Harry Potter and the Time of Shadows

- Chapter Two-

Homework

A week later, Harry sat at his desk, trying to think of an effective opening sentence for his Defence Against the Dark Arts Essay ("What Makes a Person Choose the Dark Path?").

Does suffering bring out the worst in man, or does the worst in man bring on suffering?

Harry tickled his chin with the end of his quill. Harry liked Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was a subject he had a lot of experience with. Defence Against the Dark Arts was probably Harry's best subject. He was the only person in his class (maybe even the whole school, he privately thought) who could conjure a Patronus to battle Dementors. He was also the only one who could resist Imperious, and was that only known person to survive the fatal Avada Kedavra curse.

He had actually had four Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, each had only lasted a year, and there were rumours that the job was jinxed.

His first had been Professor Quirrell, who was seemingly innocent, had a stutter, was afraid of absolutely everything, and wore a weird purple turban. But that was all just a cover, Quirrell was really Voldemort's servant, trying to help him back to power. Voldemort had possessed the back of Quirrell's head, hiding under the turban, but when Voldemort left Quirrell's body, Quirrell had died.

His next teacher had been Professor Lockhart, a famous author of books on dealing with Dark creatures. Self-involved and vain, Lockhart was hated by all pupils and teachers, except the girls who fancied him. But he was a fraud. He had not done all the things in his books. He had tracked down the people who had done them, placed a Memory Charm on them, and taken credit for them. After trying to put a strong Memory Charm on Harry, it had backfired on him, and Lockhart had forgotten everything about who he was. He left the school to try and get his memory back, and had not been seen since.

In his third year his teacher was Professor Lupin. Lupin was definitely Harry's favourite Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Remus Lupin had been one of Harry's dad's best friends at Hogwarts. But Lupin had a secret that he kept from his friends in their first two years of school; Lupin was a werewolf! But once James Potter and their other friends found out, they all became Animagi (able to turn into animals) to keep their friend company. Professor Lupin had resigned once his students had discovered his secret.

Their last teacher, Professor Moody, had been an Auror, (Dark wizard catcher) but in his old age had become extremely paranoid. Moody had seemed like a very good teacher, he showed his students what the Unforgivable Curses looked like. But he was an impostor. It was really Barty Crouch, a Death Eater smuggled from Azkaban. Crouch had kidnapped Moody before the school year had begun, and posed as him. He was part of a plan to take Harry to Voldemort, and use his blood to be reborn. The plan succeeded.

Harry wondered who would be their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. Hopefully it would be someone interesting, but someone who would not try to kill him, as three of the previous ones had.

Harry saw a dark outline of a shape moving towards him from out the window. It was an owl; Hedwig! She was finally back, Harry would finally be able to send his letter to Sirius. Harry opened his window, relieved. He was starting to worry about Hedwig, she had never been out that long before.

But as the owl drew closer, he saw that it wasn't Hedwig. It was a large barn owl, carrying a letter that bore the Hogwarts crest, he took it off the owl's leg, when it took flight out of the window again. Harry was disappointed, he had hoped to use this owl to deliver his letter to Sirius for him.

He opened his Hogwarts letter, it mentioned all the usual things about his new year at school, he saw he would have to buy a few new books this year, including The Standard book of Spells, Grade 5, Advanced Transfiguration, and The Fates Unfolded: A Continued study of Divination.

Harry read the whole letter again, it said nothing about Prefects. Oh well, he thought, congratulations Hermione.

He placed the letter back in its envelope, when he saw there was another letter in it, he took it out and read it aloud:

Dear Harry,

You will have noticed this letter has reached you much earlier than usual.

Harry looked up from the letter for a second. He hadn't noticed that, but now that he thought about it, the letter usually came on his birthday or later. He continued reading:

I am very sorry Harry, but I cannot permit you to leave your relatives' house this holiday. You are only safe either when you are with them, or when you are at Hogwarts with me. However, you should be reasonably safe in Diagon Alley, it has a number of protections on it. You will need to pick up your school supplies. I will send an escort to accompany you on your birthday, July thirty-first, at ten o'clock in the morning. I have informed your friends, Miss Granger and the Weasley family, and they will also be visiting Diagon Alley on that same day. I think you should warn your uncle of this, as they may not be used to wizards dropping in on their home.

Also, I think we need to talk. As soon as you reach Hogwarts on September the first, come straight to my office. The password will be "pixie stick". There are some issues we need to discuss. Until then, Harry.

Albus Dumbledore

Harry finished the letter, feeling thoroughly disappointed. He had to stay at Privet Drive for the rest of the holiday, and he only got one day to spend with his friends. He put the letter on his desk, next to his pile of finished homework. He looked at the homework he still needed to do. He decided to get started on his Divination homework (using your personal star chart, describe your own death in detail). Although the Divination lessons were both ridiculous and boring, Harry liked to make fun of the subject by making everything up when doing his homework. He dipped his eagle-feather quill in a bottle of ink and began writing:

I will die on the day after my one-hundredth birthday, after a long and fulfilling life.

He knew his teacher wouldn't like this, she was always predicting a painful, tragic, and prompt death for him, and Harry would often please her by writing a tragic death in his homework, but in light of Voldemort's return, Harry didn't have much humour for that thought.

Divination was one of Harry's least favourite subjects. Apart from the fact that Professor Trelawney kept predicting his death, he just didn't like the idea that the future was already set, that his fate had already been decided, and nothing he did would change that. He had a feeling that his predetermined fate couldn't be particularly good. He carried on writing:

I will die peacefully in my sleep with my true love next to me, knowing that I have no regrets, and no missed opportunities.

Yes, that was exactly what he wanted. No regrets, no pain, and true love. He thought of his parents, he would call that true love. They died together, their spirits could be with each other in the afterlife. Harry liked to think that they had no regrets, no unfinished business.

No, Harry was quite sure that his mum and dad were together in heaven, or whatever the afterlife was.

Harry did not think about his parents a lot. He thought it was best that way, it stopped him from being too depressed over being an orphan. He did miss them, but knew that they were lost to him forever. Nothing he did would change that.

He went into the trunk under his bed, and took out the photo album of his mum and dad. On every page they were smiling and waving, he saw them on their wedding day, next to Sirius, on holiday at the beach, was that their honeymoon? They were at their house, and even some of them as children and teenagers, at school.

The last photo in the album was Harry's favourite picture. His dad, so much like Harry, untidy dark hair, tall and thin, sitting on the floor, his arm around Harry's mum, pretty and red-haired, with bright green eyes, just like Harry's. And on her lap was a chubby little baby with a tuft of black hair covering his forehead, wearing a cute, tiny red and gold robe. In front of them was a small cake with a single candle, the flame sending out blue and purple sparks. Green icing on the cake read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY! His only birthday with his parents, three months before Harry would be made an orphan.

He started to cry silently on his bed, wishing they were there, hoping they were happy.

He wiped his eyes on his blanket, then went back to his Divination homework. He stared at the two sentences he had written, thinking of another idea:

I will be remembered for banishing the Dark Lord again, and bringing peace to the wizarding world.

He was careful not to write Voldemort, as most people were afraid to say his name, he was known as You-Know-Who, or He Who Must Not Be Named, or the Dark Lord.

Professor Trelawney would probably not like that, it was much too positive. "The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever before." Harry remembered the real prediction she had made over a year ago, she was right. Wormtail had gone back to Voldemort, and he had risen again, but was he greater and more terrible than before? Would he cause the same kind of destruction as before? Would he be in power as long as he was before?

Eleven years. Voldemort was in power for eleven years. How much damage could he do now that he was back? Harry's thoughts seriously disturbed him, so he put his Divination work aside, and started doing something much more boring: History of Magic.

History of Magic was taught by the ghost of Professor Binns, who droned endlessly about goblin rebellions. Finding that too boring to distract him from thoughts of Voldemort, he got out something that was so hard it would need his full attention: Potions.

Potions was another of Harry's least favourite subjects, he wasn't especially good at the subject, but it was the teacher that made Potions unbearable. Professor Snape hated Harry as much as Harry hated him, just as he had hated Harry's father. Professor Snape had been a Death Eater, but had turned spy while Voldemort was powerful, and worked for Dumbledore. Harry had no idea why that was, but Dumbledore definitely trusted Snape.

Snape had an important job to do over the summer, and Harry had no idea what that was. Had he gone back to the Death Eaters, telling them he was loyal to Voldemort, but really being a spy again? Voldemort wasn't stupid, and Harry thought Snape would be killed the second he tried to make contact with any of his followers. And while the thought of Snape dying would have pleased and amused him before, Harry couldn't help thinking that a man who would risk his life to fight evil couldn't be all bad.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small and very loud owl that came flying in through the still open window. It was Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl! He flew a circuit around the room before stopping long enough for Harry to untie the letter he was carrying, then flew to Hedwig's perch, and began eating her food, still hooting uncontrollably. The letter was written in Ron's untidy scrawl:

Harry,

Sorry you can't come and stay this holiday, Mum and Dad were just as disappointed as the rest of us, but I guess Dumbledore knows best, we have to trust his judgement I suppose.

Bill and Charlie are still here, and Percy just got a new job at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. After Crouch died, he didn't exactly need a personal assistant, so Percy needed to work somewhere else.

We haven't been doing much this holiday, but Dad's been staying at work for a lot longer than usual. He's probably getting people on our side before You-Know-Who gets a hold on things.

I hope you're ok. I know it can't be easy for you over there. Try not to get too bummed out. We can't let this control our lives, we have to go on living. There's no point in worrying about something we can't control.

It turns out Hermione isn't visiting her boyfriend in Bulgaria after all, I wonder why. After she told me I sent her an owl asking her why and got a very stressful response. Here is my favourite bit:

"None of your business Ronald Weasley. What I do is up to me and no one else. You are by far the nosiest little boy I have ever met!"

She is getting very touchy about him. I think they might be having trouble with a long distance relationship. I knew it wouldn't last.

Anyway, at least we can meet up on your birthday.

Hope the Muggles are treating you right. See you at Diagon Alley on your birthday!

Ron

Harry smiled to himself, Ron was jealous of Krum! He had noticed a sulky tone in his voice whenever Hermione would talk about Krum, Ron fancied Hermione! This year at Hogwarts promised to be interesting, if nothing else.

Krum, Durmstrang, Karkaroff! Karkaroff had fled Voldemort when he felt the Dark Mark burn. He had betrayed several Death Eaters to be released from Azkaban. Harry wondered whether Voldemort had caught up with him yet, or how long it would be before he was found, he remembered Voldemort talking about a Death Eater "One too cowardly to return, he will pay." Harry hated to think how Voldemort would make anyone pay, particularly someone who had betrayed many of his supporters. Harry had a horrible feeling the punishment would be worse than a simple death.

Harry's mind was racing, he had so many things to think about, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

Karkaroff, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime, Hagrid! The giants! Had Hagrid and Madame Maxime made contact with the banished giants? Would Voldemort persuade the giants to join him?

Harry continued, against his will with the sick, word association going around in his head.

Giants, Voldemort, Dementors! Voldemort had mentioned breaking open Azkaban and convincing the Dementors the serve him. The Dementors were scary enough when they were serving Fudge, they had once tried to suck out Harry's soul. Harry was haunted by the idea of Dementors serving Voldemort, and the most dangerous Death Eaters walking free again.

Pigwidgeon's hoots came back into Harry's ears, he grabbed his letter to Sirius and was just about to tie it to his leg, when he took off out the window. He had no owl with him, no way to communicate with the outside world. He felt like the house in Privet Drive was nothing more than a prison, holding him until September the first.

Harry sat back at his desk, and wondered what was going on in the wizarding world.

"What am I going to do?" he said aloud.

"What is Harry Potter going to do?" said another voice.

Harry almost jumped out of his skin. He spun around to see who it was, and a quite welcome guest was sitting on his bed.

"Dobby!" Harry said.

"Hello Harry Potter sir," said the house-elf. He was wearing his usual assortment of bizarre clothes, but also wearing a very grim expression on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"Dobby is sorry for scaring you Harry Potter, but when Dobby is appearing he is seeing a very loud owl at the window, and was thinking it best to not say anything."

"Well, alright. Why did you come here?"

"Dobby was sent by Professor Dumbledore to give him some most terrible news," Dobby was trembling and his voice was high, even for him.

"Is it to do with Voldemort?" Harry asked, fearing the answer.

"Aah! Speak not the name!" Dobby was screaming and bouncing around on the bed, his hands over his ears. Praying the Dursleys didn't hear anything from downstairs, Harry went on:

"Sorry, did You-Know-Who do something?"

"Yes Harry Potter, He Who Must Not Be Named is attacking four families of wizards, very good wizards."

"Four! Dumbledore didn't mention that in his letter just now!"

"Professor Dumbledore is asking Dobby to tell you the news personally. Someone Harry Potter is knowing was killed last night, sir!"

"Someone I know!" Harry's voice was trembling. "Who was it?"

He delivered the news in barely a whisper. "Dobby is knowing you play Quidditch, Harry Potter, Dobby is sorry to say your captain has died."

"Wood! Oliver's dead! No!" Harry's legs had buckled from under him, and he landed on his bed, Dobby next to him.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir."

Harry rested his head on his knees, not daring to believe the truth.

"Dobby, do you know you else has been killed by You-Know-Who?"

"Professor Dumbledore is only telling Dobby of Wood, sir. Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter."

"Thank you for telling me Dobby," Dobby disappeared with a loud crack, and Harry laid down, not knowing what to do.

Wood was dead. The boy who had made him into a good Quidditch player, and taught him everything he knew about the sport, he was gone. He thought of all of the things that made Wood who he was. The way he would rouse everyone else out of bed at the crack of dawn to train them, how he would spend hours explaining techniques, and strategies. How much Wood really cared about Quidditch, even to an obsessive level. And he had been killed, not even being out of school for more than a year. He would never fly again.

Another crack told him that Dobby had come back, Harry heard his voice saying "Would Harry Potter like for Dobby to stay?"

Harry sat up, surprisingly happy at the thought of spending time with Dobby.

"Really? Yeah, sure you can stay, but you'll have to hide from the Dursleys though."

"Dobby is used to being treated badly, Dobby's old masters, the Malfoys, were very bad to Dobby," Harry noticed Dobby didn't smack himself on the head, as he usually did when insulting his old masters.

"Well okay, you can sleep here," Harry said, placing a cushion on his desk. "I spend most of my time here in my room."

"Oh, thank you, Harry Potter, thank you. Mr. Malfoy made Dobby sleep on his kitchen floor."

Harry remembered his first ten years with the Dursleys, when he had slept in the cupboard under the stairs. At least a kitchen floor is more spacious, he thought.

The elf jumped up onto Harry's desk, and sat on the small cushion, which was easily big enough to be a large pillow for Dobby.

Seeing that it was quite late, Harry got into his own bed, and turned off the lamp.

"Good night Dobby."

"Good night Harry Potter."

Harry laid in his bed, not wanting to sleep, in case horrible nightmares involving skeletons riding broomsticks would plague him. Finally though, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

*

Harry woke to see Dobby standing over him, his long nose very close to Harry's face.

"Ah! Dobby, I thought I told you not to do that last year."

Dobby looked ashamed. "Dobby is sorry, but Harry Potter is looking so peaceful as he sleeps. What is Harry Potter wanting to do today?"

Harry reached for his glasses and looked quickly around the room; Hedwig was still not back. Harry was getting quite worried, the only times she had been away this long before was when she was delivering a long distance letter to Sirius.

"Er, I thought I would get some breakfast. You stay here, I'll get you something."

"Very well Harry Potter."

Harry, laughing to himself, went downstairs, and sat at the kitchen table. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were sitting in silence, eating their breakfast, while Aunt Petunia was talking on the telephone. Harry looked at the news report on television. A picture of a ruined home was on the report, with a lady standing in front, holding a microphone.

"And last night came another in the series of strange gas explosions of homes all around the country."

"This house was home to the Wood family, and claimed the lives of Mr. Kenneth Wood, his wife Jane, and their two children, nineteen year old Oliver, and eleven year old Zara. This is the fourth home to fall victim to gas-related deaths in the past two weeks. Police have not identified any connections, but urge people to be careful when operating any gas appliance. Now back to you Nigel with the weather."

Wood's house, a gas explosion? Had Fudge tried to cover it up?

Wood had a little sister, and she would probably have been starting Hogwarts this year. Harry remembered the street the house was on. There were cars and streetlights; was Oliver Muggle born?

"What are you looking at?"

It seemed he had been staring hard at the news report, because his uncle had noticed it.

"I-I know him, he-he goes to my school," he stammered, wondering how the Dursleys would react to this.

"They were your kind!" Uncle Vernon thundered. "No wonder they get themselves blown up!"

"They were killed by the same people who killed my parents," Harry answered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Well, as for your parents --" he started, but finished the rest in a mumble.

Aunt Petunia, hung up the phone, and had obviously not heard the news, or what Harry had said.

"That was Mrs Figg," she said.

"Mrs Figg?" Uncle Vernon repeated. "What did she want?"

"Just wanted to know how we were."

"That's strange," Uncle Vernon said. "Did she say why?"

"No, but she did ask about the boy as well."

"Him?"

Harry looked up, wondering why the mad old lady that lived two streets away wanted to know about him.

"What did you say?" Harry asked.

Aunt Petunia drew her lips together.

"I said that you were fine and that we were looking after you, more than you deserve, and she agreed."

Harry looked down at his cereal.

"Did you hear the news?" Uncle Vernon said to his wife. "There's been a family attacked last night. One of his kind" he added, jerking his head in Harry's direction.

"Not soon enough," Aunt Petunia said, her voice becoming cold and spiteful. "With any luck you'll all be gone before long."

Uncle Vernon laughed, and Dudley shot Harry a mean look.

Grabbing a few pieces of brown bread, with non-fat spread for Dobby, Harry ran upstairs, wishing Uncle Vernon had got him angry enough to do some accidental magic.

"Bread! Harry Potter is too good to Dobby. At Hogwarts Dobby eats from the food he cooks with all the other elves, but Dobby understands those horrible people do not give Harry Potter the food he needs. But you spare some of it for Dobby."

And Harry was left to his thoughts, as Dobby loudly munched his bread.

Voldemort was back, and people were dying. Harry had to stop him, whatever it took. He had to defeat Voldemort before anyone else that he cared about died.