Harry Potter and the Shadows of the Watchgate

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-*~| Harry Potter and the Shadows of the Watchgate |~*-
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-*~| CHAPTER 1 - Harry Distressed |~*-
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Darkness surrounded him, engulfing him in its clutches. The soft tap of footsteps told him that he was being pursued. He increased his pace, plunging headlong into the deep blackness, but the pursuer followed him like his own shadow. He kept on running, but however he tried to lose it, the shadow never left his heels. He went through the length of a thick forest but still the shadow followed suit.

He finally saw a clearing at the end of the forest and something told him that if he reached it, everything would be all right. However, he was shocked to find thousands of eyes blinking at him sinisterly, following his progress. A hoard of gaping snake statues loomed over his path, reminding him of one of his previous escapades.

The shadowy figure inched nearer without even missing a beat. Harry Potter felt the first signs of impending doom with the tightening of his stomach as he saw the figure wearing a grotesque metal mask. He tried to get out of its way but faltered when he saw the figure take off the deathly mask.

It was the face of his Godfather, Sirius Black, contorted in severe pain.

"Harry! No!"

The scene dissolved to a familiar place--the voice still echoing--to a dilapidated graveyard.

"Avada Kedavra!" a voice reverberated, and Harry was hit with a green bolt of lightening, making him sink to the ground in a heap, darkening his world...

Harry Potter woke up with his scar prickling horribly and sweat trickling down his spine. He had seen his Godfather again in his dreams, which was becoming fairly usual during this year's summer holidays.

Harry fingered his still-tingling scar. That scar was a legend in itself, a lightning bolt-shaped remnant of Lord Voldemort's first downfall. But a year ago Voldemort had risen again, bringing with him a tidal wave of destruction for the world--and for Harry Potter in particular. Because it was the Boy-Who-Lived who had mired his plans to rule the world. It was Harry Potter who had fought him three times before, thwarting all his plans. He had even battled the memory of the man who had become Lord Voldemort from Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry Potter was more than just a soon to be sixteen-year-old boy; he was a wizard, living with his Muggle aunt and uncle in Privet Drive because his parents had been killed by the Dark Lord when he was only a year old, because of a prophecy. Harry's shoulders were practically sagging under the weight of the knowledge that he was the only one who could ever defeat Voldemort. The prophecy ... Neither can live while the other survives...

Harry was just putting on his glasses when the door of his room shook violently on its hinges, as if someone was trying to bash it in.

Dudley! he thought, silently cursing his cousin.

He gingerly plunked his tired body from the flabby old bed, which once belonged to the same cousin who--(the door shook violently again)--was shoulder-butting the door.

"I'm UP!" Harry shouted in a carrying voice, tinged with a threat of go-away-or-you'll-regret-it-later, and to his relief heard his cousin's retreating thumps on the stairs of number four, Privet Drive.

Harry looked about at the mess that had become characteristic of his room. Strewn clothing, loose parchments and different books with titles like, "Quidditch through the Ages", "Advanced Defense: when there is no other way", "Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five", and "Year with a Yeti," were lying face down on the floor, as if someone had tried to read them all at once, but lost interest.

Harry checked the time after freshening up and an ungainly attempt at making his hair lie flat. It was ten o'clock and he was sure that his uncle, Vernon Dursley, would have gone to his office by now.

Harry sighed in relief and made for the kitchen. He had been avoiding the Dursleys, especially his uncle, since the last showdown after he returned from Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, three weeks ago. He didn't want another row with his uncle on how he should behave around the house and how he had always been the cause of their distress from the time they had adopted him fifteen years ago.

"Quite an early riser you have become, boy!" Vernon Dursley scowled at him from over the top of the newspaper he was reading, his bottlebrush moustache quivering irritably.

Dudley Dursley, who had been waiting for a moment just like this, sniggered in glee at the bespectacled teen in front of him, while his mother, Petunia Dursley, who had been busy eyeing the next-door neighbor's backyard, busied herself with the dirty dishes in the sink, as if going for a War Against Uncleanliness.

Harry was appalled to see his uncle, still in the house at ten o'clock, when it suddenly dawned on him that it was not a weekday but a Sunday. He had again lost the track of time and was face to face with his uncle, whom he had been avoiding for quite a while.

"Don't look as if you are lost. The way you act, you should be made the supreme ruler of the world!" Uncle Vernon spat in indignation. "Don't know what kind of education (said as if it were a swear word) you get from the cock and bull stories they teach you in your filthy little school."

Dudley smirked with pleasure seeing his father having a go at Potter, something he never had the courage to do himself lately, while Harry bit his tongue to stop himself before retorting at the bullfrog sitting in front of him.

Harry knew better than to retort as lately he had stopped trusting his instincts because they always ended up in making a mess of everything he did. So, he spun around on the balls of his feet and made his way to the front door, informing them in a shaky distant voice that he was going for a walk. He didn't wait to listen to his uncle's further mockery either of the world he belonged to or his being there in the first place.

It was a fact that another world existed, one that was almost hidden from the normal world of Muggles; a world of wizards and witches and many things magical. But as the settling gloom in his life, a dark wizard was gathering strength in the wizarding world and almost everyone was feeling the tension of it.

These holidays had been very difficult for Harry in spite of the fact that the Dursleys had kept their distance, with the exception of their occasional malicious remarks. This behavior was mostly credited to the threats made by Mad Eye Moody, the ex-Auror, at the end of last term.

Harry strolled towards his usual haunts, where he liked to sit alone and think. To the passersby he only seemed a teenager who had grown up suddenly. He had an aura about him, which instantly attracted attention but also declared - 'Stay away'.

He had been fending off his frustration by having a go at Dudley's punching bag. At least, it made his body ache after the continuous blows and his mind was left almost blank by the mechanical one-two.

But whatever he tried, he couldn't wipe out the memory of Sirius falling behind the veil in the Death Chamber. That scene played again and again in his mind until his fists clenched and he was shaking all over in agony, which made it even more pleasant to just let go and jab at the lifeless bag.

There was so much rage inside him for himself, that he couldn't even express it in words or even in thoughts. He had so typically played the hero and caused the downfall of the person who had been the closest thing he had to a family of his own. He had never felt so alone in his life. He just wanted to run away to some place, where there was no Voldemort and none of this excruciating pain.

Pain was not new to him because he had already gotten a load by losing his parents to a dark wizard. But, in the case of the death of his Godfather; actually seeing the whole scene made it more vivid, and he couldn't help but feel vulnerable.

At night, Harry returned to number four, as he had been instructed by the members of the Order of the Phoenix, a not-so-secret faction of wizards who were devoting to fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The Order had been telling everyone they could, that Voldemort had regained his body, but no one heeded them until about a month ago, when to their dismay, living proof of He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named 's return had appeared before their eyes.

Hedwig, his pet owl and his oldest friend, clicked her beak on her cage as he entered his semi-dark room. A letter was resting on his desk and by the looks of it; Hedwig wanted him to see it first thing. It was the familiar scrawl of his friend, Ron, but very uncharacteristically short for him.

Harry, we are coming to get you tomorrow, so pack your things. I reckon we'll talk when we meet. - Ron

At last, good news; the Order was finally coming to get him. He felt relieved that this year they hadn't kept him waiting for long. Though they had been more communicative than ever but Voldemort wasn't making much news. What Harry dreaded the most was that this silence was a warning of the upcoming storm.

-*-

Four familiar members of the Order: Tonks, Moody, Lupin and Kingsley, came at night the next day to get him.

"Wotcher, Harry!" said Tonks, in her usual earnest way, smiling at him.

Lupin didn't say much except, "All ready?" to which Harry only nodded.

It was difficult for him to see them all again and not remember the last time they had battled the Death Eaters together. He snapped out of his reverie when he encountered the Dursleys downstairs, huddled in the drawing room, eyeing the four wizards accompanying him as if they were a bunch of criminals. Harry smiled as he remembered the last time Moody and his Uncle met. Moody had threatened Vernon Dursley to behave himself or else.

The ex-Auror gave a special wink to Uncle Vernon, setting Vernon's triple chin aquiver and even with too many things running through his mind Harry couldn't help but to be amused at the situation. He looked back the last time before being Disillusioned by Moody and was startled to find his Aunt looking at him with narrowed eyes.

Just like the previous year, they traveled by broomstick. But there was one difference; they were all silent, like there was an un-written contract between them that they would not discuss Sirius, at least not for now. The thrill that Harry always felt by riding his Firebolt was not there anymore. It was like all his happy feelings were banished from his heart, leaving a hollow space behind.

Harry had thought they were going to the Burrow, thinking that the Order must have found a new headquarters by now, but the London neighborhood they were approaching looked all too familiar. He was back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

As he dismounted from his frosty broom, Tonks gave him a furtive look and Lupin grasped his shoulder. A house appeared out of thin air, just in between numbers eleven and thirteen, and they entered Sirius's old family house.

Harry expected another blast of peculiar paraphernalia but was mildly surprised by the interior of the house, which were not as eerie as he remembered. He supposed absently that Mrs. Weasley must have been quite busy this summer, but he abandoned all thoughts of house-keeping as Hermione came running down the stairs to hug him, closely followed by Ron, who looked anxious. They made their way to the room they occupied before.

Ginny joined them on the way to the room and broke the gloomy silence, "How are you, Harry?"

"Er... fine," said Harry. He tried to smile but it turned to a grimace, midway. He saved face by grimacing more at the trunk he was carrying along with Ron, like it was much heavier than it actually was.

"Harry dear!" Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room and hugged him affectionately. "You have become quite peaky you know. Haven't you been eating properly?" said Mrs. Weasley, holding him at an arm's length and critically surveying him up and down.

Harry managed another eloquent, "Er..."

"I know it has been very difficult for you but Dumbledore said that, 'sooner you get it over with, the better,'" said Mrs. Weasley, looking apprehensive.

"Get what over with?" asked Harry, dreading something terrible.

"Well... Sirius's will of course," said Mrs. Weasley, looking very flustered.

Harry's parents had already left a little fortune for him; he didn't want anything from Sirius. He still blamed himself for his death. If he hadn't been foolish enough to believe his visions about Voldemort torturing Sirius, if he hadn't dozed off during his History test, if he just stayed put that day, he would have been welcomed in this house by none other than Sirius today. If ... oh, if only!

Harry didn't realize that he was completely still. When he came back to his senses with a jolt, he noticed that everyone in the room had the same expression of concern on their faces. He turned his back to them, feeling completely stupid and at lost of words.

He started hoarsely, "I- I don't... want--" and was swiftly cut off by Mrs. Weasley. "He was your Godfather... he wanted you to... I don't think that I have to remind you that he loved you deeply?"

Harry managed a small grunt of acknowledgement. Now that he was back with all of his friends, it was more difficult to hide his feelings. He wanted to talk to someone, but didn't know how to start. So he turned on his heel and headed for Buckbeak's room instead.

Buckbeak was resting on the floor and looked very subdued. Harry gave him a bow and the hippogriff nodded his head morosely. It was a fact that Buckbeak had seen more of his Godfather than himself and that certainly established similar feelings of melancholy between them. Hagrid was right; animals are keener about their surroundings and very much aware of human emotions.

Harry tried to feed Buckbeak but his forlorn eyes told him that he wasn't in the mood, so he seated himself comfortably beside the hippogriff instead.

Remus Lupin, Harry's one-time Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and an old friend of his parents, joined him after a while.

"We haven't really talked for some time, have we?" he asked Harry.

"Yeah..."

Harry continued after a pause, "So, what is really happening? Why Voldemort so quiet?" he asked tentatively, remembering that his scar hadn't hurt him much this summer.

"We have heard some rumors, but nothing concrete. Whatever he is up to, he is not following his usual paths of destruction; this time he is working very covertly."

Lupin studied Harry keenly. The short month since he had seen him had wrought changes in Harry that were clearly visible. He had grown up. He looked far older and more mature than your average sixteen-year-old. There was something else too, something intangible, but visible nonetheless. It was the mark of a boy forced to grow up too quickly. Pain did that to a person; Lupin knew it better than most. He noticed with a bittersweet pang that Harry looked more like James than ever.

"Harry, your father was not just a bully, you know. What you saw in the Pensieve was true, but that's not the only thing your father did. James and Sirius were teenagers with exceptional skill and sometimes they just couldn't help showing off," Lupin broke off, seeing Harry's reproachful look and he knew then that his excuses weren't going to work.

"Look, they grew up to be great wizards, Harry. They devoted their lives to fight against Voldemort. It's a long story, but you may have already gotten the idea of it from Sirius."

At the mention of his godfather, Harry quickly turned away from Lupin. He began stroking Buckbeak absently, who blinked his orange eyes contentedly. Lupin sighed and moved to leave, but at the last minute changed his mind and grabbed Harry by the shoulders, spinning him around and forcing the boy to meet his eyes.

"It's not your fault!" he said intensely, willing Harry to believe what he said. "Sirius died with dignity, fighting the Death Eaters. His death was not a waste, so stop torturing yourself and start preparing for the tasks ahead, now that you know what you have to do, and what is expected of you!" Lupin stalked out of the room without waiting for a reply.

Harry stared after Lupin and it felt like that his words had somehow hit home because it seemed like a huge weight was lifted from his heart. He shouldn't sulk, he chastised himself. Sirius wouldn't have liked him that way at all. With a new feeling of responsibility and gratitude towards the people who cared about him and understood his feelings, he made his way to his and Ron's room.

He found Ron and Hermione lounging on the sofa. They stopped talking the moment he entered the room. Just to cover the awkward silence, Ron stupidly asked Harry about his holidays, getting a steely look from Hermione in response.

"Er... they were okay," Harry answered uneasily.

"Where did you go for vacation this summer, Hermione?" Harry asked, just to change the topic.

"Oh, nowhere. I was actually home, explaining things to my parents because they didn't know much about Death Eaters and Voldemort's history. I filled them in on everything that has happened since his return, and how things will change with the ensuing second war." She looked about to see the glum response of acknowledgement. "I have also worked on some new spells for the DA classes. Only theory, though!" she said pointedly, upon seeing Ron, who had just opened his mouth to remind her that it was against the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry.

"Well, that was good thinking. We should definitely continue those classes," Harry said resolutely, remembering his friends fighting bravely against the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries last month, which had only been possible because they trained for their own defense, unlike what had been taught by their official teacher, the ex-Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Umbridge.

"Oh yes, we should," Hermione agreed, thinking along the same lines. "So... how are you feeling, Harry?" she finished in an undertone. Ron gave her a reproving look, but she seemed not to notice.

"Ohh... I've had better days, it's not like I'm complaining or anything, but sometimes, it's just too hard," Harry said with a sigh.

There was a sudden hush in the room while they all just stared at each other thoughtfully.

"So, have any of you heard anything unusual?" asked Harry, trying to lighten up the mood.

"Oh, nothing much. Luna Lovegood visited the Burrow last week, and she and Ginny are becoming fast friends. She didn't succeed in finding the Crumple-horned Snorkacks, but she has now gone on an expedition for Fading Knockshrubs," Ron answered, making a comic face.

"What are Fading Knockshrubs?!" Harry laughed incredulously.

"Have no idea, mate, must be some Quibbler stuff," said Ron, thoughtfully.

Harry was just about to question them on their knowledge of prophecies when he was interrupted by two loud cracks.

Fred and George had just materialized in their room.

"Hiya, Harry!" they said in unison.

"Knew you would be coming today; so, we thought to visit, in spite of our heavy schedules." The twins exchanged meaningful looks in between themselves. "Business is flourishing as usual. Your investments have multiplied very effectively," said Fred in all-business-no-rubbish tone.

"That's great!" exclaimed Harry enthusiastically, not sure whether he was glad to have been interrupted, or upset. "Er... what are those?" he inquired cautiously, pointing to the green squiggly things, which resembled a baby squid, in George's hands.

"Our newest invention," said George, patting the thing fondly. "They are the 'Vanishing Hydras'. To activate them, pinch any one of their tentacles and they will become invisible. You can place them on the floor and anyone trudging over them will be bitten and sprayed with a fountain of special solution that we invented with a generous amount of stink sap. The person will instantly sprout boils that will be painful as well as ticklish wherever the solution sprays them. We have their antidotes too, so don't look so worried!" this point was highlighted by Fred's wicked smile.

"I'll love to try this on Malfoy!" said Ron longingly.

"You'll get your chance this year, Ronniekins. Malfoy must be rolling on coals, with his dad in Azkaban," Fred said nastily, while Ron and Hermione looked reproachfully at him for completely different reasons of their own.

"I don't think that Dementors can be controlled by the Ministry anymore. Haven't they already left Azkaban?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes they have," George confirmed her doubts. "Azkaban is now guarded by a makeshift group of Auro-"

There was a loud crash outside the door and a hurried whisper of, "Reparo." They all knew who was coming long before she came bursting into the room.

"Dumbledore is here, Harry, he wants to see you," Tonks said in a breathless voice.

So, it is time to hear Sirius's will, Harry thought with a bottomless feeling in the pit of his stomach as he despondently followed Tonks down to the meeting room, which was actually the old living room made nice with Mrs. Weasley's cleaning.

Dumbledore and Lupin were deep in conversation when Harry entered the room. Dumbledore gave him one of those penetrating looks, as if he was x-raying him with his eyes.

"How have you been, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"... Okay."

"You are not at the moment, but you will be," said Dumbledore, with an understanding smile.

"Er..."

"Very well, let's get down to business. The will is quite simple," Dumbledore continued, looking down at Harry.

"Sirius has given Grimmauld Place to the Order, and he has requested the transfer of half his money to your vault in Gringotts and the remaining half to Remus's vault. He has also given you the flat in London where he used to live after he left Hogwarts. He has left all the rest of his worldly possessions to you, including this Diary." Dumbledore looked keenly over his glasses at Harry, while handing it to him.

"It is enchanted, but not like Tom's. So, you needn't worry." His blue eyes twinkled. "You should be able to work out the clues to read it easily enough--he wanted you to have it if he was unable to tell it to you himself. So, that is all I think, is it not, Remus?"

"Yes, that is all," Lupin replied hoarsely. Harry assumed that he didn't know about the content of the will, like Harry didn't know about the existence of any diary of his Godfather's.

~*~