Harry Potter and The Crestfallen Star

    The voice that rang caught Harry completely off-guard. He turned, not knowing what to expect; Hermione had already spun around, wand positioned to attack. The voice called out again, this time sounding extremely familiar. They both stood there, wands ready, until the figure stepped into the glow of the streetlight. It was Oliver Wood.

     “Harry! Hermione? I thought that looked like you two.”

    He looked at their wands as he strode forward, “What are you doing?”

    Utterly bewildered, they swiftly lowered their arms.

     “Oliver! Hey, I--we were just-”

     “Ah, don’t worry about it. You can never be too careful nowadays, especially with You-Know-Who on the loose. So, how are you two doing?”

    Harry looked up at his Quidditch mentor. Oliver was still tall and burly, but the appearance of several cuts and bruises were new.

     “Fine. You?”

     “Good. Just got back from a late Quidditch practice.”

    They proceeded to catch up on what’s happened in each other's lives since they’d last seen each other at the world cup. Hermione stood silently, appearing as if she were intentionally staying out of the conversation, but Harry knew exactly what she was doing; she was keeping watch.

     “So Harry, now that you're finished playing at Hogwarts, are you thinking about joining a professional league? I heard the Wimbourne Wasps are looking for a Seeker.”

    Harry didn't know how to respond; playing professional Quidditch would draw too much attention to him and the Order. He struggled for a bit, trying to come up with something, when Hermione quickly jumped in.

     “Sorry Wood, but Harry and I really should be going; we promised to help Mrs. Weasley degnome tomorrow.”

    Seizing this excuse, he completely ignored Oliver's question and acted as if he were reluctant to go. Wood, however, seemed dejected.

     “Oh, all right. You two come and support Puddlemere sometime, I reckon we have a damn good chance of going to nationals.”

    After their goodbyes were said and done, Oliver walked cautiously back into the darkness.    Harry and Hermione waited until he was out of sight before apparating again, putting himself on the shore of Winston’s Bay. It was dubbed Big John by teenage muggles because, to them, it looked like a giant sewage dump; but to Harry, Winston’s Bay didn’t appear as anything but home.

    The two stared at the dirty, toxic water for a moment before taking turns jumping in. The sensation was almost as majestic as riding a broomstick for the first time, and it lasted quite a while before they emerged, completely dry, on the front porch.

    Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the door, “Barricadalous!” The door unhinged, slowly creeping open. They stepped inside and the door slammed shut behind them, blocking out all light. Not wanting to wake Ron, Hermione silently crept through the long corridor, illuminating each lamp as Harry followed closely behind. Upon reaching the dining room, Harry stepped in front, smashing his foot into a chair.

     “Ouch! Hermione, how is it you know my house better than I do?”

    She shrugged while continuing to light, “Well, I did help find it for you.”

Shortly after the last candle was lit and all rooms were visible, they sat down at the table as Harry summoned two cups of tea. The two talked for a while about the night’s events before a loud thud upstairs startled them.

    Instantly alert, they ran upstairs to check on Ron. The pair found him completely unfazed and fast asleep on the floor. Still alarmed, they silently checked around and found nothing, therefore confirming their suspicions; the sound was only Ron hitting the carpet after rolling out of his bed. Hermione couldn’t suppress her laughter and had to go out into the hall while Harry hoisted the peacefully sleeping Ron back into his bed.

    Walking downstairs, he saw Hermione put on her cloak and step outside.

    “I really should go home and get some sleep before my trip tomorrow. Goodbye, Harry.”

    He said goodbye and shut the door after watching her disappear from the porch.

    Feeling very restless, he sat down at the kitchen table looking through an old photo album. Harry couldn't help but smile when he came across a picture of his parents laughing and waving while hiking a trail. Turning the page, he came face to face with Sirius; looking the happiest Harry had ever seen him. Feeling his stomach turn over, he grabbed the back cover to shut it out of sight when Sirius’s radiant expression quickly deteriorated and he began to point left. Harry sat, in shock, and turned toward the direction that Sirius was pointing.

    An eerie, bright light was projecting from the study in long, steady pulses. Harry did a quick double take then looked back down at the album, in which his godfather’s image had returned to normal. The strange glow remained, and he walked towards it as if some invisible force was drawing him. The pulsing began to move faster and faster as he got closer. Harry finally reached the doorway and, without hesitation, advanced into the paranormal light.

    He stepped into a room no longer full of books and desks, but people and the smell of alcohol. Harry searched around completely perplexed; he was once again inside of the Angry Dragon. The first thing he thought to do was find the time. Conveniently, a very battered and dusty clock appeared on the wall. It read 12:13 a.m.

     “But that means...” Harry turned frantically, and sure enough, Hermione and he sat in a badly lit corner, casting the spell on each other. He made his way past wizards and witches that were singing and passing out on tables, completely ignorant of his presence. This feeling was all too familiar to Harry as he’d been in a similar state some six years ago when walking through Riddle’s memory. Feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, he sat down next to himself, watching the pair of them sit in concentration.

    The crowd became rowdier, but still he continued to watch Hermione and him, hoping to figure something out. As fate would have it, a very young wizard walked into the pub and headed straight toward a private room behind the bar. Suddenly suspicious, Harry followed past the drunks, and tiptoed into the room as the odd stranger cast the spell, “Espynerous!”

    The young wizard was now sitting across from two ancient looking men, who were staring at him with great dislike. One spoke with a harsh, raspy voice.

     “What is it this time, Hastling?”

    Harry was strongly reminded of Quirrel as Hastling began to stammer and twiddle his thumbs nervously.

     “I--I-I, well, I have re-reason to b-believe that some ministry workers might kn-know too much.”

     It was the other wizard’s turn to speak.

     “Tell us something we don’t know.”

     “I-I can name names.”

    This seemed to spark their interest a little; Hastling noticed and rapidly began to list.

     “K-Kramer, Stepp, S-S-Shacklebolt, Turner, and Ng-nguyen.”

    There was a seemingly long pause, as the older men seemed to think on this information. Hastling tried to restrain himself from twitching, when one of the older men began to talk.

     “Shacklebolt and Nguyen, eh? Always knew too much for their own good.”

    Hastling shook his head, but continued to look down at his feet.

    Still skeptical, the other wizard added, “So what do you suppose we do about these people?”

    He seemed prepared for this question. “We-Well, Eugene Rehynols was planning on hosting a company p-p-party to celebrate the new minister, and I-I just thought that w-we could dispose of them there.”

    The three stood silently for another moment before the raspy-voiced wizard remarked, “Yes, Yes. That’ll work. Well-done Jason. If this works, then you will be heavily rewarded; but if you’re lying, the Dark Lord will know, and he does not give second chances.”

    Nodding, Jason began to lose control of his shakes and headed out the door, brushing right past Harry. Harry didn’t seem to notice; he was too deep in thought.

    “If what they said was true, then Kingsley and the other aurors were in grave danger.”