Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

A/N 1: You reviewers really made my day! One day I upload my first chapter and the next morning I have 18 positive reviews staring back at me. I can only say WOW!!! I hope to keep it as interesting... All reviews, suggestions, criticism, flames welcome.

A/N 2: For those of you wondering about Sirius' knife, the explanation's here in this chapter. Thanks to Dragon of Slytherin at FanFiction.net for pointing it out.

A/N 3: I've changed the rating from PG to PG-13, to be on the safer side.

A/N 4: URGENT! Beta-reading volunteers needed.

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 2

" ... don't like this. We need to get Harry to a hospital."

"How's the problem." Mr. Granger was pacing around in his living room, frustrated to his limits. The power blackout - a nuisance in itself out of the blue - had been accompanied by dead telephone lines and non-functioning electrical appliances - even those powered with batteries. His car refused to start, his battery-powered torches and clocks had stopped working - all in the middle of the night. And this phenomenon was not limited to his house; the whole neighborhood was clouded in darkness. He shuddered to think of the consequences this would have on their lives in the morning.

And add the fact that they had just been attacked by a creature belonging to strange serpent species - strange not as much due to its horrible features as due to the fact that it vanished as soon as it fell unconscious after it was hit by whatever magic his daughter's friend had performed on it. The same friend, a boy of about sixteen, who'd just risked his own life for their sake. And he'd been suspecting him...

Being doctors - dentists to be accurate - rational thinking came as second nature to the Grangers. As hard as it had been for them to accept the fact that their daughter had been admitted to a school of witchcraft, only now had they witnessed magic with their own eyes, something their daughter had been yearning to show them for years, and this was not, they realized, a collection of parlor tricks. This was serious.

"Honey, he's waking!" Mrs. Granger's voice broke the silence. She had just cleansed Harry's wound with an antiseptic and covered it tightly with bandages to stop the bleeding - which otherwise hadn't been showing any signs of stopping by itself anytime soon. She had appreciated his quick thinking in cutting off the flesh with a pocket-knife. Yet she was unsure of his condition - and there was the danger of the wound catching infection from the knife. She was jerked alert from her worries by movement in her previously unconscious patient.

Actually Harry had been awake but still for quite a few moments, wondering over the occurrences of that night. The first thing that had struck him, as he lay awake, was that his scar had stopped paining - he'd almost got used to it for the past hour or so. From the fact that Mrs. Granger had not finished dressing his wound yet, he knew that he couldn't have passed out for more than a few minutes.

Considering the way Voldemort reacted to his presence, he was now almost certain that the attack was a trap laid by Voldemort to lure him to the Granger's residence. If Voldemort really craved to hurt him or the Grangers, then he would have sent Death Eaters or at least a few more snakes. But why didn't Voldemort use a deceiving false vision like he had used before?

Maybe he was still too weak to try it... or Harry's own practice with Occlumency might have prevented him - though he wasn't sure how much (or how little) he could have progressed in barely two days. But the million-dollar question - or more appropriately, million-Galleon in this case - still remained unanswered: Why did Voldemort want to bring him here?

He was now inspecting his surroundings through unfocused eyes - the absence of glasses making the task considerably more difficult in the dim candle-light. Still he could make out Mrs. Granger, apparently engrossed in dressing his wound with the expertise of a trained medical practitioner, although said training was actually in a different discipline. He chuckled inwardly, remembering how Dudley used to be mortally scared of his dentist, making his aunt's task of coercing her son for weekly appointments (which were necessitated of course by Dudley's wanton consumption of anti-teeth sweets) infinitely hard.

The slight dizziness - probably due to the loss of blood - that Harry had been feeling after waking was slowly ebbing away. Apart from the pain in his wound, he didn't suffer from any adverse effects of the snake-bite - evidently he hadn't been poisoned. At least it seemed that he'd live, he thought, marveling at the resourcefulness of Sirius' knife - it could unlock locked doors, repair itself magically (as it had done after the unfortunate outcome - a molten blade - of forcing it to open a sinister door in the Department of Mysteries), and now it had saved him from a snake-bite. Only if Sirius were here... No! Stop it Potter, you've got other problems to deal; lamenting over Sirius' death isn't going to bring him back.

Longing for a better look at his surroundings, Harry moved his neck to scan his bedside for his glasses, catching Mrs. Granger's attention.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Her voice was kind and soothing - not betraying even a drop of the concern that resided behind it.

"Fine, just a little dizzy."

"The bleeding has stopped and you're not showing any symptoms of poisoning, though I'm no expert. Still I think we should admit you to the hospital. We'd have called an ambulance, but the phone lines are dead and... Are you really sure you're OK?"

"Yes Mrs. Granger. And I don't think a Muggle hospital - er - I mean a non-magical one could treat me even if I was sick, you see the snake wasn't a normal one. I don't think a non-magical hospital would have the anti-dote."

Mrs. Granger nodded, but did not seem too convinced at this.

"How long was I unconscious?" Just to be sure. As far as Harry remembered, he'd just stunned the snake, and it was bound to wake up after a few hours. Getting rid of it was another addition to his list of worries.

"Not much... a quarter of an hour. And the snake's gone." This was Mr. Granger, who had just left his pacing to hand Harry his glasses.

"Gone? How?"

"It disappeared. You mean you didn't vanish it?"

"I just stunned it. Voldemort must have Disapparated it. It means traveling to a different location in an flash."

Mr. Granger nodded and then paused as if thinking what to say, before looking at Harry directly in the eyes.

"Look Harry... We are really grateful to you. If you hadn't come at the right time, then we would have been helpless. Hermione speaks very highly of you, and we can see that it's true. I'm really sorry for shouting at you..."

"No Mr. Granger. It's nothing really... Hermione or Ron would have done the same for me." Harry didn't feel very comfortable being praised after he'd just walked right along with Voldemort's plans. But speaking of Hermione reminded him of her absence. "Where's Hermione?"

"She left last week for what she calls the Headquarters. For some training - what was it - Animus did she say?" said Mrs. Granger looking at her husband for help, who on his part had resumed his pacing.

"Animagus!" Harry exclaimed. "Hermione's taking Animagus training?"

"That's what she said - you didn't know? She must have wanted to surprise you." Mrs. Granger suggested hopefully.

And surprise she did, Harry thought bitterly. To be truthful, he hadn't really given much thought to becoming an Animagus; yet subconsciously, he'd always marveled at the idea of being able to assume an animal form. In their own days at Hogwarts, Harry's dad and his companions Sirius and Peter Pettigrew had undergone Animagus training on their own to accompany their werewolf friend Remus Lupin in wandering around the castle and the Forbidden Forest.

If his dad could learn to transform to a stag on his own then he himself was capable too. Then why wasn't he informed about the training - why wasn't he given a chance? He imagined Ron and Hermione being trained over the summer to become Animagi, the very thought of him being left out, unsettling. Or did they think he was incapable of 'shouldering the responsibility' as Dumbledore had reasoned for not appointing him as a Prefect? Or was he supposedly incapable of controlling himself in an animal form - as the Daily Prophet had been announcing all through last year? You're losing yourself Potter, there must be a reason... Harry somehow managed to silence his rambling thoughts, forcing his attention to a more pressing concern.

"The phone lines are dead, did you say?" he asked.

"Yes. We tried to use the cell-phone, but that's not working either. I wonder what you're aunt and uncle - the Dursleys aren't they? They must be really worried..." Mrs. Granger replied, worrying herself.

"No they hardly care and anyway they must still be asleep... What's the time now?" Harry said, remembering that his watch was stuck.

"Must be nearly one... The clocks have stopped working..." Harry's eyes widened at Mr. Granger's reply. "There's something sinister going on here - the power's gone, phones are dead, cars won't start... I'd say that nothing electrical is working and I hardly believe that there's a scientific explanation."

Harry was baffled at the implication. It was not everyday that London faced a power blackout - or modern Britain for that matter - but it could be blamed on technical failures. But what they were experiencing - even in Little Whinging, he realized - had only one explanation.

Here he was stuck without protection (and hardly able to defend himself thanks to his injury) in the dead hours of the night, open to attack especially when Voldemort knew of his location. And the fact that the Grangers, like all Muggles, were helpless without electricity hardly helped matters. All he could think was that he'd have to contact Dumbledore, and fast. Hedwig, who was back at the Dursleys, would do. And he couldn't stay here.

"I need to go...", he managed, making an attempt to get up, before being prevented by Mrs. Granger.

"No Harry, you need to rest!"

"But we're unsafe here," Harry argued, explaining to them that he would go to the Dursleys, making use of the magical Knight Bus, and send an owl to ask for protection. He also had to promise that he would then head off to St. Mungo's, the wizarding hospital, before the Grangers were finally convinced enough to let him leave.

After a hasty midnight snack - all sugar-free of course - and repeated thanks from the Grangers, Harry found himself alone, staring at the lifeless road, illuminated by the full moon - no doubt being stared at by helpless werewolves all over Britain. He involuntarily straightened his glasses, subconsciously scanning his surroundings for wandering werewolves - although he knew that the chance of finding one in the Muggle vicinity was as good as Professor McGonagall teaching Divination.

Shrugging off his baseless fears he stood on the pavement putting his weight on his left leg, which was the only outward sign of his injury since he'd used a cleaning spell on his trousers to rid them of the blood stains - since he'd already broken a dozen rules, some more magic wouldn't hurt, he had assured himself.

Holding out his wand, he summoned the Knight Bus, hiring a ride to Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Even through his own preoccupation with his mind, Harry noticed the subdued state of the conductor, who only an hour before had been in his usual talkative mode. Might just be a bad day for business, Harry reasoned, noticing that he was alone in his deck. I'm just giving too much thought to trivial matters...

The trip took a little less than half an hour this time, but Harry was too pensive to notice the difference in duration. In fact he almost failed to realize that his wrist-watch had stared working again, before the glowing streetlights caught his eyes as the bus screeched to a halt a couple of blocks away from the Dursleys' residence.

But as he alighted from the bus, he felt his heart drop down to the road, not to mention his wand which met a similar fate, at the sight that awaited him. Stan had noticed it too, if the expression on his face, as he called out to the driver to get out of the place, was anything to go by. But Harry's brain didn't register the Knight Bus' departure, nor the fact that he was stepping right into the gutter, before he tripped over it and fell nearly on his face with a muffled yell.

The piercing pain in his scar was back, now accompanied by a scratched elbow and a painful leg. But his gaze was still fixed on the starless sky. A gigantic emerald-green skull was floating above, shining in sharp contrast to the night sky. A moving serpent was protruding from between its bare teeth, like a tongue. The Dark Mark. It took a few seconds before Harry regained his senses - only to feel the agony of his scar and injuries, now multiplied with cold fear.

Hastily, full of anxiety, he made his way to the Dursleys' house but didn't have to walk far before he saw his worst fears coming true. Number 4, Privet Drive was engulfed in flames, surrounded by neighbors, who were making futile attempts to subdue the fire. Apparently the Dark Mark looming overhead was invisible to the Muggles.

Harry was on the verge of casting a freezing spell - the fact that he was in front of Muggles notwithstanding - but realized that he'd dropped his wand back near the gutter where he'd fallen. His temple was bursting with pain and despair. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the arrival of an ambulance, closely followed by Muggle police vehicles flanking the fire brigade, sirens filling the atmosphere, which was glowing with bright dancing light from the flames.

Not being able to restrain himself any longer, he quickly donned his Invisibility cloak - he didn't want to be recognized by the neighbors, who positively thought that he had been attending a school for juvenile criminals - and infiltrated the crowd of onlookers that had gathered around the house, carefully avoiding physical contact. Firefighters were directing water and dry carbon dioxide at the flames, which were retreating back at a painstakingly slow speed. After a few minutes in which Harry looked on paralyzed with horror, medical staff carrying three stretchers emerged from the burnt remains of the house... unmistakably Mr. & Mrs. Dursley and their son in them. His throat went dry... No he wouldn't look...

He ran from the stomach wrenching sight, limping slightly, and hardly caring to keep from stepping over many a foot - he missed a certain rat with a silver paw observing the crowd from the shadows, with a definite smirk on its face.

Harry didn't know where he was heading, letting his feet carry him as far as he could get from the place. Granted the Dursleys had been mean to him, even ill-treated him; but they didn't deserve to die. And why? Only because he, the-Boy-Who-Lived, had happened to be their nephew? Uncle Vernon had been right - he should have left the Dursleys after the Dementor incident last year. Damn Voldemort, Damn Dumbledore - saying that the house was safe - and DAMN LIFE... Why did everyone have to die for him? First his parents... then Cedric Diggory... then Sirius... now the Dursleys...

Madness. Lunacy. Insanity.

A blind rage engulfed him, as he began punching the cement wall beside him with bare knuckles. Before long, the pain became unbearable, bleeding knuckles added to his list of injuries. The anger gave way to a deeply strong and uncontrollable emotion, the back of each of his eyes was burning madly, as was his throat. He broke down leaning against the bloodstained wall.

Harry covered his face and squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to stop the sobs threatening to burst out. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself; but the silent sobs went on, tears streaming freely down his face. He cried like never before, feeling utterly hopeless. Why?... Oh why did he have to loose all those who loved him? How he longed for his mother and his father... whom he had only seen as ghosts in his fourth year, and in his horrible nightmares. How he desperately missed his mother's love... no one to hold him, soothe him as he cried helplessly.

Now he didn't have his godfather too... all due to his own foolishness... only if he'd listened to his friends' advice last year and refrained from falling into Voldemort's trap. And again he'd fallen for Voldemort's trick today. If the Dursleys died, it would be squarely his fault. But what could he have done? If he hadn't gone to the Grangers, then they would have been assaulted by the serpent.

Thoroughly exhausted and writhing in pain and depression, Harry knelt down, using the wall as a support. He stayed there, miserable as ever, as time stretched on.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry stood up. Wiping his burning red eyes on his shirt, he vowed to himself. He'd suffer all hardships and go to the end of the earth - but he would never let anyone hurt those whom he cared for - Hagrid, the Weasleys, the Grangers. He was ready to face Voldemort, even if it meant laying down his life, but he wouldn't let anything happen to his best friends. Not if I can help it.

And crying like a baby isn't going to help, he scolded himself, regaining his composure. Picking up his bag and Invisibility cloak, which had been thrown away uselessly a few minutes ago, he began the task of searching for his lost wand. But not for long, as it was still lying seemingly untouched where he had dropped it in shock after seeing the Dark Mark - which had faded by now. The screaming sirens had also halted sometime, unnoticed by Harry in his melancholy.

Somehow overcoming bouts of exhaustion and sleepiness - a direct result of the eventful night, which was showing no indication of ending - Harry decided that going to the Order Headquarters at his godfather's house would be the right thing to do. The question was how. He didn't fancy hitching a ride on his broom, like he had done last year, especially since he didn't have anyone to give directions. The Knight Bus wouldn't help him either since the address was secret, and he didn't relish the idea of meeting Stan again, who'd evidently seen the Dark Mark too. Then he got it - he could use the fireplace at Mrs. Figg's house... that is if he could find some Floo powder there.

Silently he made his way to Mrs. Figg's presently uninhabited residence. His wrist-watch was showing 12:30 AM, because of the fact that it had lost approximately an hour during Harry's excursion. Somehow Harry felt that the power blackout and accompanying 'unexplained' complications were strangely related to Voldemort's plans. It was too much of a coincidence...

Reaching the front door, Harry used Sirius' knife (That's the second time it saves the day, he mused) to open the lock, after he had made sure no one was present inside by repeatedly ringing the bell.

To Harry's surprise, the fireplace was still burning inside - apparently Mrs. Figg must have had to leave in a hurry, he reasoned. As he had hoped, he found a bag of the magic powder right beside the fireplace. Throwing a pinch into the fire, which took a green color, Harry shouted "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place" before entering it.

After the all-too-familiar whirling sensation of Floo travel - requiring him to hold his glasses in place - Harry found himself emerging from the fireplace at the Black residence. It was just as gloomy as he remembered, gas lamps flickering along the walls, which were covered with wall-paper and ancient portraits. A chandelier - which served more as a shelter for web-weaving spiders than as a showpiece - glimmered overhead in the eerie light.

"Anybody home?" he called out, then mentally cursed at himself, remembering too late about Sirius' mother's shrieking portrait - who as if on cue, had launched herself into her favorite pastime - screaming her lungs out with all the obscenities she could think of to insult the house's current inhabitants. From the repeated occurrences of "Mudblood" and "Muggle-obsessed Blood-traitors" in her creative speech, Harry guessed that the Weasleys and Hermione must be here.

Not a moment later, he could hear footsteps rushing down the stairs. Ron emerged from the stairway, closely followed by Ginny, Hermione, the twins - who had left school last year to work on their joke shop, and last but not least, Mrs. Weasley, who was making every effort to force the scrambling kids to go back upstairs to bed. Way to make a grand entrance, he commented at himself.

"Harry!" Ron greeted, a wide grin plastered on his face as he shook hands with him. At a height of 6 feet, he made Harry, who stood at 5' 7'', look like a dwarf. Next moment, he was crushed into a customary hug by Hermione (bushy brown hair all over his face), and this time - to Harry's dismay - followed by another from Ginny (red hair all over his face). Harry's already bruised ego found some consolation in the fact that he was still taller than the two girls.

As he exchanged greetings - half-hearted to be truthful, as he was greatly spent out - with the twins, Mrs. Weasley managed to shut up the portraits - whose members had been engaging in a free-for-all screaming contest.

"Now, now girls! You've got to let him breathe!" Fred remarked.

"And how come you two don't greet us like that, huh?" George challenged, mockingly.

"Neither me," Ron added.

"Oh, he's just so attractive - we girls just can't resist him!" Ginny replied back, not one to be outwitted easily, and only managed to change Harry's face to her hair's color in the process.

Harry had every reason to be in an off mood - from the many occurrences of the night to his discovery that Hermione and possibly Ron were taking Animagus lessons. Still he couldn't help but feel a little cheerful with these people who were like an extended family to him, managing a slight smile at them.

Nevertheless his despair and exhaustion did not remain hidden for long, especially from Hermione who had taken the equivalent of a Five Year Diploma course on Understanding Harry Potter, and her expression soon changed to a mixture of worry and curiosity.

Evidently Mrs. Weasley had noticed it too, since she dropped her previous angry stance (How dare he defy Dumbledore's orders and pop up to this place in the middle of the night?) to adopt a more understanding one.

"It's good to see you Harry dear, but unexpected. Is something wrong?"

Something wrong? No, not at all. Everything's gone wrong. Anyway, he'd have to recount it sometime, why not get it out of the system now? So Harry narrated the whole eventful night - starting from his vision, leaving out nothing.

Half an hour and many gasps later, Ron was looking at him as if he'd just swallowed a bunch of petrol flavored Every Flavor Beans ®, and Hermione was on the verge of tears. Ginny was putting up a brave face, while grim expressions mirrored over the twins' faces, without any trace their usual mirth. As for Molly Weasley, she was watching Harry with - if it were possible - a mixture of disbelief, sympathy and fury.

"Oh Harry, I'm really sorry!" Hermione finally broke the silence that lay for a full minute after Harry finished.

Mrs. Weasley speechlessly hugged Harry, who on his part was extremely grateful for the much needed love.

"It was really unfair on you dear. But we'll discuss the rest tomorrow morning. You really need to rest now." She said finally. "Are you sure the snake-bite doesn't hurt? We can still get you to St. Mungo's ..."

"No Mrs. Weasley. Really, it doesn't hurt at all and considering I made it so far, the poison didn't enter my bloodstream." Harry replied truthfully.

Nodding, she added sternly to the rest of the group, "No talking with him or amongst yourselves now. Ron, you'll take Harry straight to your room and make sure he goes to sleep now. Is that clear, all of you?"

However, on the way to his and Ron's shared bedroom, Harry suddenly registered the fact that his previously injured knuckles were looking and feeling as good as new, and the scratch that he'd suffered in his elbow was nowhere to be seen. Disbelievingly, Harry reached down to peek under the bandages covering his now painless snake-bite. To his utter astonishment, they wound had disappeared altogether - the blood stains on the bandage being the only proof of its existence.

He wanted to speak to Ron and Hermione about this new development, but didn't utter a word under the strict gaze of Mrs. Weasley as the children and the twins headed to bed. It would have to wait till morning, he thought, drifting off to sleep the moment he hit the bed.

* * *

Nightmares usually plagued Harry's sleep at night, and tonight was no exception. There was the mandatory visit to Godric's hollow, complete with a baby Harry, his parents and Voldemort. What followed was a new replay of Sirius' death - Harry still marveled at the number of horrible ways in which Sirius had died in his dreams, each time Harry being a helpless onlooker.

Today, he tossed and turned in his bed as he saw firemen holding fire hoses, pointing them at Sirius. But wait... the firemen were looking remarkably like Dudley's gang - Harry could distinctly make out the leader as Dudley himself. And the substance emerging from their hoses was not water but fire. Sirius was being burnt alive by Dudley's gang, as Harry watched from a distance, wand outstretched.

He opened his mouth to cast a freezing spell to wipe out the flames, but all that came out was "Stop it Big D! Or I'll call you Diddykins!" and he kept repeating it over and over again, unable to stop himself; now joining a bellowing contest with Sirius, who was screaming in agony.

All of a sudden, the noise stopped, accompanied by an abrupt change in the scenery. The rich smell of sea reached Harry's nostrils. He could feel a cool and soothing breeze, blowing through his hair and clothes. Opening his eyes, he found himself standing alone on a beach, ankle deep in aqua-blue water. Wave upon wave of cool frothy water smashed upon his feet, giving a pleasant tickling sensation.

Looking up at the vibrant yellow sky, Harry gasped at the fascinating sight that met his eyes. There were not one but two suns - or stars should we say. One of them was hovering just above the horizon, giving a bright orange tinge to the white cottony clouds scattered all over the sky. The other one was much higher up, glittering with a golden yellow color. Yet the atmosphere was cool and satisfying.

As Harry stood there enjoying his delightful surroundings, he was aware of a strange warm sensation engulfing his body and mind. It seemed as if all unhappy thoughts and memories were being sucked out of him. The feeling was the exact opposite of the one with Dementors, but even the memory of Dementors was fading away from his mind.

All he could feel was pleasure... extreme satisfaction; nowhere had he had such a gratifying experience, not even while flying on his Firebolt. Pleasant memories of his life flashed through his mind. A red-haired woman with emerald green eyes caressing him as a baby... A smiling bespectacled man with untidy black hair holding a brown teddy-bear before him... An eleven-year old Harry being told by Hagrid that he was a wizard... Innocent childhood adventures with his best friends Ron and Hermione... Discovering that he had a godfather with whom he could live... Winning the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor... Making up with Ron after completing the first task of the Triwizard Tournament... Hermione giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek after alighting from the Hogwarts Express...

Half of his mind wanted to pinch himself, to see if this was really a dream, but the other half resisted - if this was a dream, then he didn't want it to stop. Needless to say, the latter half won effortlessly. Harry turned in his sleep, his face beaming with happiness.

* * *

Ron Weasley was a late riser by birthright. During holidays, anything earlier than 9 AM was midnight to him. Consequently, when he was rudely pulled out of bed today two full hours before his usual wake-up time, the culprit - his dear considerate sister - was rightfully entitled, he decided, to a decent rebuke, to the extent that she felt totally ashamed of her atrocities towards mankind - in this case, himself. In other words, Virginia Weasley was deeply in trouble.

However, the moment he took a look at the bed beside his own, he temporarily forgot all his grudges towards his younger sister, because the person lying there - in deep sleep, no less - brought back to his mind all the happenings of the previous night.

It all started with Dumbledore calling all the Order members to an emergency meeting at 8 PM, and less than half an hour later they all apparated to an undisclosed location. Even with the help of the new and improved Extendable Ears ® by Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes ®, the kids were unable to uncover their destination.

And six long hours later, Harry of all people appeared out of their fireplace after having one of the most frightful experiences of his life. Pondering over the connection between the incidents of last night, Ron emerged out of his bedroom, only to find Ginny and Hermione staring at him with anxious expressions on their faces.

"What's the matter you two? And what was the big idea, waking me up at seven, huh?"

For an answer, Hermione shoved a newspaper into his hands - today's edition of the Daily Prophet, he ascertained. His jaw dropped as he read the headlines...

DEATH EATER ATTACK ON MINISTRY FOILED; HEAVY CASUALTIES

[To be continued...]