Harry Potter and the Legacy of Heaven

Chapter 2: Of Mourning and Joy

It was a dark and rainy day, as befitted any occasion that was so utterly sorrowful. The news had come as quite a shock indeed, and nobody could really quite believe it. It just didn't fit with what was real, and what was true. It was cruel that life did this. Reality seemed to bend out of the way to make room for their immediate sorrow. It would likely coming rushing back some time later to hit them yet again with the fact that, yes, he was dead.

There was a tent that had been erected to keep the mourners out of the rain, but nobody stood underneath it. As if trying to let their misery be drowned in the torrents that fell from the heavens, everyone was standing in the mud and slop next to the gaping hole that should've been the final resting place of their most beloved friend. His body hadn't been found.

The news of his death had followed after a horrible rumor of his disappearance. All eyes had been turned towards Privet Drive that summer, the residence of one Harry Potter. It was his funeral that had occurred on this horrid day, and his burial in effigy was to commence shortly. With so many people watching Privet Drive, it was unusual that his disappearance had occurred at all. One day he had left, and he had simply never come back.

If that had been the only thing that had happened, the funeral wouldn't have happened. Harry had been troubled by the death of his godfather, and if he cracked under the strain, it wouldn't have been out of the realm of possibility for him to just leave. This was especially true because he hated the way that his relatives treated him.

No, what had made everyone sure that his death had been real was the wave of attacks that had happened several days after his disappearance. Voldemort had orchestrated the single largest strike on muggle and magical families alike since his return, all with a very disturbing message behind them. Whenever an attack happened, the Dark Mark was left behind. At all of the houses in that recent attack, however, the Dark Mark had been modified. On the skull, in brilliant, unmistakable script, was written the doom of the wizarding world.

The Boy Who Died will deter me no longer. Victory is mine!

Still, hope had prevailed. Several of the most intelligent members of the Order of the Phoenix, the group that had been set up to defy Voldemort, had used logic.

The body was never found, they argued. Harry could still be alive. If Voldemort had learned that he had gone missing, he would've done something like this to unbalance the wizarding world.

A sliver of hope was rekindled, because of them. Then it was dashed. Dumbledore had arrived with two halves of a broken Phoenix Feather wand, and told the story of how he had received them from the mouth of a green serpent. This was the final piece of evidence, and no-one questioned it anymore. Harry Potter was dead, and he wasn't coming back. The wizarding community had never been more depressed, in every way imaginable.

The worst loss was felt by a family of redheads, and their honorary sister with bushy brown hair. The Weasleys, and Hermione Granger, had been Harry's surrogate family. They loved him, and the news of his death hit them very hard. At present, they were huddled against the rain at the edge of Harry's gravesite. Ron and Hermione, Harry's two best friends, were clinging to each other like if they didn't, they'd fall off the edge of the earth. Ginny just had her arms wrapped around herself, her tears mixing with the rain as it fell. The other Weasleys were leaning on each other for support.

The whole scene had an air of unreality about it. They had seen Harry just weeks before, shaken, but not broken. They had held out hope that he would lift himself out of the despair surrounding his godfather's death, but now that wouldn't happen. It seemed like this should be happening to someone else, but even this thought was accompanied by grief, as they realized that indeed, it would be soon happening to someone else, and someone else after them.

As the coffin was about to be lowered into the grave, the serene figure of Albus Dumbledore stepped forward, his actions eliciting the attention of everyone gathered there. He took a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself, and then he put his hand on the coffin.

"Harry was a good friend, and a good person. He was robbed of his life before he could live it, and for this I am eternally sorry. What little life he did have was punctuated by events that taxed his emotions heavily, but his friends always came through for him." At this point Dumbledore turned to look at the Weasleys and Hermione and said, "You were what he lived for. Never forget that. It is my belief that death is but the next great adventure, and I promise you that wherever Harry is, he is happy." He said this with such authority and wisdom that in that instant, they believed him completely. It was at that moment that reality snapped back into place, and took away the positive effect of Dumbledore's words, and they all realized that they were never going to see him again.

The coffin was then lowered gently into the ground, and the congregation took one last look before slowly departing. Dumbledore followed the Weasleys as they left, quickly catching up with them.

"Molly, Arthur, I need to speak with you for a moment," Dumbledore called out.

"You guys go on ahead, we need to speak with the Headmaster. We'll be along in just a minute," Molly told her brood. The had sour looks on their faces, but acquiesced quickly. Molly and Arthur then turned to Dumbledore.

"I'll give you the situation without preamble. Now that Harry is gone, Voldemort has nothing left in his way. Nowhere is safe anymore, least of all the Burrow. I want you to consider staying at Headquarters for the rest of the summer. There is a meeting tonight, so you wouldn't have to decide until then, and I can have someone bring anything you might need from the Burrow. At the least, I suggest you go straight to Grimmauld Place from here, and spend the rest of the afternoon contemplating my offer. Unfortunately, I have work to do before then, and I must be going. I will see you both later tonight." And with a soft pop, Dumbledore disappeared.

~.~

The Weasleys decided to stay at Grimmauld Place, although Hermione had to return home as her parents were muggles. Ron was decidedly unhappy about this turn of events, but everyone was too depressed to comment, or even to care. Little consolation was taken in the fact that Dumbledore had put nearly every ward around their house that he could think of. If they wanted to get in, the Death Eaters probably could. The meeting that night had been grim, and Dumbledore had told those who didn't know about the prophecy that the only one who could kill the Dark Lord was now gone. He left some minor hope in the fact that either the prophecy could be wrong, or a new one could come along. He said that they would fight Voldemort to the end, and that even though he was seemingly invincible at the moment, that didn't mean that they couldn't contain him in some way.

Life went on. Depression wrapped its dark arms around those that had been close to Harry, but it was accompanied by a grim determination to make sure nobody else was killed. Hermione threw herself at the books she had at her home, and even went so far as to request more from Dumbledore. Even Ron and Ginny were going into all-out preparation mode. Every time Dumbledore came by the Headquarters they would ask him if he could teach them how to defend and attack, seeing as how Umbridge had been such a bad teacher and Harry's teaching was informal. It was a sign of the bad times that Dumbledore had decided to teach his own class: Dueling Attack and Defense Strategies, or DADS for short. They wondered if he could handle that much of an extra responsibility, but then they just reminded themselves that he was Dumbledore, after all.

Dumbledore hadn't told them who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was, but he had told them that he was a very capable teacher. They were glad that at least they would be getting some worthwhile instruction that year, but it did little to curb the ferocity with which they continued to prepare.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were beginning to get worried at their children's actions. Teenagers were supposed to spend summers relaxing, not preparing to fight a war. It was not their youngest two that worried them the most, however. The older ones were considerably more alarming, especially the twins.

Fred and George Weasley, identical down to the last little thing, had been the jokesters of their year when they were at Hogwarts. Many didn't trust them, but as long as their pranks were directed at others, they laughed along. The twins had opened a joke shop during their seventh year, and it was successful beyond all expectations. Harry's death had hit them just as hard as it had hit anyone else, and it changed their normally happy demeanor. Since his death, they had been holed up in their shop, working. Their parents were worried about them, and wondered what was causing them to become so introverted.

Nobody knew it, but they were making weapons. They were creating anything that they could think of that would help their side in the impending war, and they were making detailed notes on how to recreate their objects. They felt that they would need to be mass produced very soon. They still took out time to think up new joke items, so that no-one would become too suspicious of what they were working on.

Summer creeped by terribly slowly for everyone, and it was made even worse by news of more attacks. A lot of conversations were had about how it was just as bad as it had been before Voldemort had been defeated the first time, and this made no-one happy.

In some corner of the world, the dark powers were mustering their power. Reports had been coming in that Voldemort was massing a secret army, and they were alarming, to say the least. Where before it had seemed like he might've stopped after taking Britain, it was beginning to look like he was going to try to take all of Europe. Some said that he was crazy enough to attempt world domination, and this scared everyone to the bone.

Politicians began to speak of extreme measures to hold back the impending onslaught. They were talking about creating an army. A regular standing wizarding military had not been seen in the British Isles for as long as anyone could remember, and the fact that this piece of legislation was even being considered was enough for some people to emigrate from the country.

Others were just horrified that things had gone so far as to require an army. It looked as if the Ministry might even divulge the existence of a magical society to key muggles, so that they could prepare themselves for whatever was to come. Not many people knew this, though, as it was kept quiet to avoid a panic.

Overall, the summer was very tense and strained. People were dying left and right as the Ministry finally started implementing safeguards against destruction. These safeguards were taking time, though, and in the interim more and more people were falling to the Dark Lord. It was with many a painful remembrance that the public collectively wished for the impossible-they wanted Harry Potter back.

~.~

Voldemort was ecstatic. He didn't remember ever being this happy before. It was ridiculous, really, but he was so happy that he found himself unable to even torture his own Death Eaters. For the most part, anyway.

He had heard of the disappearance of Harry Potter from one of his minions that he had sent to watch Privet Drive. He couldn't actually attack the boy there. That blasted blood protection that Dumbledore used was too powerful for him to overcome. So he waited, and planned. Then, one day, his minion had come back to him. He remembered it well.

The man was dropped into a low bow in front of him, waiting for his acknowledgment. Voldemort felt like toying with him, so he left him there for a few minutes, just so he could wonder what he had done wrong. At length he bored of his little game, and decided to get this sniveling piece of filth away from him. Honestly, who actually believed that they were worthy of being in his presence?

"Rise, you blundering fool," he spoke in a chillingly high-pitched voice. The man trembled, but did as he was told. He was visibly shaking, and Voldemort allowed a small smirk to cross his face. Fear was such a great motivator, and he was able to inspire it in droves.

"Speak." The man's trembling increased, but he opened his mouth. He gulped down a few breaths of the stale air, and prayed to whatever deity that was listening that he'd be able to get away from this man alive. This only served to make Voldemort's smirk bigger, and the man had the odd feeling that he knew exactly what he was thinking.

"My lord, a day ago, I witnessed the Potter boy leaving his house. He went to the nearby park, where he sat for a long time. He looked at several letters, and then, all of a sudden, he stood up. He stood there, talking to himself, and then he was gone. Just like that. Didn't make a noise or anything. I've never seen anything like it." The man then stood there, with a wary expression on his face.

"Did you hear what the boy said?" Voldemort inquired softly.

"No sir. I had cast a hearing enhancement charm on myself, but the boy must've been using a scrambling charm, for all I heard was gibberish."

"Fool. You know as well as anyone that the boy is not allowed to use magic outside of school. I'm disappointed in you. I would've expected you not to lose sight of him." Voldemort paused to look at the effect this had on the man. He immediately stiffened as if sensing that something horrible was coming.

"Very well. You may go," Voldemort said. The man looked utterly relieved. He turned and nearly ran from the room, but he didn't even make it to the door. Voldemort had pulled his wand, and with a barely whispered, "Crucio!" the man was writhing in agony on the floor. He had tortured him for a long time.

It had taken Voldemort several days to realize what a blessing in disguise this was. The rest of the wizarding world had no idea where Harry was, either. A plan began to form in his head. How better could he demoralize them than by taking away their savior? He would make an attack. A huge attack, so all the world would know that he was no longer holding back. The attack would have a message: Harry Potter was dead.

A quick modification to the Morsmordre curse, and the message was imprinted upon the skull's head. The Boy who lived was now the Boy who died. He made the attack, which was a major success in and of itself. Then, he waited for the wizarding world's reaction.

And he was pleased.

They held a funeral for that brat! They wouldn't have done that if he weren't actually dead. They would've wanted to hold out hope for as long as possible. If Harry was dead, there was no one left in Voldemort's way to the top other than Dumbledore, and he was becoming weak. He'd finally be able to complete his plans to take over the wizarding world. After that, it would only be a short time before he took the rest.

It was all coming together so nicely for him. He hadn't been able to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, but now it didn't really matter. Dumbledore couldn't stop him forever, he knew that much for sure. It would only be a matter of time, now.

"Bring me Bellatrix," he barked at one of the guards, who immediately scampered off to obey his command. This would be good, Voldemort thought. It was time now to deal the wizarding world another blow to its sanity. If he kept the period between each attack small enough, they wouldn't fully recover from each one. He was waging warfare psychologically as much as he was physically.

Bellatrix entered the room, and Voldemort gave her an evil grin. She shuddered, and braced herself for another round of torture. Voldemort had taken a special delight in punishing her for her inability to secure the prophecy, but his anger over that particular incident had ebbed, now that he didn't need the information anymore.

Now, however, he did not torture her. She had failed him, this was true. Yet, she was still one of his most faithful servants, and although Voldemort hated it when his servants failed him, the punishment did not always have to be... absolute. Bellatrix, in particular, was important to him.

He had concocted his latest plan to demoralize the wizarding world. Once they realized... Oh, the sweet irony of it. He could, in one simple move, deal the wizarding society a heavy blow and gain what promised to be his most powerful legion of supporters. All that was left was to set his plans into action...

"Bellatrix, my dear, it is time that we attacked Azkaban."