(no subject)
Title: Harry Potter & The Seven Soldiers, Chapters 1 & 2
Author: kanedax
Fandom: Harry Potterverse
Rating: PG?
Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny
Spoilers: Harry Potter 1-6
Summary: Three mysterious men visit the Weasley Burrow.
Notes: Here we go. I posted these two chapters back in March, but they're being reposted now, cleaner and as part of what I'm hoping will be a week- or two- long endeavour to get my entire story posted. If anyone knows of any decent HP fic sites where this could comfortably fit, lemme know in the comment section. I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling, or the title of Grant Morrison's new comic book series. Damn Seven Soldiers...
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.
Chapter 2
The Surprise
Harry felt a surge of relief course through him as he closed the door to Ron’s bedroom hours later. The rest of the evening seemed to have a positive effect on the other two, but for him it was filled with tension and uncomfortable moments.
Lupin and Tonks had arrived soon after them, and as the group sat down for dinner, conversation had quickly turned to the events of the previous few months. Actually, a more accurate description might be Lupin, Tonks, and the Weasleys trying to get as much information out of the three as possible, without much success.
Hermione and Ron (through his Quick-Quote Quill) were able to vaguely explain how their injuries occurred, but anything beyond that was difficult to dance around. Harry had made a promise to Dumbledore that he would only tell his two friends about the Horcruxes, and they had intended to keep that promise until the job was finished. When they left on their quest, they explained that they were going on a mission of great importance, one that Dumbledore had given them before his death.
Thankfully everyone at the table had been around the Order long enough to understand the meaning behind these vagaries: Any more explanation could mean danger to anyone at this table. So drop it.
Harry’s thoughts were broken by a snapping noise from across the room. He turned to see Ron, who had already fed Pig, changed in pajamas and climbed into his bed, snapping his fingers to get his attention. He gave Harry a big grin, followed by a sketchy salute.
“G’night, Ron,” he replied, climbing into his own bed, which had been kept in Ron’s room permanently after repeated summers of use. Hedwig, now changed back to his owl form, sat on the headboard and tucked his head in for a rest.
With the exception of this evening, when Mrs. Weasley’s attentions brought it to the surface, Harry thought Ron was coping very well with the curse. After he had been hit with it in Cairo, during their quest for the Knife of Ravenclaw, and after it became apparent that it was a Mutatio curse and not a simple Silencio, they had to stop their journey briefly. During that week or two, camping in the hills of Italy, Ron had focused all of his energies on nonverbal spellcasting. Through practice, he had become quite good at it, and could now throw a hex just as easily as if he were screaming it.
Of course, Harry believed that Ron’s resilience wasn’t the only thing that led to this skill.
Since Dumbledore’s funeral, Ron and Hermione had stopped the beating around the bush and finally admitted their feelings for each other. By the time the wedding rolled around, they were a full-blown couple.
For a while it was difficult. When their journey began, the thrill of independence was still new for all of them. There were a few nights when it was clear the couple had thought Harry was asleep and he was kept up all night by the sounds of snogging. Other nights he was kept awake by other noises he tried not to think about.
But when things started going bad, their relationship had taken another step forward. When Ron had become cursed, it was Hermione who had bought the Quill for him, and who had helped him improve his nonverbals.
In the mountains of Canada, Hermione’s leg had become mangled by Inferi, and a Spell Barrier in the cavern caused the wound to improperly heal. It was Ron who had carried her out, and who stayed by her side when she had to learn to walk again.
Harry had been there for his friends, of course. But through it all, it was their love for each other that had given them strength, and kept them going when times had become difficult.
Harry had recognized this, and it was the reason why coming back was so hard.
Tonight at the dinner table, despite all the conversation amongst the family, he and Ginny had both remained silent. He could barely look at her without feeling a deep longing. He had told her that they couldn’t be together, but over the summer there were more than a few heated arguments in which she had made it clear that she wanted to be with him, no matter what cost.
In the end he was able to convince her that, without at least one year of N.E.W.T.s under her belt she wasn’t prepared for what might be encountered. She grudgingly agreed, and the subject was dropped.
There were nights, when the three slept under the stars, that Harry regretted that decision. The thoughts always returned.
I wonder what Ginny’s doing?
Is she safe?
I wish Ginny were here with me.
These thoughts always clashed with his thoughts of reality. On nights when he heard Hermione crying herself to sleep, or when he saw Ron’s look of frustration while trying to synchronize his thoughts to the Quill, he told himself: That could be Ginny.
He couldn’t handle that. There was enough pain already. Pain that he had brought onto his friends.
Laying in bed, listening to Ron’s snores, the most noise that would ever come out of his mouth again, Harry decided that he couldn’t ask anyone to continue on his journey.
Tomorrow, Lupin and Tonks, who were sleeping in the next bedroom over, would be accompanying the Weasleys to visit Bill and Fleur in their new house for Christmas Day. They had invited Ron, Hermione, and Harry to come along.
Harry decided he wouldn’t be going with them. He would go down to Diagon Alley and try to gather some information. Then he would come back that night, say goodbye, and would find and fight Voldemort alone, just as it was meant to be.
It’s the way it should have been from the beginning, he thought as he drifted off.
But just as sleep was taking him, he was awoken by a hard thud on his chest. Hedwig hooted in alarm, and Harry jerked up to see two big eyes staring back at him.
“Harry Potter!” Dobby squeaked as he hugged Harry tightly around the neck. “Dobby is so glad to see you, sir!”
“Hello, Dobby,” Harry mumbled sleepily, “I didn’t know you were going to be here…”
Dobby giggled jumped down from the bed, opening a dirty pillowcase that had appeared with him. “Arthur and Molly Weasley said that Dobby was invited for Christmas. But they never told me that Harry Potter and his greatest friend would be here! Dobby is so happy to see you both!”
He pulled a pile of candy from the bag and threw them on Harry and Ron’s beds. “Happy Christmas, Harry Potter!”
“Dobby,” Harry yawned, taking the Chocolate Frogs and putting them in his cloak, “we’re glad to see you, too. But it’s almost midnight, and we’re exhausted. Could we continue this tomorrow?”
Ron pulled Dobby off of his neck and nodded assent.
“Dobby is sorry, sir,” he squeaked, “Dobby will go away now.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Harry said, “Why don’t you go do some cleaning, or something, and we’ll see you in the morning.”
Dobby’s face lit up. “Dobby would love to clean for Harry Potter! Thank you, sir!”
And with that, he bolted from the room.
Harry and Ron stared at each other. Ron crossed his eyes, sticking his tongue out.
“Yeah, I know,” Harry said, climbing back under the covers, “he’s a nutter.”
Downstairs in the Weasley’s otherwise-empty kitchen, Hermione touched her wand to the blank book opened on the table.
“Catalogue,” she whispered, and the pages suddenly filled with lines of text.
Before she, Harry, and Ron left, they had stopped at Hogwarts both to say goodbye to their friends, and to tell Headmaster McGonagall that they would not be returning. Much like this evening, they had been hesitant to answer any questions from her. In the end she decided there was no way to change their minds, but convinced them to stay for the Sorting and the start-of-term banquet, as there were some things she wished to talk to them about after.
Upon entering the Hall, they discovered that things had changed greatly in Hogwarts since Dumbledore’s death.
Most noticeable was the incredible drop in students. The four tables were no more than half full. Among the students they discovered missing were Seamus Finnegan, the Patil sisters, Zacharias Smith, Crabbe and Goyle, and Cho Chang. Hermione had assumed that their parents had simply refused to allow them to return; an assumption confirmed that evening by Ginny. Those who remained were much more subdued than in previous Feasts.
The High Table also had some noticeable changes. With the escalation of Professor McGonagall to Headmaster, as well as the betrayal and disappearance of Professor Snape, Hagrid & Professor Slughorn had earned Heads of House for Gryffindor and Slytherin, respectively.
The biggest surprise of all was who was sitting in the chair reserved for Defense Against The Dark Arts: Kingsley Shacklebolt. From what Ginny had told them at dinner that evening, Shacklebolt was the best Defense teacher since Lupin. He took the same approach to teaching as Lupin had, a more hands-on, practical class.
More than that, after the attack on Hogwarts, Shacklebolt decided it had become imperative that the children be able to defend themselves. As such, he had restarted Lockhart’s Dueling Club. And when Ginny, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Ernie Macmillan came to the decision to re-start Dumbledore’s Army, Kingsley not only encouraged it, he gave them meeting space in his classroom.
After the banquet, Professor McGonagall brought them all up to her office.
“Since I can’t convince you to not leave,” she had sighed, “And since I can’t get you to accept any help from the Order, the least I can do is give you some things that might help you.”
She had given them three items. First was the Sword of Gryffindor, which Harry had kept at his side ever since.
Second was the Sorting Hat. “It may not look like much,” she said, “But he’s been sitting in this office for longer than you’ve been in this school, and has overheard more of Dumbledore’s meetings than probably he could remember. What you have there is information in the shape of a brown sack.”
The third item Hermione had opened on the table. The simple red book, with the word Hogwarts emblazoned on the cover, was magically connected to the Hogwarts library. Anytime Hermione needed to read a book from the school, she simply could open this book, point her wand at the page, and recite the title.
During their travels, this book had helped them get out of more than one dangerous situation. However, as she spent night after night researching Ron’s condition, she learned that it had its limits, as Hogwarts didn’t have every book of magical texts imaginable. Also, with thousands of books to choose from, she only had Madam Pince’s handwritten catalogue to go by if she didn’t know where to look.
As she scanned down the list, trying to find any books that she hadn’t already searched a dozen times for a vague reference to a Mutatio counter-jinx, she rubbed her sore ribs.
Harry had spent a lot of money in preparation for the journey. The matching Firebolts for she and Ron had cost him quite a bit of his inheritance. The matching Invisibility Cloaks had cost him even more on the black market.
What hadn’t cost him anything, however, were Fred and George Weasley’s Covert Cowls. The amazing hoods were enchanted to cover any face with a temporary glamour.
Unfortunately, at the time they received them, the twins had only developed the “Tough Goon” model, and hadn’t gotten to any female models. On the one hand, if any of Voldemort’s supporters were told to be on the lookout for them, they would be looking for two men and a woman, not three men.
But it did have its drawbacks, she thought as she massaged her chest. When she had borrowed some of Ginny’s clothing, she had also been able to remove the wrappings from around her midsection. The hoods changed the face, but only the face.
Thank goodness I’m not too endowed, Hermione chuckled. If I had been built like Lavender “Two Jugs” Brown, I’d be in some real pain right now.
A pair of small feet running down the stairs interrupted any other thoughts along those lines.
“Hello, Hermione Granger!” Dobby squeaked, running directly to the closet and digging out a feather duster.
“Hello, Dobby,” Hermione said, surprised. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“Harry Potter said the same thing to Dobby, miss,” Dobby replied, sweeping the duster around the kitchen. “Dobby gave Harry Potter his Christmas present, then Harry Potter told Dobby to come downstairs and clean.”
Hermione gave a dark look up the stairs. Some people just never learn…
“You know, Dobby,” she said carefully, “You don’t have to clean just because Harry told you to.”
“Oh, Dobby knows that, miss,” he said matter-of-factly, continuing over to the fireplace. “But Dobby likes to clean. Dobby wants to clean.”
Not having the energy to continue the argument, Hermione closed up the book and put it in her bag. Grimacing as she stood up on her bad leg, she threw the bag over her shoulder.
“Have it your way,” she said, slowly working her way up the stairs, “I’ll see you in the morning. Happy Christmas, Dobby.”
“Happy Christmas to you too, miss!” Dobby cried back.
I’m going to have to talk to Harry about him in the morning, Hermione thought as she limped her way up to Ginny’s room. To automatically suggest that Dobby should clean…
“Honeydukes.”
“What was that, Dobby?” Hermione asked, turning around. Walking down a few steps, she found a strange sight.
Dobby was on his hands and knees, his head inside the fireplace. The feather duster he had used earlier was set on the floor to his side, and in its place he held a broomstick. He stuck it into the hearth, where the brush end seemed to disappear into the wall, with the handle still sitting in Dobby’s hand.
“They’re here,” he squeaked in a strangely distant voice.
“Are you alright?” Hermione asked nervously.
Suddenly, a robed and masked figure stepped from the fireplace, followed by another. And another.
Terror swelled in Hermione as she remembered seeing the masks before, at the Quidditch World Cup.
“Death Eaters!” she yelled, pulling the wand from her pocket.
The two men, followed by three more, all turned to face her. One pointed his wand at her and threw a hex.
“Protego!” she yelled, deflecting spell after spell as she struggled up the stairs. One of the Death Eaters grabbed her leg and pointed his wand at her.
“Relashio!” a voice boomed from upstairs, and the Death Eater’s grip on her ankle was released as she flew backwards. Another arm grabbed her around the shoulders and dragged her up the stairs.
Ron and Harry leaped out of bed as the door was thrown open. From behind Molly they could see Tonks and Arthur running down the hall, wands bared.
“You’re leaving,” she ordered, throwing their cloaks and brooms at them.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked, instantly awake.
“Death Eaters have invaded the house,” she replied, “Remus is getting Hermione and Ginny, they’ll meet you outside. We’ll hold them off as long as we can, but you need to leave now!”
Ron pulled his wand from his robe and ran towards the door. Harry followed suit, but Molly stood in front of both of them.
“Don’t be stupid,” she barked, her voice mixed with fear and anger, “You have a job to do.”
Harry relented, but Ron stared back at her mother in defiance. She stared right back. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out two small gems. Forcing Ron's hand open, she thrust them into his palm and closed his fingers around them.
“Those are mine and your father's. Take yours from the dresser, and protect them.
"Whatever Dumbledore ordered you to do,” she continued, “It’s probably a lot more important than any of us. I’d wager a guess and say that Dumbledore gave his life for it.
“So don’t throw it away just to protect a few adults.”
“Harry, come on!” Hermione yelled from behind them. Harry turned to see her floating outside the window on her Firebolt. Ginny was also next to her on her own broom, but her face reflected the same shade of doubt as her brother’s. Pig and Hedwig fluttered around the pair.
He turned to Ron. “Your mother’s right,” he yelled.
Ron stood firm. Staring into his mother's eyes, he finally shook his head and ran to his dresser. Opening the third drawer, he pulled out another small gem and shoved it into his pocket.
Before Harry could ask, two flashes of light erupted from downstairs. Seconds later, Arthur ran into the room.
“Lupin’s down,” he told Molly, “Nymphadora’s trying to hold them off.” He turned to the two boys. “Go, now!”
Not thinking about anything else, Harry jumped on his broom and followed Hermione and Ginny as they flew into the night’s sky. He turned to see Ron following behind.
We need to find a place to hide out, he thought, his mind racing.
Suddenly Harry’s scar erupted in pain more intense than any he had felt before. It was blinding, debilitating. He lost his grip on the broom.
As he plummeted towards earth, he felt an evil, unearthly laughter escape from his mouth. Images flooded his brain.
He also heard the slithering voice of Voldemort:
In the Seventh Year at the Seventh School
Seven Soldiers will battle Seven Skulls
For the Seventh Soul
One shall fight Seven
And to the victor goes the New Year
Chapters 3 & 4