but is there anything we CAN'T do?"

"In theory, no - you are quite literally limited by your imagination and your capacity to suspend disbelief. If you meet the limits of either, that's when you reach the limits of your power. Remember though that you can train yourself to believe the unbelievable and imagine the unimaginable. So it's fairly open-ended."

"Oh."

"Yeah, a bit hard to believe, isn't it," said Bob, smiling at the irony. "Anyway - I'm off to breakfast - see you there."

"What time is it?" asked Harry as Bob closed the door.

"Uh..." I looked round the room and found a rather mad looking clock that was watching it's own pendulum swing. It really did look rather nauseous. "A quarter to seven."

"But breakfast doesn't even start until eight-ish..."

"Well, you know what Bob said: 'None of that while adults are around,'"

"You think he left us on our own on purpose?"

I squeezed Harry's buttocks through his boxers. "I sincerely hope so - I can actually get a good look at you now."

I pulled the blanket back, revealing Harry's body to me. He swallowed as I looked him up and down. "What?"

"I... I'm just a bit nervous," he replied, shuffling slightly.

"You're nervous after what we did last night?"

He nodded and smiled at me shyly. At that instant, he was the best looking, most seductive person in the world and what's even better was that he had no idea. In the clear light of day, I realised my previous assessment about the light muscling was rather unfair - he had more muscles than I did, and God did they look good! He had nicely broad shoulders that looked powerful and from there his body tapered slightly to his waist. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him and his stomach was as tight as a drum.

I, on the other hand, while not fat, lacked the muscle definition that seemed to come so naturally to Harry's torso. 'Skinny' immediately sprang to my mind, whereas Harry seemed 'wholesome' in every sense of the word. I suddenly noticed that he was now returning the stare, the shy look gradually being overpowered by what could only be desire. Confirmation of that premise was given by the rapidly expanding bulge in his pyjamas. I was slightly shocked that I could provoke such a reaction in such a handsome lad but, at the same time, was extremely pleased.

Harry then took the initiative and stood up, the tent he'd pitched now all too apparent. With but a moment's hesitation, he hooked his thumbs under the waist and pushed his PJs down his calves. My mouth went dry and as best as I could tell I lost all command of speech and my motor functions. All too soon, though, the wonderful view of his midsection was obscured by his kneeling down in front of the sofa.

Starting at my shins, he ran his hands up my legs ever so lightly, causing the few hairs that were there to stand on end. With very little ceremony, he hooked the tips of his fingers into the leg holes of my boxers and began to pull them down. I, not wanting to impede this process in the slightest, lifted my midsection up, which had the unforeseen effect of accentuating the profile of my dick against the thin material. Harry almost gasped and, spurred on by this, pulled my boxers down and off.

For a long few seconds, he stared at my erection that was now bobbing in time to my heartbeat, fully engorged and leaking slightly at the tip. Then, with a simple mischievous glance at me, he lowered his head, extended his tongue and licked from my balls all the way up to the tip of my dick. I could only gasp and grab bunches of the blanket with my hands. It wasn't so much the physical sensation that was sending me nuts (although that had no small part to do with it!) more that it was Harry that was doing it.

He paused for a moment as if considering the taste. My dick was now bucking and jerking for all it was worth which seemed to amuse him a little. He then put a stop to that by wrapping his right hand around me and squeezing fairly hard. He then pulled my hardon perpendicular to my horizontal body and rolled my foreskin back, exposing the glistening head.

Once again, he extended his tongue and licked the inverted 'V' on the underside of my dick. It appeared that Harry very quickly took a liking to this as he started to lick all of my dickhead in earnest. This very soon led to him wrapping his lips around it, and then to giving me a proper, full-on suck.

As I watched my dick disappear repeatedly into his mouth, I could feel myself rapidly loosing control.

In between heavy breaths and grunts, I did my best to warn him of my impending climax. His only response to this was to start sucking harder, adding a gentle head-bobbing action to the battery of motions I was presently assailed with.

I now had absolutely no way of preventing or impeding the onset of my orgasm. It was all I could do to stop myself from ripping large chunks of stuffing out of Bob's couch. I threw my head back and thrust my pelvis into Harry's wonderfully warm and welcoming mouth and unloaded shot after shot of cum. Even as the spurts turned to dribbles which too dried up, I was still caught in throes of ecstasy and Harry, bless his cotton socks, stayed with every last squirt, buck, jerk and moan I threw at him.

When I eventually calmed down, he sucked up the length of my dick once more before his lips left the end with a pop.

I released the abused couch and reached instead for him, pulling him up the length of my body. I ran my fingers through his perpetually tousled hair. As he lowered himself on to me I wrapped myself around him. I kissed him deeply to find him beginning to thrust against me, his dick now rubbing urgently along side my own. I pulled his hips harder against me with my legs in time with his thrusting.

I also let my hands rove around his back, and then gradually lower until I came into contact with his powerful haunches. Harry's kisses became more urgent as he approached his own well-deserved orgasm, almost grunting down my throat with each thrust. As he had done last night, he then switched from kissing to nuzzling my neck, which soon turned to gentle nips amongst the kisses. With a final Herculean thrust, I felt his dick buck and pulse as jet after jet of his sticky white cum was expelled between us.

I kissed his neck and squeezed him all over once more before allowing him to move.

"I thought I was going to get to suck you," I whispered into his ear.

As his panting slowed, he finally managed to formulate a response. "You'll have plenty of time for that, I promise," he smiled.

We stayed glued together for a few more minutes before I got cramp in my left calf. Harry was initially disturbed by my ooh-ing and ow-ing, thinking that there was something very wrong, but the concern soon turned to amusement as I wiggled out from underneath him and started leaping about, totally naked, clenching my upper leg.

I ended up with my back to him, both hands massaging the lower part of my left leg. Harry just sat on the sofa idly playing with his softening dick. "Lovely view," he smiled. I then realised that my bent-double position gave him a birds-eye view of my arsehole. I stood up, blushing hard, but soon collapsed as the cramp kicked back in again.

You see? Elegant to the last.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

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.