Butterfly 33 - LM/HP
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Hey all. I’m back now :) I have finished The Abyss and added two chapters, so far, of a new story called The Fickle Hand of Fate. Though, Through the Looking Glass is still to come, along with several other one shots.
This was the hardest chapter ever to write, ever! I was afraid of giving away too much, or not saying enough during Evan’s scene, and I’m in agony right now (and the hospital still won’t move my appointment forward), so if it’s sketchy then it’s cause I can’t concentrate but I won’t have another chance to update this until next weekend, probably.
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Words: 3,199
Chapter 33
October 15th 1993. Forbidden Forest.
Evan watched them. The Ravenclaw Quidditch team flew laps around the pitch, and Harry hovered in the middle of them all, waiting quietly on his broom as his eyes darted around, searching for the golden snitch. The Death Eater stayed hidden behind the trees that lined the entrance of the forbidden forest. His wings fluttered lightly in the breeze, and his antennae twitched whenever a leaf fell or another insect drew too close.
As the Quidditch practice ended, the butterfly spread his wings and flew deeper into the forest.
Harry Potter waited until the rest of his team mates were out of sight, and then he re-mounted his broom and flew towards the forest. He dismounted once the castle was out of sight, walking unsteadily across uneven ground with his Nimbus 2001 clutched in his left hand. His right hand squeezed around his wand as he cast a Lumos.
“Hello,” Evan whispered, once he had changed from butterfly to man.
“Hello,” Harry whispered back. “I have missed you.”
Evan gave a slow nod, a soft smile on his lips, before he reached forward to drag his son into a tight hug. “I have missed you too, Caen.”
“How’s it going?” Harry shifted, pulling out of Evan’s hold and lowering himself down onto the stump of a tree. This was their usual meeting place, though they hadn’t seen each other in some time, it still felt as comfortable as always, and Harry easily fell into the familiarity of their meetings. Evan moved so he was leaning back against a tree trunk and he watched Harry curiously, head tilted to one side. The teenager had his head thrown back, the rays of the moon seeping through the canopy of trees to fall on his face, reflecting back off of his glasses. “With the Dark Lord, I mean?”
“It is going well. We’re recruiting at some times and at other times we are searching for a way to return our Lord to full strength. We have a plan, but it must be modified and perfected before we’d even attempt to try it. Lord Voldemort is nothing if not a perfectionist,” Evan added with a snort of amusement.
“That’s good.” Harry gave a wry smile. “But what’s the story with Sirius Black?”
“Ah,” Evan said, mouth falling open and then closing again as he thought of what to say. He could tell the truth, he supposed, though the Dark Lord had not given him permission too. Or he could lie to his child who would probably know he was lying. Or he could give a half-truth, a mix of both of his other options and keep everyone happy. Or he could say nothing. “You’ll find out in time, Caen. Now isn’t the time.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Harry hissed. He stood from where he had been sitting, brushing the back of his trousers off angrily. He leant over Evan, sneering at his father’s amused face. “This concerns me! Black is after me! Do you know how badly this is affecting my school work? What if my grade average drops because of this? You’ll have no one to blame but yourself or you Lord!”
Evan’s hand shot out, his fingers gripping tightly to Harry’s chin. “Don’t use that tone with me, boy.” Harry lowered his eyes, apologizing silently. Evan didn’t usually punish him, only if Harry really, really deserved it. And for Evan to lose his temper usually meant that the man was stressed or injured or Harry had done something very disrespectful. After Harry had turned his face away, Evan let go of him. His fingers gently caressed over one cheek, before Evan removed his hand completely and sighed. “Arrangements for the trial are on-going. I don’t really know much about them; that is Lucius’ foray, so perhaps you should nag him? However, I do know that the Wizengamot has agreed to give Black parole until the actual trial date, which means he will be free until then. He is allowed to contact you, but don’t worry he won’t hurt you, Harry, because I’m sure you’ve been hearing differently, hmm?”
Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Evan could be believed, though he knew Evan believed what he was saying. Hermione had said that Black was a murderer and a Death Eater who had betrayed his parents and himself. Evan had insisted Black wasn’t a Death Eater, but Death Eaters were helping him escape from Azkaban, and so Harry wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe he had been a Death Eater, but Voldemort hadn’t told anyone, and instead kept him as some sort of secret-agent-spy? Harry rolled his eyes: speculating would do nothing but give him a headache, he told himself. It would be best to ask Lucius or perhaps the Dark Lord if they ran into each other again, or maybe ask the man himself? He was bound to call for him eventually; after all, Harry had already been summoned as a character witness for the trial so he’d need to actually meet Sirius first. Or he hoped he would, because otherwise he wouldn’t make much of a witness, unable to comment on the character of a man he’s never met.
Though, perhaps this was all for show and Sirius was never going to be freed? They had chosen one friend, one enemy (for Snape didn’t try and mask his hatred of Sirius Black) and one child who couldn’t be called either, though he was family. Alternatively, the Wizengamot could finally be doing things fairly, aiming for a neutral balance of opinions on which the jury could rest their final decision. Having ten Death Eaters vouch for Sirius wouldn’t look so well, unlike having three people, each with differing opinions, arguing for the man in their own way. It was much more realistic, and lawful, and it was how the Muggles did it too, Harry noted.
“Just give it a chance, child,” Evan breathed into his ear, pulling the boy into another hug. “Our Lord knows what he’s doing. And he’s doing it for you.”
“Is he a Death Eater?” Harry asked, trying his luck once more. He brushed off the comment about Voldemort, because it was too much like the things Tom Riddle had used to say to him, to imply about him and Voldemort, even though they were the furthest words from the truth imaginable. They still made him feel strangely; his stomach rolled and his muscles tensed and his heart speed up. Flattered, curious, cautious, amused, aroused? He felt the others certainly, at the thought that the Dark Lord could feel something for him, but he was only aroused by Lucius. So, he didn’t care for Voldemort then? But he certainly was pleased when he thought about those kind of comments, and they elicited a feeling of safety deep within his chest, because surely Voldemort wouldn’t kill his heir whom he loved, would he?
At least he wouldn’t, yet, not until the Lord himself had sorted through his feelings. This meant that Harry still had time to decide, to determine what side he was really on. He was Dark, no doubt, but if this was all an elaborate ploy to kill Harry or capture and punish him somehow, he’d need to have his own contingency plan in place. He’d need someone to turn to, someone to run to, and as he glanced at Evan he knew Evan couldn’t be that person. But Sirius, could Sirius be his escape?
Only if he isn’t a Death Eater, Harry thought. He wouldn’t have to stay with the man, just long enough to escape Voldemort, and then he’d run to the farthest corner of the world and hide because he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight against his family and friends and kill any of them. But he wouldn’t lie back and be killed either.
“Is Black a Death Eater?” Harry asked again.
“Innocent until proven guilty, Caen,” Was all Evan would say in response.
XXX
October 31st 1993.
Remus Lupin had wanted to talk to him. He had been quite adamant and even Harry’s insistence that he carry out the Samhain rituals didn’t deter the werewolf. So, Harry found himself sitting cross-legged in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, with a small bonfire burning in front of him. It was surrounded by large stones, to keep it from spreading, and Harry calmly placed the small bones he had collected earlier that evening onto the fire, one by one. They had belonged to Hagrid’s chicken before Harry had killed them; skinning and gutting them swiftly, and now their meat lay cooked on the silver dish resting on the chair beside the fire. The seat was left empty for any dead family member who wished to visit, the food placed there so they would not be offended at being excluded.
Ghosts hovered around the edges of the class room, and Remus paced back and forth, his eyes wide as Harry began to pray, his chant mixing with his magic, full of emotion and power and intensity. It made it sound as if he were singing, rather than merely praying, and Harry lost himself to the magic before pulling a sheet of parchment from his pocket and dropping it into the fire as well. He had written all of his weaknesses and fears onto the parchment, and he watched it burn to ashes with a smile on his face. It was good luck for the following year, because of course the Celtic calendar began in November not in January, so this night marked the end of the year.
This night was the date his parents had died twelve years ago.
Hedwig hooted lowly, and Harry looked up at her and away from the fire. There was a small lead box on the floor beside him, and he reached into the fire to pull free an ember. He hissed as his skin burned. Harry dropped the ember into the box and tied it to Hedwig’s leg.
“You know where to go, girl.” And she fluttered her wings and took flight from the classroom window. There was a long way to go until she reached Albania, but Evan was his only family as far as Harry was concerned and so the flight would be worth it all in the end.
“You’ve burnt your hand,” Remus whispered. He waved his wand and the blisters and reddened skin on Harry’s fingers and palm disappeared. “You could have used an Accio, you know.”
“That’s not how the ritual works. You never get anything for nothing. My suffering is the sacrifice for a year’s worth of good luck for my family. I follow the old ways, Professor, and I follow them correctly unlike many other pretenders.” Harry stood as he spoke and made his way to the window. Out in the courtyard several children ran around dressed in cloaks and hats and masks, and while trick-or-treating had existed back in the Pagan days before Christianity, it was only used to harvest food from other families so that it could be offered to the gods. No one ever gave out sweets and no one ever kept anything for themselves. Harry sneered at them, and then at Dumbledore who had appeared in the middle of the courtyard with a basket full of candy.
“Fool,” Harry muttered, unbelieving that a teacher could be stupid enough to give children candy, and so much of it too.
“I knew your family.” Remus said after a moment. “Your parents and I were very close as children, and then as adults too. We went to Hogwarts together, we told each other everything. I was your honorary godfather, you know. Sirius was your godfather.”
“Why not you?” Harry asked curiously.
Remus gave a sad smile and a shrug. He couldn’t tell Harry the truth, not until he knew Harry’s opinions on Dark creatures and they hadn’t gotten that far into their lessons yet. “No reason I guess, but James did know Sirius longer.”
“And look how well that worked out for him.”
Remus glanced at Harry, his eyes wide. He must have been mistaken, he thought; Harry Potter would never have spoken so coldly about his family, would he?
“Look, I know you were their friend, and that you cared about them. But to me they’re only vague ideas. I’ve never known them and I never will. You wanted to speak to me, and honestly all I want to know is whether you believe Sirius to be a Death Eater or not? I have to see him soon, and different people have a different opinion on him, and I would sincerely like to form an opinion of my own. But the only information I can find has been sanctioned by the Ministry or the media and honestly it is all very biased.”
“Yes,” Remus said at last. “For a time I believed he was a traitor. But-” Remus went to continue speaking, but Harry raised his hand just as an alarm started blaring.
“It’s part of the ritual,” Harry told him softly. “One minute of silence at midnight.”
Remus bowed his head, glancing at Harry through his fringe. The boy had his head ducked, and his eyes closed, and he looked so solemn and serious that it made Remus frown. How had Harry learnt all of this anyway? Didn’t he live with Muggles?
The silence was broken a minute later, but Remus didn’t get the chance to finish speaking. More alarms began to blare and outside in the courtyard children started screaming.
“The proximity wards!” Remus gasped. Harry looked at him curiously, not having heard anything about these new wards. “Dumbledore allowed the Dementors to stay at the school, because the Ministry insisted, as long as they kept a certain distance from the castle and the students. If the wards have gone off, it must mean…”
“The students are screaming. Of course the Dementors have breached the wards,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. Someone screaming was always the best indicator of something bad happening. Wards could be tampered with, but fear… fear was telling.
The Dementors hadn’t only breeched the wards, Harry realized as he turned around. They had also come inside the castle. One watched him from the threshold of the classroom, its skeletal arms outstretched, before one fingers crooked in a ‘come hither’ gesture. Harry walked towards it, unafraid, unaffected by its presence.
“Expecto Pat-” Lupin started to cast. But Harry stopped him with a glare and a disarming spell.
“You are wanted, little human,” it hissed at him. It wasn’t quite Parseltongue, but it was close and Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering if the creature only understood hissed words or real English as well.
“What for?” Harry asked, using his normal accent. He didn’t want to risk slipping into Parseltongue in front of a Gryffindor professor. It was common knowledge that he could speak it, but only a handful of people had actually heard him use it and so most of the others only knew through rumours and gossip. It was easy to ignore gossip, to refute it, and Remus had done just that, refusing to believe it until he heard it for himself. Lord Voldemort had heard him speak it, but while using Lockhart’s body meant that Lockhart had been the one to hear it not him, it didn’t mean that Lord Voldemort didn’t know it to still be true. But that was different to just hearing of the ability through a stupid rumour.
The Dementor didn’t answer and Harry thought for a moment whether he should have hissed. But that was silly. How else did the Ministry communicate with them except through English? So of course the Dementors must understand it.
“You are wanted at the Ministry. The Criminal Black demands your presence.”
“It’s the middle of the night!” Remus shouted. He raised his wand again, but the Dementor had already taken hold of Harry’s arm and pulled. Harry fell into the creature’s bony chest, letting out a gasp at the unexpected contact.
“No time…” it hissed, “like the… pressssssent.” Harry disappeared into the corridor with the creature. His bonfire continued to burn, ignored, as Remus chased his student through the school. But then there were other Dementors in the corridor, blocking his way, all of them hissing at him, “He is wanted.” And Remus had no choice but to let Harry go to the Ministry at six minutes past twelve on the first of November.
What a start to the New Year.
XXX
November 6th 1993. Quidditch Pitch.
Gryffindor were actually running the Hufflepuff team into the ground. The poor Hufflepuffs hadn’t managed to score of Quaffle yet, and Gryffindor were already 100 points ahead by the time their Seeker managed to catch the snitch.
Draco snickered lightly in the stands, enjoying someone else’s humiliation greatly. The Hufflepuff team made their way forlornly towards their locker room, ignoring the cheering that was loud and noticeable in the Gryffindor stand. The Slytherins booed loudly, though they were still drowned out by the Gryffindors. The rest of the Hufflepuff looked like they might cry but the Ravenclaws stayed still and quiet, enjoying the match regardless of the victor.
Except Harry. Harry had stood up and was slowly making his way out of the stand and down onto the ground below. Hermione Granger followed his example, slipping away from the Gryffindors and chasing the lone Ravenclaw across the field.
“I need to talk to you,” she shouted at his back.
Harry stopped walking. He turned back to face the girl, a polite smile on his face. “What is it, Hermione, what now?” He rubbed at his eyes tiredly, and she frowned at the sight of him.
“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.” She said instead of answering him. “Are you ok?”
“It’s rude to answer a question with a question,” he told her with a grin. “I had to go to the Ministry last night. The Dementors have a habit of collecting me at night. Snape’s going tonight, so he’s bound to be even worse than normal in tomorrow morning’s Potions class.”
“Oh joy,” Hermione said drolly.
“Other than that, I’m fine. Now what did you want? I was trying to sneak off for a nap.” It was only 7pm, but Harry really did look exhausted. Hermione though had tried sharing her theory with other people or searching in the library, but she hadn’t liked what she had found. And now she wanted the opinion of someone who mattered to her, someone who would know but be unbiased about it.
“What do you know about werewolves?” She asked suddenly, wringing her hands in front of her stomach.
Harry paused, mid-breath. He exhaled loudly, his mind racing as he wondered why she would ask something like that. Harry frowned, narrowing his eyes at the girl and asked, “Why?”
“Because,” she told him, looking around nervously to see if anyone was listening in. But there was no one around but them. Everyone else was still out on the pitch. “I think there’s one at Hogwarts.”
XXX
Did you know that bonfires were originally called Bone Fires because you burnt the bones of the animals you slaughtered and stored for the winter? Learn something new every day.
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Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Can you believe we broke 1,000 reviews? Yay! Thanks again.
Words: 4,090
Chapter 34
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