The Rules Of Chess

Part Two: The Action Builds

Mrs. Weasley gave a small gasp and promptly slid the burnt sausages in the frying pan into the garbage bin. Her tear-swollen eyes followed as  Mr. Weasley’s dial on the clock as it moved from ‘mortal peril’ and landed right on top of ‘Hermione’s home’.

She stared blankly at the long black dial before her jaw dropped open and she fled into the living room, then up the stairs, with screams of ‘He’s safe!’ and ‘Thank the Lord!’ falling from her dry lips.

People from miles around could hear the screams that exploded from the Burrow.

* * * * *

“Back so soon?” Uncle Vernon leered at Harry, who got the impression that friendly conversation wasn’t what his Uncle was after.

“I’ll go right out if you want me to,” Harry suggested, doing all possible to avoid confrontation. He spun around on his heel and was about to saunter out the door when a tight hand clamped onto his bony frame.

“I don’t think so. As long as you’re here and this house needs fixing up, you’ll be the fixer-upper. Any questions?” A maniacal glint had appeared in Vernon’s eye, and his voice was no more than a raspy whisper.

Harry shuddered under Vernon’s firm grasp before managing a slight shake of his head.

“Good. You’ll get started on plastering and painting the walls starting from today. No breaks, work hours are from 9 in the morning to 6 at night. Two meals a day.” Vernon narrowed his eyes pointedly at Harry, awaiting an answer.

“Wh-what, no pay?” Harry squeaked out as he backed further into the wall. As soon as the words left Harry’s mouth, he knew he was in for a world of trouble. Vernon’s face flushed red with anger.

“Do you not understand my family’s financial situation? Two meals is more than enough for your pay, unless you’d rather be wandering in the streets looking for jobs.” With that, Uncle Vernon stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Harry slumped tiredly into a nearby chair, burying his head into his arms resignedly.

Another summer, even more work to be done. With Uncle Vernon’s demanding schedule, he would be on an even tighter schedule for his schoolwork.

Five minutes later, Vernon strode back into the house, buckets of paints, rollers, and plaster tucked under his arm. He looked amiable enough as he whistled a little ditty before his be-mean-to-Harry mode fully kicked in and his big face got red again.

“Your supplies. I expect every bit of energy in you poured into your work. No messes, or you will be cleaning up.” Vernon flung the supplies none too gently at his nephew before disappearing into the kitchen.

Harry slowly picked up the fallen supplies, arranging them into a neat pile before picking them up and storing them in the closet. A sudden rap the window caught his attention, and he lifted his glum eyes to where a boy was wildly waving.

Theodore!

Harry’s eyes lit up with recognition, and he moved automatically towards the door. Before the door could open, however, Theodore was halfway down the street, running away once more.

“Strange kid…stalking me, then running off like I was stalking him in the first place.” Harry wrinkled his nose.

Theodore was a puzzle all unto himself, and that frustrated him. Harry didn’t like dealing with anything that he couldn’t decipher and lay out in pieces in front of him. And right now, Theodore’s jigsaw was missing a few vital pieces.

* * * * *

Albus carefully regarded the man sitting across from him. “Sirius. Good to see you again. Do you have news for me?”

Faint traces of a grin split across the ex-convict’s face. “Arthur’s been found. Hermione owled in with a detailed letter.” Leaning forward slightly, he slid the parchment across the wooden desk. “That’s not all. Seems like the bloke can’t remember anything that happened within the last three days.”

“A memory charm, perhaps?” Albus prodded soothingly, piercing eyes skimming the letter.

“To tell the truth, we really don’t know. Moody’s tried to break through the memory charm, but its just not working. We’ve tried Veritaserum—Snape had a vial in his potion stores, and all Arthur ended up telling us was what happened the day before he disappeared—private things, mind you, that we don’t particularly care to know…”

Dumbledore raised a bushy eyebrow before proceeding with his interrogation. “Fascinating…Have you heard from Harry as of late?”

“Not for a week now. The last letter he sent in told me about the Dursley’s going bankrupt, and something about moving to a new—cheaper—home,” Sirius admitted, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

The old man gazed sullenly at Sirius for a long moment before letting out a quivering sigh. “Terrible news, Sirius.”

“How so?”

“The protective barriers and Shadowing Charms around 4 Privet Drive…They are not present at Harry’s new location. To complicate things further, we’ll have to—“
”Alert Arabella,” Sirius nodded curtly. “Will she need to move closer to Harry?”

Dumbledore, without responding, sent Sirius a look that clearly said ‘yes’.

“I’ll write to Harry asking the address as soon as I get back to Remus’s,” Sirius said hastily, scooting his chair back. Both men rose from their seats, and shook hands briefly, thus ending their conversation.

“I expect Hagrid will report to you soon with more information?” Sirius questioned upon reaching the door.

“He’s due today.”

“Oh.” A bit abashed, Sirius slipped out of the Headmaster’s office, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. After all these years, he still couldn’t face his old Headmaster without feeling that same anxiousness rack his body. All too clearly he could remember the days he had spent back when he was a schoolboy…

 

“Do you think it’s worked?” James whispered excitedly to Sirius.

“Hold on…wait…oh yeah, it’s worked all right,” Sirius said, grinning wickedly at James. Both boys stared intently at the Slytherin table, as if expecting them to sprout wings any second. And, of course, within five seconds, a popping noise rent the air, followed by two shrill, girlish screams. Two Slytherins, namely Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy, rose into the air, each sporting a pair of sparkly white wings.

“Time for the fun to begin,” Sirius cackled, whipping out his wand. Next to him, he could feel James do the same thing.

“Where should I send Malfoy?” James wondered aloud, cocking his head slightly. He waved his wand to the left, pointing it straight at a protruding banner. Malfoy, a look of panic on his face, sped instantly to where James was pointing his wand. At the last minute, James jerked his wand away and pointed it at the ceiling. High above him, Lucius was just about to crash into the banner when he turned upwards and went speeding towards the ceiling.

“Malfoy didn’t deserve that bout of mercy,” Sirius managed to say between fits of laughter. “My turn. Poor old Snape will hate me forever…whoops, too late for that, isn’t it?” He directed his wand at a large cauldron of mashed potatoes sitting in the middle of the Ravenclaw table. With a hoarse yell, Snape began speeding towards the bowl, and finally fell head first into the concoction.

“Snape should be grateful; at least it was a soft landing,” James grinned as Sirius directed his wand at Professor Flitwick. Snape’s head instantly emerged from the bowl, covered in mashed potatoes, and he began zooming towards the unfortunate Professor, who realized what was happening a minute to late. Snape crashed into Professor Flitwick, sending him flying head over heals into staff table.

For the next few moments, both boys enjoyed maneuvering and directing the Slytheirins wherever they pleased, until a light tap on the arm startled Sirius.

He turned around, finding himself staring into the probing eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

“H-Headmaster!” Sirius stuttered, quickly stowing the wand in his robes. James followed suit. Behind them, the Slytherins immediately crashed to the stone floor, wings gone.

“Pray tell me what you are doing,” Dumbledore said in a light tone, gaze still trained on the two fidgety boys.

“Er…we were just…er…minding our business when Snape and Malfoy over there—“Sirius gestured vaguely at the spot where the two victims were crumpled. “Suddenly flew into the air and started moving around—we were just watching, really, like everyone else…”

“Oh, I’m quite sure you were, Mr. Black. Is this truly what happened?” Albus continued, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement and knowing.

“How can you doubt us?” James intervened, putting on his best ‘I’m innocent’ look. Dumbledore smiled a bit.

“Well then, I bid you good day,” Dumbledore said formally before walking briskly back to his seat at the head of the staff table.

“I can’t believe he bought that!” James exclaimed as soon as Dumbledore was out of hearing range.

“I dunno…I can’t help but feel like he knew what we had done, I mean, the way he was looking at us,” Sirius said slowly, receiving an agreeing nod from James.

 

A hot, wet lump rose in the back of Sirius’s throat as the memories swept over his entire being, engulfing him in all their fierceness—how he remembered the days with the Marauders—longed to be with them once more, whole and complete again—James—God, how he missed James—how he seemed to know every thought that Sirius was thinking, every move he was going to make—and Remus, not the worried, burdened Remus, but a light carefree one, possessing wisdom beyond his years, who, occasionally, lent a hand to sort out the kinks in James and Sirius’s master schemes. A savage, inhuman growl ripped from Sirius’s throat as he thought about Peter.

Professor McGonagall, who was passing, gave Sirius an alarmed look as he bared his teeth to no one in particular.

“Are you alright, Sirius?” she asked in a concerned, motherly manner.

Sirius snapped back into reality, smiling sheepishly at McGonagall. “Er…sorry, Professor…just a toothache, I really need to visit one of those Muggle dentists—I’ll just be off, won’t I? No need to see me out, I know the way—“ Sirius continued blubbering until he finally reached the Hogwarts Entrance Hall and slipped outside, where he promptly fell silent.

McGonagall stared at the spot Sirius was previously standing on, a puzzled, bewildered look on her face.

“I worry about that boy,” she muttered, forgetting he was now a fully grown wizard.

 

*********************(Back at the Dursley’s, Harry’s been doing some ‘maid-work’…)

“Darned paint,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth as he, in a futile attempt to dispel his anger, kicked a half-full paint can across the dank room. What he succeeded in, however, was providing himself with more work, as the contents of the can distributed themselves on various pieces of furniture, as well as the floor.

It had been a week and a half since the Dursley’s had moved into the apartment on Seneca Rolling.

A long, tiring week and a half, Harry mused, letting his eyes drift over the numerous brushes, rollers, wallpaper, and paint cans strewn across the concrete floor.He, for his part, had been busily tidying up the house while all Dudley did was sit on the couch, complaining (the only reason he wasn’t eating was because Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had decided to cut back on food spendings). On the occasion, when he was allowed a short break or when he decided to sneak out, he always ran into Theo, who plagued him like some sort of mysterious sickness that vanished upon diagnosis.

Despite the way Theo unnerved him, he still enjoyed his brisk strolls around the block, and, with the thought of fresh air instead of paint-infused fumes, he quietly slipped outside, stained clothes and all.

The weather was fair, much to Harry’s pleasure. A rustle in the bushes next to where he was standing told him that Theo was back.

“You can come out now,” Harry said irritably, trying to disguise the evident venom in his voice.

Theo emerged from the thick brush when he was beckoned. He stood before Harry, shifting uneasily from either foot.

“Can you tell me this time why you keep following me?” Harry didn’t expect to get a proper response.

As always, Theo shot off down the road, without another look back.

And Harry, as always, didn’t bother following. He had convinced himself that he was far too busy to deal with any more things, but he couldn’t shake off that little niggling feeling that said he was afraid of what he would find if he followed Theo.

* * * * *

Peaceful snores kept Harry awake all night. As the apartment was really very small, any sound could be heard through the paper-thin walls. There were only two rooms anyways. Harry gave Dudley, who was sleeping in a bed next to his couch, a disgusted look. A dreamy smile was plastered on his cousin’s face; Harry could almost see the ‘Dudley-dreams’ floating above the piggy head.

At about midnight (the witching hour, Harry thought nervously), he got up from his makeshift ‘bed’ and unlocked the creaky door before going outside. There was no Theo to bother him now—why would the boy be awake at such an hour?

He set off down the road, cold air rushing headlong into his face, waking him sufficiently. At first, he could barely make out the vaguest of black shapes in front of him, but gradually his vision adjusted to the inky night.

Just as he tilted his head back to fully enjoy the engulfing darkness, a small, lithe figure darted out from a grove of trees, waving a bright flashlight wildly to and fro.

“Theo?” Harry surmised, mentally slapping himself for letting his guard down. He squinted into the yellow light. The boy was smiling, not viciously, but the eerie flashlight glow gave a creepy tone to his face.

“Follow me, Harry Potter,” Theo squeaked, voice trembling unsteadily. The flashlight in his hands wavered before he spun around and dashed down the road.

Should I follow, just this once? Find out where he’s going? Maybe…But it’s midnight, I might get lost…Still, I won’t be long…and shouldn’t Gryffindors be brave, courageous, and all that? Harry debated about this for a while before his curiosity took over. Using his natural agility and speed, he took off after Theo.

Theo had already managed to put a large distance between him and his pursuer.As much as Harry ran, Theo was still a mere black speck in the distance.

Damn, he can run fast, he thought, resorting to swear words to express his rather strong emotions.

When Harry was sure he would soon die of exhaustion before catching up to Theo, the boy slowed to a steady walk, as if waiting for him.

“Where are you going?” Harry hobbled down the street, clutching a growing stitch in his side.

Theo glanced back at Harry, a knowing look on his face as he pointed a finger further down the road and increased his pace to a jog. Heaving a sigh, Harry resumed his running, taking in deep breaths of the chilly night air to calm the burning stitch.

Only paces in front of Harry now, Theo slowed once more as he rounded a corner and ducked into a flat one-story house, which was almost collapsing from lack of care.

Gathering his courage and shoving his fear aside, Harry stepped in after Theo, shutting the wooden door behind him. A series of dull thumping noises followed the initial click.

Harry whipped around, cold dread sinking into the pit of his stomach as he watched a dozen locks on the door invisibly, magically, twist and bolt shut. The faint taste of iron formed in his mouth as his pulse quickened. His already sweat palms dampened even further.

Willing himself to walk further into the room, instead of running off to a corner and cowering or throwing himself against the door, he discovered Theo sitting quite placidly on the moth-eaten couch, which sagged under his slight weight. A sweet, innocent smile was on Theo’s face as he turned to face Harry.

“W-where am I? Where did you take me?” Harry managed to spit out, surprising even himself with how fierce and demanding he sounded.

The astonishment registered on Theo’s youthful face, but vanished abruptly.

“You knew I was a Lestrange, and still you followed,” he said softly, staring at Harry with dark eyes.

“Answer my question,” Harry plowed on brashly.

“Master said you were foolhardy, but I never thought this much, surely the plan would fail, that’s what I said…” Harry noticed that Theo had lost his trademark lisp, and was now wearing an expression that would’ve looked natural on a thirty-year-old convict, but not on a mere child.

“Your Master…?” Harry stopped talking as stinging realization hit him upside the head, as well as a blinding red light, which he made out to be, just as he blacked out, a curse.