A Taste
Title: Harry Potter and the Seven Soldiers
Author: KanedaX
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Notes: This is a rough, un-betaed copy of chapter 1 of my new fanfic, which follows the exploits of Harry and his friends the winter after HBP. I just felt an urge to lay it out there, so here it is, with at least 19 more chapters to follow. I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or any member of the Harry Potter universe. JK Rowling does, and I write it with the sincerest form of flattery. I also don't own a Ferrari, although if someone's willing to oblige...
Chapter 1
The Seventh Year
The road was empty that Christmas Eve. It was the time of night when people were settled snugly indoors, serving Christmas dinner, sitting around a fireplace with friends and family, or otherwise eagerly anticipating the morning.
No one was on the path to see two small black silhouettes glide down through the falling snow: one a solemn raven, one a fluttering bat.
No one was there when, seconds later, three pairs of footprints suddenly appeared in the snow pack on the side of the road.
No one was there to hear a voice whisper from nowhere.
“Are we alone?”
After a pause, a second voice replied, “Yeah, we are. We can uncover.”
Three cloaked men suddenly materialized to fill the footprints, each one clutching in one hand a silvery fabric, in the other a broomstick. They carried little else. As if with one mind, the three swung the brooms around, hanging them from a leather strap slung across their back and chest. They then folded up the fabric, put them inside their cloaks, and walked towards the lit house below.
The tallest of the three reached into a beaten leather pouch hanging on his side and pulled out a pad of paper and a quill. Holding the pad out, the quill leapt into the air and started writing automatically. The small bat excitedly chased the feather at the tip of the quill, but the man brushed it away. After the pen had finished and returned to his free hand, he tore off the paper, and handed it to the middle-sized figure.
“Because,” the man replied with a hint of agitation, the crow landing on his shoulder, “we have no idea what kinds of defense hexes have been cast. There are hexes that prevent even broom flight, remember?
“We’ll be fine walking, trust me.”
The tall figure sighed and continued walking.
“But we shouldn’t even be here,” the middle-sized man muttered under his breath, trying unsuccessfully to hide a large, gleaming sword hanging at his side.
“Could you please wait up?” the shortest figure asked softly, lagging behind the other two. When the cloak blew from the winter wind, one could see that the boy’s left leg was noticeably deformed, and he struggled with an obvious limp.
The other two turned to respond, jogging back and trying to throw the limping man’s arms around their shoulders.
“No, no, I’m fine. Just slow down, I’m not as spry as you two anymore.”
The tall one nodded, but took the square sack from the small one and slung it onto his shoulder, and the three continued their journey to The Burrow.
Reaching the doorstep soon after, the middle figure walked to the front of the group and knocked on the door. The knock was answered by a drag of a chair across the floor and a rustling of bodies.
“That must be Remus and Nymphadora,” a female voice said joyfully from behind the door.
“Don’t forget to ask them the password,” a male voice replied, just as happily.
“Oh, would you stop with the silly ‘passwords,’ Arthur? It’s Christmas Eve, they’re the only two who would we be expecting at…”
Her voice died in her throat as she approached the door. Another chair squeaked. “What’s wrong, Molly?” Arthur asked nervously.
“Mrs. Weasley?” one of the men said to the door.
“Who… who are you?” Molly’s voice shook from the peephole.
The men looked back and forth at each other, seeming to notice the tough features of each other’s faces for the first time.
“Oh, bloody hell, the hoods…” the middle sized man moaned.
“State your business!” Arthur yelled.
Molly gasped as the three pulled back their hoods. As they did, their facial features changed immediately. She threw open the door, staring in disbelief.
“Harry?” she breathed.
“Oh, my goodness…” Arthur mumbled.
“Hermione?”
A smile beamed across Arthur’s face as Molly dove towards the tallest figure, crushing him in a tight embrace.
“Ron!”
“Happy Christmas, children,” Arthur cried, tears welling in his eyes.
After several minutes of sobbing on his shoulder, Molly Weasley reluctantly released her son long enough to enter the house. Harry and Ron pointed their wands at the two animals that accompanied them indoors. The crow turned into Hedwig, while the excited bat transmogrified into Pig.
As they entered, a few things started to make themselves known in Molly's mind.
First was how different the three of them looked from when she last saw them in August. Ron had changed the least. He had allowed his red hair to grow out almost to the length of her son Bill’s, but Ron’s was tied somewhat haphazardly with a piece of rope. He also carried what little whiskers the Weasley family genes would allow.
Harry, on the other hand, was beginning to look like a miniature version of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. In six months he had grown a beard to match his thick, messy black hair. If it hadn’t been for his glasses, as well as the lightning-bolt scar on his head, Molly would have barely recognized him outside the house.
Hermione’s new hairstyle, now cut to the ears, was the least noticeable of her differences. She was walking awkwardly, and it was because one of her legs looked oddly warped. Although not her daughter, Molly’s sense of motherly sympathy took over, and she rushed to help Hermione to into the nearest chair.
As she did so, a new realization crept into her mind. It blossomed when Arthur asked, “Ron, those cloaks are brilliant. Where did you get them?”
Molly turned to look at her son, watching as his face turned towards the floor.
“Ron?” She asked as Harry and Hermione looked at each other with dread. “Is everything alright?”
Ron remained silent.
“Ron?” He looked up at her, his face a blank slate.
“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said slowly, “In Cairo…”
“The Mutatio Curse,” Arthur moaned. “It renders the victim mute…”
“…and there’s no cure,” Hermione finished, trying to keep her emotions at bay.
As Molly cried out and held her son, Harry was overwhelmed with guilt.
We never should have returned, He thought.
After the incident in the cave, and the death of Professor Dumbledore at the hands of Severus Snape, Harry Potter’s life had become more and more focused on his mission: to destroy the remaining Horcruxes, and to defeat Lord Voldemort.
While on their journey, the three had tried to stay under the radar as much as possible. They only traveled by foot or by broom, as Apparating, Floo Powder, and Portkey were both monitored heavily by the Ministry, and thus open to potentially unfriendly eyes. It had also meant zero communication with their friends at Hogwarts or with their families.
Coming back here was a bad idea, he thought as he watched Ron silently dab the tears from his mother’s eyes.
Unfortunately, they had no choice in returning. After destroying three of the remaining Horcruxes, they had reached a dead end. Before his death, Dumbledore had hypothesized that the snake, Nagini, was possibly the last Horcrux, besides Voldemort himself. However, even if that were true, no member of the Order had seen either the wizard or the snake since they escaped from the Ministry a year and a half ago.
Hermione & Ron had convinced him that coming back for Christmas would do more than allow them to recuperate and clear their minds. It would also give them a chance to study any new information from home, as well as keep up appearances to any enemies who were watching.
But it also meant coming back to their old life. One of safety, one of comfort, one with people who loved and cared for them. One that would be difficult to leave.
One with…
“Harry…”
Harry turned towards the voice coming from the foot of the stairs, one that he had been both dreading and yearning for since the moment he left Bill & Fleur’s wedding in the summer.
One with Ginny.
Author: KanedaX
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Notes: This is a rough, un-betaed copy of chapter 1 of my new fanfic, which follows the exploits of Harry and his friends the winter after HBP. I just felt an urge to lay it out there, so here it is, with at least 19 more chapters to follow. I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or any member of the Harry Potter universe. JK Rowling does, and I write it with the sincerest form of flattery. I also don't own a Ferrari, although if someone's willing to oblige...
Chapter 1
The Seventh Year
The road was empty that Christmas Eve. It was the time of night when people were settled snugly indoors, serving Christmas dinner, sitting around a fireplace with friends and family, or otherwise eagerly anticipating the morning.
No one was on the path to see two small black silhouettes glide down through the falling snow: one a solemn raven, one a fluttering bat.
No one was there when, seconds later, three pairs of footprints suddenly appeared in the snow pack on the side of the road.
No one was there to hear a voice whisper from nowhere.
“Are we alone?”
After a pause, a second voice replied, “Yeah, we are. We can uncover.”
Three cloaked men suddenly materialized to fill the footprints, each one clutching in one hand a silvery fabric, in the other a broomstick. They carried little else. As if with one mind, the three swung the brooms around, hanging them from a leather strap slung across their back and chest. They then folded up the fabric, put them inside their cloaks, and walked towards the lit house below.
The tallest of the three reached into a beaten leather pouch hanging on his side and pulled out a pad of paper and a quill. Holding the pad out, the quill leapt into the air and started writing automatically. The small bat excitedly chased the feather at the tip of the quill, but the man brushed it away. After the pen had finished and returned to his free hand, he tore off the paper, and handed it to the middle-sized figure.
“Because,” the man replied with a hint of agitation, the crow landing on his shoulder, “we have no idea what kinds of defense hexes have been cast. There are hexes that prevent even broom flight, remember?
“We’ll be fine walking, trust me.”
The tall figure sighed and continued walking.
“But we shouldn’t even be here,” the middle-sized man muttered under his breath, trying unsuccessfully to hide a large, gleaming sword hanging at his side.
“Could you please wait up?” the shortest figure asked softly, lagging behind the other two. When the cloak blew from the winter wind, one could see that the boy’s left leg was noticeably deformed, and he struggled with an obvious limp.
The other two turned to respond, jogging back and trying to throw the limping man’s arms around their shoulders.
“No, no, I’m fine. Just slow down, I’m not as spry as you two anymore.”
The tall one nodded, but took the square sack from the small one and slung it onto his shoulder, and the three continued their journey to The Burrow.
Reaching the doorstep soon after, the middle figure walked to the front of the group and knocked on the door. The knock was answered by a drag of a chair across the floor and a rustling of bodies.
“That must be Remus and Nymphadora,” a female voice said joyfully from behind the door.
“Don’t forget to ask them the password,” a male voice replied, just as happily.
“Oh, would you stop with the silly ‘passwords,’ Arthur? It’s Christmas Eve, they’re the only two who would we be expecting at…”
Her voice died in her throat as she approached the door. Another chair squeaked. “What’s wrong, Molly?” Arthur asked nervously.
“Mrs. Weasley?” one of the men said to the door.
“Who… who are you?” Molly’s voice shook from the peephole.
The men looked back and forth at each other, seeming to notice the tough features of each other’s faces for the first time.
“Oh, bloody hell, the hoods…” the middle sized man moaned.
“State your business!” Arthur yelled.
Molly gasped as the three pulled back their hoods. As they did, their facial features changed immediately. She threw open the door, staring in disbelief.
“Harry?” she breathed.
“Oh, my goodness…” Arthur mumbled.
“Hermione?”
A smile beamed across Arthur’s face as Molly dove towards the tallest figure, crushing him in a tight embrace.
“Ron!”
“Happy Christmas, children,” Arthur cried, tears welling in his eyes.
After several minutes of sobbing on his shoulder, Molly Weasley reluctantly released her son long enough to enter the house. Harry and Ron pointed their wands at the two animals that accompanied them indoors. The crow turned into Hedwig, while the excited bat transmogrified into Pig.
As they entered, a few things started to make themselves known in Molly's mind.
First was how different the three of them looked from when she last saw them in August. Ron had changed the least. He had allowed his red hair to grow out almost to the length of her son Bill’s, but Ron’s was tied somewhat haphazardly with a piece of rope. He also carried what little whiskers the Weasley family genes would allow.
Harry, on the other hand, was beginning to look like a miniature version of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. In six months he had grown a beard to match his thick, messy black hair. If it hadn’t been for his glasses, as well as the lightning-bolt scar on his head, Molly would have barely recognized him outside the house.
Hermione’s new hairstyle, now cut to the ears, was the least noticeable of her differences. She was walking awkwardly, and it was because one of her legs looked oddly warped. Although not her daughter, Molly’s sense of motherly sympathy took over, and she rushed to help Hermione to into the nearest chair.
As she did so, a new realization crept into her mind. It blossomed when Arthur asked, “Ron, those cloaks are brilliant. Where did you get them?”
Molly turned to look at her son, watching as his face turned towards the floor.
“Ron?” She asked as Harry and Hermione looked at each other with dread. “Is everything alright?”
Ron remained silent.
“Ron?” He looked up at her, his face a blank slate.
“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said slowly, “In Cairo…”
“The Mutatio Curse,” Arthur moaned. “It renders the victim mute…”
“…and there’s no cure,” Hermione finished, trying to keep her emotions at bay.
As Molly cried out and held her son, Harry was overwhelmed with guilt.
We never should have returned, He thought.
After the incident in the cave, and the death of Professor Dumbledore at the hands of Severus Snape, Harry Potter’s life had become more and more focused on his mission: to destroy the remaining Horcruxes, and to defeat Lord Voldemort.
While on their journey, the three had tried to stay under the radar as much as possible. They only traveled by foot or by broom, as Apparating, Floo Powder, and Portkey were both monitored heavily by the Ministry, and thus open to potentially unfriendly eyes. It had also meant zero communication with their friends at Hogwarts or with their families.
Coming back here was a bad idea, he thought as he watched Ron silently dab the tears from his mother’s eyes.
Unfortunately, they had no choice in returning. After destroying three of the remaining Horcruxes, they had reached a dead end. Before his death, Dumbledore had hypothesized that the snake, Nagini, was possibly the last Horcrux, besides Voldemort himself. However, even if that were true, no member of the Order had seen either the wizard or the snake since they escaped from the Ministry a year and a half ago.
Hermione & Ron had convinced him that coming back for Christmas would do more than allow them to recuperate and clear their minds. It would also give them a chance to study any new information from home, as well as keep up appearances to any enemies who were watching.
But it also meant coming back to their old life. One of safety, one of comfort, one with people who loved and cared for them. One that would be difficult to leave.
One with…
“Harry…”
Harry turned towards the voice coming from the foot of the stairs, one that he had been both dreading and yearning for since the moment he left Bill & Fleur’s wedding in the summer.
One with Ginny.