Datura

--------Prologue - Datura

Loud cry from the shallows
Lust feeds on the fear
Walls crack under pressure
I think the end is getting near

- Tea Party

It was midnight in Grasmere when the cloaked figure scrambled along the muddy banks of the lake. The water was black and still, only a few ripples disturbing the glassy surface. Underneath the surface of the water, the ghostly bodies of fish flickered in and out of view, their tails stirring up muck and algae with which to cloak themselves. The figure moved swiftly to the edge of the lake, a molded black shadow stooping suddenly to drive its hands into the chill water. Minnows flitted to the surface to investigate the sudden intrusion into their world, to nip at the cloud of blood which has formed around the hands. Once the hands were suitably cleaned they reached up to toss the hood of the cloak back, displaying ruffled hair, a young masculine face, still slightly rounded with baby fat. A face too young to be wandering the moors with blood on its hands. A face certainly too young to be encased in that kind of cloak. The boy wiped his wet hands on his thighs and tried not to think about the various creatures that could be watching him in the darkness. A small burlap sack swung at his side, the contents shifting and clanking dully together at every movement. He brushed his hand against the bag nervously, as if reassuring himself that it was still there.

'I hope this is enough to satisfy.'

A loud hissing was the only warning before a taller, darker presence approached the lake. The smaller figure remained kneeling, head bowed in subservience.

"Do you have the other ingredients?" The voice was a low hiss, almost a whisper, but the threat of violence and madness lying just under the surface made the smaller one shiver even as he nodded carefully.

"Excellent." The word was drawn out slowly between the bloodless, twisting lips. "And now...I shall do my part. Nagini!"

The massive snake glided out from the shadows and coiled neatly at Voldemort's feet. His hand reached down to stroke slowly across the giant snake's leathery skin for a moment before gesturing towards the smaller, kneeling figure.

"My dear child," the words dripped mockingly from those bloodless lips, "Are you quite certain this is what you want?"

The smaller figure hesitated, only a moment, and then spoke. "If I do this...you'll give me what I want?"

"Power?"

"Yes."

Respect?"

"Yes."

The red eyes blazed. "You shall have all that and more if you do everything exactly as I tell you."

"What must I do, Master?"

Voldemort smiled. "Let Nagini bite you."

The snake seemed to respond to her name, rearing up and hissing threateningly. The boy drew back in fear.

"B-but Master...the venom! I'll die!"

"I can administer the antidote in time. Rest assured, the best Potions Master in the Wizarding World made this antidote. You will not die, although you'll feel slightly sick for a few days. I must have blood from a willing participant, infused with Nagini's venom, in order for the spell to work. And really, it is a small price to pay for what I'm offering you in return. A few days inconvenience for the power to make even Albus Dumbledore crawl at your feet and kiss your robes. I know many others who would be leaping at the chance." Voldemort paused, examining the young wizard groveling at his feet. "Perhaps you are not worthy of this task after all."

"No!" A white arm was offered to the snake immediately. "I want to do this for you Master. Please let me."

Voldemort was silent for a few seconds, waiting until his subject was properly cowering before giving his command to Nagini. The snake darted forward, administering the fatal bite before the kneeling figure could blink. Almost immediately, the arm began the swell and purple. Making an incision above the snake bite, Voldemort collected the dark blood that poured from the cut in a small vial while the dying boy thrashed weakly beneath him. When the vial was full, Voldemort took another bottle from his robes and poured the contents into his subject's mouth. The thrashing stopped and after a few moments, the young wizard opened dazed eyes and blinked up at the Dark Lord in confusion. Cold sweat beaded on his brow and the fading tremors of his hands told the boy just how close he had come to death.

"I feel...strange," the young wizard complained.

"Nagini's venom can never be completely counteracted. She is a special creature." The tone of his voice was almost fond, if it were possible for the Dark Lord to sound affectionate towards anyone or anything. "You will feel weak and ill for a few days. Not weak enough to prevent you from getting the job done, I trust?"

"N-no Master, of course not."

"Good. You will mix the other ingredients with the blood as I instructed you. You have the incantation?"

"Yes, Master."

"Remember, you must wait until he is surrounded by everyone in the school. Suppertime in the Great Hall should do nicely. Perhaps even during the Sorting Ceremony if you manage to complete the spell by then."

"But Master..."

"Yes?" Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously. The young wizard swallowed and tried to ignore the dizziness threatening to overtake him.

"I can get close to Potter, close enough to kill him for you. Why must we use this spell?"

"Because my dear child," the Dark Lord sneered, "there are so many things that are worse then death." Voldemort turned to leave, beckoning to Nagini who slowly uncoiled herself in preparation to slide back into the thick cover of the woods. "Oh," he turned back, "I almost forgot...Crucio."

The boy writhed in pain for what seemed an eternity before Voldemort lifted the curse.

"That was for questioning me. See that it does not happen again."

And with that, the Dark Lord was gone, leaving the boy curled in the mud, gasping for breath, the stench of duckweed mingled with his own blood lingering in the air.

---------Chapter One - Datura

Harry Potter woke to the sound of a herd of elephants stampeding down the hallway, each pachyderm wearing standard issue army boots and trumpeting his name as best they could in their primitive, elephant language.

No wait...it was just Dudley coming up the stairs. Three knocks almost split the heavy wooden door and the resulting tremors shook his Chudley Cannons calendar, the one Ron had given him for his birthday, off the wall and almost made Harry fall out of bed.

"Wake up you lazy prat! I want my breakfast." Dudley screamed, giving a vicious kick to the door which, after a whole summer's worth of sound beatings, finally gave up the ghost and cracked down the middle.

Harry, who was just in the process of flinging off his blankets, froze at the sight of the rather ugly boot now poking through his door. This rather ugly boot was quickly replaced with the rather ugly face of Dudley Dursley, and the two boys exchanged similar looks of horror and shock before Dudley regained his composure and pelted down the stairs.

"Dad!" he screeched at the top of his lungs. "Come see what Potter's done!"

"Boy-what-have-you-done-now?"

Vernon Dursley did not sound very happy. Then again, Vernon Dursley never sounded very happy when talking to Harry, so for all anyone knew, this was Vernon Dursley's pleasant voice. Imagining the tongue lashing in store as soon as he got downstairs, Harry felt inclined to just pull the covers up over his head and stay in his room until the end of summer hols (which, incidentally, would be the next day). But Harry knew he wouldn't be able to get away with that, and waiting around until Uncle Vernon got mad enough to come upstairs to his room would be even worse. So, he dressed as quickly as he could, in the faded t-shirt that Dudley had outgrown two years before (it was still about four times too big for Harry) which Uncle Vernon had decided not to use for a dust rag, and the jeans that Hermione had managed to smuggle to him for his birthday.

"I put a few tailoring charms on them," she had written in the card, "so they should shrink or expand to fit you perfectly as soon as you put them on. I wanted to add an anti-wrinkle and dirt spell but I couldn't find any that might be compatible with muggle fabric."

The jeans and his school robes were the only items of clothing Harry had that actually fit him, so he had been wearing the jeans quite a bit. Harry had teasingly written back that he was surprised she hadn't sent him a book, to which Hermione replied that she'd thought about giving him a guide to sewing but Ron had quickly vetoed that idea when she'd asked him what he thought.

'Thank heavens for Ron.'

Harry tried in vain to flatten his hair before he ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dudley was sitting at his place at table, demonstrating with grade gesticulations just how huge the hole in Harry's door was to a red-faced Vernon Dursley. They both looked up as Harry entered, Uncle Vernon with a face like a thundercloud and Dudley with an expression of unconcealed glee.

"Are you ever gonna get it," the obese boy chortled as he snatched the comics from the newspaper in front of his father.

"You rotten little turd," Uncle Vernon spat, pointing a beefy finger in Harry's direction, "We've taken you into our home, let you eat our food, sleep in our Dudders' second bedroom, and what do you do? You DESTROY the house."

"It's only a door," Harry protested.

Uncle Vernon's fist came down hard on the table, almost causing his coffee to spill. "A door that you've DESTROYED."

"It's only cracked a little," Harry said. "And anyway, I didn't break it. Dudley did with his big fat feet."

"Liar," Uncle Vernon hissed.

Harry frowned and raised his voice. "I'm not lying. Dudley put his stupid shoe through my door with all his kicking and carrying on."

"I wouldn't have had to kick it," Dudley piped up, "if you'd woken up when you're supposed to, lazy bones."

Uncle Vernon paused in his glaring at Harry in order to smile at his son.

"That's right," he beamed. "That's exactly right. What a clever boy I've got!" He swiveled back towards Harry and sneered, "Well then, since it's your fault the door got broken, you're the one who'll have to fix it. I can't be expected to do every little thing for you, and certainly not when you deserve to be punished. You're a grasping, ungrateful little worm and I'm tempted to lock up that dratted owl of yours for this."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Try it and you'll have my friends lining up to hex you and your precious Diddykins before the week is out," he replied hotly.

Uncle Vernon purpled and gasped out, "Don't you mention those freaks in my house!"

However, the threat seemed to have cowed him and he went back to reading the paper and grumbling about the horrible state of the economy. Dudley, who acted very pleased with the way the morning had turned out so far, raised expectant eyes to Harry.

"Hurry up and make my breakfast," he demanded. "I'm starved."

"You certainly don't look it," Harry mumbled under his breath, but he dutifully got out the frying pan and started to cook a massive omelet for his cousin.

The Dursley's had backed off considerably since Mad-Eye Moody made his threat at the station. Harry was no longer confined to his room and he was allowed access to his owl post freely. He was allowed to eat the food in the fridge without explicit permission from Aunt Petunia and he could watch the evening news whenever he wished. And it only took a small imitation of a pig's squeal to make Dudley think twice about roughing Harry up. The only thing which would not be compromised on, was Harry's job as cook in the morning, when Aunt Petunia preferred to have 'a bit of a lie in'. It was well established that Uncle Vernon couldn't boil water and that Dudley was his father's son in that respect. Therefore, the duty fell to Harry. In Uncle Vernon's words, it was "the least he could do, the lazy prat."

Once Dudley's omelet was prepared, Harry set about making a smaller one for Uncle Vernon and a plate of scrambled eggs for himself. He got out the kettle for Aunt Petunia's tea, but didn't bother to start it yet, since it was only 7:30 and she wouldn't likely be down until 8:00.

"Terrible," Uncle Vernon muttered into his paper, not so much as glancing at the plate of omelet that was set at his elbow. He started to read out loud from the paper:

'Police are investigating a break-in at Blackburn Cathedral in Grasmere last night in which Eucharist bread and several priceless relics were taken. Although the Alter was not desecrated, authorities are not discounting the theory that the criminals took these items in order to perform occult rituals. "The relics were priceless, but they were also holy items. They could be used in any number of black magic rituals no doubt," says Archbishop Jim Heagen. No fingerprints have been uncovered and police have not found out where entry had been gained yet. Anyone with information is to telephone Inspector Heat immediately.'

"Probably one of your lot," Uncle Vernon spat. "No respect for anything, least of all God and the Law."

Harry's brow creased in thought. 'Strange. I wonder if there's anything in the Daily Prophet about this as well...'

Harry had boycotted the Daily Prophet himself, ever since those horrible stories had come out last year about him, however, he was not above asking Hermione, who read anything, rubbish or not, for any special tidbits in the news which might interest him.

Uncle Vernon sniffed and folded up the paper. "Disgraceful, isn't it my boy? The way freaks and criminals have taken over Britain. Hang the lot of them, that's what I'd do."

Dudley, who was too busy inhaling his second omelet to answer, waved his fork in his father's direction, which Uncle Vernon seemed to take as a sign of agreement. Harry was about to say something in reply to that, but he was interrupted by the sight of Petunia Dursley gliding into the kitchen in her curlers and robe. Petunia Dursley with make-up was only a mildly revolting sight. One could look at her for whole minutes before becoming queasy. Petunia Dursley without any make-up on at all, however, could be classified as a weapon of mass destruction by any government's standards. Harry avoided looking at her face as much as possible, focusing, instead, on shoveling eggs in his mouth before someone decided he should be doing something else besides eating.

"Morning Pet," Uncle Vernon said, raising his lips for an expected good morning kiss. Aunt Petunia bypassed her husband entirely in order to embrace her piggish son. She kissed his cheeks repeatedly, her bony arms circling the roll of fat that was Dudley's neck.

"How's my beautiful baby boy this morning?" Aunt Petunia cooed.

Dudley made a face and shoved at the woman who was attached to his arm and blocking his access to the last bit of omelet. "Gerroff, mum!" he complained loudly, and Petunia reluctantly let go of her son.

"He's a man now, Petunia," Uncle Vernon pointed out. "You can't be hanging off him all the time. Soon he'll be done with Smeltings and off in the world, making his way as a successful business man just like his old man--"

"I'd rather be a boxer," Dudley said, but this statement was vastly overpowered by the sound of Aunt Petunia bursting into tears.

"Oh don't, Vernon ... I can't bear to think of it! My little baby - sniffle - out in the world without us! What shall we ever d-do?"

"There, there," Uncle Vernon said, patting his wife's back as she dripped tears all over his paper. Shockingly enough, a red-nosed, sniffling, crying Petunia Dursley is even uglier then a make-up-less Petunia Dursley.

"Our Dudley is a good boy. He'll always have time for his mother and father, don't you worry. In ten years time we'll all be together, with Dudley's lovely grankids at our feet..."

Harry rolled his eyes and tried not to gag on his breakfast. 'In ten years Dudley will probably be in jail or worse. If the Dursley's think that Dudley is going to take care of them when they get old, they're more cracked then I thought.'

Aunt Petunia finally stopped sniffling, the promise of grandchildren making her perk up a bit, and looked around.

"Where's my tea?" she asked, glaring at Harry. He sighed and got up to put the kettle on. When he finally came back to the table with a steaming cup of earl grey, Aunt Petunia sniffed at him. "Be quicker with it next time. And what was all that noise this morning?"

"Harry broke his door," Dudley offered.

"I did not," Harry snapped back, finally pressed to the breaking point. "You broke my door by pounding on it every morning for the entire summer.

Aunt Petunia glared coldly at him. "I don't care who broke it. I want it fixed. Today."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered. "May I be excused?"

Uncle Vernon made an absent gesture that Harry took as a 'yes' and the boy gratefully made his escape to the backyard where he collapsed in the shade beneath the hydrangea bushes, waiting for the Dursley's to vacate the house for the day. Dudley would be off to visit with his, Harry shuddered, girlfriend soon and it being Saturday, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be driving up to the Polkisses for their bridge game at ten. Once they were away he would venture into the house once more.

Harry sprawled on the freshly cut grass and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind of all thoughts. A mixture of guilt over Sirius' death and anger at himself for allowing Voldemort access to his mind so easily, prompted Harry to practice his Occlumency exercises each day. With any luck, by the time he got back to Hogwarts, his Occlumency skills would be so improved that he would not have to ask Snape for lessons anymore. The only problem was, without a Legilimens to test him, Harry could not be certain if he was actually improving or not.

'If only I had tried harder, Sirius might still be alive.''

Thoughts of the black haired man now crowded his mind, making it impossible for Harry to concentrate. Memories of Sirius grinning and reaching over to gently ruffle Harry's already messy bangs. Memories of Sirius as Snuffles, running beside the Hogwarts Express, tongue out and tail wagging frantically. Memories of Sirius' disappointed face when Harry told him he wouldn't sneak out to see him. Memories of Sirius' eyes, wide in shock as Bellatrix's curse hits him directly in the chest, him falling so slowly through the veil...

Harry pushed at the memories in frustration, even as his eyes filled with angry tears. When they wouldn't vacate his mind his eyes snapped open in disgust. He raised a hand to wipe the perspiration off his face and was surprised to see blood sluggishly flowing from where his nails had dug into his palms, breaking the skin.

The cuts would have to be cleaned. He'd had much dirt under his fingernails and he didn't relish the thought of getting an infection in his wand hand before school started. Harry sighed and rose to his feet just in time to see Dudley step out the door, letting the screen bang shut behind him. He ducked back down, but wasn't quick enough.

"Hullo, what are you doing back there?" Dudley asked. "Being lazy again? You should be working on fixing the door you broke."

"Shut it Dudley. You broke the door, not me. If anyone should fix it, it's you."

"I wonder what Dad would say if I told him you were just sitting out here, lounging on the lawn like some homeless man. Probably peeping into the windows, aren't you? Spying on everybody?"

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Harry grumbled.

Dudley's sneer brightened into a smirk. "Actually I do. Daisy is waiting for me. We're going to the movies. It's our third date," he said proudly. "She'll probably let me snog her today."

"Ugh," Harry made a face. "Spare me the details. Please."

"You're just jealous that you can't get a girl."

"Jealous? Of you? That's rich. Go on and have your girlfriend Dudders. She's either blind as a bat or nutty as a fruitcake if she's actually going out with you. I prefer my girls to be of the sane type, myself."

Dudley glared and lifted his arm as if to punch Harry, but as Harry prepared to duck, he paused.

"I'm late and I don't want to get my clothes dirty with your blood before my date. So you're getting off this time. I'll beat you to a pulp for that later, freak."

Harry watched Dudley walk off down the street in relief. With any luck, Dudley would be so pleased about his (ugh) date he'd forget all about his appointment to "beat Harry to a pulp" later.

'Not that he won't find some reason to beat up on me regardless.'

Harry headed towards the garage to find something to fix his door with when the sound of a motor gunning caught his attention. For a moment his breath caught in his throat. Was that Sirius' motorbike? Had he really come back?

Then the noise grew louder and Harry could see that it wasn't a motorbike at all making the sound, just a car in desperate need of a new muffler. The disappointment was so thick it almost choked him. Angry at himself for getting his hopes up, Harry turned to the garage once more, but he turned again as the car honked its horn insistently at him. Curious, Harry watched the car pull up to the driveway. He peered into the windows but they were tinted and all he could make out were blurry shapes. Then the horn honked again and a loud voice piped up,

"Stop it Ron! You don't need to disturb the whole neighborhood and besides which, you should be wearing your seat belt."

Harry grinned as the windows suddenly rolled down, revealing an exasperated Hermione in the driver's seat with Ron reaching over from the back seat to honk the horn again. In the passenger seat was a laughing, doubled up Nymphadora Tonks who was currently sporting brilliant red hair to match her reddening face.

"I don't want to wear that sit-bell thing. It's uncomfortable and then I can't watch over your shoulder," Ron complained. "Hi Harry! Hermione's got her driver's lissense so we decided to take her car."

"That's my driver's license not lissense and I've only got my learner's permit so far. And it's my dad's car, not my car. And if you keep looking over my shoulder and grabbing the wheel so you can honk the horn we're going to crash and wreck my dad's car." Hermione scolded while Tonks gasped for air and raised a hand to wave enthusiastically at Harry.

He ran over to the car. "I thought you guys weren't coming until tomorrow?" he said, waiting for his friends to step out of the car before bestowing bear hugs on each of them.

"We decided to surprise you and come early," Tonks offered. "Dumbledore wants to see you before the first day of classes so we'll go into Diagon Alley today and pick up your supplies and then head off to Hogwarts. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley didn't seem to think you'd mind summer vacation being cut shorter then usual."

"Oh no, not at all," Harry grinned. "Just let me grab some stuff and we can get out of here."

"Good," said Hermione. "And maybe with you in the backseat, you'll be able to keep Ron from making me crash the car."

Harry laughed and then dashed into the house to grab his trunk. Things were definitely looking up.