Harry Potter and the Sword of Sacrifice

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," interrupted Dumbledore, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all."

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Chapter One

Desperation

It was pouring heavily. The harsh rain was pelting against the windows of the houses on Privet Drive. The lightning in the dark sky was flashing, causing the prim gardens of each house to be lit up momentarily.

The occupants of Privet Drive were settled comfortably in their homes, either watching the television or peeking through the window in order to see what one another was doing.

But someone was not sitting happily inside, listening to the loud thunder overhead.

A dark figure was slowly walking down the sidewalk, carelessly allowing the rain to fall onto his jet-black hair and his round, black-rimmed glasses. As the rain pounded upon him, he closed his eyes and let it run down his face, in no apparent rush to get inside and out of the rain.

There was a haunted look about him; dark circles were visible under his startling green eyes - which looked sad and lifeless. His incredibly large clothes were so wet that they were now clinging to him; his ribs were quite visible under the gigantic shirt that reached down to his knees.

Harry Potter did not care that it was raining and he was now soaked to the brim. He didn't care that as soon as he entered Number 4, Privet Drive, his aunt would scold him for dirtying her perfectly spotless house. He didn't care that he would be punished and yelled at.

Harry didn't care much about anything anymore.

He was looking extremely sick these days. He hardly ever slept; and yet, when he did manage to fall into a restless slumber for a short amount of time, he would be woken by a horrible nightmare.

Harry knew that the Dursleys were at the end of their ropes with him. Almost every night he would awake in a cold sweat, screaming in terror. It was almost always the horrible face of Lord Voldemort gleaming through the darkness. And sometimes it was Cedric falling dead to the ground. And sometimes, to Harry's utter terror, it was Sirius falling through the veil.

Sirius.

He cringed at the thought of his godfather. He didn't care how much Dumbledore and his friends told him it wasn't his fault.

Because it was.

If he hadn't been so stupid, Sirius...wouldn't be...

Quit thinking about that!

Harry furiously kicked a trashcan as he walked by it. It wasn't fair. Harry had lost his parents before he ever got a chance to know them. Then, three years ago, Harry met Sirius - his godfather. And for once, he felt like he had someone who really did look after him; someone who thought of him as almost a son. And then, so suddenly, Sirius had been taken from Harry.

Lately, Harry was barely eating - he had pretty much lost his whole appetite. Though he was not given much to eat in the first place, he still didn't finish his plate. And the food that he did manage to eat, he had to force down. From this considerable amount of weight loss, along with the growth spurt Harry had during the summer, he looked extremely gaunt and sick.

He winced every time he caught himself in the mirror, because the reflection staring back at him was quite shocking. Harry saw a thin, pale skeletal boy with the look of not sleeping in days staring back at him; he had a hard time believing that figure was actually himself.

Every morning Harry found an owl sitting in his room, containing a letter from someone trying to beg him to talk to them. It had started out as just Ron and Hermione writing to him - telling him how things were, how they were there for him if he needed them, and how much they wished he would respond to their letters.

After Harry had repetitively refused to answer either of them, more letters continued to come his way. First it was some from Fred and George (who always wrote one letter to Harry, never separate letters), and then Harry started receiving them from Ginny and Bill as well. Even Lupin, Tonks, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were writing to him.

Harry was thoroughly confused about this. They had been doing this for over a month - sending him letters, not receiving a response, and sending more. After two weeks of refusing to reply, Harry thought they would give up, but they never ceased. Every morning when he woke up, a letter was waiting for him.

Harry honestly felt very touched that so many people were taking the time to write to him. Several times he considered writing back to them to tell them how much it meant to him - but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to tell them everything - how much he missed Sirius, how guilty he felt when someone died at the hands of Voldemort, how much this goddamn Prophecy worried him, how he couldn't sleep...

But if he did that, wouldn't they all think he was a helpless little boy who couldn't take care of himself?

Harry was extremely worried that one day everyone was going to give up on him. He wouldn't blame them of course - he knew he must be a very difficult person to deal with. But if those letters stopped coming, Harry didn't think he could go on. The only reason why he agreed not to pack his trunk and slam the door on the Dursleys' faces was because of the letters.

If the letters stopped, Harry would stop.

Hermione's and Ron's notes were the most comforting - probably because they knew Harry the best. Fred and George definitely won for most entertaining letters. They could make Harry laugh no matter how horrible he was feeling. Lupin constantly reminded Harry not to blame himself for Sirius's death. Somehow Harry ended up feeling worse after this. Tonks's letters were always cheerful and fun to read. Mr. Weasley's were full of advice - and sometimes strange questions about how certain Muggle things work - like post offices and supermarkets.

The odd thing was, Harry most looked forward to Ginny's letters. When he opened a parcel from her, and saw her handwriting, smelt her scent - he felt calmer, and more relaxed. Her letters were different from the rest - she always told him to write back to her or she would make life for him at Grimmauld Place a living hell. Rather than being frightened, Harry found this extremely entertaining. But Ginny also seemed to have a way with her words - she always told him he was going to be alright, and that everything would work out in the end. And for some reason - Harry did not know why - he believed her.

Mrs. Weasley's letters also cheered Harry up greatly. She talked to him as if he were her own son - always asking him if he was alright, begging him to talk to her. And when she talked to him like this, Harry felt like he had someone watching over him.

Harry really wanted to talk to Mrs. Weasley - he wanted to let her know he was alright - he didn't want her worrying about him. But he couldn't do it. He knew that if he responded to any of them, he would want to let it all out. And he just couldn't do that. He had to pull away from them - keep himself distanced. It was for everyone's own good. Getting to close to any of them would put them in a great amount of danger. Harry wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happened to one of them.

The only thing Harry did do was write a letter to the Order every few days informing them that he was alright, because he had been forced to promise he would do so. He wrote the same thing in every letter.

I'm doing alright. Dursleys are being themselves as usual. It's rather boring here but I'll manage.

Harry

Harry sighed and shook his head, clearing away his unpleasant thoughts. Then he opened the door to Number 4. And sure enough, the moment he walked in, he was treated like a dog that had rolled around in a patch of dirt. Aunt Petunia began shrieking and raced over to him - smacking him for messing up her home.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley strolled into the hall where Harry and Aunt Petunia were standing. "Petunia, dear, what's all the fuss?" Uncle Vernon asked. His eyes rested on Harry. "Oh, you," he said maliciously, "what has the boy done now Petunia?"

Aunt Petunia burst into a long complaint. But Harry wasn't paying attention to their angry rants. Occasionally he would hear things like "so ungrateful!" and "disgusting boy!" but he was not processing it. He had spotted someone outside the window walking along the street.

Surely Harry was the only person on Privet Drive willing to trudge down the sidewalk in the pouring rain without an umbrella. But something happened that made Harry's eyes widen in surprise. The tall, lean figure had pulled out a long, wooden stick, but quickly slipped it back in his pocket.

Harry's mouth nearly dropped to the floor. He knew exactly what he thought it was, but it couldn't be. No one on Privet Drive would have one, other than himself. If what that man was holding was a...a wand, that would mean he was a wizard. And surely there would be no wizard other than Harry around here...

"I'M TALKING TO YOU, YOU STUPID BOY!"

Harry jerked his head up. "What?" he said stupidly. Uncle Vernon scowled at him.

In a calmer voice, though filled with venom, he said, "You are so ungrateful. Your aunt and I have put up with your selfish antics for years. We feed you - we even gave you a bedroom! You are so lucky to be allowed to stay here, but you -"

Harry stood up heatedly and angrily kicked the wall, forgetting about the man he had just seen outside. Both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were too shocked to start yelling at him again - not that they had the chance, for Harry began screaming himself. "WHAT IN BLOODY HELL DO YOU MEAN I'M LUCKY TO STAY HERE? I ABSOLUTELY HATE THIS PLACE! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE! I HATE YOU BOTH AND I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL I DON'T EVER HAVE TO COME BACK TO THIS GODDAMN HOUSE AGAIN!"

Harry stomped furiously out of the hall, walked out the front door, and slammed it behind him, leaving the Dursleys in stunned silence. Immediately after having his outburst, he thoroughly regretted it. As soon as he returned to the house, he knew he'd be stuck in his room for a week - or something along those lines.

The Dursleys had been pretty tolerable this summer, on account of the fact that they had been threatened by a group of fully-grown wizards. They just acted as if he were part of the wall, and Harry really liked it that way. But he knew this was the final straw. He knew no matter what the Weasleys', Moody, Lupin, and the rest had said at the beginning of this horrible summer at Kings Cross Station, the Dursleys were going to punish him.

Harry sat down on the curb and allowed himself to calm down. Remembering the man he had seen earlier, Harry glanced down the end of the street, and peered over the tidy gardens of Privet Drive. The man was no where in sight. Perhaps he didn't really exist. Maybe Harry was just imagining something because he was so desperate to get back to the wizarding world, the place where he truly belonged...

Harry walked down to the nearby playground and sat down on of the swings. He had done this quite often this summer when he needed to escape his relatives for a while. He sat there for nearly two hours, plotting ways to get out of Privet Drive - each idea getting more far-fetched than the last. Finally, he stood up, deciding that he didn't want to get back to the house too late - that would just make things even worse than they already were.

Harry quietly opened the front door and peered inside. He didn't see the Dursleys anywhere. Quietly as he could, he shut the front door and headed towards the stairs. No sooner than he reached the second step, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia rushed into the hall, looking nothing less than furious. Dudley followed behind them, wearing a smug smile on his pudgy face.

Harry stared back at them, unflinching. When they didn't say anything, he began climbing the stairs again. "Don't you even think about going anywhere, boy," sneered Uncle Vernon, in a voice a little above a whisper.

Harry heaved a sigh, stopped climbing the steps, and turned to face his aunt and uncle. "You are forbidden to leave your room for the rest of the time you remain here," said Aunt Petunia malevolently.

"Right," said Harry indifferently. He didn't want to give them the pleasure of seeing that being stuck in that bedroom for the rest of the summer was going to kill him.

"You are allowed to leave the room twice a day to go to the bathroom. Your meals will be returned if you are quiet enough," Uncle Vernon said, smirking at him.

"You got it. Can I go now?" Harry said in his best bored voice. Uncle Vernon glared at him.

"Don't you talk to me like that, boy," he said threateningly.

Harry smirked at him. "Or you'll what?"

Uncle Vernon made a violent rush towards Harry, but Harry was too quick for him. In less than a second, he had pulled out his wand and was holding it in between Uncle Vernon's eyes. "Don't - touch - me," Harry whispered warningly.

Uncle Vernon gave a loud, booming laugh. Harry could tell he found nothing about this funny, and continued to stare at him, unblinking. "You can't use that t-thing, idiot boy!" Uncle Vernon croaked in a much smaller voice.

"Yeah? Well what if sixth years are allowed to use wands outside of school?" Harry said coolly. This was an absolute lie, but the Dursleys didn't know that...

Uncle Vernon stood there cowering for a few moments, until Aunt Petunia pulled him back. "Just get out of our sight," she said scathingly.

Harry shrugged and walked up the stairs, his heart thumping. He would have really loved to jinx the Dursleys, but surely he would have been expelled. And he knew even Dumbledore couldn't have gotten him out of that one.

Harry entered his room and closed the door. He was going to be stuck in here all summer!? Harry didn't think he could bear it. He needed to get out of this stupid place. He had been here for just a little over a month and already he couldn't stand it. He hated being alone, with no one to talk to. Although he tensed and closed up every time someone tried to talk to him, he felt like he still needed to talk. He just couldn't do it.

Being alone on Privet Drive was killing him. He tried to focus his mind on other things, but it kept wandering back to the night at the Department of Mysteries; the night Harry lost Sirius...

He couldn't bear to think about it. He was just now getting used to the fact that his godfather was gone from his life. But although Harry had grasped the fact that he wouldn't be seeing Sirius again, it didn't help the way he felt.

He felt like he wanted to run - run from everything in his life and never have to face it. It was too much. He was almost sixteen years old; at this age he should be worrying about dating, and Quidditch matches. Instead, Harry was constantly repeating Trelawney's prediction inside his head, and knowing he had no way out of it. His life was either going to include, or - most likely - end in murder.

Harry closed his eyes and let his forehead rest on the cool window. People were going to continue losing their lives until Harry faced Voldemort. Every time Voldemort killed someone, Harry blamed it on himself. He knew he had to do something soon, and yet, Harry didn't think he was at all ready to face that red-eyed monster anytime soon.

At least once a week in the Daily Prophet (Harry had ordered a subscription) he would read about a death. And they were all linked back to Voldemort. Harry could not help feeling an incredible amount of guilt whenever he read about a murder.

He knew his friends would yell at him for "trying to act the hero" but no matter what they said, he knew in the end that people were dieing because he was not yet ready to face Voldemort. And if he didn't do something soon, Voldemort could possibly kill off half the wizarding population.

Harry was jerked out of his horrible thoughts as a small owl came flying through the window and landed on his bed. Hedwig hooted crossly at the owl, clearly stating that she didn't trust him. The owl ignored Hedwig, lifted up its leg for Harry to take the parcel, and flew out the window again. Harry opened the letter. It was from Hermione...

Dear Harry,

How are you doing? It's my turn to check and make sure you are doing okay. And please, don't tell me you are fine because I know you are far from being fine! We are all very worried about you. I really wish you could be with us right now, but I guess Dumbledore has his reasons. Ron and Ginny and I are all very bored here. There's not much to do except cleaning - and you know we all hate that. I am begging you to be honest with us and quit trying to be all noble. I'm not fooled, Harry - I know that you aren't okay.

Love From,

Hermione

Harry scowled at the letter and threw it on the bed in disgust. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and the rest of them were all together again? They were probably laughing and having loads of fun. And he was stuck here, alone, with the goddamn Dursleys

Harry sat down on the bed and picked up Hermione's letter again, reading it for the second time. Where did she come off telling him he was trying to act noble? How was he acting noble? Harry glared down at the yellow parchment in front of him. Why where they so worried about him!? He was fine!

No I'm not.

Harry sighed. They just didn't understand what he was going through. Sure, they missed Sirius too, but not as much as he, Harry, did. Ron and Hermione both had parents - they both had families!

And Harry? Well...Harry had the Dursleys - and you couldn't consider that a family. But when Sirius entered his life, he felt like he almost had a father, or a brother, or something like it. But the closest thing to family Harry knew had been snatched away from him so quickly. And the worst part of it?

It was his fault...

Harry angrily seized a piece of parchment from under his secret floorboard and threw it on his desk. He started at it for several moments. He didn't want to write back to Hermione after she had insulted him in that letter, rather than consoling him with comforting words like she was supposed to do. At least, that's what everyone else had being doing.

Harry continued staring down at the empty piece of parchment. If he didn't write back, he would just be proving Hermione right. So Harry took a deep breath, dipped his quill in ink, and quickly wrote back.

Hermione,

Quit worrying about me! And stop asking me if I'm okay, because I am perfectly alright. I'm sick of being treated like a little kid! And I'm bloody well sick of you trying to tell me that I'm being too noble Hermione! I don't understand how you are supposed to make me feel better in your letter if all you do is yell at me. I know you must be having too much fun at Grimmauld Place to think of me often, but will you please tell the goddamn Order that I need to get out of here soon?!

Thanks for making me feel like crap,

Harry

For a second Harry thought about telling Hermione about how he had gotten in trouble, but the idea left as quickly as it came. He didn't want to sound like a whiney little boy, did he?

Harry sincerely wished that he wasn't so stubborn. He knew he had to let his feelings out sometime. If he kept them inside of him like this, he was going to burst.

Harry knew that his letter had been extremely rude, but all the same, he tied it to Hedwig's leg and collapsed on his bed, prepared for another night of restless sleep and horrible nightmares.

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Harry opened his eyes very early the next morning - in fact, it was still dark. But he knew he couldn't fall back asleep, so he rolled out of bed and walked over to the window. Glancing out, he did not see bright sunshine, but instead was greeted with a dark grey sky - looking as though it would begin to pour at any moment.

Harry glanced at the clock. It was only five o'clock in the morning. He had been stuck in his room for less than twenty-four hours and already he needed to get outside. Harry plopped down in his chair and groaned. What was he going to do?

Harry sat up suddenly, remembering something. Quickly, but quietly, he went over to the loose floorboard and lifted it up. He dug through his belongings and found the hair pin that Fred and George had given him at the train station.

"Here, Harry, take this," Fred had said, handing him the hair pin.

Harry gave them a quizzical look. "What's this for?"

"We wanted to make sure your hair looked pretty this summer for your relatives," said George. Harry stared at him. "It's for opening locks in doors, remember? Just use this if the Muggles lock you in your bedroom again."

Harry stared at the hairpin, and began thinking. Surely the Dursleys wouldn't be awake for another couple hours. He could just go out every morning before dawn to get some of his energy out. It was the only plan he had...

Harry determinedly threw on a sweatshirt and walked out of his room. Quietly he crept down the stairs, opened the front door, and went out for another walk.

Sure enough, the minute Harry walked outside, it began raining again. Harry didn't care though; the grey sky and pelting rain were reflecting his mood. He carelessly let the rain wash down his face. It was sort of calming -

"Oi sorry mate!" said an unfamiliar male voice. Harry looked up from where he had been knocked to the ground. The stranger held out his hand and pulled Harry up. "Oh Harry, it's you! How are you! Oh you look terrible, Harry!" the man said. Immediately after he said this, he clapped his hand over his mouth and began cursing at himself.

Harry gaped at him. "How did you - do I - how do you know my name?" Harry asked He was sure he had never met this man in his life...

He was quite young, actually. He had dark hair and shocking blue eyes. He looked like he was in his late twenties. He was tall and lean...And then it hit Harry. "Hey I saw you walking around here yesterday!" he said, unable to contain himself.

The man stared at him. "You - you saw me?" he said, a hint of uneasiness in his voice.

Harry nodded. "I saw you pull out a wa-, I mean I saw you pull out some long wooden - er - thing. What were you doing with it?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too suspicious. This man just couldn't be a wizard...

The young man was looking very anxious. He avoided Harry's gaze and twiddled his fingers uneasily. "It was nothing. Er...I - I was just holding er - a stick. I - picked it up off the ground and was just - examining it," he said very quickly.

Harry knew perfectly well that the man was lying. But before he had the chance to question him further, the man started speaking again. "Well, look at the time," he said, looking down at his wrist, though he was not wearing a watch, "I must be somewhere. Good bye, Ha - er, good bye, sir."

The man rushed off, and turned the corner, out of sight. Harry stood there in the pouring rain long after the man had gone. What was he doing out at five in the morning anyway? There was something very strange about him, and Harry knew that the thing he had been holding was no ordinary stick.

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