Harry Potter and the Green Flame Torch

Year Five:

Harry Potter and the Green Flame Torch

Chapter One

Siberia. A land of cold and ice. A place above the Arctic Circle where few human feet have ever trod. The fact that this part of the world is practically deserted did not, however, deter the man trudging across those desolate plains. Suddenly the man slipped and fell. The ice must have been thin in that spot, though, because the man plunged down through it and down into the cavern beneath. "Ahhh, I’ve found it at last." he murmured

The man picked himself up off the ground and then pulled a long thin piece of wood out from under his heavy cloak. It was a wand. He took the wand, set it in the palm of his left hand and whispered, "Point Me."

The wand spun around three times and then abruptly came to rest with its tip pointed at one of the many tunnels leading off of the cavern. Immediately the man set off down the tunnel the wand had pointed to. It was practically pitch dark in the tunnel. After stubbing his toes numerous times, the man shook his head as if chastising himself for stupidity, and whispered, "Lumos." His wand-tip lit up as if it contained a tiny 100-watt light bulb, showing the inside of the tunnel. It had been roughly carved from the black rock beneath the Siberian tundra. It was damp and very humid. Water dripped down the walls and moss had grown in the cracks near the floor in a startling contrast to the snowy cold outside.

For nearly a quarter of a mile the dank darkness continued. The end of the tunnel took a sharp turn to the right and stopped abruptly in a large pile of rocks that stretched to within inches of the ceiling. "Damn," he whispered. "Now how am I supposed to get through to the other side? This is the end of the tunnel. It’s got to be just past this rock." Peering closely at the impromptu stone wall, the man inspected the way the rocks had fallen. At last he stood back with a satisfied but resigned look on his face. It was soon replaced by one of intense concentration. Moments after that expression appeared on his face, the man disappeared only to have a scrawny and scruffy looking rat with a silver forepaw take his place. The rat scampered up the pile of rock, through the slit at the top, and down the other side where it promptly turned into a man again.

Directly in front of him was a stone block. On top of that block was a chest about three feet long and two feet wide. It was made of a dark unidentifiable wood and fastened with golden clasps. Along all of the seams where wood met wood an unearthly green light shone through. As soon as the man saw the chest he ran up to the pedestal, snatched it up and pulled it tightly to his body.

"Finally. Master will be pleased"

*

Thousands of miles away from the icy cold of Siberia, in the smallest bedroom of number four Privet Drive in England, Harry Potter woke from the dream he had been having. My, that was odd, thought Harry. Rather disturbing too. Harry couldn’t remember much about his dream. He got a vague sense of darkness, rock, green light, and triumph. Not much more than that came to him. Harry was not very worried however. Whenever the Dark Wizard Voldemort was causing trouble the lightning shaped scar on his forehead caused him extreme pain. Tonight there hadn’t been the tiniest twinge. Unfortunately Harry should have been worried. Voldemort was making trouble, just not in his usual way.

*

Dumbledore sighed. The article in the Daily Prophet and the corresponding letter from Minister Fudge demanding an explanation were just the latest in a most disturbing and rapidly increasing list of Voldemort-like acts (that letter from Fudge had been a real surprise. It had been the first in over a month. It certainly was a pity that Fudge couldn’t open his eyes and see what was going on around him.) A student had been killed as well as a Ministry witch, two other Ministry workers in high places had disappeared, and there was at least one muggle killing attributed to Voldemort (although Dumbledore suspected at least three more were his doing also). Now here was another thing that fit the pattern Voldemort had set in his first rise to power. Stealing valuable magical artifacts and using them for his own purposes. The Green Flame Torch had been stolen from its hidey-hole in Siberia. How on earth Voldemort had found it was beyond him. Only the select few of them that had hidden the thing (and half of them were dead) and those who had nicked it from that muggle museum where it had been held 16 years ago even knew of its existence. That was nothing compared to the question of how the press had gotten hold of the Torch’s disappearance. "Oh well," sighed Dumbledore. He looked tired, as though all the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. "What’s done is done and there isn’t anything I can do about it at the moment." If there were any lesson he had learned in this life, it was this: never underestimate either the Dark Lord or nosy reporters. Speaking of reporters, he thought, Ms. Skeeter wrote that article. Nice of her not to misconstrue anything. She only gave the facts. Well, then again, maybe not nice of her, considering what Miss Granger did to her last term. What a spunky girl, is Hermione. Hermione, though; and those other two. Harry and Ron. It was absolutely horrific what happened to Harry last year, what with Cedric dying and all. Harry will probably be very uncomfortable being in a place where all those memories are. The students will treat him differently too, but Ron and Hermione will be treated differently too, just from close association. I mean, they are his best friends. I must get them away from here for at least a term or two. How can I manage that? Hmmmm. Wait a minute, it juts might work! They will be the most appropriate, and it will take my opinion into account…Yes! Now all I have to do is ask Isa Nicobar in the States to agree. I think she will be most pleased. Now, where is that blasted quill?

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