Love on the Battlefield

Chapter 1

Unlikely Beginnings

Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards of our time and headmaster of one of the most renowned schools of witchcraft in the world, contemplated his staff from across the table. His eyes had gained lines, but seemed to have lost their once merry twinkle, and his beard had grown a few feet and badly needed some care. They were in their 1^st official meeting, planning exactly what they would have to do now in the year of 2005, not only for what would occur at Hogwarts, but things that served other purposes. Harry Potter had graduated a few years before and instead of easing the minds of the Professors, and instead of reliving them of the idea of the Dark Lord coming to Hogwarts, only added worry to them.

The scope of their worry was apparent in the dullness of their eyes and the rapidly growing strands of gray in their hair. The past year had been hard on all of them, what with the losses from parents pulling students out of Hogwarts, not to mention the deaths at the hands of You-Know-Who.

The once proud school barely had more then 25 students per year now. This was nothing compared to the much larger numbers before all of the chaos and destruction was set loose upon the land.

His eyes looked to each of the spots, several of them now empty. Rudra Sprout, gone to Canada to collect and study some newly discovered magical plants; Severus Snape, away on a spying mission; Fillius Flitwick, gone to gain allies in the Middle East; and Artemis Sinistra, gone to convince the centaurs and other magical creatures to join them.

Professor Lupin had returned, permanently teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, due to lack of applicants and for his own safety. He sat in his chair, idly rolling a quill between his fingers, waiting for the meeting to begin.

“As you all know,” Albus began in a monotone, “the years have been hard on us, but we must not give up. We are responsible for countless lives and the future of our very world is at risk if we fail.

“Some of you are aware that the other members of the staff have gone on extensive missions for me, and one day you too will be called upon. Some are needed more than others, but you all have been helping just by teaching your students the way of life we all cherish.”

Professor Binns, looked up at Albus, I have seen many different things occur in history. Many of them are repetitive, and this is just one example.”

Albus sighed. Binns had mentioned this countless times at each of the meetings – year after year -, but would never tell anyone exactly what was repeating itself. Who knew how long it would take for them to research and to find out what he was on about. Meanwhile they would lose more members of their side to the Dark. It was time they couldn’t afford to waste.

“Professor, can you tell us what this is?”

“I would if I think it was permissible, Headmaster, but it is not. Time will reveal it and until then I will not say.”

If Albus had been a young man, full of stubborn pride and a temper to match, he would have hit something, but he was not that. He was old, and growing weaker with each passing day, knowing that there wasn’t a member of his staff ready to take on the responsibility of leading the Light in this ferocious battle. Instead of reacting with anger, he merely nodded, “Then pray that the time will come soon. I fear that we do not have much left.”

* * * * *

At the same time, deep underground in downtown London, there was another meeting being held. Barely anyone could be seen in the dimness of the light with the occasionally spot of light that could temporarily blind a person if they were looking directly into it.

One figure was slowly walking back and forth at the head of the table while other forms and figures were doing the same to the sides and other places of the room. One would think that they would bump into one another or into a table of some sort, but they did not. They had been in here too many times to make such foolish mistakes.

A few moments later, a few candles lit themselves, revealing a serious looking wizard with untidy black hair, green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead at the head of the table. Also revealed was a young looking witch with shoulder-length brown hair, held back in a pony tail, close to a tall wizard with red hair. The three of them nodded, and the other wizards and witches all took their places at the table, in silence.

“Harry,” A nervous looking wizard with brown hair began. “Early this morning we received more news about the Death Eater attacks. Apparently,” he looked at a middle-aged witch who was simply raising her eyebrows at him, “the Death Eaters have not only received the support of giants, but of other creatures as well.”

Harry drummed his fingers on the table, “Well, what are they, John?”

“That’s the thing, Harry. We don’t know what they are or where they came from. I believe Special Agent Jones reported that they looked like a cross between angry Veela and a phoenix.”

“So, You-Know-Who has been cross breeding magical creatures for his own uses?” asked Hermione, who stopped twirling a stray strand of brown hair that had fallen out of her pony tail.

“That or there’s now some dangerous magical creatures we need to go discover,” replied another wizard who looked to be in his late 40’s.

“We really don’t have all that many people to spare, nor do we have the funding or the ability to make sure that they can get back to us. That sounds like a suicide mission,” added the wizard with red hair, Ron, shooting a glance at Harry, who nodded at him.

“Is there any other news about the attacks?” Harry cut in, looking around at the wizards and witches seated at the table. They were said to be the finest of their trades and would somehow pull off a victory, hopefully with all of their limbs intact. A few had multiple talents, but they – and it wasn’t as if there were Unspeakables that were just roasting marshmallows over their fires - still needed more people to aide them in their crusade.

“Harry, when I said other creatures, I mean that there is more then just…”

Harry opened his mouth for a second before taking in a deep breath, “And what else is there?”

John started to reply, but was cut short by the running entrance of Neville Longbottom. He hadn’t changed much since his Hogwarts days. His face was thinner and an expression of panic was stretched across his face, “H-H—Harry,” he stuttered, “Another attack. Now. Hogsmeade.”

Harry looked at Neville, and nodded. “Okay, we go to Hogsmeade. Hermione, Ron, you two go to the entrance and keep others from entering. John, you go and find Anthony and cover the outer side next to Muggle London. The rest of you,” Harry stared looking at the ones who he did not directly address, “divide up the shops and go,” with each statement, the specified wizard or witch Disapparated out of the room, leaving Harry and Neville in there.

“Who alerted you, Neville?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Harry. You know, we need to team up with Dumbledore again; we can’t keep on having you two split apart and such. There is only so much we can do, before we’re going to need their advice and skills.”

Harry reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a pair of his glasses, with a thin frame and then looked at Neville.

“Perhaps we may join up with them again, one day. But I highly doubt that, Neville. The trench is deep between us and the water is deep and raging. I can not see any way for us to cross it without drowning.” Harry said, looking at Neville, and slowly shook his head. Deep inside, he knew that he couldn’t lead them to victory – alone – but he had to try to prove himself; to prove that he was more then just a name. To prove that he really was a great wizard.

* * * * *

When Harry and Neville arrived at Hogsmeade, it was hardly recognizable. Teams of Aurors had also been dispatched to put out fires and search for missing persons, despite the fact that there were Dark Marks floating over most of the houses and shops in this busy town.

Harry saw a few members of his team trying to sift through the rubble that was once Zonko’s. A few others were walking around, supervising other wizards who were in the area.

If he were still the naïve boy he’d been at 15, he would have shuddered at the thought of his older self being able to view the scene without having his stomach turn or flinch. What was worse, he knew that he couldn’t have stopped it. None of his team members had the ‘Sight’, if such a thing did exist. He admitted that even though his years of Divination had been quite useless, the experience always made him think of all of the possible ways to go and how to sometimes avoid them. Although, he still couldn’t enjoy a good plate of fish and chips without checking to make sure that there wasn’t anything in there that would cut his windpipe, as one of his teacher’s predictions had foretold.

These scenes, despite the fact that they had been appearing for almost seven years - since Harry’s 6th year - still bothered Neville. It was readable on his face, and his hands grew clammy, although he quickly shoved them in his cloak pocket.

“They must have been caught earlier then usual,” Harry mused and Neville nodded faintly in agreement. Harry hardly took notice of it. In fact, looking in his eyes, it was as if he was in his own little world; his voice and mind were acting as narrator to some unknown person traveling through that it.

“There are only a few places not burning or marked. Yes… Neville, who alerted you?”

“It was via owl, Harry,” Neville nervously began. “I’d recognize the handwriting anywhere, for...” Here he paused.

“Well, get on with it. We don’t have all day here.”

“It was Malfoy.”

“Which one?”

“Draco.”

Harry looked at Neville with a sense of wonderment. Draco Malfoy? The Draco Malfoy who had put him through such hell all during their Hogwarts years, helping him? The Draco Malfoy who was, supposedly, right-hand man to Lord Voldemort?

“Neville, are you positive?”

“Harry, it had his official seal on it.”

Harry looked downwards at the street and kicked a rock, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Silently, he cursed everything to the stars and back, and it definitely showed his creative side. Surely, Neville had to be mistaken about Malfoy. There was no possible way that…that Draco Malfoy would actually aid them without pulling something behind their backs.

His mind was trying to come up with some possible way that this could be a trap and the downfall of the entire Light side and with each possibility more outrageous then the previous, until he couldn’t think straight. He looked over at Neville, who was nervously watching a team of Aurors pull sheets over bodies they had found in the rubble.

He would have to think of something to actually prove that this letter was from Malfoy. It just didn’t make sense. Enemies didn’t help enemies, not without killing them in the process. It was some un-spoken rule in the “Enemies: What to do and not do” handbooks that everyone seemed to understand, except for bloody Malfoy apparently.

“Neville, it could have easily been a forged seal,” Harry started.

“Harry, you know there isn’t any way you could copy a seal without the will of the one bearing the seals.”

“Damn it, Neville! Are you sure there isn’t some other possible way?”

“The only other way I can think of is that he was put under the Imperius, but then again that probably wouldn’t affect him.”

Harry sighed, for he knew this was true. He had seen other Aurors, bent on getting the Death Eaters with more then just the power of the law, use the Unforgivables. Usually, they didn’t work or backfired on the caster, causing one hell of a bloody mess.

* * * * *

In a dark and wooded area, a tall figure covered by dark billowing robes and mask painfully leaned against a tree, it’s breathing ragged and labored.

A shout was heard, somewhere in the woods, but the figure paid no attention to it whatsoever. Slowly, the figure’s knees gave out, a slow descent from the above. It landed with a ‘thud’ and a belated groan escaped its lips, only hinting at the pain the fall had caused. Slowly, the figure rolled onto its back, its face staring at the dark sky, faintly lit by the stars and the distant planets.

It lay there for only a few minutes, before clutching it’s left forearm curling into the fetal position. A faint cry was heard from the figure, one that should have been loud and forceful but instead was weak and hardly above a whisper.

Occasionally, it tightened its grip on its arm, as if instead of fading away, the pain only intensified.

Shakily, it reached up to the sleeve of its robe, revealing cuts, bruises, and scars in the process, to pull out a wand spell-o-taped in several different places. Slowly, the figure pointed the wand upward, started to mutter a spell. Halfway through the unfinished incantation, it knew nothing, forevermore.

* * * * *

Deep inside the heart of Hogwarts, chaos reigned. House-elves were scurrying around, shouting incomprehensible things, when they had enough air in their lungs to support it. Even the ghosts were running - err, quickly floating – from room to room in a slight state of panic.

Sibyl Trelawney was coming down the stairs like a princess entering the ballroom, taking out a pair of very fine-rimmed glasses to put on. She rather thought they gave her a very educated and formal look. Gently, she put the index and forefinger of her left hand on her left temple, and closed her eyes in peaceful bliss, despite the current situation.

She remained like that for a few moments before she snapped her eyes open, alarmed. For a brief second, fear and panic struck her eyes in a forceful blow, but in the next second it was gone, not a trace of it to be found. It was soon replaced by glee.

“You have finally revealed yourself to me, sly one,” she thought out loud. “It’s too bad, really. We could have run everything and everyone, but you were too stupid. Too stupid to realize anything,” she continued and her head snapped up to the door that led to the Great Hall.

Light footsteps sounded, and Sibyl’s eyes grew in size. A small smirk crossed her face, in recognition, as Albus Dumbledore entered the corridor.

“Evening, Headmaster.”

“Evening, Sibyl. Have you seen anything lately?”

Sibyl studied his face, which was etched with worry and urgency. The flickering torch a few feet away from them cast shadows and outlined their faces.

“I’m afraid that my Inner Eye has been over-used lately, Headmaster. I hope it clears soon. I hate to think that who-knows-what could happen, and it would be my fault for not seeing it or giving you any information.”

“Calm down, Sibyl. It has never been your fault. You had aided us countless of times. You must not blame yourself for only being human.”

Sibyl looked up at Albus, her eyes glassy, and gave a weak smile, “I will try to remember that.”

* * * * *

Rudra Sprout was happily content up in the warm greenhouse at Eaglesbeak, Canada. It was a Canadian version of Hogsmeade, only with snow and freezing temperatures and constant rain instead of warm weather and clear skies. She was almost done categorizing several newly discovered magical plants. Not only did she enjoy the job, she was also the only British Professor allowed to touch the plants. That would be enough to boost any specialist’s ego up a couple of notches.

When she wasn’t observing or working with the plants, her thoughts always led her back to the place she had considered her home for many years: Hogwarts. Hogwarts really wasn’t Hogwarts, without the ever so colorful staff, from the strict Minerva, cynical Severus, the jolly Fillius, and death-predicting Sibyl to the sweet Remus, cold Artemis…

She sighed at the thought of poor Artemis, one of the first ones to turn cold when You-Know-Who first appeared with his attacks. Just the thought of it still brought puzzling questions into her mind. Nothing about it made any sense. Why they were targeted and why others weren’t the first ones to become the victims. Surely, it wasn’t because of her bloodline, for she was purer then most magical folk these days. Unless, her mother…

She was brutally yanked out of her thoughts by, “Rudra Sprout! Fireplace,” in a Canadian voice, that annoyed her to no end as did the word “eh”, the most commonly used word in Canada.

Slowly getting up, leaving her thoughts behind, she left for the fireplace, leaving the home she was safe in.

* * * * *

She stood in front of a courtroom, the left side of her face covered in shadows. She had ice-green eyes and almost knee length raven colored hair. From the side view, it seemed as if she was absorbing the entire room, not overlooking a single detail.

Cornelius Fudge, Alastor Moody, and other important Officials of the Ministry of Magic were seated before her, simply staring at her as if they could read her thoughts.

“Tell us what you’re here for, girl,” Moody snarled in an irritable tone of voice. “We don’t have all night to listen to you.”

His magical eye looked at her hard, as if she was about to fade away and he wanted to take in every single detail about her with a single glance.

She turned her head and looked, briefly, around the room, which was used in all trials involving Death Eaters. Or at least, what they called a ‘trial’.

“I was told that I should report here first, Moody. Don’t pick a damn bone with me. Do that with Dumbledore, the one who gave me my orders.”

“Then who are you?”

“I shall not say that. My name is unimportant, thus I should not state it. Nor can I give you any particulars on why I am here. Even I don’t know the reason myself,” she replied coldly.

“Then what can you tell us?” Fudge questioned.

“Tell Dumbledore that all has failed,” she simply said before spinning around and leaving them with confusion hovering over their heads.

“Well, Minister, do you even know who that was?”

“Not a clue, Moody. Is it one of Dumbledore’s spies? Rank? Staff? Ally?”

* * * * *

Harry slowly shut and locked the door of his cottage, situated a few kilometers from the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He instantly felt himself relax as the smell of very dirty laundry and of the woods in his backyard overtook his senses. He needed to clean up the place, he thought, noting the occasional robe strewn across a piece of furniture and the dirty dishes on the bar as well as the ones piled in the sink. Mrs. Weasley would have a heart attack if she ever saw it.

She wouldn’t though. Even though they were on good terms and he visited them on the majority of the big holidays, it was Ginny that changed everything between them. His mind went back five years into the past, when he was still somewhat fresh out of Hogwarts and perfectly content to relax on the couch between near-death experiences with Voldemort.

They had appeared to be a very loving couple, and like most couples of their age, lived together in this cottage that Harry found at the end of his 7^th year.

Alas, darling Ginny had been keeping a terrible secret. It was one that forever changed her life not only once, but twice. In her 6^th year, Ginny had decided to look into some Dark Magic, which lead her to the Dark Arts. It had all started out as mere research on how she could help her friends – Harry in particular – against all of this nonsense that was happening in the real word. But like so many others before her, it had sucked her into its grasp and never let her go.

All of her grades rapidly rose, especially Defense Against the Dark Arts; which she simply explained away by telling her friends and family she just wanted to know how to protect herself. Many students had that reason for studying extra hard. It was common knowledge that Voldemort would be after Harry, who was currently in his last year at Hogwarts.

Right under all of their noses, Ginny Weasley had turned into a Death Eater.

It pained all of the Weasleys and the ones who’d known her best to think of how she changed so dramatically from Light to Dark, Good to Bad, and had known exactly what she was doing.

Harry, particularly, blamed himself for not paying closer attention to her in his last year at Hogwarts. “You couldn’t have managed to pay more attention to her, Harry! If you had, you might as well have glued yourselves together,” Ron had cried one night while Harry was throwing himself a pity-party. He had hoped that she was just under the Imperius curse, but her trial shattered that dream forever.

The look in her eyes haunted him, and her cries echoed deeply within his mind…

Courtroom 1, Department B, was where the trials for Death Eaters always took place and today was no exception.

The trial taking place today was clearly one of the most talked about in months. The only daughter of one of the most Anti-Dark families was accused of supporting the Dark Lord. Not to mention that she was currently dating – and living with – The-Boy-Who-Lived himself.

The courtroom was loud with noisy occupants, discussing whether or not she really was a Death Eater. Some were even taking bets on the trial’s outcome. However, one section was quiet, glaring at the noisy crowd. None other than the Weasleys occupied that section.

Up at the Head Table sat Fudge, Dumbledore, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and a few other Department Heads.

After a few more minutes of constant chatter, the entrance at the back swung open, revealing a woman barely in her twenties with tangled flaming red hair, a Dementor on either side of her. Slowly – the Dementors probably made it slow - they made their way up to the front of the room past the silent rows of wizards and witches who clutched their cloaks around themselves.

The Dementors silently left and the room rose a few degrees in temperature. The woman looked up at the table. A cold glare was all she gave.

“Miss Weasley,” began Fudge. “You were brought to this court because of evidence linking you to the service of You-Know-Who.”

Ginny looked up at him as if he was a particularly nasty bug.

“Well, what do you plea in your defense?”

Ginny rolled her eyes at the thought of her trying to ‘defend’ herself, before staring at him like he had grown another head. Her eyes darted about the room, as if realizing that she was trapped in here like a wild animal that had fallen into a hunter’s trap.

“Defense! I have no defense!”

Moody looked over to Dumbledore, who was looking down, sadly shaking his head, then over to the Weasleys. Some of them were shocked at her outburst while Mrs. Weasley sobbed onto Mr. Weasley’s shoulder.

“You want me to beg for my life? Ha! You will be the ones begging for the Dark Lord’s mercy! You all will pay! Pay!” Ginny screamed, her cries hoarse and broken. Like a wild animal, she was moving about with each battle cry.

“Miss Weasley, have you no shame?” asked a weary Dumbledore.

“Shame?!” Ginny cried, looking taken back, “Why in Merlin’s name would I be ashamed?”

“Miss Weasley, look at your family,” Dumbledore stated and gestured to the section of red headed Weasleys.

“They are no longer my family. I have only my brothers and sisters, united for our Master’s cause.”

“Then would you be as kind as to give us some of your siblings’ names?” Moody asked slowly, with a hint of being sarcastic, drawing out each word – as if wanting the sounds of it to echo for eternity in this very room.

“Never. Throw me to the Dementors if you want, but I’ll never betray the Dark Lord for the likes of you!” With the last statement, she cast a long and cold stare at Harry who was looking away at a spot at the wall.

“Then I sentence you to a life in Azkaban,” Fudge said with a note of finality.

Ginny smiled, “When Master rules, remember that I am the one who will be crushing your heads,” she exclaimed before the Dementors took their spots by her sides and escorted her out of the courtroom, never to be seen by the public eye again.

The rest of that night was still a blur to Harry. All he could remember was being hugged by a sobbing Molly Weasley before going home to get rid of everything of Ginny’s and to have the cry he so desperately needed.

Sighing, Harry went to his bedroom, tossed the pile of laundry off the foot of the bed and slid into another uneasy night full of haunting nightmares, full of horrible memories of the past and the possibilities of their grim future.