When Heroes Rise

When Heroes Rise

Chapter 1

Trust Forsaken

We cannot change anything until we accept it. Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses.

-C.J. Jung

Harry Potter stood in a window of number 4 Privet Drive, staring out into the early morning. He had been up for hours it seemed. Nightmares plagued him and tainted what little rest he could find these days. The sun was barely peeking in the sky, and the city of Little Whinging, Surrey was already buzzing with activity. From an outsider view it was one of the most normal cities they would ever come across, but for those who knew the ins and outs of the city, it was another typical Monday morning. The morning rituals had begun everywhere it seemed. Men were hurriedly fixing their ties, women were putting the finishing touches on their makeup, and children were eagerly waiting to have permission to play outside in the warm summer air. The city would never be considered normal, but there were some aspects of it that cried of the perfect dream.

It also contained the fallen dreams of many. Harry thought. Of those who came to the city expecting an easy success story or of opportunities beyond their wildest dreams. With everything this city had to offer it appeared almost certain the magic would spread to everyone, but that's not always the case. Some people have to struggle and fight for their dreams. Some people actually have to work hard for things that come so easily to others. Some people want...just a little bit...more.

That what Harry had been striving for...just a bit little more.

It was just one week after he left King's Cross and just a few weeks after the events of the Department of Mysteries. It hurt to think about it. It hurt just to even get up in the morning. But here he was standing in the window of the littlest bedroom at number 4 Privet Drive pondering his life so far. It hadn't been an easy one and it hadn't been filled with a lot of happiness, but it was his all the same.

These thoughts continued for a while until they strayed towards the one thing that had occupied his mind and heart the last week.

Sirius.

The pain ripped anew as his shoulders heaved with an effort to suppress the tears and the sobs. He couldn't believe that he was gone. Really gone. He had been told time and time again that it wasn't his fault but he couldn't help what he felt. He knew with out a shadow of a doubt that this could have been prevented had Dumbledore only told him what his damn lessons with Snape meant. The visions had been planted in his mind all year long, and Dumbledore did NOTHING, but stick him in a room with that greasy git Snape and the dammed Occlumency lessons.

Then there was the Prophecy.

He was supposed to save the world...

Voldemort had to die by his hand or the world would succumb to darkness. Amazing how he, a boy of almost sixteen could save the world from this filth. He had to figure out a way to defeat the greatest dark wizard that has ever lived, and damn it all to hell he was going to do it.

He thought about everyone that had lost their lives because of Voldemort, his parents, Cedric, Bertha Jorkins, Sirus, and countless others. Not to mention the fear and the grief he has caused the wizarding kind.

There was so much he had to learn. So many questions still unanswered. He could hardly comprehend the fact that Dumbledore, a man who he once thought could do no wrong, could betray him like this. How could a man, this man use him like this. For the better part of a year Dumbledore avoided him and then on the same night that his Godfather was killed decided that he was going to drop a bombshell such as the Prophecy on him.

What a git.

Harry once heard a muggle saying, "It takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it." He never understood how true that statement was until this moment. Who could he trust? Dumbledore? Hell no. Snape? "Yeah right, the day I trust Snape will be the same day he washes his hair," he laughed silently. Ron and Hermione? Maybe, but the second something got out of line, Hermione would be running to tell Dumbledore and Ron would just say "bloody hell."

That was the problem with Hermione, Harry figured. She trusted far too much in the adults in her life and her books. She was naïve that way. She thinks that she'll read some spell in a book and she'll save the world and win this war. And if it can't be found in her books then she would just ask some adult close to her and all would be well. He didn't need that right now. Hermione could never really understand what it's like to have the world on your shoulders, sure she could read about it, but she could never really truly understand it.

The same could be said about Ron. Ron was still living in a world of Gryffindor's good. Slytherins bad. He would never see the potential of having a Slytherin in the war against Voldemort. Not that Harry was going to deal with any Slytherins at the time being, but in the future he knew he had to keep that option open. He loved his friends. He really did, and he knew that he couldn't win this war on his own, but right now at this very moment his friends would be a liability he couldn't afford.

............................................................................................................

"BOY, GET DOWN HERE!"

Harry sighed and turned away form the window he had been staring out for past few hours. For the most part of the week the Dursleys had stayed out of his way due to the warning given by Mad-Eye at King's Cross, but he guessed it was only a matter of time before that ran out.

He headed down the stairs in worn trainers and loose fitting clothes. That was the first thing on Harry's list of things to get later today. He walked into the kitchen and found his uncle sitting at the table reading the newspaper per usual.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry said politely, albeit difficulty.

Vernon sneered, "We're leaving in one hour for Majorca for two weeks, I don't want you up to any of your...funny business, while we are gone. And don't make a mess and none of those FREAKS in my HOUSE. Do you understand boy?"

Harry could barley keep the smile off his face, his relatives gone for two whole weeks. Damn life was good. "Yes Uncle Vernon."

His uncle just sneered at him once more and went back to the paper. Harry turned and went up the stairs and into his room. He closed the door and a huge smile broke on his face. Free of the Dursleys for two weeks. Brilliant.

Harry was jerked out of his musings with a tapping on his window. It was a light gray owl, he walked toward the window and let the owl in. It landed on his desk and looked quickly over at him.

"Hello little one, is that for me?" The little owl nodded its head and stuck its leg out.

Harry untied the letter and the bird promptly flew out the window. Harry looked over the envelope and it just simply read Harry Potter. He was just about to open it when three more owls came into his bedroom one of them being Pig, Ron's infamous little tiny owl. He set the letter he was holding down and untied the rest. He sent the owls out the window with the exception of Pig who he still had yet to catch.

"Pig, get over here!" Harry yelled. Pig obliged. Harry untied the letter and threw Pig out the window, "Bye Pig."

Harry grabbed all the letters and sat on his bed. The first one was from Dumbledore and the rest were from his friends. He decided that he really didn't want to get angry right now, so he would start with his friends first and Dumbledore's last for he was positive it wouldn't have anything he would want to read. He ripped open the first one, which just happened to be Ron's.

Hey Mate,

Just wanted to send you short letter saying that this would be the last of the letters for the rest of the summer. Dumbledore's orders. Sorry mate.

Harry was pissed. No he was more then pissed, he was raging. Dumbledore and his "orders" to hell with his "orders". Harry was tired of being a pawn in Dumbledore's game of magical chess.

I hope the muggles aren't getting you down and I hope you're doing all right, what with Sirius and everything.

Right Ron, I'm fucking peachy.

Well I gotta go. Hermione's coming over and I have to help clean HQ. Hope to see you at the end of the summer and once again don't let the muggles get you down.

Ron

Harry threw down the letter in disgust. That was all Ron had to say to him. Not even ten sentences? What the hell. He knew that they couldn't write much, but hell he could have written more if this was all they were going to say to each other for two months. Seriously its like he didn't even make an effort. Whatever. Next letter.

Harry,

How are you, are you doing all right? I just wanted you to know that we're here for you if you need anything. Talk to us Harry. You have to talk to us we're your friends.

'I don't have to talk to anyone Hermione!' Harry was now seething.

It will only get better Harry if you talk about it. I read in a muggle book that there are certain stages to grief. I think that you're in one of those stages right now. I hope you come to accept it in time because that what the book says and its been proven it works. I'll show you when you if you come to HQ over the summer. I'm going to HQ in a while with my parents. It isn't safe to be in our home. Dumbledore's orders.

There he goes again! Making orders, who made him GOD?

I know we can't send any letters, but know that care for you and are here for you. We understand what you're going through and after reading through that book I think I can help you.

I am not some textbook patient; I will not be analyzed like some psycho!

Well I have to go. I hope you have a better summer Harry.

Love from,

Hermione

P.S. I can't wait for my O.W.L.S. I hope I did well!

Harry rolled his eyes at the last part of the letter. He was really angry at his friends and especially at Dumbledore. He looked at the last letter, which had some sort of feminine handwriting. He opened the letter and looked at the end it was from Ginny.

Harry,

As you probably wondering, why am I of all people writing you a letter, I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for allowing me to go with you to the Department of Mysteries and for giving me a chance to be your friend. You don't know how much that means to me. I know that it hurts that you lost Sirius, although I'm pretty sure that my pain is different form yours, no more, no less, just different. You knew Sirius as you godfather and confidant, he was also my confidant and my friend and I miss him. But instead of thinking of the bad times and the grief that I am feeling now I remember the good times. The times that he made me laugh and the times when he told me that everything would be all right. He leant an ear when no one else would. He was a brave, kind, loving soul and that is what I will remember him as. I don't think that anyone can compare their grief to one another and I'm not going to tell you that you have to talk to me, because maybe talking isn't the way you personally deal with your grief and problems. Your grief is your business. I just hope that letting me ramble on here helped you in some way.

Remember Harry that you will always have your memories and no one can take that away from you. I know that Sirius loved you, just like his own son. He told me that once; he also said that he was so proud of you. Not for the deeds you've done, but for the strong and brave and caring young man that you have become.

We share something you and I Harry and that's a connection to the vilest creature on Earth, Voldemort. He stole both of our innocence and we can't let him get away with that. I have a feeling Harry that you are going to be there at the end with Voldemort. It won't be Voldemort and Dumbledore, it will be you and Voldemort. And I know in my heart that you'll prevail. I believe everything you do and have done is for a reason Harry, but most of all I believe in you. I will be fighting there by you side till Voldemort's body is a pile of ashes on the ground and his soul is sent to the depths of hell. This is just as much your war as it is mine. I have a score to settle with Riddle and Malfoy and they will pay. Those bastards. Just know that when the time comes and you need someone there, I will be. I hope I see you soon Harry.

Love,

Ginny

Harry was awed by the passion and courage displayed by little Ginny Weasley. Wait she wasn't little any longer. She was something else and he couldn't put his finger on it just yet. She sure had grown up from the little girl who put her elbow in a butter dish. He was also humbled by the fact that she believed in him. She had faith in him and for right now that was enough. He wouldn't let her down.

The next letter he was dreading. He was already pissed off at Dumbledore he didn't think he could get even more angry. He was wrong.

Harry,

I hope that this letter finds you well. In regards to your safety for the summer, I've told your friends that letters would not be a good idea at this time. It would be beset if you stayed at Privet Drive for the whole summer, but I will see what I can do about letting you come to HQ for at least a week. I hope that you stay inside for most of the summer because it is imperative that we keep you safe. Your safety is very important to your friends, the order and myself.

Yeah right, Dumbledore, I'm a tool, a weapon. That's all. Well guess what, this is one weapon that you are going to no longer wield.

Over the next school year you will learn Occlumency with Professor Snape once again, it is imperative that Voldemort cannot penetrate your mind.

Like Hell, Snape is a git I will not learn from that prat.

Again I am sorry for your loss of Sirius he was a good friend and a true hero of the light. Harry you must not succumb to your grief, do not let Sirius death be in vain. This just gives us another reason to defy Voldemort.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

That was it. He was sick and tired of this. Sick and tired of trying to please everyone, but himself, of following orders that were supposed to be for his own good.

He had been manipulated and misled all his life. It was time he took his destiny into his own hands; time for him to make the right choice verses the easy one. It was time for Harry Potter to take a step of faith... not for the world, but for himself.

When Heroes Rise

Chapter 2

The Choices We Make

Choice has always been a privilege for those that could afford to pay for it.

~Ellen Frankfort

Dolorin once a thriving fort with hundreds of healthy, happy denizens had been completely and utterly razed.

Along the stone road there must have once existed a bustling market place, made wealthy and prosperous through trade and devoted work, content in the quiet peace that had claimed much of Europe. All that remained of that peace was a line of burnt buildings, the debris spreading far and wide. Scorched by flame, they had been devoured by heat and left to collapse as wood cracked and stone crumbled. Blackened frames poked from the rubble like broken bones that had punctured the skin of a corpse. The path was cluttered with wreckage, for no structure, no house or inn or stable, had been left standing, many tipping forward to cover the road with their decimated innards. Tables, chairs, clothes lay strewn everywhere, some burning still, as though these simple articles were the last of city to abandon the fight. The smoke hung so heavily and so low that the sun's light barely pierced the oppressive veil. Blood covered the street like a ghastly river, corpses strewn about like worthless rag dolls. Most had been gutted. It reeked of blood and death and stale, violent sex.

And above it all the sky was blemished with what look like a skull and a serpent, green and foreboding.

All was still with disbelief. No one could direct his eyes elsewhere, each examining the wreckage in all of its gruesome, horrid detail. Aden could find no air to breathe, a vacuum of terror and disgust closing tightly about him. There was no sound, no feeling. This paralyzing shock struck him, and his heart held tight in his chest as his numbed mind fought to deny. So desperately he fought the terrible, pressing reality! Perhaps if he closed his eyes, perhaps if he wished vehemently enough, he would find himself back in his cool, soft bed, waking from troubled sleep. But there was no such easy escape. The destruction lay bare before him, and for all the want of his heart, he could do naught but stare.

For a long while no one had the audacity to speak. It seemed an eternity as the despair ate at all of them, as their souls shriveled in bearing witness to such brutal and violent destruction. Then came the sound of gagging; one of Nicholas's younger men had lost his composure and had stumbled from his horse to the ground, heaving. Aden's eyes slipped shut. "Dear Merlin..." he whimpered, imploring that this somehow not be true. All those innocent people... so many... He closed his eyes against the tears.

Who could have done such a thing? The rumors must be true...He has returned.

Troubled hearts pounded, straining for something more. Yet there was nothing but the suffocating silence and smoke and the remains of a people slaughtered.

It was Nicholas who finally regained himself enough to speak. His voice hardly wavered, though Aden could tell the young man was exerting himself to keep his fury and grief in check. "Fan out," he declared as resolutely as he could, "and search for survivors. There may be men alive... buried perhaps." Aden bowed his head, but found no hope in Nicholas' words. This vicious force had come to destroy, and it had done so completely and utterly. The warrior had seen and experienced much in his short life, but never something so... arrogantly cruel and atrocious. He shuddered. Evil. Evil has come to Europe once more.

They were sluggish in their task, and understandably so, for it was a terrible one. Their company was comprised of approximately thirty souls, and they had split up to encompass the entire city in their search. Dolorin was not overly large, but the task was strenuous and difficult as many of the buildings eaten through by fire had collapsed, leaving large heaps of smoking debris through which to dig. The day had worn to late afternoon, and they had nothing to show for their efforts but bloodied hands, worn bodies, and wearied hearts.

Aden sighed. Soot covered him, painting his ashen face with gray smudges, leaving his normally pristine appearance uncharacteristically filthy. His fingers were caked with the grime as he shoved a broken and scarred table from the wreckage of yet another ruined house. Flakes of charred wood fell from a smoking beam overhead, dropping into his hair like black snow. He wondered for a moment on the safety of venturing further inside. The flame set to this house had smashed through to the second floor, eating through the ceiling and reducing the eastern wall to a mound of fallen stone and split beams. Miraculously, the western side had been left relatively intact. However, the second story overhead, without support on one side, had begun to sag and sink. The whole structure whined and moaned precariously.

The man glanced inside, but it was very dark. The sun was sinking below the horizon, leaving shadows to skulk and grasp the world. He wrinkled his nose. How he longed for a cool breeze to blow the horrid smoke and release them from this smell! Yet the earth ignored his plea, and the wretched plume hung over them, relentlessly plaguing his nostrils and hindering his sight. He stood in the door, debating on the consequences of continuing. The grisly images from previous homes had burned into him, and he closed his eyes as again they assailed his senses. Many of the poor folk had been in bed when the attackers had struck. Most had not even made it outside their front doors before their houses were invaded. He saw men, stabbed and mutilated, holding still to swords and daggers in what was certainly a last, terrified defense of their families. He found women, naked and bleeding, clearly ravaged and beaten before their throats had been cut. And children... The young man clenched a fist. The disgust and sorrow was quickly melding together within him in a storm of fury. At first he had clung to some shred of hope that their search would not be in vain, that buried and trapped in this nightmare was somebody in need of their aid. But as the hours had worn away, despair had stomped out that faint wish, and he had slowed in his frantic efforts and taken time to pull some of the bodies from the wreckage into the street. He draped cloth on those he could, felt for those he could not, and whispered an old Japanese blessing for each soul that had passed. He did not know if Nicholas intended to bury the citizens, but even so, it seemed terribly wrong to leave them in the prison where they had been so viciously murdered.

Aden looked down, leaning tiredly against the door. The stoic mask he had worn all day for the benefit of these people and Nicholas' men was beginning to slip, but he was too tired and depressed to care much. No warning. No salvation. Inexplicably he felt guilty for these poor people and what they had endured. He wished he could have somehow done more. There is no cause for that, reminded the logical voice of his mind. You could not have known. His heart, however, accepted no such rationale, content to weep in grief. He was exhausted enough to let it.

He lingered there, breathing, trying hard to find the strength to keep looking. To keep fighting. He decided to move on; this house seemed empty, and he did not know if he could tolerate another gruesome death scene. But his weary feet would not carry him. A needling voice came from the back of his mind, a voice saturated in worry and shame. Fate would certainly turn against him if he should leave this one house unchecked. Here would be the one person left living, he just knew it in his gut. And he could not walk away from that small, nearly impossible chance.

So he walked inside, over fallen chairs and broken furniture. Gracefully he navigated through the maze of wreckage, pushing aside what he could and stepping over what he could not. The second floor whimpered in stress, dumping a load of soot on his already dirty body. He could not stifle a paroxysm of coughing, the foul tasting stuff invading his nose and mouth. When that passed, he drew in a deep breath of cleaner air and rubbed his eyes.

Someone was crying.

His heart jumped into his throat, a rush of excitement leaving his head spinning and his pulse thundering. For a moment he doubted his senses, waiting, holding his breath and praying that the sound would come again. Surely he had not imagined it! But it did come again, a muffled wail. Immediately he located it.

With renewed vigor spiking through his tired body like lightning, Aden bounded forth, shoving away anything and everything blocking his way. The high-pitched sobbing was coming from the kitchen, where a large, scratched oak table had been pushed up against the wall, obviously for protection. "Help has come!" he announced. "Please, hold on a bit longer!"

The screaming continued. It was obviously a child. Panic pulsed through Aden as he frantically scrambled to the small area, climbing over the counter. His feet struck the floorboards with a soft thud, and a terrified shriek followed. Aden felt the color drain from his face. He was standing in a puddle of blood. His eyes followed the gory trail under the overturned table.

Disgust barely had the time to register. With strong hands, he pulled it back.

His eyes pierced the shadows. Pale flesh stained red. A ripped and ruined dress. Red hair. The woman was laying on her stomach, her cheek pressed to the hard floor, her green, soulless eyes wide open yet unseeing. Aden felt nausea claim him, selfishly grateful that she was prone so that he could not see the substance of her demise. A great pool of red blood lay under her.

A piercing shriek broke the silence. In the corner sat a little girl. Though much of her form was covered by shadow, Aden's heightened sight could perceive her easily enough. She appeared to be no more than five or six years old. A mess of wild red hair adorned her small head, sticking up haphazardly. Her chubby face was streaked with tears, grime, and blood. Her knees were drawn up to her chest. Her little hands covered her eyes as she sobbed and wailed.

His heart broke. He dropped to a crouch. "Shh, little one. All is well. I will not hurt you," he declared softly, comfortingly. He dared not move, uncertain if any motion would startle her. He surely did not want to traumatize her further! "You are safe now."

The girl cried for a bit longer, but then stopped and peered through the cracks between her fingers. When her wide, teary eyes came upon him, he offered a gentle smile. They did not speak immediately, Legolas keeping his body perfectly still so as not to frighten her. Finally she murmured. "Are... are you a ghost?" Her english was sloppy and slurred with youth and fear.

The thought amused him slightly, and the corner of his mouth turned in a smile. "No." She had obviously never seen one of his kind before, and his natural glow baffled and amazed her. "I am an just here to help you," he said evenly.

She started to weep again. Legolas could hardly stand to hear her wails of anguish and winced at their volume. He crept closer, extending one slender hand to her. Reaching over the woman's dead body. "Do not cry, little one," he pleaded, shaking his head helplessly. "Let me take you out of here. Surely you would like that?" The little girl only cried harder. In her gasping sobs Aden could make out the word "mother". The young man grimaced inwardly as he discovered the truth behind his fear. This was the dead woman's daughter. He could not even begin to imagine her pain.

There came a thunder of feet outside. Aden peered over the wreckage to see a few men standing at the door. "Lord Aden," one with deep, baritone voice called, "we heard crying! Are you well, sir?"

"Summon your captain," ordered the man firmly. "I have found a child."

The two men glanced between each other, clearly surprised. Then one murmured, "Aye, sir!" He disappeared from the door.

The other stepped inside, and the house groaned. Aden shook his head quickly. "Stay back. This house is unstable!" The man stopped in his tracks and watched helplessly. Then the man returned his attention to the girl. She had squirmed further into the corner. He obviously terrified her, and he frankly found no fault with that, given the situation. He calmed himself and turned his hand over, showing her his open fingers and palm. He forced a smile to his face. "What is your name, little one?" he asked, his mind racing to find a way to calm her.

She sniffled and turned her face into the wall. But she did speak. "Kyra."

His heart shuddered in relief. He smiled at her, trying desperately to appease her fears. "Kyra, my name is Aden."

She swallowed. "Addenn."

He gave a little laugh. "Good enough, little one. I promise I will do nothing to hurt you. You must trust me, Kyra. We are not safe here." He held her gaze, determined not to let her go now. "Just take my hand."

"Mummy won't wake up," the girl whispered. Tears welled in her bright, green eyes.

Aden ached inside, panic swirling within him as the second floor cracked and creaked. He said, "Your mother is in a wonderful place now, Kyra. She would want you to be safe, would she not?" The little child nodded fearfully, her face puckered up with a barely restrained sob. "Come with me. I will keep you safe."

A board snapped and the ceiling lurched down a few inches. Aden jerked, but did not look up, knowing that if he should frighten her now they would lose her. I will not lose her! He held his breath, praying that there would be time enough to escape this house, that she would trust him enough for him to save her.

Finally she reached out a trembling, little hand. This she slowly placed in his open palm. Nearly sagging in relief, he closed his long fingers about her tiny digits. Wide, fearful eyes regarded him. "I'm scared," she admitted, her voice shaking.

"Nothing will harm you," Aden assured. He reached out his other arm and moved closer, dipping his knee into the chilly puddle of blood on the floor. The girl hesitated a moment more, but it was clear that the promise of security his arms provided won over her fear of him. She launched her small, quaking form into his embrace. Burying her face into the warmth of his shoulder, she began to wail again.

The young man wasted no time. Wrapping his arms tightly around the precious burden, he propelled himself up with strong legs. Over the counter he flew, graceful and elegant despite his panic. The ceiling was crumbling, raining splinters of wood and dust upon him. It snapped. He bounded through the mess, flying faster than the observing soldier could detect, precariously stepping around the debris on feet swift and light. The supports gave away with a booming and horrific crack, and down came the second floor.

But Aden was already safely outside. He stood quite some distance from the door, watching as the house destroyed itself. The noise of the collapse was deafening, a great plume of soot, smoke, and debris spraying from the structure. A few rushed breaths of surprise and relief passed, and when it settled, there was nothing left to salvage.

The only thing of any worth was in his arms, at any rate.

Nicholas jogged up to him. The young captain appeared winded, breathing heavily. He had obviously run here when receiving word from his men of what had happened. Aden shared with him a pained look of jagged relief and despair. Kyra's cries were quieting, her tiny fists balled in Aden's hair, her face nuzzled into the nape of his neck.

"Send for the healer immediately," barked Nicholas to his men, who stood about watching in stupefaction. One broke from his daze and headed off in a run. Then the ranger stepped closer, clearly to get a better look at what Aden had found, but Kyra was too upset for that, and she buried her face deeper into Aden's shoulder, holding onto him with all her strength. "Are you well, Aden?" Nicholas inquired quietly. The young lord only nodded. The captain looked down and shook his head. "We found no one else."

The words struck hard. Shaken, Aden wrapped his hand around the little girl's back. He held to her tightly and wondered at the cruelty of fate. To leave an innocent child as the sole survivor of the massacre of her entire city...

He closed his eyes against the tears.

They would pay...Voldemort would pay.

It was time to pay a visit to a young boy whose destiny would be intertwined with his.

War had finally been unleashed.

--

In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in success and bothering little about means and roads. But now he was confronted with a thing of the moment. A choice. A choice in whether or not he was going to continue this path and be forever someone's puppet or carve his own path in this thing called life.

He was forced to admit to himself that as far a war was concerned he knew nothing of himself. He also new that if he was going to win this war, Dumbledore's orders would have to be defied.

If he was going to fight Voldemort then he was going to make sure he had all the tools to do it while at the same time making sure he survived. Or if he died he would make sure he took the bastard with him. But right now at this very moment he needed to find some way to get to Diagon Alley. He needed money and he was only going to get that at Gringotts.

He sat on his bed and thought about how he was going to get there. He couldn't apparate yet. And he certainly couldn't ask the Order to let him go. That would be too much of a hassle and they probably wouldn't let him purchase half the things he was thinking of buying today. The Knight Bus was traceable and he wasn't sure if the Order was watching that as well. So all the wizarding options were out.

So muggle taxi it was. He had about 100 quid on him at the moment and that should be more then enough to get him to London.

He had sent a letter to the order yesterday so he wouldn't really be checked on for two more days. He got up off the bed he was sitting down and placed the letters he had received on his beaten desk.

He jumped as he heard the front door slam, signaling the departure of his relatives from his life for two weeks. He only wished he could have a similar departure from the Order, but the was a limit to God's special favors. He walked over to his trunk and took out the essentials, his invisibility cloak, his money pouch and his little sneakascope. Harry picked up a hand me down backpack that a nice neighbor had given him when he had weeded her garden just a few days ago and put it around his shoulders. He picked up his invisibility cloak, pocketed his sneakascope and his wand and went downstairs.

He had been watching the order like clockwork this past week and it was just running around nine in the morning and this was when a first shift change was bound to happen. He looked out the window and sure enough there was "Dung" under a bush next to number six bouncing his foot to a beat only he could hear. The Order was getting really predictable and he new that being predictable would get you or someone else killed.

He walked towards the back door and went outside quietly. He had been in the garden recently and noticed that his aunt had put a fountain next to the back fence. Just the right thing that Harry need to climb. He walked quickly towards the fountain and put his foot on the rim and hauled himself over the fence into the neighbors yard. He was lucky that these people had just sold their house and moved out while he was still at school. He dropped skillfully to the ground on the other side of the fence and walked towards the gate, but not before putting on his invisibility cloak.

He walked out onto the street and towards his destiny. Whatever that may be.

________________________________________________________________________

Ginny Weasley was angry.

Very angry.

She was sitting in the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld with her family minus the git Percy, Hermione and her parents, and various members of the order including Dumbledore. The reason for her anger was her mother. She loved her mother, but there were times her mother still thought that she was still that little girl that Harry had rescued from the chamber. And every since they came back for summer hols, her mother had constantly berated and lectured and yelled at her. Telling her that she was too young. That she was to innocent that she had no right to be there.

And here she was yelling at them again.

"Really how could the ministry just let children walk into the Department of Mysteries, how could they let six of them in there with no warning, Ron, Ginny you should have known better then to waltzing in there, you could have died!" Molly Weasley was practically yelling at the order and her children.

"Now, Now Molly calm down," Arthur Weasley attempted to soothe his irate wife.

"CALM DOWN! They almost died, and you're telling me to calm down!" Molly screamed.

"Mum, stop it, we went there and it was a trap, yes I know now that it was, but how could we not trust one of Harry's visions, especially when one saved Dad's life just this past Christmas?" Ginny sighed. This was defiantly getting old.

"Ginny, you don't understand what its like to fight in a war, you don't understand how evil You-know-who really is..."

Ginny slammed her hands on the table.

"I don't know how evil he is, mum? I don't understand how he can manipulate and how he can cause pain. I think out of everyone in this room I would know just how evil he is. I am the one who had his filth inside me for a year, a year mother. He took my innocence away from me, he stole my soul. Then he used me to send a fifty-foot basilisk on the muggle-borns in the school, and one of them happened to be my best friend. So please don't lecture me on not know how evil he is because I have first hand knowledge of just how evil the bastard is." Ginny was standing looking at every face in the room. Unbeknownst to her eyes were shimmering and glowing. Molly looked ashamed that she had forgotten what he daughter went through.

"I love you all. I do. But there is something that you need to realize this is my war too. That I want to see Tom dead just as much if not more then most of you. You all sit around thinking that we are children and that we can't handle ourselves, well news flash you can't protect us forever and there will come a time where Voldemort..." The room flinched. "Oh come off it it's just a bloody name, where Voldemort will attack and you won't be there to protect us, you know that. You have always taught us that we have to fight for what's right no matter the cost. Did you lie to me? This is right, fighting for and defending the light is the right thing to do. Harry once told me that we have to choose between what is right and what is easy. It would be easy to bow down to Voldemort's demands and kiss his bloody robes, but the right thing to do is fight, fight for what we know to be the truth. And I choose to fight." Ginny gave one last look to her family and walked out of the kitchen.

Fred sighed. "That went well."

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