The Starred Covenant

Chapter Two

Smoke and Fire

"Often the test of courage is not to die but to live."

-Conte Vittorio Alfieri

It was a beautiful July day in Little Whinging, Surrey. The birds chirped, the sky was blue, and the brilliant morning sun shone through the windows of the small house at Number Four Privet Drive.

Upstairs, in a small bedroom filled with old, unwanted and broken toys, Harry Potter opened his eyes, and groaned.

Morning.

Wonderful.

Another sleepless night. Another exhaustion filled day.

Tears threatened to fill his eyes. He fought them off, and reached for his glasses, accidentally knocking off the busted alarm clock that rested on the crooked nightstand near his bed. Harry winced as he heard it crash to the ground, waiting for the explosion from the Dursleys.

Silence.

It was, Harry supposed, the kindest thing the Dursleys had ever done for him, however unintentionally the gift was given. They had been this way since Remus, Mad-Eye and Tonks had accosted them at the train station at the beginning of the summer. Were it not for the fact that his godfather had just died, he probably would find himself enjoying the summer holidays.

As it were, the weeks since the Department of Mysteries had been a sort of living Hell for Harry. Not one night had passed where he hadn't seen Sirius falling through that veil. Not one day had passed where he had heard a dog's bark or something else that reminded him of his godfather. Every passing moment was worse than the last, because Sirius had died to rescue him. And now he was gone. No matter what anyone told him, no matter what his own mind told him to the contrary, this was Harry's fault.

He was responsible for the death of his godfather.

The tears came again. Harry was used to their company by now, and let them flow freely.

The worst part of this whole ordeal was that it wasn't just Sirius who'd made a sacrifice on his behalf that night. He could remember well his friends falling one by one to the Death Eaters, the horror he felt as he realized why they were fighting: for him. He could still see Ginny limping from her broken ankle. A seriously addled Ron incurring the wrath of the brains, their tentacles cutting into his flesh. Luna flying through the air. Neville, broken nose and all, still trying to curse the Death Eaters that threatened their lives. And worst of all, Hermione. One moment she was standing there, the next, she was silent on the ground. He shuddered as he remembered the utter terror he had that she might be dead. That he, Harry, had led her to her doom, when she had tried so hard to convince him that it was a trap. The giant wave of relief he felt when Neville found her pulse.

It wasn't just his friends that suffered; it was the Order too. They had ridden in like the cavalry, blasting Death Eaters left and right with spell after spell. But the Death Eaters fought back. He remembered seeing Moody's eye rolling across the floor. Tonks falling down the steps. Sirius...

No. Too many memories. He put up the familiar wall in his mind, between his feelings and his thoughts. At least when he was awake he could think of other things. Like the constant updates he'd been getting from Ron and Hermione, and the increasingly bleak news he got from the Daily Prophet. Why, just yesterday Fudge had announced plans to go to Azkaban and interrogate the Death Eaters captured in the Department of Mysteries. The man is signing his own death certificate, he is, thought Harry, who shook his head. Why didn't the man listen to Dumbledore and remove the Dementors? The rest of his speech suggested he still had some hint of common sense. Well, I guess he'll realize we're right soon enough. Voldemort won't keep them in there forever. Harry shook his head again. "You need sleep, mate. You're going to end up like bloody Snape soon, all these dreary thoughts about death and such." He smiled a bit, but it was a weary, sad smile. Sirius, see what you've done to me? I'm a wreck. I can't sleep, I can barely eat, all I get when I try to smile is this half-assed grimace! I need you. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a father. I'm in this bloody war, I don't know what I'm supposed to do! You weren't supposed to leave me like this! You were supposed to be at graduation, at my wedding. How are my kids going to grow with no grandparent to spoil them? How am I going to keep going on like this?

"Where are you when I need you the most?" Harry choked out, then lay back in bed, tears running down his face. Five minutes later, he fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

As Harry lay in bed mourning the loss of his godfather, Hedwig flew free of such cares. To her left, she noticed the tawny owl that delivered Harry's Daily Prophet to him. Hedwig also saw that that same owl was about a mile ahead of her. That was unacceptable. Hedwig was always on time. There was no chance that she would be shown up by some corporate tool. She flapped twice as hard, not noticing the small, balding man muttering to himself as he wandered up and down the streets of Little Whinging.

* * *

A voice was coming from his trunk.

"Harry...Harry..."

Harry slowly rose from his bed, moving warily toward the trunk.

"Harry...why did you break my mirror, Harry?"

He felt his blood run cold, yet his heart filled with a terrible hope. "Sirius?"

"Come closer, Harry..."

Harry moved closer to the trunk. "Snuffles...Sirius, sorry...sorry about breaking the mirror...but how...aren't you dead? Lupin said..."

"I am."

Harry started. "Then...how..."

"That doesn't matter! Listen to me Harry. I don't have much time. Things...dark things are on the horizon...things that you cannot imagine..."

"What..."

"You will see...there will be others to help you...I cannot see them...without them, though, you will fail...you will die..."

"Sirius...Sirius...I need you...without you...I'm going insane, Sirius!"

"No. You're not. You are grieving, you are guilty. My death was not your fault, Harry. But if you allow your guilt to take hold...your death will be my fault."

"Sirius..."

"Harry, I love you, as any father would a son. But I don't have much time. I have given my warning. He is calling me back."

"Back to where?" Harry asked, though he felt he knew the answer already.

"To the land of the dead. One last time."

"You can't...you can't come back?"

"No. This is it. My last words to my godson. Now, please, Harry. Let me see you one last time..."

"Sirius...I won't forget this...I wont forget you..."

"I know you won't forget me...but this...just open the trunk, Harry."

Harry did, and gazed into the wasted face of his godfather for the final time before their inevitable meeting at the end of things. There are tears running down his face. Sirius smiled a tired, sad smile...and turned away...leaving behind a blinding flash...and his weeping godson who would wake with a vague memory of shattered glass...and shattered memories.

* * *

Harry awoke to a tapping noise at his window. Wiping the fresh tears he had shed from his eyes, (Did I dream?, he thought absently) he turned and saw the tawny Daily Prophet owl rapping its beak on his window, and Hedwig sitting practically on his shoulder.

The Daily Prophet owl flew over to his side. Harry tossed ten Knuts in the owl's pouch (the Prophet had raised its prices this past summer), then sent the owl on its way. He pulled the letter off Hedwig's leg and absent-mindedly stroked her feathers as he opened the paper. He nearly fell off the bed in shock as he read the headline.

CHAOS REIGNS AS DEMENTORS ABANDON AZKABAN

MINISTER OF MAGIC FEARED DEAD OR WORSE, DEATH EATERS ESCAPE

Harry took his hand from Hedwig's back as he spread out the paper on his bed. This was worse than he could have imagined. This would definitely explain the big wave of happiness I felt last night, he thought darkly. They certainly weren't my thoughts. I haven't felt happy in months. He read on, growing more and more distressed as the article went on. The story went on into the next pages, but Harry didn't need to read anymore. He knew what it meant. Voldemort had his minions back. It was only a matter of time before the atmosphere in the country switched from gloomily quiet to dangerously chaotic.

He sighed and rubbed his temples, wondering why the Dursleys hadn't called him to breakfast yet, until he realized that they were visiting Aunt Marge for the day and had left him to fend for himself. Ah, well. There was always Mrs. Figg.

He shuddered. As grateful to her as he was for watching over him this summer, he still couldn't stand the stench of cats at her home. He grabbed the letter Hedwig had brought him, unfurling it as she watched expectantly from her cage.

Dear Harry,

I'm sure you've probably already read the news in the Daily Prophet, but there's more to the story than the Ministry wanted reported. I know you're tired of hearing this, but I can't write it down, though those who would intercept it know all the necessary details anyway. Suffice to say there was more...evidence left behind at the scene than was widely reported. I'll let you know more when I see you next.

And I know you're hurting right now. We all are. If you need anything, let us know. We...I know what you're going through. I know you don't want to hear that. But don't keep yourself all bottled up. He...Sirius wouldn't want that.

And don't get too comfortable with your aunt and uncle. Dumbledore wants you out by the end of the week.

Sincerely,

Remus. J. Lupin

Harry rolled the parchment up, more confused and aggravated than ever. This summer had been about the same as last summer, as far as concrete information went. He understood, at some level, why they were keeping him in the dark on certain topics, but it still kind of stung that he was forced to glean information from between the lines of the Daily Prophet.

But where did Lupin get off telling him how he felt? How could he possibly understand what he'd gone through? No one could possibly know what it was like, living with that damned prophecy hanging over their head. And how the hell did Lupin know what Sirius would have wanted? And why did it matter? Sirius was gone. His opinion didn't matter anymore. And Dumbledore wanted him out of there by the end of the week?

As far as Harry was concerned, Dumbledore could shove all his morals and plans in a place darker than the Chamber of Secrets.

Not that he wouldn't mind leaving this poor excuse for a hellhole. He was surprised the Dursleys even made enough of an effort to let them know they were leaving for the day. He guessed that they were worried he'd corrupt their precious big screen TV. "I've worked fifteen years just so I could have something to show the neighbors and so help me God, boy, if I come home and there is so much as a smudge on the remote..."

He sighed, and got up out of his bed. The Order would be expecting a reply. Plus, he needed to get in touch with Hermione. He was fairly sure that Ron was with the Order at Grimmauld Place, but he doubted Hermione was there as well. He wondered briefly what sort of information the Order was telling her. He imagined it was probably about the same he was, as owls could be intercepted on the way to and from her house just as they could on the way to the Dursleys.

His stomach rumbled. Food first, letters later, thought Harry, and he stood up and left the room, thanking whatever powers above that the Dursleys hadn't locked him in as they had last summer. Hedwig hooted contentedly as he walked past. He scowled. Of course she's content, he thought bitterly. She gets to leave every once in a while. Now I know why Sirius was so desperate to get out of Grimmauld Place last year...

All of a sudden, he wasn't quite so hungry.

Shoulders sagging, he walked back through the door to his room and sat down heavily at his...Dudley's old desk. If he couldn't bring himself to eat, he'd just have to write those letters after all.

He grasped a quill. Hermione first, he thought. Pulling a sheet of parchment to him, he began to write:

Dear Hermione,

I know I haven't been in touch with you much this summer. Sorry.

Listen, you've probably already seen it in the paper, and if...our friends...haven't told you by now or by some strange chance you haven't deduced it by now, there's more to this story than the Prophet's letting on. Just thought I'd give you a heads up.

Anyways how...how are you? I know you got hit by that curse pretty hard back in...June...and I was wondering how you were feeling. It's like a living hell here, but at least the Dursleys are leaving me alone, and Lupin tells me I'm supposed to be out of here by the end of the week. Of course, he heard that from Dumbledore, so I'm not holding my breath. But if I am there, when are you going to meet with the Order? I know you did last year. And it's...well, it's safer there. Write back soon.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

He dropped his quill in the ink well before rolling and sealing the parchment. Hedwig hooted expectantly from her cage. Harry glanced over at her and shook his head. "Not yet," he motioned to the other sheet of parchment he had just pulled to him. "Got one more to write. Rest up, girl." She hooted companionably and began to drink from her water dish. Smiling slightly, he turned to the second parchment and began his letter to the Order.

* * *

Wormtail winced as he walked past the Potter house. The Dark Lord was right, there were powerful wards up over the Potter house, so strong that he felt their presence from across the street and around the corner. He would have to move away from the house for him to complete his task.

Something shifted in his gut...something like...guilt?

No. There was no guilt. He served the Dark Lord. His guilt had died with Peter Pettigrew. He was Wormtail, now and forever.

He shook his head, dispelling the rest of his traitorous thoughts. He slid part of his right hand, his new beautiful, and powerful right hand. The Dark Lord had given it to him. For that he loved him.

And with it he would burn.

* * *

"There," Harry muttered. "Finished."

Hedwig fluttered over and thrust her leg out towards him.

"You sure you're up to this? You only just got back..."

An indignant hoot. Harry felt a grin flit across his face. "Okay, okay. But be careful, girl." He tied the letters to her leg. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to take a rest every now and then, would it?"

In response, she hopped up to his shoulder and nibbled his ear affectionately, before taking off into the bright summer sky.

He watched her fly away, and sighed. There went his company for the day. His stomach growled. He supposed it was lunchtime, but he had yet to replace the watch that he'd broken in fourth year, so there was no way of telling for sure. But he did suppose that he needed to eat something. How was he supposed to save the free world if he starved to death in his Aunt and Uncle's house? And he still had his friends...

Another pang of guilt. Friends he led into danger and almost death because of his own stupidity. He didn't deserve friends like that.

Oh, come off it Harry, you tried to make them stay behind, he thought. It's not like you held them at wand point or anything.

Right.

Time for lunch. This time, he actually made it to the kitchen, finding a small lunch prepared for him in the refrigerator with a small note attached to it. He groaned. It was just a sandwich and some leftover grapefruit squares from breakfast. He picked up the note, addressed, as usual, with a curt, almost angry greeting.

Boy,

We've left you lunch. Touch anything, and I don't care what those bloody abominations told us at the train station. I will make you pay.

"Oh, bollocks," he muttered. "I'm going to miss my soaps."

Grinning slightly, he took his meager lunch up to his room, and ate it in silence, waiting for Hedwig to return with his replies, knowing full well she wouldn't return until the morning. He briefly considered grabbing one of the defence books that he had knicked from the Room of Requirement last year, then decided his bed was much more comfortable. He hadn't slept much lately. He was tired. Exhausted, really. It felt as though twenty of Luna's crumple-horned snorkacks were each trying to pull his eyelids down by force. And so, having nothing better to do, Harry Potter succumbed to sleep for the second time that day.

* * *

In the sweltering summer heat, a hunched figure worked his way through the streets of Little Whinging. He walked through strangely empty roads, past shuttered homes, as if they could sense the dark presence that was always with him. He welcomed the silence of the night. It would make his assignment that much easier.

He hid in the shadows as the boy's relations drove up. Now, came the voice from his hand. Go now. It is time.

He nodded, and walked away, towards the local pub. The burning would begin there.

He smiled.

* * *

Harry heard the Dursleys enter the house, but didn't make the effort of greeting them. Instead, he turned over on his side, and tried to get back to sleep. However, sleep didn't want to take him just yet. He groaned. Even when they were trying to stay out of his way, they still managed to find ways to disturb him. Typical Dursley behavior.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Wha-?" He rolled over again, this time toward the window, and saw Hedwig tapping furiously on the glass, hooting frantically. He rushed over, threw up the window, and she fluttered in, holding out the message. He practically tore it from her leg, causing her to take a good size nip at his finger. "Sorry..." he muttered. "What now?"

Harry-

Gather your things. And watch your back. Privet Drive is not safe right now. We'll be there as soon as we can. More when we get there.

Remus

A chill ran up his spine. What was going on here? He grabbed his books and quills and tossed them hurriedly into his trunk, pausing only to grab his wand from inside. As he hurried over to Hedwig's cage, he heard his uncle's familiar bellow, "WHAT THE RUDDY HELL IS ALL THAT RACKET ABOUT?"

Harry had absolutely zero patience for his uncle's bull-headedness tonight. "I'm packing!"

"YOU---YOU CANNOT LEAVE! THOSE---THOSE ABOMINATIONS WILL COME HERE AND TURN US INTO---INTO TOADS!"

"That's not my problem. And they're coming anyway!"

Silence, then the expected explosion from Vernon: "I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS! WE HAVE HELD UP OUR END OF THE BARGAIN. HAVE YOU BEEN TELLING LIES, BOY?"

"No!"

"THEN WHY---"

"I---don't---KNOW!"

He dragged his stuff towards the window, wishing that Remus had told him how they were coming. He looked out the window, searching the sky hopefully for broomsticks.

And saw instead that Little Whinging had erupted into flames.