Harry Potter and the Blood of Triumph

Harry Potter and the Blood of Triumph

Chapter 1: Unexpected Visitors

It seemed to Harry as if the sky hadn't been clear all summer long. Not that he'd really even had any desire to look up and check. Since that day on Platform 9 ¾ of King's Cross Station, Harry hadn't had much desire to do anything at all. It wasn't until Uncle Vernon had slammed Harry's bedroom door shut and he was finally alone, really truly alone, that the enormity of what had happened during the final week of the school year had hit him. Since that moment, he'd spoken only four real words.

"Go away!" he had finally snapped at Hedwig during the last of her many attempts at cheering him up. At that she had bristled, hooted in a very offended way and flown out the window, well over a fortnight ago. And one night in the dark he had said his Godfather's name.

"Sirius," He'd whispered urgently into the silent night, his eyes closed tightly. For a week before he had saved up all his hope, wishing, praying that if he could put enough of it behind the name, somehow all his hope and desire and heartache would call forth his Godfather, as a happy memory does with a Patronus, and when he opened his eyes Sirius would be standing before him with his mischievous smile. He didn't care that he would be expelled for doing magic outside of school; He would gladly give up life at Hogwarts to have Sirius back. He opened his eyes, positive that Sirius would be there. What he saw was his bedroom, empty and in shadow, exactly as it had been when he'd closed them.

The rest of his words hadn't really been words at all. Some were sobs, others cries of anguish and frustration. All aimed at one thing. He had killed his Godfather: The man who had spent twelve life-sapping years in Azkaban Prison and risked everything, even his very soul, to escape and save him; the man who would have taken him in and given him the closest thing to a father he could ever have known; the man who would of, and indeed had, given his life for him -- was dead. And it was all Harry's fault.

As he had been doing all summer, Harry replayed the series of events in his head, trying to find the moment that disaster could have been averted. Why hadn't he used the mirror Sirius had given him? Why? Why? Oh, why? All he had needed to do was look into it, call out his Godfather's name, and he would seen Sirius safe at Grimmauld Place, not being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. Everything could have been avoided, all the pain, all the suffering, Neville's nose, Ron and 'the brain', and Hermione ... Harry's breath caught in his throat. He had watched her fall, seen her die, for all he knew at the time. That was as difficult a thought to live with as Sirius's real death. The sobs began again.

He reached under his pillow and pulled out Sirius's mirror. He saw the pale, tear streaked face with his mother's green eyes, shining and moist, looking back at him, and he hated it.

"Murderer," he whimpered, naming himself both culprit and victim. That was his fourth and final word spoken that summer on Privet Drive.

When he wasn't lamenting the death of Sirius, as rare as that was, Harry's thoughts turned to Aunt Petunia. Although he'd not talked to her all summer, brief flickers of interest would flame up when he would hear her padding along the hall carpet to slide his meal trays through the cat flap Uncle Vernon had installed in his door.

When he had seen her fear last summer at the mention of Voldemort's return, something had stirred in his chest, albeit briefly. It was a strange sensation, something Harry never expected to feel, and certainly had never been on the receiving end of in his time on Privet Drive. It was compassion.

He had seen in his aunt's eyes the pain and suffering he had often times seen in his own; the same pain he had felt in his heart on all those cold nights in front of the Mirror of Erised during his first year at Hogwarts. In that moment Harry and Petunia had connected, had been joined together in their grief over the loss of Lily, beloved mother to one, and at least at some point in the distant, distant past, probably cherished sister to the other.

Harry tried to imagine Petunia and Lily as children: Two little girls, one shorter with softer features and red hair, the other taller with a more angular face, giggling and playing in the sun. They would outfit their dolls and brush each other's hair, dress up as princesses and put on plays for Harry's grandparents.

What had happened? Harry wondered. What had so hardened his aunt's heart towards her sister? Until last summer, he had always just believed that it was his aunt's hatred for anything out of the ordinary that caused her to spurn his mother. But after seeing her face that day betray the love that was still inside her, no matter how deep she'd buried it, he knew there was something more to the story of Lily and Petunia's falling out. There had to be. If it was a simple case of prejudice and bigotry, as he had always assumed it was, Aunt Petunia would not have reacted in that fashion when given the news that her sister's murderer had returned. Add to that the fact that Aunt Petunia knew Lord Voldemort's name and what it meant . . .

This goes much deeper, Harry thought. He didn't realize at that point just how deep it really went.

Harry jumped as he heard a loud CRACK in the street outside the house, the unmistakable sound of someone Apparating. It was late; Dumbledore would never send anyone to the house at this time of night unless it was serious. He ran to the window to see who had just arrived. In the low light of the fingernail moon he saw a figure bent double, his hands on his knees. Slowly, the figure straightened up, favoring its right leg and turned towards number four. Whoever this man was, Harry could see he was also holding his ribs as he limped towards the door.

Why would someone who has been hurt come to me? I'm no healer, Harry thought as he quickly made is way across his room to the door. He stopped.

"Constant Vigilance, Potter!" He heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice in his head. He turned and went over to his trunk. Pushing aside his school robes and books, he fished around until he felt his wand. Now properly armed, he exited his bedroom and made his way down the stairs to the front door. .

Through the door's mottled window, Harry could see the silhouetted figure slowly lurching forward across the street. Whoever it was, they weren't progressing very quickly. Could this be another trap? Voldemort had used this tactic against Harry before. His heart twinged as he thought of Sirius again, and Hermione's words echoed through his head. "You do have a bit of a saving people thing." She was right, and Voldemort had known it as well. That is why Sirius was now dead. Harry shook his head, trying to fight off the despair, and looked once more at the man now shambling up the driveway. It couldn't be a trap. Voldemort would never think of attacking Harry in this place. Dumbledore had told him that matter how much he hated this house, he was safe here. Not even Lord Voldemort's most powerful Dark Magic could get him while he lived under the roof of his mother's blood. Harry used this knowledge to steel himself, and just as the figure made it onto the front step, mere feet away from him, he swung open the door.

The man tried to say something, staggered two steps forward and fell to his knees. Harry looked down at him. The right-front part of his scalp was peeled back about half an inch from his forehead and blood pumped thick and scarlet from the wound into and around the enormous swelling of the man's right eye. Half of one of his ears was missing, and his nose was crooked at an ugly angle, obviously broken. His lower lipped was pinned in place, pierced by two of his bottom teeth, so when he tried to speak, the result was almost comical. As the man struggled to get his words out, Harry saw through the red and brown mask of blood, both fresh and dried, and realized who he was looking at.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry gasped.

A light went on upstairs. "What is all that racket, boy!" Uncle Vernon had been awakened by Lupin's spluttering.

Lupin pitched forward and Harry caught him under the arms. He dragged his former professor in from the stoop and laid him on the hall carpet.

"What do you mean by it, boy?! What is this nonsense -- " Uncle Vernon stopped short halfway down the stairs, his tremendous jowls now purple and quivering with rage. Dudley and Aunt Petunia's heads popped over the banister. Harry didn't even look up at them, instead he quickly scanned up and down the street, closed the front door and went to tend his fallen professor.

He rolled him onto his back. Lupin's one open eye seemed not to be focusing.

"Harry . . . He's coming . . . He's found a key . . . Get you to Grimmauld." Lupin's entire body shook as he coughed and a great spout of blood erupted from his mouth. This seemed to arouse him into greater consciousness, and he tried to get up. Moving from behind Lupin, Harry ducked under Lupin's left arm and pushed himself upward with all his strength, helping his teacher get to his feet.

Now slouched against the wall, Remus looked down upon his best friends' son. How like them he looked.

"Lily . . . James . . . I've been doing my best; it's just so difficult without Sirius."

Lupin was certainly looking at him, but Harry got the distinct feeling his professor wasn't seeing him.

"Those Demender thingys better not be back, boy, or I don't care what anyone has to say, you will be out of this house for good!" Uncle Vernon had finished tromping his way down the stairs and was rounding on Harry and Remus. "What the devil is the meaning of this disturbance? Who is this and who does he think he is showing up here at this hour?" He poked at Remus' shoulder with one of his sausage fingers, apparently not noticing or perhaps not caring about the man's condition.

"Don't touch him!" Harry screamed. "Can't you see he's injured? Don't you care about anyone other than your fat son?!?" He re-seated himself under Lupin's shoulder and helped him limp into the front room and onto the couch. Lupin moaned the whole way, trying unsuccessfully to speak, while Uncle Vernon just looked on in disbelief.

"Boy, I will not have any of your bloody lot cluttering up my house! And God help you if there are any stains left on my furniture." Uncle Vernon hovered in the doorway, unsure about the right course of action. Harry saw Aunt Petunia appear behind Uncle Vernon's shoulder. What little color she had rushed from her face and she gasped at the sight of Professor Lupin. Uncle Vernon turned just in time to catch her as she fainted.

"Harry," Professor Lupin murmured again, his head lolling backwards onto the top of the couch. "Harry, we must leave right now. Voldemort found something. We have to get to Grimmauld Place. You must come with me. We have to go now."

"But Professor, I didn't think anyone could get me here. Professor Dumbledore said -- "

As though hearing Dumbledore's name had touched upon some deep anger inside him, Professor Lupin's head rolled forward and his remaining good eye focused on Harry with an intensity that was scary. "Dumbledore was wrong!" He started to get to his feet. "Harry, we must leave NOW!"

Harry jumped. This was a different Lupin than Harry had seen before. He was no longer the patient professor who had calmly guided him through producing a Patronus. He was no longer the soft-spoken, kindly mentor telling him stories of his parents and his days at Hogwarts as a Marauder. This was a man fighting a war, risking everything day in and day out and fearing for the loss of his own life as well as the lives of everyone he cared about. Professor Lupin limped across the room towards the hall.

"Do you have your wand, Harry?"

"Yes."

"Good, then we will have no delays." He didn't even stop to look down at Aunt Petunia. He merely stepped over her prone body. Uncle Vernon looked fit to explode as he stood up to challenge Professor Lupin. So great was his anger that he could barely talk. His eyes narrowed and he hissed at Lupin. If he knew about Professor Lupin's affliction, Harry thought, his uncle would be a little less eager to confront him.

"Whatever you've done to my wife, you fix it. And then get out. Take the boy with you and never darken our doorstep again." Lupin turned on Uncle Vernon, his wand pointed directly at the corpulent man's heart. Harry saw a glint of the lycanthropic madness shining from within Lupin's eye.

"You never deserved to have Harry here, pig. James and Lily did not sacrifice themselves so you could ridicule and torment their son. He is a prince, a wonderful young man and you treated him like nothing, less than nothing. But you couldn't squeeze all of James and Lily out of him, could you? You have no idea the opportunity you missed to have a bright light in your life instead of filling it with that fat oaf who right now is cowering in a corner upstairs soiling himself. Ask your wife. She'll tell you all about the wonderful sister she had before she turned her back on Lily and James. She remembers; I know she does. I could and should stop your bloated heart right now in that hollow cavity you call a chest, Dursley, but I won't. I'll allow you every empty, lonely, miserable moment you have left in which to wallow."

Harry's mouth dropped open. Never, not even when he was talking about Voldemort, had he heard Professor Lupin speak with so much venom. He had little doubt that his former professor was fighting hard against the urge to kill Uncle Vernon. Perhaps it was his years of training, suppressing the wolf within, that staid his hand.

"Harry . . . the door." Professor Lupin backed away from Uncle Vernon, never once lowering his wand. "Check the street first."

Harry did as he was told. The street was clear.

Once outside and with the door closed behind them, Professor Lupin put his arm over Harry's shoulder and allowed him to carry his weight. It seemed Lupin had expended the last of his energy facing Uncle Vernon and getting Harry out of the house. When he spoke, it wasn't with the vicious tone that he'd used to back down Uncle Vernon, but rather the exhausted, tortured voice of when he'd first arrived at the house.

"Harry, we have to get to Arabella's. We need her fire." Harry immediately knew what he meant. He had not yet learned to apparate, and he had a feeling that whatever had happened had been so sudden that a portkey being setup was out of the question. That meant they had only one option, they would have to use Mrs. Figg's fire to access the Floo Network.

They made their way slowly across the street to the alleyway through to Wisteria Walk. Harry's mind raced with the possibilities of what might have happened tonight. As much as he wanted to, however, he didn't ask Professor Lupin. The moan he emitted with every step and his rattling, labored breathing told Harry his professor was better off not talking at the moment.

Once they had reached the alleyway, Harry started to slow down. Professor Lupin grew heavier as he was steadily getting weaker and less able to support his own weight.

"No, Harry." More blood trickled out of Lupin's mouth; his voice was barely above a whisper. "Don't slow. He could be here any moment. I have to get you to safety."

"Who's coming, Professor?" Surely he couldn't mean Voldemort.

"Keep going, Harry. I'll try and explain." They continued up the alley. "Voldemort is coming. He discovered something, a key of sorts, in Godric's Holl - "

Professor Lupin was cut off by a series of loud cracks and pops that could only be one thing; more wizards were apparating onto Privet Drive. Harry stopped.

"You can't, Harry." Professor Lupin tried to tighten his grip on Harry's shoulder. "You cannot go back there. Never again. Dumbledore's magic has failed. Voldemort found a way past it in Godric's Hollow. It's no longer safe."

"But what about--" Harry swallowed hard, "my -- my family? The words sounded strange to Harry's ears. "I can't leave them to Voldemort."

Lupin swore under his breath as he slumped against the brick garage that made up one side of the alley. Harry ran back to the Privet Drive end, and peaked out. He saw twelve black hooded figures, Voldemort's Death Eaters, had formed a semi-circle in front of the Dursley's house, beginning and ending at the garden wall. At the top of it, where the keystone would sit in an arch, there was an empty space. The Death Eaters all stood stock still, like statues, waiting for number thirteen, their Dark Lord, to arrive. Harry ran back to Professor Lupin, now sitting on the ground at the foot of the alley wall.

"We have to save them, Sir. We can't leave them to be slain."

"Harry, you are too important ... risk ... rescue mission for them. Lily and James ... gave their lives for you; the Dursleys ... do the same." Even with one eye, Lupin could see that Harry wasn't going for it. "If we go back there, we ... will ... die. I can't ... can't fight anymore. No choice ... too important ... please! His breathing was becoming more and more labored. Harry didn't know if he would last much longer.

"If I don't go back, Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are surely going to die. If I do go, there's a chance I'll die, Professor Lupin will die, and they'll die anyway." Harry was talking to himself, pacing back and forth in front of his professor.

"Harry . . . you must . . . understand. This is . . . the way . . . it has to be."

"No!" Harry turned and looked down at Lupin. "I won't leave them to die. Not knowingly. I couldn't save my parents, I couldn't save Sirius, but I can save them."

"Then I'm sorry." Lupin raised his wand, "Petrificus Total - "

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried.

The force of Harry's spell blew Lupin's wand from his hand and banged his head against the bricks behind him. His good eye rolled in its socket and glazed over. Harry ran to his side and laid him down on the ground before he fell. He was still breathing.

"Too many people have died because of me already, professor. I will not have anymore. I'll be back. Please, try and hold on until then."

"James, my old friend, I'm sorry. I couldn't save the boy." And with that, Professor Lupin passed out.