Our Fathers

In a small, dark bedroom in an average home, a young man awoke screaming from a nightmare. Down the hall, his aunt and uncle weren't disturbed by his shouts as their son, the boy's cousin, snored loudly enough to cover even a shriek of terror. Alone and forgotten, the boy glanced around frantically, trying to remember where he was and how on earth he'd gotten to the small, ordinary bedroom from the terrible landscape of the dream.

He reached out, grabbed his eyeglasses from the bedside table, and slipped them onto his face pausing only to rub his forehead and, with it, the most remarkable feature of his unremarkable countenance - the lighting bold shaped scar hovering on his brow. Harry Potter, of course, was no normal boy and the scar that was the focus of his attention was no ordinary scar.

The scar, left after a failed attempt on his life when he was only a small child, was burning with a feverish intensity, hot under Harry's touch. The scar was the cause of his nightmare and was caused by the evil wizard who had killed his parents and indirectly forced him to be confined in the small, dark bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive. There was only one person in the world that Harry truly loathed with all his being, and that was the Dark Wizard Voldemort - a man who, after the terrible conclusion of Harry's previous school year - was now roaming the world once more with Harry's own blood running through his veins.

Harry launched to his feet and padded across the room to the broken table - it was propped up on a box, as it was missing a leg - which served as a desk, pulling out a long feathered quill and a scrap of parchment. He hated to bother his godfather, Sirius, who no doubt had dozens of more important things to worry himself about than a silly dream, but he'd promised to tell him if anything happened to his scar. He rested the tip of the quill on the parchment, watching an unsightly blob spread across the page... and stopped. It was just a dream. Voldemort had been in it of course, and Wormtail, the traitor who had sold out Harry's parents to evil and was the reason he couldn't live with his godfather, but Cedric Diggory had been in it too. The dream could never happen. Cedric Diggory was dead - and it was Harry's fault.

The details of the dream already fading from his mind, Harry set aside the ruined parchment and stared gloomily into the cracked mirror stuck above the broken table with a nail and a piece of chewing gum. The scar was there, ever present, though the pain had faded with the dream. His mop of black hair as untidy as ever and long enough to warrant a trim, though Harry was loathe to allow his Aunt Petunia to touch his hair. They weren't likely to pay for a professional haircut for the hated wizard, even when Dudley always got one. His eyes, emerald green, seemed duller and more haunted than the previous summer; though he had managed to convince himself that it was only a figment of his imagination. The deep bags beneath his eyes, gaunt face, and ribs clearly visible beneath his skin, however, could not be explained away so easily. He'd barely grown in height and had clearly shrunk in breadth, thanks to Dudley's eternal diet. He was wasting away into nothing - but nothing sounded rather good.

A sudden tremour ran down the length of his body uncontrollably, sending Harry grabbing for the edge of the desk to steady himself. Too shocked by the sudden jerk to think clearly, he turned abruptly and stumbled toward his bed. The spasm came again, sending Harry tumbling to the ground.

A ring of black robed figures surrounded a simple suburban home. Voldemort, tall and serpentine, led them, blasting his way through the front door. Harry recognized the interior as a wizarding home immediately from the moving photographs on the wall and the large Puddlemere United Quidditch poster framed above the mantle.

Voldemort swept through the home, pointing for underlings to take the stairs up to the second floor and down to the basement. The home was small and suburban, very much similar to the identical houses lining Privet Drive. The Dark Lord himself pushed into a simple kitchen where the owner seemed to be waiting for them. The elderly man stood his ground, wand at the ready and held firmly against Voldemort. A manic grin crossed his face. "The Ministry knew you were coming. My sons aren't here, so don't bother wasting your time. I'll tell you nothing."

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Voldemort; a snarl crossing his lips as the old man's wand came zooming into the Dark Lord's long-fingered hand. "I did not come here to ask you anything, Mr. Fletcher, merely to rid myself of a potential threat. What a pity - you don't seem to be the fearsome Auror you once were... but that doesn't matter. I have learned my lesson when it comes to judging appearances. Avada Kedavra."

An eerie green light, terribly familiar to Harry as the effect of the curse that took the lives of his parents, flashed through the room. Mr. Fletcher dropped to the floor, the manic grin still on his face, and lay still. Voldemort didn't care, stepping over the body. "Lucius!"

A robed man, ostensibly the Lucius Malfoy who was the father of Harry's school rival, pushed open the door of the kitchen to join his master. He bowed low, staring at the body. "My Lord?"

"How did the Ministry know that Mundugus Fletcher was my target? I was intending to wipe the entire family out."

Malfoy shook visibly. "My Lord... how would I...? I don't know, Lord..."

"Not good enough. Crucio," Voldemort sneered. Lucius fell to the ground screaming in agony, and Harry winced with remembered pain. Voldemort had done the same to him, twice, the previous year. He wouldn't wish that sort of pain on anyone - not even Lucius Malfoy. "You work at the Ministry," Voldemort was continuing, "you escaped any sort of incarceration in Azkaban, and you are friendly with the traitor Snape. You expect me to believe that you are not spying for that old fool at Hogwarts?"

"My Lord, I am loyal! I would never -"

Voldemort glowered and Lucius grew silent. "You cannot play both sides anymore, Lucius. Do not lie to me, I have many eyes and ears that you do not know of. You have one more chance, Lucius, as I am a forgiving man. Am I not? Crucio!"

There was another scream and Harry snapped awake, as if he were the one being tortured. He was lying across his own floor, face wet with perspiration. Down the hall, the Dursleys were still snoring, untroubled by Harry's visions.

It all made little sense to Harry. Voldemort was hurting one of his most active supporters. Lucius Malfoy had been the one who gave Voldemort's enchanted diary to a Hogwarts student in the hopes of clearing the school of Muggle-born wizards, just as Voldemort himself had attempted. How could the Dark Lord believe Lucius Malfoy to be unfaithful?

The man dead, Mundugus Fletcher, was a name Harry was familiar with: he'd been mentioned as one of the old crowd that Sirius and Professor Lupin were to contact over the summer. Harry pulled himself to his feet and scrambled for parchment, intent on warning Sirius of the murder, when a shock reverberated throughout the house. While the Durlseys slept on, Harry hurried to his window and peered out.

A burst of flame was visible over the trees a few blocks away and there, hovering above it, was the Dark Mark, a luminous green skull with a snake slithering from the mouth. Voldemort's mark. Harry gulped.

He was getting closer.

Across England, outside the Muggle town of Ottery St. Catchpole, Ron Weasley was also sitting awake. He hadn't been the victim of a nightmare, however - he was awake because of a screaming match taking place in the living room of his home. His brother Percy, a worker very loyal to the Minister of Magic, and his father, a worker very loyal to Headmaster Dumbledore, were arguing very loudly over just who had the right idea about the future of Wizarding England. Minister Fudge didn't believe in You-Know-Who's return - despite the killings like the one happening at that very moment to Mundugus Fletcher - and Percy agreed that Harry Potter had been the victim of a massive movement by the remaining Death Eaters to make it appear as if You-Know-Who was back, when he was actually dead.

It was an utter lie, of course. Ron knew what Harry had seen. Harry was his best friend, and Harry would certainly never lie about something as important as the return of the Dark Lord. Ron had told Percy that - but of course, Percy hadn't bothered to listen.

"Ron?" A whisper came from the doorway. It was Ginny, outlined in a glow from the fire burning down in the living room.

"I'm awake," he whispered back. "I don't think anyone could sleep through the two of them going at it."

Ginny crossed the room and climbed onto the bed next to her brother. "Why won't Percy just listen? Harry was telling the truth!"

"Does Percy listen to any of his brothers?" Ron retorted, making a strangled face. Percy didn't listen to anyone, unless they had an official title. Ginny made a face, too, though Ron though that probably had less to do with Percy's comments and more to do with the though of Harry as a brother. Ginny was very much crushing on Harry. She had been for years, and it didn't seem as though she'd be giving up any time soon.

"Why don't they stop fighting?" she finally whispered. "They won't agree..."

"I know," Ron sighed. "People don't want it to be true, though. I think they'll keep pretending until You-Know-Who shows up on their doorsteps." Ron idly wondered what Harry was doing. Well, sleeping... he hadn't heard from his friend in weeks, since they'd parted at King's Cross Station after the end of last term. While there were still more weeks before he would return to school, Ron was actually looking forward to it this year. Harry wasn't to be allowed to stay at the Burrow. It was too dangerous, since You-Know-Who could actually show up on their doorstep. Harry was supposed to be safe with his relatives.

Finally, a shout from Ron's dad echoed through the house. "NO ONE IS TO MENTION THE TOURNAMENT! Do you hear me? He's BACK."

The light from downstairs flickered out, and Ron heard someone trudging up the stairs. Percy's voice passed by the doorway through the gloom of darkness, almost inaudible. "He can't be back... he just can't be back..."

After a moment had passed, and Percy was certainly out of earshot, Ginny whispered again. "Ron...? I want to stay here tonight."

"Sure, Ginny." At least she could pretend she was safe. No body was safe, anymore.

A world away, Draco Malfoy found himself roused out of bed by his mother. "Draco? There are Aurors downstairs... wake up, dear."

Aurors meant that his father was under suspicion again. It had been ages since the Aurors had appeared on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor demanding to see inside... not that they would be caught off guard, even in the dead of night. He climbed out of bed and made sure that his birthday present - a book on the Dark Arts - was carefully hidden at the bottom of his school trunk and followed his mother downstairs. The raids were coming more often, as they all became more concerned about the rise of Lord Voldemort. Fudge had been a fool, pretending that it hadn't happened... Draco knew his father would put the man in his place.

There was a loud crash from somewhere in one of the North parlours, and Narcissa winced. "Ohh... I hope that wasn't the Chinese porcelain... it just doesn't repair correctly, when they're gone..."

"Why are they here, this time?" Draco whispered. He fell silent as he was ushered out the front door and into the sultry July night by a scowling Auror. His father was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully someone would give word, so he wouldn't come home in his Death Eater robes again...

"They said someone died in Little Whinging. I don't know anyone in Little Whinging," she snapped. "I was asleep! I don't know where Lucius is, do you hear me?" Narcissa shouted at the nearest Auror. "My son and I were asleep!"

Draco sneered at the Auror, a tallish, large man who sneered right back. He turned and peered at one of the windows, which served well enough as a make-shift mirror. He was a fright. Blonde hair tousled; dark bags under silvery-blue eyes... he'd look just terrible the next morning. What a waste. They wouldn't find anything, anyway. Even Draco didn't know where his father kept the Dark Arts artifacts anymore!

More crashes. A soft moan of regret from his mother. And then his father Apparated onto the front step, clothed in a fine silken robe and immaculately groomed. "By Merlin, what are you doing?" he demanded of the large Auror.

Draco stood just a little taller. With his father on the scene, he'd be allowed his precious sleep soon enough. "Mr. Malfoy, there was talk of a certain book being in your possession... an original copy of Rowena Ravenclaw's diaries?"

Lucius sniffed imperiously, looking down his nose at the Auror. "I have no such thing - and why would it matter, if I did? Owning a book is not a crime."

"A stolen copy," the Auror added.

It was certainly the wrong thing to say. Lucius bristled, glaring darkly at the man. "You are accusing me of theft? Go on, then, search the Manor! I'll promise you, there is no diary of Ravenclaw on the premises!"

Of course the diary wouldn't be there... As the Auror ran off, Lucius turned and winked broadly at Draco. He leaned over and pecked Narcissa on the cheek. "Good evening, my dear... good morning, I suppose. They won't find it here. He has it." Lucius reached over and smoothed down Draco's locks. "You look a fright, boy. What if they'd brought photographers? I just might call a few, actually... how would that look, on the front page of the Prophet? 'Ministry Official's Home Raided at Midnight Hour - No Evidence Found.' It's ridiculous... they've been here a dozen times before. Do they ever find anything? Of course not!"

Draco smirked and leaned against the front door. He hadn't a clue where his father had been - probably something to do with Lord Voldemort - but he was home now. No one could mess with his father. Not the Ministry, not anyone...

How little he knew.

A/N2: This author's note is completely optional reading! If you're interested in the theory behind the creation of 'Our Fathers,' along with some hints as to what will happen, keep reading. If not... click on review! Right... for everyone left... 'Our Fathers' will be a novel-length fanfiction in four parts. The first is from Draco's POV, the second from Ron's, and the third from Harry's, with the fourth from varied POVs and tying the whole plot arc together. This concept was created on Father's Day of 2002, as I sat wondering about the familial ties of all the main characters in HP. Part One: A Traitor's Heart. Part Two: Home for the Holidays. Part Three: No Other Road. Part Four: Finale.