Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Founders

~Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Founders~

Chapter One

The Unexpected Visit

The night was hot, even for the middle of the summer. The heat wave had lasted almost two weeks without rain and once again the hosepipe ban had been enforced in many parts of the country. This meant that the neighbours favourite past time instantly had turned to making sure that nobody was breaking the ban more than they were. Tonight the sky was as clear as glass, the stars spotted over the black canvas shining clearly above and plainly visible from a small bedroom window on Privet Drive, Little Whinging.

Lying on his bed on his front, Harry Potter stared at his finished letter to Remus, the light amber glow from the street lamps only dulled by the glow of the lamp on his bedside table. Through the open window, Harry could hear the faint twittering of birds, but from inside the house, the only sounds were of Dudley's loud foghorn snores. Looking to the top of the parchment, he read the letter over one last time.

Remus,

Just as last time, things are fine here, well, not fine, but you know, not bad. The Dursleys really took your word to heart. My Aunt was almost nice yesterday, she came in to make sure I was ok when I hadn't come downstairs all day. Uncle Vernon and Dudley are ignoring my existence, which is fine with me. It's become even worse since a visit from Mrs Wise, to check on me. Did you set that up?

I don't mean to be rude, but how long will it be until I can join you all down there? I'm bored not being allowed out and I need help with my homework. Do you know why Dumbledore won't let me out? He refused to say. I figure it is a security thing, but I really want to know. Mrs Wise wouldn't even tell me when she was here.

Please get me out of here.

Harry.

Of course, Harry had no intention of doing his homework when he was finally taken to Grimmauld Place, London. The truth was that he had finished all homework set within a week, but he was fed up with reading his old text books and there was no chance of going for a walk since Dumbledore had sent an owl forbidding him from leaving the Dursley property. He had not received any reasoning and he longed to go against the old man's rule but he had given in due to the belief that the Headmaster had a reason that was better discussed in person.

Mrs. Wise had, in fact, been Tonks, who had disguised herself quite effectively as a well off businesswoman. So effectively in fact, that Vernon Dursley had only caught on when she asked to speak with Harry. After that, the only thing offered to her was a series of cold disgusted glares.

She had explained to Harry that she was merely dropping in on the end of her shift on duty and not to worry, but due to the fact that no one had ever 'dropped in', ever, made Harry extremely nervous. So nervous in fact, that he was sure his scar had started prickling, and had to remind himself that it had been doing so all summer. He had tried to ask Ron in his latest letter to his best friend, however no concrete response had been given. Harry had also restarted his prescription to The Daily Prophet, hoping for some news, making sure he read the entire paper cover to cover, including the very Quibbler like articles near the back speculating on what Voldemort might be up to. (Harry was shocked to even find the rumour one day about Heliopaths) The Quidditch League Table updates were probably the most interesting articles in the paper, placed on the back page, apart from the article that morning announcing the date of the trial for the Death Eaters from the Department of Mysteries.

In the east, the sun was beginning to rise, and as Harry checked his alarm clock, he realised it was almost five-thirty am. Rolling onto his back, he placed the letter on the bedside table, seriously considering changing it to say he was being beaten to a pulp every day and feared for his life so that they would take him back to Headquarters, to his world. The shattering truth his world was on the brink of war did not matter in his mind, he just longed to be back, even to be sitting eating Hagrid's Rock Cakes having to put up with a certain pointed face ferret if it meant he could be back.

He had to admit that for brief moments during the dark nights he spent lying awake, he wished he had never discovered that he was a wizard. The loss and non stop emotional torture plagued him constantly to the point that the desire flittered across his mind but the thoughts of Ron and Hermione would remind him why he belonged in that world.

The image of Sirius's death rolled over in his mind, pulling him from his distant thoughts as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut to erase the image from his mind. The shocked and confused look on his face as he fell gracefully through the veil and disappeared from view, his own yells echoing through the department as Remus gripped him around he shoulders, holding him back from running through the veil to greet Sirius who would have been waiting there fore him with his dog-like grin and open arms.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry ... nothing ... he's gone."

He could hardly stop the tears welling up in his eyes before he could feel his breath coming short in his chest, the air rattling past his teeth in fast, shallow gasps. Why had Sirius left him? When he needed him the most he was gone. He needed Sirius to talk to about the Prophecy, but he'd left him, disappearing through that veil. Harry almost felt like screaming, he could feel the choke settling behind his Adam's apple, tickling him urging the scream out but he didn't dare utter a sound due to the fear he would not stop screaming until all the air was gone.

He hadn't told Ron or Hermione anything about the prophecy's details, he couldn't bring himself to explain that to remain alive he would have to become a murderer; a cold blooded killer. He would have to equate his life to Voldemort's, and he wasn't ready to do that. He wasn't ready for the knowledge that as much as Voldemort would want him dead, he had to wish the same of Voldemort: strive for it in fact. Dumbledore had dumped all this pressure on him, probably without realising. He didn't feel bad for wrecking the Headmaster's office; in fact, he would probably have felt worse if he hadn't done it. The instruments could most likely be fixed with a flick of the wand anyway.

He had to admit that Ron and Hermione had been great over the first few weeks of the summer that he had to spend with the Dursleys. While disappointed that Ron couldn't send more news, his over compensation for it by writing out absolutely everything that had happened that he could talk about into his letters. It was also amusing for Harry to read Ron's desperate attempts at cryptic clues. 'Moony sick due to roundness of orb, greasy git making nice drink for him' from the letter the day before being one of his ultimate favourites.

Hermione, on the other hand, knew as little as Harry, having gone to France for the first few weeks of the summer. Her owls usually consisted of information about French Wizarding communities as her parents had made an effort and taken her to Mienbureux and Beauxbatons, two of the entirely wizarding communities in southern France. Beauxbatons, the school named after the small village, Hermione had explained in her first letter, was a gorgeous village much like Hogsmeade, whereas Mienbureux was a larger area roughly the size of a large town.

Harry rolled over, looking at his makeshift calendar; it was the twenty-fifth of July and Hermione was returning from France today. His heart swelled greatly at the thought of her back in the country. If Hermione was back, that meant that it probably wouldn't be long before they were both taken to Grimmauld Place to spend the rest of the summer with Ron, the Weasleys and the rest of the order passing in and out. He didn't know what time Hermione was arriving home from the airport, but he had given her the Dursley's phone number to call him straight away. He would have given Ron his phone number, but after the first time Ron had tried to call, Harry no longer dared to try and have Ron contact him through Muggle methods and relied merely on owls.

Thinking of owls, he glanced at Hedwig's cage. She should have been back from her hunt by now. He had been waiting for her to return since he finished the letter to Remus. She had been going to and fro a lot these last three weeks, but he made sure to give her special treats whenever she came back. When she got back, she could eat whatever she had caught (so that she didn't get grumpy with him and stare reproachfully with her large amber eyes making him feel guilty) then she could take the letter to Remus. He did, after all, say to write every three days, and if he didn't have a reply to his short and information free letter tomorrow, he would send the Order to come and get Harry. Harry grinned evilly; maybe he wouldn't send the letter at all.

No. No, he had to send the letter. It wasn't fair to make Remus worry needlessly. He had enough on his mind with the full moon. It was good that Snape was making Wolfsbane for him again, but this would have been the first full moon since Sirius's death. Harry figured that it was Dumbledore's influence that meant Snape was making the potion again as Harry knew he loathed the task almost as much as he despised teaching Harry Occlumency.

Harry rolled onto his side, tilting his head back to gaze out of the window at the gradually changing sky. The inky black littered with shining golden stars was slowly itching away into a sunburnt red over the horizon of suburban houses. Staring at the gradually lightening sky, his mind wandering over thoughts of Remus in a cold dark uncomfortable room living out the full moon, Harry drifted off to sleep.

Walking through a wood, Harry began thinking it was the Forbidden Forest, but after a minute, he realised that the trees were too far apart and this wood looked as if nothing unusual had ever stepped foot in it, let alone inhabited the trees and undergrowth. A thick summer sunshine wove it's way through the leaves and falling blossoms from the tall shading trees, sending a waterfall of light splashing over the soil blanketed floor.

Looking around, Harry realised he had never seen this place before in his life, but he could feel anticipation coursing through his body like a poisonous venom, a feeling of glee spreading from his stomach through his legs, and arms, all the way to his fingertips, which felt like they were buzzing. A short way in front of him, the trees were beginning to thin and the bright summer sunshine could be seen at its fullest, radiating onto the ground in a blanketing wash turning even the darkest road to a shine. The day was so glorious when Harry stepped out of the trees that all he wanted to do was lay in the cool grass and watch the day pass around him, but an urge in his stomach told him he had things to do and to carry on. The small twisting road led him through a valley between two hills and down into a small village. For a moment he thought it was Hogsmeade as he had never seen it mid summer, but growing closer, he realised he had never seen this place, he had no recognition of it, only a strange sense that he knew exactly where he was going.

Walking along the main street, he passed through the entire village, not really taking much in except for the lack of shops or anything really, mainly housing as he reached the opposite edge of the village, a small house just on the outskirts attracting his attention. Harry's mind froze at the image that greeted him, the house was a picturesque cottage, a perfect picket fenced front garden, the cottage the perfect inspiration for country life. In fact, the cottage almost looked like the country equivalent to the Dursley's suburban home. The only thing that spoiled this perfect scene was the large green glittering skill made of thousands of tiny stars hovering over the front door.

Harry tried to reach for his wand but he couldn't. He kept walking forward, unable to stop himself and as he reached the front door, he tried to scream in terror, the faint reflection in the glass showed his reflection, a man in hooded black robes and a black mask. His hand was lifting and using his wand, he opened the door. Stepping over the threshold, he passed through the hallway decorated in modest country patterns and into the kitchen. Harry felt a great swell of pride somewhere around his middle although the breath wanted to catch in his chest and explode through his lungs. Everything able to be broken was lying in pieces on the floor and among the smashed objects there were splashes of crimson blood sending the smell of pain into the air, Harry's senses on fire as he stepped gleefully among the shards of glass, china, and broken furniture.

The dining room was much the same as everything lay in scattered piece on the floor, some of the wallpaper even burnt in places showing that this destruction had definitely been performed with wands. Among the broken furniture, smouldering books lay, the book Transfiguration Revision for O.W.L's laying atop one of messy piles. Realisation dawned on Harry; one of the people from Hogwarts lived in this house. He couldn't believe it. Someone in his year or the year below about to move into fifth year lived in this house. On the floor in front of him, a photo of a man and wife, the man with neatly combed thick brown hair and hazel eyes, the woman, with brown eyes and curly brown hair. Stepping on the photograph, it crumpled under his foot carelessly. He had just turned and passed into the living room noting the devastation around him once again when he saw it; three people laying most likely dead on the floor. His heart felt like it was about to burst with excitement as he looked down, the body nearest to him belonging unmistakably to that of Hermione Granger.

Harry woke with a start, his scar searing blindingly as he sat up and cupped his hands over his face. Hermione's limp figure flooding over his mind's eye. He got up, seeing that it was almost noon. His door was open, most likely from his uncle opening the door and complaining to his wife about what a lazy layabout their nephew was. Hedwig was back, her head under her wing as she slept soundly, but instead of trying the letter meant for Remus to her leg, he grabbed his quill and another piece of parchment.

Professor Dumbledore,

I just had a dream that Hermione Granger and her parents had been attacked. There was a Dark Mark above their house and their belongings had been destroyed. Hermione was lying on the floor and I think she may have been dead. I think this was another dream like Arthur Weasley, Sir. Please can you make sure Hermione is ok.

Harry Potter

Harry stared down at the letter for a second as the ink dried. He didn't care how stupid the note sounded, or how stupid he would look if it turned out nothing was wrong with Hermione at all and she had returned from France to a house in the centre of London. He had to know she was safe, that she had returned to her house to not be greeted by death eaters. Rolling up the parchment, he walked over to Hedwig's cage and opened the door. Reaching in, he stroked her soft white feathers until she lifted her head.

"I need you to take a letter for me as fast as possible. It's for Professor Dumbledore." Hedwig gazed at him with her large amber eyes and hooted lowly. Harry tied the letter to her leg as hastily as possible and carried her over to the window. She launched herself from his arm and soared off into the distance, he white feathers gleaming miraculously in the bright sunshine.

Pacing his room for what felt like hours, Harry didn't dare leave his room. If something really were wrong, Dumbledore would send notice back straight away, and he didn't want an owl to be waiting in his room for two hours just because he'd decided to go downstairs and watch cartoons with Dudley. Suddenly, an owl soared through the open window. Harry grabbed at the delivery so fast that the owl shrieked and flapped its wings angrily, a loud angry yell issuing from his uncle downstairs.

"Cut out that bloody racket, boy!"

He opened it up, only to discover it was The Daily Prophet. Harry paid the owl solemnly but darted back to the paper as soon as the owl had flown away. If there had been any kind of attack, it would be in the paper. The Prophet no longer had to hide the attacks from the public after Fudge's declaration of Voldemort's resurfacing. Flipping through the paper as quickly as possible, Harry sighed in relief. There was nothing in the paper about an attack, or anything interesting at all.

Just as he slumped back onto his bed the doorbell rang. Harry jumped up as if his bed had heated to that of a fire poker. From downstairs, he could hear the padding of his uncle's footsteps and the click and light creak as the door was unlocked and pulled open.

"Yes, what do you want?" His uncle barked at the people at the door, a common greeting for anyone not in a business suit.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dursley, we're from the Ministry of Magic. We're here to see Harry Potter."