Dangers
When first awakened, an Element’s connection to their host is weak, at best. While it might be called upon in moments of great distress, the effect is likely paltry, easily brushed aside by anyone with any control of their magic.
Saudril Slytherin, 456
~~~
‘Paltry’ is not the word I would use to describe any pre-claimed elemental. While it is true they have no control over the element, they are hosts to them. It does rise during moments of great duress, or other strong emotions. As such, the results are often deadly.
Pray the elements are not angry with you before you’ve claimed them. Given sufficient cause, the master might find himself killed before gaining control.
Salazar Slytherin, 992
~~~
Perhaps the most dangerous unclaimed host is fire. The other elements will rise with their host and then fall away. While damage is inevitable, it is manageable.
Fire spreads.
It is the nature of our world that everything burns. Without the control the master allows the host by claiming them, Fire has not the ability to stop what they’ve begun.
I have seen a fire - natural, not caused by a host - that wiped out a village and most of the surrounding forest before it burned itself out.
Seleukos Slytherin, 1101
~*~*~*~
Friday, August 2
Nothing had changed around Private Drive. The white houses were still in their perfect condition, and their lawns were as immaculate as ever … despite the current drought. And it wasn’t because people were sneaking out to water their lawns when they shouldn’t either.
Harry Potter sat in the front lawn, supposedly weeding, and knew that it wasn’t normal. When he’d arrived last month, everything was perfectly normal (exactly how his relatives preferred things to be). The lawns were practically brown, and the flowers were dying in their beds. Two days later, the flowers in Number 4 Privet Drive were flourishing and the grass was returning to its naturally green color. Their lawn was, of course, the talk of the neighborhood. Many asked Petunia Dursley exactly how she managed it, but she just smiled and told them it was a secret.
Behind her back, people accused her of breaking the drought. It made the family of Number 4 very unpopular for the next week until the other lawns began to act the same. Most of them shrugged it off, obviously deciding to not think too much about it. Of the ones he lived with, only Petunia was suspicious that her nephew was behind it.
“Too freakish to be natural,” she’d said, but without any heat. Apparently, she didn’t seem to care about his ‘freakishness’ if it stayed to something as ordinary as keeping their lawn perfect.
Harry rolled his eyes at the memory, sitting back on his heels as he looked down at the flowerbed. He really didn’t need to do any weeding as nothing but the flowers seemed to grow. Still, his Aunt Petunia seemed to demand he do it. Above him, the living room window was open in the hopes of coaxing a non-existent breeze.
Shaking his head, Harry used the back of his forearm to wipe away the sweat on his forehead before it could drip into his eyes. It was hot, and he didn’t need the telly inside telling him that either.
At least Voldemort’s quiet, he thought. Then again, was that really a good thing?
Probably not, he decided. That meant he was planning something, and his plans usually included one Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention to another topic of interest; his left wrist. After a quick glance around, Harry tugged up his sleeve, letting his eyes rest on the tattoo there. It wasn’t a normal tattoo, he knew that without any research, because he hadn’t gotten it. He’d just woken up and there it was; plain as day and emerald green. It hadn’t changed at all over the past month, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t.
Glancing up at the flowerbed, Harry wondered if they were connected. He certainly hadn’t been that good at gardening before he’d gotten it. And it certainly hadn’t extended to other properties before.
But what is it? What’s it mean?
Perhaps he should tell Dumbledore about it? Certainly if he added it to the note he wrote them he’d get a reply …
And yet … What if it was intercepted? If it was something important, he certainly didn’t want Voldemort learning about it. And it wasn’t like he knew how to ward his letters against unwanted eyes either.
Was that even possible?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He’d just have to wait until Hogwarts then, when he could reach the headmaster with relatively little trouble. Sighing, he let his sleeve fall back over the tattoo. So far, none of his relatives had noticed it, not that they would. They’d hardly noticed him at all that summer except to give him his usual chores.
He stayed beneath the window long enough to hear the evening news, and shook his head when absolutely nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And it wasn’t just the muggle news either. The Prophet hadn’t mentioned anything about Voldemort, which meant the Minister was still refusing to believe he was back. Definitely front page material that, and so far, not a peep of anything out of the ordinary.
What was Voldemort doing? Why was he laying low? Surely he’d want to announce his presence and inspire terror as soon as possible. Everything he knew about the dark lord told him that’s what he should have done … So, why hadn’t he?
Glancing up at the window once more, Harry carefully moved out from under it and stood. Silently, he let his feet carry him out of the yard and down the street. He was the only one out. Most others considered it too hot to be out. So did he, to be honest, but he wasn’t about to sit about the house doing nothing. His relatives would be certain to give him something to do if he didn’t look busy enough. No, it was much safer to be outside, despite the heat.
His friends weren’t any help either. Every letter he’d gotten was short and secret. All he knew was that they were busy and they couldn’t tell him anything. He’d never been so angry or frustrated at his friends before. He did, however, have to keep it under control. He’d let it get away from him the last time he’d gotten a letter and had to replace the kitchen light bulb after it had exploded. That had gotten him in trouble, and he winced at the memory.
Before he knew it, Harry was making his way into the small park nearby. Like everywhere else, it was green and flourishing. A tiny sigh escaped his lips as he crossed to the back, where there was a swing set sat. Only one of the swings worked, thanks to Dudley and his gang, but as there was no one else out, it didn’t bother him any. Silently, he sat, letting himself gently swing. Hanging onto the chains, his head tilted back to stare up at the cloudless sky.
At first, he had enjoyed the solitude, but that only lasted a day before his mind nearly drove him crazy with images from the graveyard; being tied to a gravestone, Voldemort, the cauldron, Cedric’s lifeless eyes.
“Kill the spare.”
Closing his eyes, Harry shook his head, his hands clenching around the chains. No, he didn’t want to remember that. Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind onto other topics. Anything to keep it away from … then.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, lost in his own thoughts, before voices interrupted them. Glancing up, he nearly wilted in disappointment. It was very easy to recognize the group moving through the park. Even more so the one in the lead.
His cousin was as massive as ever. Unfortunately for him (and the boy’s other victims), Dudley now had something other than just fat on him. In the last year, Dudley Dursley had become a boxer. Harry’s green eyes watched them with a certain amount of distaste. They didn’t even notice him, however, so he decided it was better than nothing.
Dudley hadn’t been in the best of moods lately. His things kept disappearing. They were always found the next day somewhere in the garden. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think the plants were stealing them from him. It was amusing, to say the least, if a little unnerving. Especially since Harry was getting in trouble for the disappearances.
Shaking his head, Harry stood; trailing after the gang, making sure to be far enough back that the others wouldn’t notice them. It wasn’t until Dudley broke off from the others that he even noticed that Harry was there. He sneered.
“Following me, I see,” Dudley said. “What do you want? Trying to steal something again?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I haven’t stolen anything from you, Dudley.”
“Oh yes, because they just got into the yard by themselves.”
“You really should learn to pay more attention to your things,” Harry agreed, cheerfully.
Dudley’s eyes narrowed, but his eyes flickered to Harry’s waistband, where he hid his wand. Harry ignored it and continued walking. Dudley fell into step next to him and they were silent.
“I heard you last night,” Dudley said, suddenly, voice sly.
Harry frowned, his wary feeling returning. “What do you mean?”
“Who’s Cedric?”
Harry froze. Two steps in front of him, so did Dudley, who turned to smirk at him.
“How do you know that name?” Harry demanded.
“Heard it last night when you were moaning in your sleep. So who is he? Your boyfriend?”
Harry’s hands clenched. “Hardly,” he replied.
“You really are pathetic though. Heard you calling for your mum last night. ‘Don’t let him get me, Mum. Help me dad’.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed and he pulled out his wand.
“You aren’t supposed to have that out, Harry,” Dudley told him. “It’s against the rules. Besides, you won’t do anything. Not unless you want to be expelled.” He was eying it warily.
*
“Don’t ever talk about that again, you understand me?”
“Point that thing somewhere else!”
“I said, do you understand me?”
“Point it somewhere else!”
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
“GET THAT THING AWAY FROM –“
Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water. Harry felt it a moment later and his eyes went wide. As he struggled to breathe properly, he noticed that the night had gone completely dark, something he wasn’t able to do, not in his wildest dreams. And the cold …
“W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!”
“I’m not doing anything! Shut up and don’t move!?
“I c-can’t see! I’ve g-gone blind! I!”
“I said shut up!”
Harry stood stock-still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense that he was shivering all over; goosebumps had erupted up his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.
It was impossible … They couldn’t be here … Not in Little Whinging … He strained his ears. He would hear them before he saw them.
“I’ll t-tell Dad!” Dudley whimpered. “W-where are you? What are you d-do ?”
”Will you shut up?” Harry hissed, “I’m trying to listen.”
But he fell silent. He had heard just the thing he had been dreading. There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, some-thing that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.
“C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I’ll h-hit you, I swear I will!”
“Dudley, shut –“
WHAM!
A fist made contact with the side of Harry’s head, lifting Harry off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of Harry’s eyes and Harry felt as though his head had been cleaved in two. Next moment he had landed hard on the ground, and his wand had flown out of his hand.
“You moron, Dudley!” Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain, as he scrambled to his hands and knees, now feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.
“DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU’RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!”
There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley’s footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could mean only one thing. There was more than one.
“DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!” Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. “Where’s … wand … come on … Lumos!”
He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search, and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand ? The wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet, and turned around.
His stomach turned over.
A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly toward him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.
Stumbling backward, Harry raised his wand.
“Expecto Patronum!”
A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the dementor slowed, but the spell hadn’t worked properly; tripping over his feet, Harry retreated farther as the dementor bore down upon him, panic fogging his brain – concentrate – A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the dementor’s robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled Harry’s ears.
“ Expecto Patronum!”
His voice sounded dim and distant. … Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand – he couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn’t work the spell – There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter. … He could smell the dementor’s putrid, death-cold breath, filling his own lungs, drowning him – Think … something happy. …
But there was no happiness in him. … The dementor’s icy fingers were closing on his throat – the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head.
“Bow to death, Harry … It might even be painless … I would not know …I have never died.”
*
No, he thought in desperation, even as the dementor’s face drew ever closer. No. He couldn’t die like this. He couldn’t. He reached deep within himself, hoping to find the power, and a memory to cast his patronus. What he found, however, was something else.
Thinking it was nothing different, Harry latched onto something in him and pulled at it. An image of Ron and Hermione entered his mind and his lips parted to say the two words that would protect him from the Dementor.
He never got the chance.
Before he could even so much as breathe out, the Dementor was literally ripped away from him. He couldn’t help but blink at it. Vines were tightly wrapped about the creature, dragging it away from him. His jaw dropped at the unexpected sight, and all he could do was stare at it.
A whimper brought his attention back to his cousin. The Dementor was still hovering over him, attempting to pry Dudley’s hands away from his face. No doubt so he could suck his soul away.
No , Harry thought again. Not again. I’ll not lose my family again. Not to the likes of you.
With fierce determination, Harry once again raised his wand, his patronus barely on his lips before he saw more vines spring from the ground behind the Dementor. He stared in astonishment as they wrapped themselves around it and dragged it away from Dudley, leaving his cousin on the ground. As it was pulled away, the chill steadily left the area and Harry found himself warming again.
Despite that, he shook almost uncontrollably. Forcing himself calm, he hurried to Dudley’s side and quickly checked him over. Dudley was shaking and whimpering, and looking not at all his usual self.
“I wish I had some chocolate,” Harry muttered. It would certainly make all of this easier. “Dudley, come on Dudley. We’re safe now. They’re gone.”
No response. It seemed as though Dudley Dursley was still stuck in his memories. Though … What horrible memories could the boy possibly have? He was always the bully. He was the one who gave others bad memories. What could he possibly have?
Shaking his head again, he struggled to pull his cousin up into a seated position. Slinging one of the teen’s arms over his shoulders, Harry wrapped one around him … or as much as he could, and hefted him up. Though the human whale seemed to rest most of his weight on Harry, he did seem to have his feet under him.
Thank Merlin, he thought. He didn’t think he’d be able to drag him all the way home if that was the case. He’d have enough trouble as it was.
~*~*~*~
It wasn’t until Harry had gotten Dudley back to the house (where he was coddled by Petunia and Vernon while Harry got a shouted lecture) that he realized he’d lost his glasses somewhere. Neither of his relatives seemed to realize this as they rushed Dudley out to the hospital, and he wasn’t inclined to tell them either. He could see.
Harry’s expression twisted in confusion as he glanced around. Not only could he see, but everything was clearer, sharper, and more in focus than he’d ever been able to see before, even with his glasses. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Everything was getting much too weird for him.
“Dumbledore,” he murmured. He quickly rose and raced upstairs to his room. Pulling out his quill and ink, he quickly wrote out a letter.
Dumbledore,
Two Dementors were found in Little Whinging. I don’t know why they were here, but they seemed to be after Dudley and me. Why were they here? Could they have been sent by Voldemort? I don’t think there’s any more of them, and I don’t know if they’ll be back, but I don’t like this. If they know where I am, what’s to stop anyone else from finding out?
He hesitated a moment before signing it. Should he tell him how the plants seemed to come alive?
No, he decided, with a shake of his head. Something told him that would be a very bad thing to do, and he’d always been one to trust his instincts. Quickly, he signed it and blew on the ink to let it dry. Then, he turned to Hedwig.
“Hey, girl, I need you to deliver something for me. Would you?”
The bird gave him a look and hooted softly in agreement. Harry smiled.
“Yeah, I guess I should have known,” he said before tying the letter to her leg. “I need you to take this to Professor Dumbledore,” he said.
She hooted again, giving him a light nip before she flew off. Harry stared after her a moment, still trying to calm himself down. If only he could stop trembling he was sure he’d manage it.
~*~*~*~
Sunday, August 4
He sat on his bed, staring out the window, lost in his thoughts. Why had the plants helped him? How had they helped him? It was a topic his mind kept coming back to. It was … strange, and nothing like that had ever happened before. At least, he thought he’d have noticed if the plants around him suddenly rose up and decided to help him. It wasn’t something that was easy to miss after all.
And what happened to my eyes?
Though it hadn't last long, his vision had been perfect. Thankfully, he'd retrieved his glasses before the effects had worn off, or he'd have been completely blind, but it didn't change the oddity of the situation.
A crash downstairs drew his attention.
He tensed, eyes narrowing as he grabbed his wand. It wasn’t cold, so it wasn’t more Dementors … but who was to say it wasn’t Death Eaters? Supposedly, the blood wards protected him, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Slowly and silently, he crept to the door and eased it open. He waited for a moment, listening. It was quiet, except for the sounds of people moving around.
Whoever they were, they were good, he almost missed them. But he’d been living in this house for practically 15 years. He knew what to listen for. Practically holding his breath, he crept to the stairs, listening for anybody.
A shape moved at the bottom. He pointed his wand.
“Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone’s eye out,” said a low, growling voice.
Harry’s heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.
“Professor Moody?” he asked uncertainly.
“I don’t know so much about ‘Professor,’” growled the voice, “Never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly.”
Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody’s company only to find out that it wasn’t Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Harry before being unmasked.
Though, if it was a Death Eater in disguise, he still wouldn’t be able to do much against it … and this time there weren't any plants to come to his rescue.
Before he could make a decision about what to do next, a second, slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.
“It’s all right, Harry. We’ve come to take you away.”
Harry’s heart leapt. He knew that voice too, though he hadn’t heard it for more than a year.
“P-Professor Lupin?” he asked disbelievingly. “Is that you?”
“Why are we all standing in the dark?” asked a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman’s. “Lumos.”
A wand tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at him, some craning their heads for a better look.
Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more gray hair than when Harry had said good-bye to him, and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back through his shock.
“Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,” said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. “Wotcher, Harry!”
“Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus,” said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. “He looks exactly like James.”
“Except the eyes,” said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. “Lily’s eyes.”
Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled gray hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One of the eyes was small, dark, and beady, the other large, round, and electric blue - the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody’s own head.
“Are you quite sure it’s him, Lupin?” he growled. “It’d be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?”
“Harry, what form does your Patronus take?” asked Lupin.
“A stag,” said Harry nervously.
“That’s him, Mad-Eye,” said Lupin.
Harry descended the stairs, very conscious of everybody still staring at him, stowing his wand into the back pocket of his jeans as he came.
“Don’t put your wand there, boy!” roared Moody. “What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!”
“Who’d you know who’s lost a buttock?” the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly.
“Never you mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!” growled Mad-Eye. “Elementary wand safety, nobody bothers about it anymore …” He stumped off toward the kitchen. “And I saw that,” he added irritably, as the woman rolled her eyes at the ceiling.
Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry’s.
“How are you?” he asked, looking at Harry closely.
“F-fine …”
Harry could hardly believe this was real. He’d hoped for a response, but he hadn’t expected that they’d come get him that night. It was a little unbelievable.
Lupin introduced Harry to his ‘honor guard. All he knew was that he was finally leaving. He wouldn’t have to deal with the Dursley’s anymore, and maybe he could finally get some answers about the odd symbol on his right wrist.
When told to, Harry rushed upstairs, throwing things in his trunk. Tonks being a metamorphmagus was surprising enough, but the fact that he couldn’t learn to be one was a disappointment, which he tried to conceal as he turned back to finish packing.
What’s that?” she asked, coming closer. Glancing back at her, he noticed her eyes on Harry’s outstretched hand.
Frowning, Harry glanced down, freezing when he saw the tattoo on his wrist. “Just a tattoo,” he replied, tugging his shirt back down to cover it.
“It looks neat,” she said. “Where’d you get it?”
“… Don’t remember,” he said. “Wasn’t really paying attention. Guess I just wanted something to take my mind off things.” He gave her a small smile.
Tonks nodded. “Understandable, Harry,” she said, returning the smile, then looked around. “You know … this would go quicker if I pack! ” Tonks cried the last word and waved her wand.
At once, everything of Harry’s flew from the floor and shot towards Harry’s trunk.
~*~*~*~
Grimmauld Place was interesting, if dark and gloomy. At least, that’s what he thought until Tonks tripped, again, running into a side table in the process and knocking over a vase. Immediately, a curtain up the stairs whipped back and a portrait began shrieking at everyone. Harry grimaced.
Sirius ran into the entryway and up the stairs to grab hold of the curtain and try to cover the portrait once more. After only a moment, Harry hurried to help. His sleeve slipped down, but he paid it no mind, shifting in front of the portrait to get a better angle on it.
Abruptly, the shrieking ceased, and the curtain was much easier to close. Glancing up, Harry’s eyes met the woman’s, and what he saw sent a shiver down his spine. It was undisguised glee, and her eyes were on his wrist. The wrist with the green tattoo.
Harry jerked back, allowing Sirius to finish closing it as he pulled his sleeve down. The woman’s eyes never left Harry.
“Sorry about that, Harry,” Sirius grinned, turning to face him. “My mother doesn’t like all these halfbloods and muggleborns invading her home. All the more reason to do it, I wager.”
“That’s your mother?” Harry asked, eyebrows raising to his hairline.
“Unfortunately. Not that she was much of one.” Sirius sent a glare at the closed curtain. “Thanks for the help, Harry. She’s not usually that easy to shut up.”
“Not a problem,” Harry murmured, eyes returning to the covered painting once more.
“Don’t worry about her,” Sirius said, throwing an arm over his shoulders and directing down the stairs. “She really only comes out if someone makes a lot of noise. Keep quiet and she’ll stay covered.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” Harry assured him, even as he resisted the urge to rub his wrist. The last thing he wanted to do was direct attention to it right now. Especially in light of the painting's reaction to it. Everything he’d heard about Sirius’ family suggested that anything she knew, or wanted, was probably not a good thing.
~*~*~*~
Saturday, August 10
Harry had spent the last eight days in the library as much as he could. Between Mrs. Weasley’s demand that they clean out the place, and Ron wanting all his spare time, Harry wasn’t able to get as much time there as he wanted. He certainly hadn’t made much progress.
He couldn’t guarantee the library would have anything he needed, but with Mrs. Black’s reaction to the mark, he hoped there was something. He had to know what it was, and what it meant.
“Harry?”
He jerked upright, staring at the doorway with wide eyes as Hermione frowned at him. She wore her bathrobe held tight around her as she squinted at him through sleepy eyes.
“Harry, what are you doing in here?”
“Just reading.”
Her brow furrowed. “Harry, everything in here is dark .”
“I know,” he said. “I just … I’m hoping to maybe figure out what they’re planning?” He cringed even as he said it, knowing his friend wasn’t going to buy it for a second.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, proving him correct. “By reading old books?”
Harry shrugged, shoving the book away. “It’s better than doing nothing.”
Hermione crossed to the table, sitting across from him. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded.
“Then what are you doing down here in the middle of the night?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Is it You-Know-Who?”
Harry shook his head. “No.”
He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew it had nothing to do with the dark lord. For some reason, the last week had swung between him being exhausted and wanting to sleep all day, and being unable to even doze.
She hesitated, staring at him with sympathy. “Is it Cedric?”
“Hermione, I’m fine.” Cedric wasn’t the reason he wasn’t sleeping. Harry never avoided his nightmares.
She didn’t look convinced. Harry rose.
“I’m going to bed now, alright?”
“You can talk to me, Harry.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
When it became obvious she wasn’t going to join him, Harry left the library. Hermione would probably know where to look, or how to make the search easier, but until he knew what the mark was, and what it meant, he refused to drag her into it.
“How serious is it?”
Harry paused just outside the door, recognizing Dumbledore’s voice, however faint. He turned towards the dining room, wondering if the headmaster might be able to help him, assuming the man would even glance at him, that was.
Leaving the library behind, Harry edged down the hall, making sure to keep his steps quiet, so as to not alert anyone to his presence.
“It’s bad.”
Harry froze in his tracks as Snape’s voice filtered out of the room.
“I didn’t even know he had one until he told me yesterday.”
“Who are they?” Dumbledore asked.
Who? Harry wondered, pressing against the wall just outside the dining room. The only thing he could think that they might be talking about was something in regards to Voldemort. But why in the middle of the night? And why not with the rest of the Order?
“Nobody knows,” Snape answered. “He’s keeping quiet until he has them all.”
“That’s disturbing,” Dumbledore agreed. “I’ll look into whether anyone has been reported missing.”
Harry heard the library door open again. He ducked down, still pressing himself against the wall to make himself as invisible as possible. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to catch him eavesdropping on the professors. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to even hesitate. She just closed the door and turned up the hall, continuing upstairs.
When her footsteps finally faded, Harry let out a slow breath, making sure no noise left his lips. If she’d found him here, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Anything else?” Dumbledore asked as Harry returned his attention to the dining room conversation.
“I’m to keep an eye out for students with these marks when classes begin.”
Silence greeted the statement, and Harry wondered what Snape had just shown the headmaster.
“Did he say how you were to find them?” Dumbledore asked.
“It will be on the underside of their right wrist.”
Harry paled, collapsing against the wall. Distantly, he was glad he was already kneeling, as it decreased the amount of noise he generated. Turning his wrist over, he could still see the top of the upside down triangle peeking out of the top of his sleeve. What were the chances that he’d get a mark on his wrist at the same time Voldemort was looking for people with marks on their wrists?
Astronomical, he suspected. So, chances were, this was what Voldemort was looking for.
If anyone found out, Voldemort would know. It was unavoidable, and nothing Voldemort planned was good for him. So, he’d have to hide the mark. Because, if the dark lord ever learned he was one of the marked, he would stop at nothing to collect him.
And with my luck, we’re all supposed to be ritually sacrificed to ensure his victory, or something.
“There is still hope,” Snape said, seeming reluctant to do so.
“And what’s that?”
“I believe there’s a time limit for when he can find them.”
“How certain are you?” Dumbledore asked.
“As I can be,” Snape answered. “There’s an urgency to his search that wouldn’t be there otherwise. The dark lord is a patient man, Albus, certain circumstances notwithstanding.”
“I’m quite aware of that,” Dumbledore sighed. “We’ll just have to keep an eye out for them. If we can find them, we can keep them away from Voldemort.”
Still shaking, Harry hurried away from the dining room before either man could exit and discover him. He’d just gotten to the top of the stairs when he heard both men approach the entrance hall, Dumbledore talking cheerfully, and Snape grunting in reply.
He breathed a sigh of relief at being uncaught, and returned to his room.
Inside, Ron snored away, oblivious to the fact that Harry’s whole world had shifted in seconds. Slipping into bed, he pulled back his sleeve, staring at his wrist. There was only dim light glowing through the window, but it was enough to see the upside down triangle outlined on his wrist. A horizontal line sectioned off the tip from the rest of the triangle.
Just have to hide it. And ignore it.
~*~*~*~
Monday, August 12
His sister had just turned 10, and for the last year, he and his parents had known she was a witch. Her first (noticed) case of accidental magic had happened in the midst of a fit, when everything in the room had levitated around her. Their parents (after punishing her for throwing a fit in the first place) were as proud of her as they had been when they first learned Nicolas was a wizard.
Unfortunately, his sister was having a more difficult time then he’d had hiding what made her different. Amanda was a very emotional person (he supposed it came with being a girl), and accidental magic responded to emotion.
Amanda had another year to go before she could go to Hogwarts and be accepted for who - and what - she was. Unfortunately, a year was a long time when surrounded by people who shoved her away whenever she came near, and its strain was taking its toll on her.
All these thoughts ran through his mind as he watched - too far to do any good - as a boy pulled his sister off the swings and pushed her to the ground. He couldn’t hear what was said, but Amanda hunched in on herself, and Nicolas saw red.
His anger broke whatever had kept him locked in place, and he stormed toward them. Before he’d gotten more than three steps, a fire erupted between Amanda and the bully.
The kid screamed, leaping away, and even Amanda scrambled away. Thankfully, the dirt under the swings wasn’t flammable, so it quickly died before Nicolas got to her.
“You’re a freak!” the bully yelled, still several feet away as Nicolas finally reached his sister.
“Are you okay?” he asked, helping her to her feet.
She nodded, the action small, even as she took the offered help.
“She started a fire!”
Nicolas glared at the kid. “People can’t just start fires like that, Billy,” he lied.
Magic, even accidental magic, could, and did start fires. Thankfully, Amanda’s were small, meant to startle rather than harm.
“It’s not the first time she’s done it, either!”
Nicolas knew that too. In the last month, three different fires had appeared to protect her from the bullies which tormented her every minute outside.
“Well, they weren’t her fault,” Nicolas told him, knowing that to be true. If he, and the others, would leave Amanda alone, her magic wouldn’t need to protect her.
“You saw it!”
Nicolas pulled away from his sister, storming towards the kid. He might not be very tall yet, but he still had several inches - maybe even a foot - on the bully. He towered over the kid, glaring down at him.
“What I saw,” he countered, “was you dragging my sister from the swing rather than waiting your turn. I should tell your mother, Billy.”
“Go ahead,” Billy shot back. “Dad will give me ice cream for getting her off the playground.”
“I didn’t say anything about your father,” Nicolas said, though the knowledge chilled him.
Mr. and Mrs. Cranston had been friends with his parents his whole life. Billy could be lying, but he seemed too confident in his father for that. But, that meant Mr. Cranston was condoning the bullying of his friends’ daughter. Why?
“Mom won’t do nothing either,” Billy said. This time, there was uncertainty in his eyes, the barest shake in his voice. Mrs. Cranston would care.
“Well, let’s find out,” Nicolas said. Reaching forward, he grabbed Billy by the arm and marched him toward the playground entrance. The younger boy protested the whole way, struggling against Nicolas and yelling.
None of the other kids came to his rescue, and soon enough, Nicolas dragged him all the way home. Stopping on the doorstep, Nicolas knocked. He waited politely until Mrs. Cranston answered the door - her husband was still at work.
“Nicolas Summerby,” Mrs. Cranston said. “What a pleasure to see you.”
Nicolas smiled, though it was strained. “You as well, Mrs. Cranston. Unfortunately, I don’t have good news.”
She blinked, a frown appearing on her lips as she noticed Billy sulking beside him.
“What did he do now?”
“He decided he didn’t have to wait his turn on the swings,” Nicolas said. “He dragged Amanda off them.
“Billy! Why on earth would you do that?”
“We don’t want her there!” Billy exclaimed. “She does freaky things. She’s not normal!”
“William Cranston, I’ve raised you better than that!” she stepped away from the door, pointing deeper into the house. “Go to your room and stay there till I come get you.”
“But-”
“Now!”
Nicolas finally released Billy, who slunk inside. Mrs. Cranston shook her head, turning back to him.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” she said.
Nicolas hesitated, wondering whether he should say anything, or leave it alone. Finally, the urge to protect his sister was stronger than his desire to stay uninvolved with matters that didn’t concern him.
“Mrs. Cranston, I’m sure it was a lie, but Billy said Mr. Cranston would buy him ice cream for bullying Amanda.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Oh, he did, did he? Well, we’ll see about that. Give my best to your mother, and let her know Billy and I will be by tomorrow, would you?”
Nicolas nodded, stepping backward off the porch.
Amanda was waiting at the gate. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did,” he argued. “No one gets to hurt my little sister and get away with it.”
That earned him a smile, but it faded fast. “He’ll just do it later. So will the others.”
“So, we’ll see if we can get it under control.”
“How?”
Nicolas sighed, pulling her closer. “We’ll figure something out. Remember, in a year, you’ll be at Hogwarts too, and you won’t have to deal with this.”
There were other kinds of bullying, of course. Hogwarts wasn’t perfect, but it would get her away from these muggles who didn’t understand her, or what was happening with her.
“I want to be a Hufflepuff too,” Amanda said.
Nicolas smiled. “It is the best house,” he agreed.
~*~*~*~
Monday, August 19
Both teens stood before him, visibly excited in their own ways. Draco practically vibrated in place, while Luna’s smile kept peeking out through her normally calm expression
“You will hide your marks,” he told them.
He didn’t need anyone recognizing what they were and trying to detain them. Or, worse, take them out of the equation, which would imbalance the elements and backlash across him and the others.
Both nodded once, no less excited than when he’d first summoned them.
“You will tell no one what you are, where you spent your holidays, or what you’ve learned.”
Again, they nodded.
Talking about their summer was another certain way to find them out, not to mention expose the fact that Voldemort had resurrected. Currently, the country was content to call Potter a lying, crazy, attention-seeking brat, and he wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.
Luna wouldn’t talk about it anyway - or be believed if she did - but he well remembered the bragging that went on in the Slytherin common room. All it would take was a single sentence, and the whole school would know where one Draco Malfoy had spent his holidays.
Better to be cautious.
“Nor are you to tell the other hosts what’s happening, or who their master is.”
Luna nodded. Draco frowned.
“But, how will we convince them to come here?”
“They wouldn’t come if they knew anyway,” Luna said. “No one even believes that the dark lord is back, but if they did, everyone would be too afraid to listen.”
“Telling them would also put you at risk,” Voldemort said. “Convince them to come here during the Christmas holidays so I can explain everything.”
Finally, Draco nodded.
That particular order would also prevent Luna from warning either of the others
“You are not, under any circumstances, to use your element.”
That got the expected protest from both teenagers. After a month of constant exposure, cutting them off would be a particular kind of torture, but, it would willingly bring them back as soon as the next holidays started, and that was all he needed.
“I will not risk anyone seeing you,” he told them. “Your safety is important. If you cannot accept that, I will not send you to Hogwarts.”
“You need us to find the others,” Luna argued.
“There are other ways to infiltrate Hogwarts if I need to.”
That quieted her.
“I want to find them for you,” Draco announced.
Voldemort allowed a smile - a feat becoming easier each time he attempted it. At least now, the teens didn’t cringe whenever they saw it. He used to have a very pleasant smile. Years ago.
“Then, you will not touch your element.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Luna finally nodded, her excitement fading.
“Finally, I expect you to be diligent in your assignment, and your studies, but,” he paused a moment so he could force himself to say the next part in full sincerity. “I also expect you to enjoy yourselves.”
Regardless of the results of their host hunt, this would be their final year at Hogwarts. He and his death eaters would teach them everything they’d need to know, and it was less dangerous for them.
Besides, by next summer, their new accommodations would be ready for them all.
Both seemed surprised by his statement, but nodded nonetheless.
“Lucius will be here shortly. Are you both ready?”
“Yes, my lord,” Draco said, waving a hand behind him towards the entryway.
Voldemort’s eyes cut to Luna.
She nodded. “I’ve been packed since yesterday, Lord Voldemort. Father and I are going to the country for a week before we have to buy my school supplies.”
“I hope you enjoy yourself.”
Luna gave that little smile he’d become so familiar with. The one that said she knew everything going through his head, but choosing not to comment on it.
“I will.”
“And you as well, Draco.”
The blond beamed. “I will, Lord Voldemort.”
Satisfied that his duty was done, he waved them away. Eagerly, their faded excitement returning at their dismissal, they hurried from the room to begin their vacation.
“Draco.”
The blond paused, glancing back.
“Let Lucius know I don’t need to see him today.”
“I will.”