The Black of Night

Chapter 2- The Black of Night

The weekend approached so fast that Harry wondered if he had been thrown into some kind of time warp. Every time Harry passed Sara in the corridors, she would smile and wave at him. During classes she would give him flirtive glances, which would make Harry blush and grin. Between classes Sara would seek him out to talk to him, to compare class notes or recent tests. The night before the Hogsmead trip, Harry was sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione and Ron. Ron sat cross-legged on the floor, playing wizards chess. Hermione was at the table finishing her Transfiguration homework. And Harry was lounging in a chair by the fireplace, feeling at the same time both immensely happy and terribly nervous. The room was silent, except for the scratching of Hermione's quill and the clicking of Ron's pieces on the chessboard. There was also an occasional "Blimey, that was a good move" or "Oh, you bloody little rook" coming from Ron's side of the room.

Rolling up her parchment and storing her things back in her bag, Hermione sat back with a sigh of relief. "So," she said, eyeing Harry, "are you excited for tomorrow?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Since when were you interested?"

Hermione shrugged. "I've been...doing a bit of research," she said casually.

"And...?" Harry asked, a queasy feeling in his stomach. He was afraid to know what Hermione had been up to.

"Have you been doing your Care for Magical Creatures homework?" Hermione asked unexpectantly.

"No," Harry replied, puzzled what homework had to do with the Hogsmead trip.

"Well..." Hermione paused, searching for the right words, "be careful. I'm not sure about this Sara girl. Did you know her last name was Vonte? Well, I looked it up, and it could just be a coincidence..." she stopped talking, lost in thought.

Harry was suddenly uneasy. What did Hermione know that Harry didn't? He opened his mouth to ask, but then shut it again. If Hermione had any crazy ideas, he wanted her to keep them to herself. He just wanted to have a good time tomorrow with Sara. "Relax, Hermione. Nothing's gonna happen. Don't get any crazy notions, ok?"

Frowning, Hermione looked at him. "If you don't want my advice, then fine. Just don't say I didn't tell you so." She stood up and stormed off to the girl's dormitories.

Harry stared after her, lost for words. She didn't usually get so upset when Harry asked her to butt out of his business. She shouldn't have been trying to ruin my weekend, Harry reasoned to himself. With a sigh, he stood up, and told Ron he was going to bed. Ron nodded, still concentrating on his chess game. Harry trudged up the stairs, then into his room that he shared with several other boys. He tossed his glasses onto his bedside table, yanked the curtains around to shield out the world, and fell into his bed, without bothering to pull the sheets back. He closed his eyes, he was so tired...

The sunlight streaming in the window was incredible bright. Squinting, Harry sat up and stretched. He had this vague memory of having another dream, but it was all fuzzy. Wait, the images were getting clearer...All of a sudden his scar seemed to split open, burning as if it were on fire. Harry gasped in pain and clutched his forehead. His head was being torn apart, being sliced with a flaming knife. It was so intense that Harry couldn't scream; all he could do was writhe silently in agony. Slowly, gradually, the pain subsided, till it was only a dull throbbing. Harry released his hands, which were shaking violently. Despite the icy shivers that ran up and down his spine, Harry was covered in sweat. He tried to remember the dream again, but just as images began to appear in Harry's mind, a fresh shot of pain ran through his scar. Harry waited until his forehead had cooled, then threw the sheets back. He tentatively stepped out of bed, put his glasses on, got dressed, and headed downstairs. His legs were so wobbly that he had to grab hold of the stair rail to keep from collapsing and falling down the several flights of stairs. Still feeling weak, he made his way into the Great Hall, and slide onto the bench next to Ron.

"Blimey!" exclaimed Ron, "Harry! You're so pale! What's wrong?"

"My scar," replied Harry, "it hurt again this morning. Real bad. I dunno what it could mean."

Ron looked skeptical. "Well, it hurts a lot these days, doesn't it? I mean, it's supposed to hurt every now and then, right?"

Harry shook his head, but stopped abruptly, because red and green dots swam across his eyes every time he moved his head too fast. "I don't know. I suppose it's normal. But this time it hurt so much more, that I think something's happened. Or going to happen. I don't know. I just don't know. Hey, where's Hermione?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Haven't seen her yet, but later we're going to the Three Broomsticks, if you want to meet up."

Thinking of the pub made Harry's stomach growl fiercely. He scooped himself some porridge, and began to slurp it hungrily. He licked the bowl clean, dropped it with a clatter on the table, and reached for a basket full of fruit. Harry grabbed a pear, and sank his teeth into it, relishing the sweet juices that dribbled down his chin. He finished the pear, and tossed the core into the empty bowl. Harry sat back, refreshed and full. Ron hadn't moved since Harry began to feast, and was still staring at Harry with an amused expression.

"Harry, I don't think I've ever seen you so hungry in my life," he said, grinning.

Harry smiled. He felt so good at the moment that he forgot all about his scar and his worries, and could only think of the Hogsmead trip, with Sara. His smile broadened.

Saying goodbye to Ron, Harry jumped up and left the Great Hall. He was going to meet Sara in Hogsmead, so he didn't see any point in wasting time. Since she wasn't at the Great Hall, Harry figured she had already made her way down there.

Skipping along the path, Harry began to hum a tune. The sun was warm on the back of his neck, and a cool crisp breeze was blowing, signaling the coming of fall. By the time Harry entered Hogsmead, he was in such a good mood that he didn't think anything could ruin it.

He strolled by some of the shops, and spied Sara inside the joke shop. They walked side by side together, and window-shopped. They chatted while they strolled, about nothing in particular. When they passed the last shop, Harry figured they start heading back to Hogwarts.

"Before we go back, I've got a surprise you," Sara said mysteriously, batting her thick dark eyelashes. Harry froze, remembering the fiasco with Cho Chang the year before.

"Wha-what is it?" Harry asked, gulping.

"I can't tell you, silly, or else it wouldn't be a surprise!" she giggled. She began to skip down the sidewalk, her glossy black hair bouncing, a necklace swinging with her step.

Skipping, she led him up a familiar dirt path, to an old abandoned house that Harry knew all too well. The Shrieking Shack. The paint on the sides of the house was peeling, and half the shutters had rotted off. Sara turned to him. "They say this house is haunted!" she said excitedly. "C'mon, let's go check it out!"

Before Harry could stop her, Sara was sauntering the path to the old door, and sprinting up the porch steps. She fumbled with the rusted brass doorknob, but it was locked.

"Oh well," Harry said, actually feeling relieved. Instead, though, Sara walked around the corner of the house. Curious, Harry followed, to find Sara starting to climb through a broken window.

"Let's go, Harry, it'll be fun. You're not chicken, are you?" She teased playfully. She disappeared inside the house, and Harry reluctantly followed. He carefully stepped through the window into the room, wary of the broken glass shards scattered on the floor. His eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, he could make out Sara, tiptoeing across the room, observing the walls and old furniture.

"They say that ghosts used to wail and moan here," she whispered, smiling at Harry, who gave an involuntary shudder. "But I don't see any ghosts. This place seems totally deserted. But let's have a look around for the heck of it." Grabbing Harry's hand, she dragged him into the hallway, then started for the stairs that led to the upper story.

"Umm, hey, how about while you check the upstairs, I'll check the downstairs rooms, and you can call for me if you find anything," Harry said quickly, pulling his arm out of Sara's grasp.

She frowned, but then said, "Ok. I'll just poke around real quick, for anything interesting, while you look down here. I'll be right back before you know it." Sara took the stairs two at a time, which creaked dangerously beneath her. Harry turned and walked down the hallway into another room. This room was just as dusty and empty as the rest of the house, but Harry strolled in anyway, thinking to himself. He shouldn't have followed Sara here. Although he knew perfectly well that the Shrieking Shack wasn't haunted, it still spooked him a bit.

He remembered how almost four years ago, he had met his godfather, Sirius Black, in the bedroom above him. Without warning, memories of Sirius surged forward in Harry's mind, and Harry struggled to push them back. He saw memories flash before his eyes: Sirius Black, pale and thin, with long matted black hair- a large black dog, bounding across Platform 9 ¾ after the Hogwarts Express, barking goodbye to Harry- Sirius, thrown backwards through the arch, a look of pure shock and surprise on his face before he disappered forever. Harry fought the tears, but they streamed down his cheeks.

Oh stop it, he scolded himself. What would Sara think if she found you down here crying? For goodness sakes, act like a man. Suddenly, Harry heard the creaking of stairs. Oh, shit! You can't let her see you like this! Harry thought. He would be able to wipe the tears away, but his eyes would still be red. Searching desperately around, Harry spied a closet in the corner of the room. He ran towards it, and quickly stepped inside, hastily shutting the closet door. He inhaled, and immediately the mustiness of the closet choked him. Fighting the need to cough, he covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to make a sound. It was pitch black inside the closet, and Harry was stepping on something squishy.

"Harry?" Sara called in the hallway. Harry heard footsteps, getting closer. They stopped outside the room. "Harry?" Sara called again. "Are you in here?"

In desperate need of air, Harry was about to fling open the door, and admit that he was crying. But right before he could do so, there was another voice, deep and husky.

"Where is he?" a man hissed.

"I dunno. He was here a minute ago," replied Sara.

"You let him get away?" the man's voice rised angrily.

"Hey, no worries. He's bound to return to Hogwarts. We'll get him later," Sara reassured.

"Ha! You don't know what would happen to you if you failed, do you? The Dark Lord won't tolerate another mishap. If you don't get Harry Potter for him, for that is why he hired you, you won't be feeling so relaxed after he finishes with you." The man continued to reproach Sara, but they were moving farther down the hall, and out of Harry's earshot. A door slammed, and the house was silent.

Hoping that the two were gone, Harry pushed open the closet door and stumbled into the room, gasping for fresh air. He peered cautiously into the hallway. Deserted. Harry walked to the front door, which had been left open. There was no sign of Sara or the strange man.

Harry began to run down the hill towards Hogsmead, refusing to glance back at the dilapidated shack. He sprinted all the way to the Three Broomsticks, where Harry knew Ron and Hermione would be. He burst in the door, panting. He spotted them at a table in the corner, and ignoring the people staring at him like he was a madman, stumbled over towards his friends. Harry collapsed in a chair next to Hermione, clutching at a sidestitch in his ribs.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, "What happened?"

"Yea," said Ron, "You look like you just ran a race, or got hit by a truck, or something." When Harry had caught his breath, he told them what had happened.

"Whoa," muttered Ron. But Hermione didn't look surprised at all.

"I told you," she said matter-of-factly. "I told you, but did you listen? No, don't listen to Hermione's advice because all those hours she spends in the library are spent daydreaming about Quidditch!"

"Hermione, come on," Harry pleaded. "Please, 'Mione, will you tell us what you know?"

Hermione sniffed, but softened her scowl. "Very well," she said reluctantly. "You know how I said that Sara was a Vonte? Well, I researched the family name, and I discovered that the Vonte family was very closely associated with, with V-, with..." she took a deep breath, "with Voldemort," she said with tremendous effort. Ron winced, but Hermione continued. "They were a very dark family, and no one knew much about them. Death Eaters, the bunch of them. There's no record of them after Voldemort's downfall. That's why I'm so suspicious of Sara. If her family was in any way connected to Voldemort, then why send her here, where Dumbledore is?"

Harry was astonished by Hermione's brilliance.

"So that bloke must've been a Death Eater, then?" Ron asked.

Hermione scratched her chin. "Perhaps..." she mused. "Perhaps, she was sent to Hogwarts to get Harry."

Ron's jaw dropped. "Why, that bloody little scoundrel!" he snarled. "I can't believe her! Playing Harry all along just to wrap him up, stick a bow on his head, and hand him over to You-Know-Who! Why I oughta..." he growled through gritted teeth, balling his fists and slamming them on the table.

"Ron! We should keep this to ourselves, and not tell anyone. We can't be sure of anything. If we were to tell anyone, it should be Dumbledore. Oh, Harry, by the way, do you recall Sara ever wearing a necklace?"

Puzzled by Hermione's question, Harry tried to remember. "Ye-es, I think she did. Some sort of mini glass bottle, I think. I never really noticed it, though. Why?"

"Because," Hermione whispered, her face turned white and fear-stricken, "I think the situation has just taken a turn for the worst."