Harry Potter and the Lost Brother

HARRY POTTER AND THE LOST BROTHER

CHAPTER ONE

THAT EMPTY FEELING...

Dear Professor Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and everyone else,

As you said that I should write to you every three days or so, so here I am again. Everything's all right here. The Dursleys are treating me a lot more humanely since Professor Moody threatened them as I said in my last letter. They've not been forcing me to do the cleaning or the gardening or anything else except once or twice when I offered to do it as there was nothing to do and I was getting quite bored. And Dudley is letting me eat as much as I want to.

Are Ron and Hermione over? How are they? Just waiting for the O.W.L.s result. That's all for now. I'll write again after three four days.

Love,

Harry

Harry surveyed the letter he had just finished writing to the Order. He felt as if something was missing, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He read the letter again.

He didn't get the feeling just now writing the letter. He had been feeling this way ever since term ended. Nearly three weeks had gone since term had finished and he had been at Privet Drive since then for an unknown time sending letters to the order regularly in the space of three to four days. For the first two or three days he had had a weird feeling. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. But after thinking about it thoroughly, he finally realized what it was: emptiness. He had a distinct feeling of emptiness in his he life, as if something was missing. And due to that his life had become empty, totally empty.

He didn't understand why this was happening. Even though a tiny voice at the back of his mind had suggested something, he refused to accept or even to listen to what it said. Though in his heart, he felt that his conscious was right and he was being foolish not to accept the fact.

He was also angry with himself for not being able to control his emotions. The same lethargy he had felt last year when he did not get any response from Ron or Hermione had returned though with greater force. Last year when he would be lying on the bed for an hour at a time, now he would stay in bed, in the same position staring at the air, into space, for the whole day at times.

He would get up in the morning every day at the sound of his alarm at five o'clock to get his copy of the Daily Prophet, feeling thoroughly unrested. After paying the delivery owl a Knut, he would lie on his bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what the day had in store for him knowing that would be as boring and disconsolate as the previous day. Hours would pass in that state until he would hear Aunt Petunia shouting for him at exactly seven in the morning, to get down immediately. He would get up with great effort and change out of his pajamas into one of Dudley's old baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, the day's Daily Prophet lying untouched of the floor next to his bedside table on top of an ever-growing pile of untouched newspapers.

Upon reaching the kitchen, he would find Uncle Vernon reading the newspaper or watching the news as usual. Dudley would be eating something and staring at the television with his piggy little eyes. Aunt Petunia would be at the sink washing dishes or peering out the window at the neighbors or doing both. He would sink into one of the chairs and pick up a toast and try to eat it after lousily putting some butter on it. But most of the time, he could not eat more then a few mouthfuls and at those times he gave at least half of the toast, which he hadn't eaten, to Hedwig. Then he would sit in the kitchen staring blankly at the T.V. after getting tired of sitting in that position, he would tromp off to the garden and lie down in the grass or back to his bedroom where he would lie staring at the ceiling or at nothing at all. All the morning would pass that way. In the afternoon, Aunt Petunia would again call him, but most of the days, he just shouted down that he wasn't hungry even though his stomach would be aching with hunger. He had lost a considerable amount of weight in the space of just three weeks.

Once or twice in the evenings he managed to drag himself off to the park, not caring whether he was being followed by members of the Order or not. Otherwise he would just stay locked up in his room sulking around doing nothing. Harry had soon realized that he was dealing with extensive depression here. Sometimes his depression would reach such a high level that he wanted to scream out in frustration, he wanted to go out but he didn't want to move. His very soul ached. The pain in his heart and soul was so much that sometimes he forced out a few tears and only then did he feel better. At dinnertime, his aching insides would force him from his room to the kitchen to eat something. He would force down some potatoes and salad or chicken or noodles or whatever Aunt Petunia had cooked, just enough to pacify his insides. Then he would go upstairs and drop off to sleep, exhausted, sometimes without even changing into his pajamas. He always thought that evenings were the worst part of the day. But no, not worse than the nights...

Today was one of these lousy and horrid evenings. Harry had been lying on his bed as usual when he suddenly heard a noise (he didn't pay attention to what it was), which for no reason at all made him very angry, and he wanted to scream but suddenly his throat seemed too constricted. Then he suddenly felt very sad without knowing why. He stood up and paced around the room. When this failed to calm him, he sat down in a corner and tried to read something but found he couldn't concentrate, so he angrily threw the book away, stood up and started pacing again. It was getting quite dark outside and Hedwig had already gone out for hunting. He was trying to think of something to do when he remembered that he hadn't written to the Order for some time and if they didn't get his letter soon, they'd be here in no time. So he sat down to write the letter.

Harry suddenly realized that he was staring out the window into the dark night again instead of rereading the letter he had just written. He looked down at the piece of parchment in his hand reading what was written on it again, the tip of his quill inches from the parchment. With a little hesitance, his hand slightly shaking, he wrote the following lines at the end of his letter:

P.S. Missing Sirius. A lot. Bye

He held the quill above the parchment for a moment staring at the words he had written with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then he put his quill down, folded the letter and put it to one side waiting for either Hedwig to come back so that he could send the letter or for Aunt Petunia to call him down for dinner.

He stood up and walked towards the open window feeling a cool breeze on his face. He relaxed a little bit. As he reached the window, he felt a few tears trickle down his face as he thought of his godfather. He was the closest thing to a parent he ever had...and now he'd lost him too. All because of his own foolishness and rashness. He felt his throat constricting at the thought. Sure, he still had Lupin, but he was just not the same as Sirius.

It greatly saddened him to think that he would never be seeing him again, in person that is. He saw him almost every night in his dreams. But this didn't help. As he looked out at the darkened sky, he remembered all the times he had spent with his godfather. He remembered the first time he had unknowingly seen Sirius nearly three years ago in Magnolia Crescent. He had gotten scared of him at that time but saw him plenty of times during that year i.e. his third year at Hogwarts in his Animagus form of course like at the Quidditch match. On the last day of his exams he found out that Sirius was his godfather, his dad's best friend and that he had never betrayed Lily and James Potter, his mom and dad. And he also remembered the blissfully happy half hour when he had really believed that he was going to be living with Sirius. But that happiness had been taken away by the escape of Wormtail and Sirius was forced into hiding.

In his fourth year with the Triwizard Tournament looming in front of him, he had always looked to Sirius for help and encouragement. He remembered that Sirius had lived up in a cave in the mountains on the other side of Hogsmeade, having to eat rats due to the absence of food and his inability to steal much from the village in case he attracted enough attention to be suspicious. He still remembered how much thinner Sirius seemed when they met him after the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Out of nowhere, something that Ron had said nearly two years ago, drifted into his mind...

"He must really like you, Harry ... imagine having to live off rats."

This thought brought even more tears streaming down his face. He felt as if his very lungs were constricting, but the thoughts did not stop there. He thought of the time when he was telling Dumbledore about the resurrection of Voldemort, Sirius was right there next to him, encouraging him, willing him to go on. He wondered if he would have managed to do that if Sirius hadn't been there.

Then came his previous year at school, the last year of Sirius's life. He still remembered the look in Sirius's eyes when he met him for the first time in the summer: gaunt and dull, as if the light had been out of them. He had been cooped up too long in Grimmauld Place. He recalled how Sirius had kept himself locked up in his mother's bedroom with Buckbeak and how surly and quite he had become when it was time for Harry to return to Hogwarts. How happy he had been when he finally managed to get out of Grimmauld Place, if only to escort Harry to the station. Tears were now completely wetting his face and he did not bother wiping them.

When Mr. Weasley had been attacked near Christmas last year, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione had to stay over at Grimmauld Place for Christmas. How happy Sirius was at the prospect of finally spending Christmas with someone other than Buckbeak for once. How he was singing carols at the top of his voice and decorating the house with great vigor, almost more than the others. Then his mood got sour again as the end of holidays neared and he once again started locking himself up with Buckbeak. While Harry was leaving, he gave Harry a package, which he later found out to be a two-way mirror that he never got around to use. He remembered what Sirius had said to him...

"Use it if you ever need me all right...?"

Then Sirius had quickly given Harry a one-armed hug. Harry thought about this for a moment and realized that this was the only hug he ever got from his godfather during the two years in which he knew Sirius. He felt another twinge of sadness in his chest and more tears flowed from his eyes. This was the last time he ever saw Sirius calmly, in person.

The next time he saw Sirius was the day when Fred and George had ran away from school, in the fire in Umbridge's office. If he concentrated hard enough, Harry could still see the look of concern in Sirius' face when he had asked Lupin to call his godfather. He was very tense and worried but calmed down a bit after he found out that Harry only wanted to talk about James and how livid he was when he got to know that Snape had stopped giving Harry Occlumency lessons. After that he only saw Sirius on the last day of his exams, in The Department of Mysteries, on the day of his death.

That day Sirius saved Harry's neck twice before he went to be murdered by his own cousin: Bellatrix Lestrange. He still remembered the look of surprise on his face when he had been hit by the spell, how his body had curved gracefully and had smoothly fallen through the cracked archway. He still couldn't believe that Sirius had really gone.

He was leaning on the windowsill, still staring at the now totally dark sky, crying it felt like his eyes out. He looked up to see if there was any sign of Hedwig. She wasn't back yet. Harry turned to see the time on the clock on his bedside table. It was nearly 7:15. Aunt Petunia always called for dinner at exactly eight. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt and went to sit on the bed. He took a few deep, calming breaths.

Weird though it was, it felt better now that he had admitted to himself that he felt all this depression due to the absence of Sirius. True, Sirius had never been with Harry most of the time, but still. It was a feeling that if something went wrong, he would always have Sirius to talk to, take his advice and follow it too. And now, when that feeling was absent, he felt very sad and depressed, like someone had taken out a huge and important chunk of his heart, leaving nothing but void, a huge gaping hole of emptiness. He took a few more breaths and looked at the time again. He still had more than forty minutes before Aunt Petunia called. He went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water over his face. That's better he thought.

He went down to the kitchen before anyone could call him. He was just outside the kitchen when he heard Aunt Petunia say, "Diddydums, do me a favor sweetheart. Go and call your cousin will you?"

"But mum, there're still what...forty minutes to eight. Why call him now?" said Dudley, not wanting to move from in front of the T.V.

"Because, he'll take almost that time to get down here," replied Aunt Petunia. "I have no idea what in the world is wrong with that boy these days! He takes ages to get down here, ages to eat and look at what he eats...one or two spoonfuls, that's it!"

"Are you getting worried about him dear?" asked Uncle Vernon. "You've never felt that way about him before!"

"No, of course I'm not worried about him," snapped back Aunt Petunia. "I'm just worried that if he doesn't eat any thing, he'll get himself sick and then we'll have to take him to the hospital and what a waste of money that is going to be!"

Harry, who was already very surprised at hearing Aunt Petunia talk about him that way, barely stopped a snigger. The Dursleys would do anything to save money, least of all waste it by taking him to the hospital. He heard Aunt Petunia sigh.

"Now that you mention it Vernon, I am a bit anxious about his behavior this year. No matter how weirdly he acted the previous years it was never this way. He never gave up his food like this nor did he remain locked up in his room," said Aunt Petunia, in a dull voice.

Harry, who was hearing all this standing outside, felt his jaw drop. Was THAT Aunt Petunia? Was the woman standing inside talking about how she was worried that he, Harry, didn't eat properly and stayed locked up in his room, Aunt Petunia? The woman who'd never given a damn as to whether he ate or slept properly or not was now standing and talking about the very same things! He rubbed his eyes and pinched his arm just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"It is a bit weird, Petunia. But I guess its normal for...um...their type," said Uncle Vernon.

"Come on, Vernon. They might be weird but they are humans too. And normal humans don't act that way," came Aunt Petunia's voice.

"Well, who said they're normal mum?" he heard Dudley say. "They are abnormal after all!"

"Dudley, go and call your cousin. Dinner's almost ready." There was a definite coolness to her voice now. Harry heard Dudley heave himself up from his chair. Not wanting any of the Dursleys to know that he had been listening in on their conversation, he quickly pulled a grotesque, slack face, opened the door and shuffled into the room.

For the first time in his life, he saw all the Dursleys turn to face him when he entered a room. He had to use every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep his face straight, which was very difficult in the situation that met him. Uncle Vernon had a huge folder opened in front of him obviously doing some office work. He had stuck his pen behind his ear to turn a page and had a blotch of ink on his nose and right cheek to which both he and surprisingly Aunt Petunia were totally oblivious. Aunt Petunia was standing at the kitchen counter mixing some salad. As she had stopped dead at the mere sight of him, both her hands were hanging in mid-air with spoons in them, her mouth half open. Dudley was suspended in the air over the couch, both his hands on the arms of he couch, in the middle of getting up to call Harry. Harry took in all of this in the span of a minute and stared back at each of the Dursleys for some time. It was too much to take...

"What?" he asked to break the sudden pause in motion. The reaction was totally sudden and hilarious. Dudley fell back on to the couch so heavily that he half slumped right into it. Uncle Vernon dropped his folder on the floor where the ring binders sprang open sending papers flying everywhere. Aunt Petunia, however, simply went back to her salad, casting a furtive glance in Harry's direction. Harry went and sank into the double couch between Uncle Vernon and Dudley staring blankly at the television.

Meanwhile, everything else came back to near normality: Uncle Vernon went back to his office work and Dudley sat down again and started flipping through the different channels looking for something interesting. Harry wasn't paying much attention, lost in his own thoughts. He wondered what Ron and Hermione would be doing right now and whether they were together at the Burrow or the Grimmauld Place. Dudley had stopped at a channel and was now staring intently at the screen. Grimmauld Place...Sirius's place. Even though Sirius never liked it, it was still his house, full of his memories whether good or bad, mostly bad. Two people in robes (one with hair reaching blow the shoulders and the other with short hair but with a small braid behind one ear and a very tiny ponytail) were now fighting machines with some sort of laser swords in the movie Dudley was watching. But even if Sirius didn't have memories there, he, Harry, had some very good memories of Sirius in that place. The Christmas he had spent there with Sirius and the only hug he had ever gotten from him.

Tears were threatening to fall from his eyes again. This couldn't happen. He couldn't cry in front of the Dursleys much less Dudley. He straightened up a bit and looked at the T.V. screen. An advertisement had just interrupted the movie and the announcer was saying "Star Wars: The Phantom Menace shall be continued after this short commercial break." Dudley changed the channel. On the other channel the same movie was coming but with different people. One was standing outside on some type of balcony and the other was asking him something. There was a small icon on the bottom left corner of the screen declaring: Star Wars: The Attack of the Clones. Harry's mind was drifting away again so he did not hear what they were talking about. Suddenly the voice of the man with the beard cut clearly through his thoughts...

"Be mindful of your thoughts, Anakin, they betray you..."

Be mindful of your thoughts...admit what your brain is trying to make you see. Except what it is saying. Dudley was asking Aunt Petunia how much time to dinner. Aunt Petunia was saying something...but her voice was getting dimmer and dimmer. Be mindful of your thoughts...be mindful...

He was traveling down a long corridor with stonewalls and occasional patches of wood. He could hear voices and light coming from the end of the corridor. As he neared the end of the corridor, he saw a door to the right and immediately turned curious as to who was talking there. The room was quite large and at one end of the room was a large fireplace with a huge fire burning in it. A very tall man was standing in front of the fire, almost abnormally tall. His face was hidden behind a hood. He was standing with his back to the fire, looking at a woman standing in front of him. The woman was thin and had a gaunt face with heavy lidded eyes. She looked vaguely familiar...

"You called master?" asked the woman.

"Yes, Bella, I called you. We are very much short of supporters Bella. As you know very well that only three weeks ago, most of my most important Death Eaters were captured and taken to Azkaban. Even though the Dementors have revolted and left Azkaban, they are still under tight security. I hear that their wands have been destroyed, so that leaves very little possibility of their escape without external aid," said the tall man in a very cold, almost death like voice.

"Yes, master. I am afraid that the bad news is correct. Do you have any plan to assist their escape?" asked the woman.

"Even if I were to have any plan, Bella, it would not be capable of being carried out by just two Death Eaters, one of whom has very little talent with a wand indeed," sneered the man. "No, this is not the time, Bella. I have also had reports that the Ministry is recruiting more Aurors and more rapidly. Our first step will be to counter this move by trying to recruit more and more people to our cause. Go with Wormtail, Bella. Recruit as many Death Eaters as you possibly can, at a very fast pace too. Resort to any means necessary: draw them with prospects of power and strength; go to weak of will first, they shall be easy to lure. Use the Imperious if you have to. Control them, if they still do not come, threaten their families, torture them. Use all the methods used last time...assuming of course that you still remember them..."

The woman who had been nodding her head throughout this speech, suddenly looked up. "Of course I remember them master. Do you not trust your most devoted servant?" a slight trace of hurt in her voice.

"Very well, Bella, very well. Once we have enough force, we shall proceed to our next plan, and finally get to the one I have wanted all these years..." said the man in a high pitched voice.

"Harry Potter..." the woman completed the sentence for him. They both started laughing the laugh of a maniac who was in love with murder. And accompanied with their laugh, Harry Potter woke up, clutching his scar in pain and screaming his throat hoarse.