Harry Potter and the Return to Darkness

Chapter One: Welcome to the War

"We hate some persons because we do not know them;

we will not know them because we hate them."

- Charles Caleb Colton

Looking down at a small baby cupped in his arms, Sirius glanced up and smiled ruefully. He wiggled a finger at the small baby and chuckled as it gurgled, both oblivious to the fate the two of them would soon come to meet in fifteen year's time.

Harry leaned back against the headboard with a deep sigh, letting the faded photograph drop to the floor. There were so many things that weren't fair. It wasn't fair that even though Harry had done all he could, he still couldn't find the truth. It wasn't fair that no matter what he did, Voldemort still managed to escape. It wasn't fair that when Harry made a mistake, Sirius was the one who died for it.

Looking around the room, Harry took in the little quirks that said he lived there, each and every one of them no more permanent than the last. All of them would be taken to Hogwarts when he left, assuming he was even allowed to leave with all the restraints they were putting on him. Before he knew it, Dumbledore would have a private tutor coming to teach him through a dog flap installed to his lovely wood crate in the Dursleys' backyard.

Earlier in the day, Harry had received an unsigned letter, hinting to stay out of the house and find a safe place to stay. He wasn't quite sure what to do, as it was possible that whoever had sent it was just trying to lure him away, but on the other hand, it was just as probable that whoever sent it really was looking out for his well being. Harry had forwarded the letter and an attached note to Lupin, and since then the thought had been stuck in the back of his mind.

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Lupin sat hunched over a stack of papers, going through the Order's old records. Just then, a white tumble of feathers swooped into the room, and dropped something on top of the stack. Lupin picked this up and saw it was from Harry, who had attached an incredibly strange warning to it. He took the sheaf of paper and, at Harry's request, began testing it for any signs of trickery.

¤¤¤¤¤

Harry glanced up at the clock; 10:36. Just under and hour and a half to his sixteenth birthday. Oddly enough, Harry wasn't quite as thrilled as most sixteen-year-olds would be. Looking up at the various hand-made cards he had already received, as well as the presents he had yet to open, Harry made up his mind to sneak out and celebrate on his own.

After arriving at the Dursleys the end of last year, Harry walked upstairs with his things, locked the door, and dropped onto his bed. He had pretty much stayed in that position the past two months, aside from eating, and the occasional letter to his friends. Not much tempted him, even the fact that Dudley had discarded his old game console and left it for Harry's picking.

A few weeks ago, however, Harry had been in another row with his Uncle Vernon, and the result had been a walk through the pouring rain in downtown. While one might find this a bad thing, after wandering around for a while, Harry ducked out of the rain and into a warm pub, which he lfound to be a wizard's pub that had been recently built. This of course was a discovery Harry took advantage of quite a bit, sneaking out every couple of days to spend an evening down there. The Dursleys had nothing to say to this; they made it quite clear they could care less what Harry was doing, as long as he didn't attract too much attention.

Harry rolled off his bed and landed on the brown carpet, dragging out his trunk in the process. He dug through and found his bag of summer spendings and his wand, stuffed these into his satchel, and stood up. A small, red card caught his eye; he must have dropped it when he was putting things in his bag. It was a birthday card from Ginny, and, luckily for him, this time it wasn't singing an obnoxiously loud song. It seemed as if it were playing some sort of quiet tune, but he couldn't quite tell if any sound was coming from it. Not that it mattered, he told himself.

After cramming the gifts his friends had sent in alongside the bag of galleons, Harry leaned out the window. He dropped a tangle of Dudley's old clothes he had tied together out the casement, and stepped out on to the sill. Behind him, Hedwig screeched to be let out, to which Harry obliged by flipping the brass catch up. "Be back soon." He muttered.

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Hermione lay back in the plush fabric of the chair, a burgundy chenille blanket pulled up tight over her knees. It was pouring down rain outside, and the television said it could be several days before the storm let up. Such was her luck, though it really didn't bother her, as she was perfectly content to stay inside by the fire, reading for hours on end.

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Shimmying down the twine of grayed fabrics, Harry landed in the middle of Aunt Petunia's begonias. Grimacing at the thought of the trouble he'd be in, Harry did his best to fluff up the leaves and cover the crushed petals. After quickly giving up, he started off down the street, corduroy bag slung over his shoulder and hand in pocket.

style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; "> The little houses on the street, all perfectly sized with perfect lawns, did little to improve Harry's mood. Inside each house he knew were perfect families, getting along perfectly with perfect lives, in which no one made mistakes, or got killed, or had to face the most dangerous man in the history of the earth. He knew this was irrational thinking, no one ever meant for him to have to fight Voldemort, no one ever meant for Sirius to die, but the thought that it was simply unfair made it much easier for Harry, simply by wasting his energy on anger and jealousy instead of fear and grief.

Despite all the glowing windows, Harry found it was getting harder and harder to see. He was itching to pull out his wand and use some magic, but he knew that doing so could cause a catastrophe, even if it was just a few hours until he was no longer an 'underage wizard'. Thinking of this, it occurred to Harry that this would be the first time he could drink.

Toying with this thought a bit as he continued down the street, Harry soon found himself in front of the small pub, The Black Hummingbird. As he stepped into the room, Harry was instantly greeted by warm waves of heat and sweet smells. He sat down at a small, two-person table in the corner, and upended his bag on the surface.

A maiden walked over, her face obscured by thick braids of blonde hair and a large notebook, eagerly waiting for Harry's order. She looked to be about twenty, and when she leaned on the table she revealed white skin and crystal blue eyes. She had a folded black apron tied around her waist, and was wearing a white blouse and dark blue robes with a gray skirt. "What can I get fer yeh hun?"

Deciding to go extravagant, Harry looked up in an as unconcerned manner as he could manage, "I'll have a mug of Firewhisky." The girl looked at him curiously, debating whether or not she should ask him his age, but eventually gave up and stalked off with a smirk. "I'll have that right out."

Turning back to his gifts, Harry slipped out a square package neatly bound in red wrapping paper and tied with a gold bow. Figuring it must be Hermione's, Harry opened the small note attached to it.

Harry-

My family went to Florence this summer, and I thought you might enjoy this. The summer Medicinal Magic course at the Ministry is wonderful; I'm learning a lot. Happy Birthday, and I hope to see you soon!

Love,

-Hermione

He tore open the red wrapping, watching as the shreds fell away to reveal a large package of rich chocolates clearly labeled to be from Florence, as well as a green leather book that had his name emblazoned on the lower right corner. After flipping through the first few crisp parchment pages, he came to see that it was yet another organizer, this time much more complicated. Supposedly one could use it to keep track of graded papers and notes, which had a very useful ability to order the sheets by class and date. Rolling his eyes, Harry set these aside and moved on.

The next package was wrapped in postal wrap and tied with twine, obviously from Ron. It was rather squishy and wrapped haphazardly with plenty of tape, but a pleasant sight none-the-less. The roll of parchment attached was scrawled in Ron's quick scribbles.

Harry-

Well, Happy Birthday I suppose. How's it going with the Dursleys? Mum said you might be able to come join us for the rest of the summer, I dunno wether or not Dumbledore's going to approve. Anyway, mum knitted you another sweater (she's getting more creative) I think maybe she needs something to do. Well, here's hoping to see you soon.

-Ron

After effectively shredding the mail paper, Harry found that Mrs. Weasley had indeed gotten more creative. She had enclosed a blood red, v-necked jumper, complete with loose sleeves and a Gryffindor lion. Beneath was a bag of Honeydukes sweets, a handful of Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs, (courtesy of Fred & George) and (also courtesy of Fred & George) a package of Skiving Snackboxes (New! Variety Pack!).

Slipping into the jumper, Harry stuffed both Ron and Hermione's gifts back in his satchel, Harry pulled out the last gift, from Lupin. This turned out to be a blue leather-bound book titled Beating the Bludgers-- A Study of Defensive Strategies in Quidditch. Harry opened this and started flipping through it, sipping his drink slowly.

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Ron looked out the window of 12 Grimmauld Place, watching the rain. Torrents were cascading down from the heavens, drenching all in view. The water was up to his ankles outside already, and would certainly get deeper as the night drove on. Behind him, Fred and George walked in.

"'Sup Ron? Have yeh heard from Harry 'bout coming to visit?" Fred put an arm around his shoulder.

"Yeah, Ron. Didn't you send an owl out to him right after dinner?"

Ron turned around to look at the two of them, but simply shrugged. "He probably didn't want to send Hedwig out in the rain."

Ginny looked up from her book in the corner. "I don't think so. Maybe he hasn't got the letter yet, or he hasn't had the time to send something back. It is his birthday after all, and Errol isn't exactly a reliable owl."

"Yeah, that'd make sense, 'cept I used Pig."

"His name is Pigwidgeon!"

"What's that mean, anyway?" Fred asked.

"Small, annoying little blighter?" George added.

Ginny shook her head. "You guys are ridiculous sometimes, you know that? Just because mum let you into the Order-"

"You mean let us sit in on the meetings," Fred corrected her.

"Which we have been so kind as to let you in on," George chipped in.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Whatever. And at any rate, it means small. Drayton named a fairy that."

Ron turned to look at his sister, feeling left out of the quarrel, and quickly forgetting his concerns. "You're getting to be just like Hermione!"

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An hour and way too many drinks later, Harry looked up as a man plopped down in front of him. He had his hood pulled down along his eyes, so that the majority of his face couldn't be seen. The stranger said nothing, and it seemed to Harry that their eyes were locked. He stood up a few minutes later, and started to leave. "Erm...well...it's getting late erm...I gotta go...my aunt is probably getting worried..."