Harry Potter and the Legacy of Heaven

Chapter 1: Providence

Clouds were everywhere. It was dark as night, during the middle of the day. Lightning crackled in the sky, and lanced down to strike the ground.

Every strike illuminated the young man, standing on top of the hill. A beam of darkness came from the clouds, and struck him in the forehead, but he did not falter. Instead, he scrunched up his eyes, and immediately the beam was turned away, and rushed back into the clouds.

The beam came again, but this time it was met by a light glow that had taken up place as a shield in front of the adolescent. The beam was turned away again.

The beam came again and again, and each time the boy summoned a brighter and brighter shield. Yet each time, the beam of darkness became more abysmally dark, and radiated all of the evil of the world from it.

The beam came again, and this time the boy didn't summon a light. The beam hit him, and the boy drew it entirely into his body.

A fire sprang up around him. The fire was totally unnatural, a bright white flame mixed with a flame of utter darkness. Each vied for control, with the boy struggling at the center. The dark began to win, compressing the light until it was the tiniest of influences.

The boy threw his head back, and an unearthly, beautiful wail came from it. Out of the clouds shot a beam of light, and it hit the boy in the chest. The last light part of the fire surrounding him sucked into his body, and then there was a massive explosion of white light, and the black beam retreated yet again into the clouds.

~.~

It was a normal day, in a normal neighborhood, with decidedly normal people.

That's what all of the inhabitants of Privet Drive thought, anyway.

Of course, the truth wasn't really all that far from the perception, depending on your point of view. Take that boy sitting on the swing, for example. He thought everything was normal. Mostly, anyway. However, if any of the less eccentric people of the neighborhood knew exactly who he was, or more appropriately, what he was, well, they'd be concerned.

The boy looked normal enough, with messy black hair and a slight build. He looked like your normal, run of the mill teenager. Possibly up to no good, but other than pure paranoia, there was no reason to suspect him of anything.

Then the wind picked up a little, and if anyone had been watching, which they weren't, they would most certainly have a reason to suspect this boy of being out of place in their tiny, normal, corner of the world.

The scar, shaped like a lightning bolt, that had been revealed by the changing winds was unusual enough on its own. The fact that it was given to this boy by a car accident would be quite interesting, if anyone stopped to think about it. How could you get such a perfectly shaped scar from something as horrible as a car accident? Well, this boy was a testament to the fact that you could. He was also a testament to the fact that if someone was told something enough times, they would begin to forget their own suspicions about it and take it for truth.

As it was, only a select few knew the true source of that particular marking. The boy had received it from a very evil man when he was just a baby. This leads inevitably to the other thing that most of the inhabitants of this pristinely normal neighborhood did not know about the boy. He was magical. And not magical like in his personality, or his looks, or his friendliness. He was a wizard, and his name was Harry Potter.

He was the thorn in the side of this normal place. The people that lived here didn't want anything about their neighborhood to be wrong, but that Harry Potter boy that went to St. Brutus's was definitely not completely normal. That's what the inhabitants of Privet Drive thought to themselves, anyway. It had become almost taboo to talk about the boy in front of dignified company, but many were the hushed whispers shared between neighbors at the local pub over 'that Harry Potter boy.'

See, normal people in a normal neighborhood don't skulk around on a normal day. But that's what Harry Potter had been doing since he had returned home from St. Brutus's. Or Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, depending on how much of the story you knew. Harry, who was a wizard, and a thumpin' good one too, had lost the last member of his family several weeks ago.

Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, his father's best friend, and escaped convict extraordinaire, had been killed in a duel with Bellatrix Lestrange, a Death Eater. The Death Eaters were the inner circle of the evil man who had given Harry his scar, and who had killed his parents all those years ago. His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, but everyone knew him as Lord Voldemort. Or, more correctly, they knew him as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who. Voldemort was simply so feared that people would not speak his name aloud.

Harry was currently sitting on a swing, contemplating his past year at school. He had done this every day since he had come back, and it gave the neighbors all the more reason to suspect him. He had had, in his opinion, a very bad year. It hadn't been going too badly, actually. Although the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dolores Umbridge, was a complete cow, she was manageable. He had created a secret defense society, humorously known as Dumbledore's Army, to defy her. This kept him going throughout the year.

Things had been pretty bad. The Weasleys had almost lost their father, Arthur Weasley. He had been attacked while on duty guarding something at the Ministry of Magic. Harry had seen it in a dream, through the eyes of the attacker. It had been a massive snake, and if Harry hadn't been drawn into its mind by his unnatural mind connection with Voldemort, Arthur would've died. As it was, he had been severely wounded, and it had taken St. Mungo's, the Wizarding hospital, a long time to sort him out.

Harry had been given a life long ban from Quidditch. Quidditch was a wizarding sport, sometimes explained like playing soccer on brooms. Harry loved to play it, and was a seeker on his house team, until he was given the ban. Although this had been horrible for him, the DA kept him going. The thought that he could defy Umbridge, even if only in secret, made him very happy.

Other than a few attacks, and some weird and mysterious visions, nothing really hit Harry hard. That is, nothing hit him hard up until the point that his godfather had fallen through that thrice cursed veil in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic.

Admittedly, Sirius had been careless in his dueling. He had been caught by a stunning spell, and that had been what had propelled him into the veil. It would've been easy enough to block it, or jump out of the way, if he hadn't underestimated the skill of the woman he was dueling. But it wasn't good to dwell on that. Harry knew, even through all of his depression, that Sirius would've wanted to be remembered for the good times, not the bad.

So, he internalized his depression, and every day he spent time thinking about it, growing more and more bitter as a way to make the hurt less. Harry compressed the pain into a tight little ball that he could look at from an impersonal angle. He conceded that it wasn't the healthiest way to deal with his sorrow, but as he had no healthy outlet, it would have to do.

He was actually almost proud of himself for the way he was handling things. He hadn't cried since he'd come back from school, he hadn't gotten too angry, and he hadn't made anymore stupid mistakes. He had dreams every night about the moment that Sirius went through the veil, but those weren't really even nightmares. They didn't fill him with any of the pure, unadulterated terror that his other dreams filled him with. However, whenever he woke up from what he called his 'Serious' dreams (he thought that it might be a good thing for him if he could laugh, even just a little at his pain) he would be filled with feelings of sorrow and loss.

He had been receiving letters from pretty much everyone that knew what had happened in the Department of Mysteries telling him that it hadn't been his fault, and they all gave completely logical arguments as to why this was true. Harry found his guilt ebbing away as time went on. Peer pressure could be a great thing, and with so many people telling him he wasn't at fault, he began to believe it. At least a little, anyway.

The strangest thing though, was the letter from his Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore was a wise man that, although he had made grievous mistakes with Harry, had done what he could in the boy's life and also in the fight against Voldemort. Harry had been completely incensed at the old man the last time he had seen him, but now with fading of his guilt and the compression of his sorrow into that little ball of bitterness, he didn't hate him so much anymore. Again, Harry thought that this might not be totally healthy, but he was willing to accept anything that made the pain less.

The letter in question was actually in Harry's pocket at the moment, and he fumbled around to bring it out.

H.P.

I'm sorry. You'll have a good summer, trust me on this one last thing. Carry your wand with you at all times.

A.P.W.B.D.

Harry wondered at this. Dumbledore was obviously apologizing for not telling him that Voldemort might use his mental link with Harry to plant an image of something happening in Harry's mind. He was also apologizing from not teaching him Occlumency personally, and for not telling him about that dreadful prophecy earlier. The last part of the letter was obvious. He was Voldemort's number one target. He was in danger, and the only way he could fight would be if he had his wand with him. He had been planning on keeping his wand with him anyway, but Dumbledore's veiled warning kept him checking his pocket to make sure it was there.

The strange thing about the letter, though, was the middle part of it. It was so obvious to him, in his clinically detached way, that he wouldn't have a good summer at all. How could he? His only remaining father figure had been killed, and even though he was protecting himself by balling up his feelings, he still wouldn't have a good summer.

He supposed this was just Dumbledore trying to cheer him up, but it had given him more curiosity than anything. In reality, the thing that had cheered him up the most had been the letter from Ginny Weasley, his best friend's little sister. Well, not really all that little anymore. That was beside the point, though. Now that Ginny had moved on to other boys and they were just friends, they were actually able to write each other back and forth without her writing anything embarrassing. Harry was disproportionately happy about this, and he didn't really know why. He couldn't wait to get back to school to see all of his friends, and found himself wondering that when he pictured them, they included Ginny as well.

He had her note in his pocket as well, and removed it to look at it. The script was so obviously a girl's that he found himself having to hold back a smile.

Harry-

How have you been doing? I can't imagine that you've been well. I hope your relatives are treating you okay. I know you must feel like you're alone in all of this, but remember, you've got all of us to talk to. Ron and Hermione are worried about you, as am I. What happened wasn't your fault, Voldemort made you do it. Please don't feel like it was your fault, Harry, because that might start making me feel like what I did was my fault too, and I know it wasn't.

Anyway, enough sad stuff. How's your homework going? Snape set us a ridiculously long essay. He wants five rolls of parchment on the properties of Veritaserum! Can you believe that?! The next longest is two rolls from McGonagall about the Animagus transformation. That's a little more do-able. How about you? Hopefully O.W.Ls being over will mean that you have less homework.

By the way, did you get your scores yet? We've only seen Hermione once this summer, but she was breaking down. I could tell. She kept remembering questions that she thought she might not have done well on, and whenever she did, she'd run off to look the answer up in a book. Typical Hermione, you know.

I'm planning on trying out for Chaser next year. Seeker was fun, but it really is your position, and now that Umbridge is gone, you should be able to come back. I want our team to have the best chance possible of winning, and I know that you'd have to be seeker in order for that to happen. Do you know who the captain will be yet?

Hey, are you planning on continuing the DA next year? Dumbledore's been by a few times, and he's always made at least one comment either on how good of a job you did, or how well the people you taught did on their O.W.Ls. I really think you should consider it. Even if we do finally get a competent teacher, it will be important to keep practicing as much as we can.

I have to go. I hope you have a good summer, Harry. As good as you can, anyway. Remember, if you need to talk, Hedwig knows where to find us.

-Ginny

Harry liked that letter a lot. It dispensed with the necessary sad stuff quickly, and then went on to more happy things. It was from Ginny, which reaffirmed his earlier conclusion that she was finally over him, and he could finally have a normal friendship with her.

His musings were cut short when a shimmering figure walked into his view. He had been paying so little attention that it had gotten quite close to him without him realizing it. He was gripped by a strange, unexplainable terror, and his hand was halfway to his pocket before he felt the calmest feeling he had ever felt wash over him. At first, it reminded him a little bit of the Imperius curse, but it was really altogether unlike it. There were no voices in the back of his head telling him what to do, and there was no battle of wills to suggest that he was being controlled.

Then he heard it. So faint, he thought he might be imagining it, but is was definitely there. It was easily the most beautiful melody he had ever heard. The only way he thought to describe it was to imagine what it would sound like if a thousand Phoenixes were to sing in harmony in front of the Almighty's throne. He cocked his head to try and listen to it better, as he wanted to fix it in his memory. It was lucky that the music had faded by then, because it's property was that no mortal could remember it without being driven to insanity trying to hear it again.

The shimmering figure appeared in front of him, and drew from its back two pieces of light, one longer and thicker than the other. Harry stood, slipping off the swing easily. He felt an indescribable urge to bow before the vision of providence before him, and as he did so, the figure bowed back. He could feel amusement falling off of it in waves, and his heart felt lighter because of it.

"So you can see me, my boy? I should have expected that," the figure spoke. The voice was low, obviously a man's. It was the most musical voice he had ever heard, but somehow, it seemed familiar to him. He searched his memory, and it alighted upon an image, which also seemed to flow off the figure. Once there, it was obvious, and he could not imagine how he had not seen it before.

"Dumbledore?" The amusement spiked, and Harry could feel with it a certain pride coming off what was now clearly his Headmaster. Harry wondered why he was there.

"Well done, lad! I'm so proud of you, that you can even see me. You have more power in you than you know," replied the melodious voice.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, utterly nonplussed. He had a vague thought that the last time he had seen this man, he had broken several very expensive possessions of his, and that he should apologize. But before he could even think the words, he could feel forgiveness radiating off the old man, and the words were lost.

"Why, my boy, that should be obvious. I have been charged with a most important mission. Have a good summer, Harry."

Harry then felt happiness from the figure, and watched as he lifted the two glowing sticks in front of him and crossed them. They were shining so brightly now that they seemed to be made out of pure light, and this comforted him. Belatedly, Harry realized that those two pieces of light were being used in a way that reminded him of Muggle archery. There was an instant of fear that was totally eclipsed by the happiness coming from his mentor, and then complete peace as he watched the brilliant arrow speed from the bow to lodge in his chest.