No Longer Alone

Chapter 4 - Loss and Anger

A thousand thoughts whirled through Harry's head as he saw the flames in the distance. They had to be ok. They had to be. Spurring his Firebolt to great speed, he raced over the trees towards the Burrow. Behind him he could hear Hermione saying 'No, please no,' over and over. The wind buffeted at the two riders, threatening to knock one or both of them off with its ferocity. The smell of burning wood filled the air as they got closer to the edge of the woods. A horrible foreboding was creeping over Harry, making it hard to think clearly.

They crested the final line of trees, and Harry pulled his broom up short with a gasp. The Burrow was a fiery ruin -- whatever set it ablaze had consumed it utterly. Choking back bitter tears, Harry quickly touched the Firebolt down; dragging a near-comatose Hermione off the broom once he was safely able to do so. Even from across the distance of the yard, he could feel the terrible heat from the fire, the acrid smell of smoke assailing his nostrils. Emotions whirled in his head; fear, loss, and somewhere deep within himself, a horrible anger long kept in check. A distant part of his mind was terrified of what would happen if he loosed his rein on it and sank into its welcoming red haze. It would be so easy to just surrender and let raw emotion take over, and drive away the horrible pain...

With a jolt, he shook his head violently. Ignoring the voice in his head warning him it was folly, Harry made his way slowly across the yard, coming as close as he dared to the inferno that had been the Burrow. He forced himself to circle the house slowly, looking carefully, hoping and dreading to find something, find someone alive. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face and neck, the heat nigh unbearable, the light and smoke causing his eyes to tear and water. Maybe they weren't home when this had happened he tried to reason with himself. They may have gotten away. They had to have gotten away.

The other voice was still raging in his head, making it difficult to concentrate. It urged him that he must take Hermione and flee; whoever had done this may still be close by. That the fire was of natural origin never crossed Harry's mind. No, this was the work of magic, dark and terrible. He knew it with certainty. It was madness - not even an hour ago he had held Hermione in his arms, talking of a future, their future, together. And now...

After his third time traveling the perimeter of the house, keeping what he had figured was the minimum safe distance from the flames, Harry realized that nothing had survived the fire. Whatever had been in there when the attack came was lost. Questions rose in his mind. Why had no one come to help? Surely someone had noticed the fire by now! He could only hope that the Weasleys had been able to flee. On the heels of that came the realization that it was well past time for he and Hermione to be gone as well. He turned to leave, tears stinging his eyes and blistering heat at his back, to find a lone figure barring his way back to the cover of the trees; back to Hermione. Horror washed over Harry as he realized he knew this figure. A tremor swept through his body at the sight.

It had been over a year since he had seen this man, in the dusk of a graveyard -- A stooped figure, the last to be addressed by the newly resurrected Voldemort. Harry could still hear the awful voice, chastising the man now in front of him to do better in the future.

"Nott," Harry whispered.

The stooped figure, face hidden in the hood of his robes, made an elegant bow. "I am surprised you remember me, Harry Potter. I admit I am very pleased to see you once again. I was quite upset to discover that you were not inside when I arrived. I'm afraid my temper got the best of me. It doesn't matter though; you're here now. We knew you'd come back. Now, we must be off - we have an appointment to keep. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am that it is I that will be returning you to the Dark Lord."

Nott pulled a wand from the inside folds of his robe. Hand trembling, Harry made to pull out his own wand, still recovering from far too many shocks in too short a time.

"I wouldn't." Nott's hand was very steady on his wand, its tip pointing directly at Harry. "My lord wished you brought to him. He didn't specify that you had to be alive. I am sure he would prefer it that way, but if you continue to reach for your wand, he may have to settle for somewhat else." It was unnerving, how his voice never altered in inflection or pitch. He may as well have been discussing the weather. Harry's hand froze, despair crashing over him in a wave. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when he had found a reason to be happy.

"Good. Now, let's see to your little friend, and then we can --"

"STUPEFY!" shouted a voice to Harry's right.

Nott was thrown off his feet as the stunning spell struck him from the side, carrying him gracelessly to the ground. Remarkably, he didn't seem very affected by its power, as he quickly picked himself up from the grass to face the wizard that had tried to stun him.

Albus Dumbledore stood calmly in the yard of the Burrow, his face stern. That aura of power that Harry had sensed before seemed to surround him; the very air crackling with electricity. The flames of the burrow raged behind him, and with that backdrop and his terrible countenance Hogwart's headmaster looked an awesome and terrifying figure indeed.

Nott regained his feet with a chuckle. "Surely the illustrious Albus Dumbledore can do better than a mere stunning spell?" he sneered. "My master has protected me from such rudimentary offensive magic. I have come a long way since my school days, headmaster. I am no longer anyone's pupil! And you're too late to save the boy. I would have just taken him with me... but now, now you've forced my hand."

Without warning the Death Eater spat out a guttural word, his wand pointed not at Dumbledore, but Harry. A jagged bolt of dark light streaked towards the young wizard, making no sound. Harry tried desperately to get the words of a defensive spell, ANY defensive spell, to pass his lips; but the sight of the dark magic bearing down on him robbed him of concentration. Closing his eyes, Harry prepared to die.

Feeling warmth suffuse his body, he waited for the pain to rip through him, to steal his life. Opening his eyes, he stared in shock as black lightning played over the surface of a silvery... something, which seemed to surround him in a sphere only inches from his body. Eyes darting to met Dumbledore's, Harry saw the old wizard give him a brief smile, his face still very serious. His wand was pointing at Harry, a sliver light slowly fading from its tip.

"Must it end badly, Jacob?" The headmaster's face was a study in sadness, anger, and regret. Wand lowering, Dumbledore held out a hand, eyes beseeching. "You must pay for your crimes, but it needn't be with your life. Come in with me, and I will do what I can for you."

Voldemort's follower laughed; a high, cruel sound carrying over the crackling flames. "You always were a soft hearted fool! There would have been acclaim enough, bringing in the Potter boy. To bear word of your death by my hand as well will raise me to my rightful place at the Dark Lord's right hand!" Wand thrust triumphantly, he shouted "Caedesis Cremoare!!!" A giant ball of flame rolled forth, hurtling at the old man standing directly in its path.

Later, Harry wouldn't be sure if Dumbledore had raised his wand or not. His lips moved, mouthing something too low for Harry to hear. Then the flames engulfed him, and Harry screamed.

Nott shouted in triumph as he watched the fireball wash over his enemy. He was about to turn back to Harry when the voice of the old man spoke clearly from within the ball of fire that enveloped his body.

"So be it. I am sorry, Jacob."

Jacob Nott could only stare, stunned, as the ball of flame hurtled back at him, having lost none of its potency. His last sight was of the man he thought he had destroyed standing unharmed, steaming robes the only sign the flames had touched him at all. Then the fire washed over him, and he knew no more.

Harry turned away and retched as Nott's body burned, his screams of agony abruptly cut off. He looked up as a shadow fell upon him. Dumbledore looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him, but there was still a kindness in his eyes. He spoke only a few words, but they made Harry bolt upright, revitalized.

"It's all right, Harry. They're alive."

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

The headmaster quickly led Harry to the tree line, where Hermione was still recovering from their mad flight back to the burrow. It had been hard enough on Harry, who was used to flying at extreme speeds. It had taken all her energy to cling wildly to the broom and not fall.

Dumbledore pulled a ring off his finger, a plain silver band, handing it to Harry. "Put that on, quickly. Hold on to Miss Granger and speak the words 'Phoenixsanctuary.' It will take you to the order's headquarters. I've had it tuned to act as a portkey there, circumventing the usual security. Hurry now, I'll be along shortly with others."

Harry put the ring on and wrapped his arms around a shivering Hermione. She seemed coherent at last, her eyes focused and steady. He spoke the words to activate the key, and felt the familiar jerking sensation behind his navel. Sure enough, they found themselves in the familiar kitchen of Sirius Black's house, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. A dull ache filled Harry's heart at the thought that he would never again see Sirius waiting to greet him, sitting in his favorite chair.

Although he felt bone-weary after the ordeal he'd just gone through, Harry couldn't suppress a shout of joy upon seeing the Weasleys safe and sound, present in the room with them. Astonishingly, Snape was also there, conversing in low tones with Arthur. He looked tired and disheveled. There was a sheer, oddly patterned cloak fastened about his neck, and Harry recognized its design as very similar to the one on his cloak of invisibility.

Ignoring the astonished faces all around them, Harry and Hermione rushed to embrace Ron, tears streaming down their cheeks. For a moment, a blessed moment, there were no problems between them, no love's ache to keep them estranged. The three friends held each other, crying and smiling and reveling in being alive.

They finally let go, feeling the stares of the other Weasleys and Snape upon them. "I am so glad everyone is ok," Harry half-stammered. "I was so afraid, when I saw the fire, that you... that all of you..."

Realization sunk in then and he looked at Mr. Weasley, stricken. "But your house, its --"

"Never mind that now, Harry dear," Molly said with a smile. "We are all safe, and that is what matters." She swept him up in an affectionate hug. Soon the entire red-headed clan was patting them on the back and shaking their hands, all of them glad that Harry and Hermione had made it back safe.

Harry had a thousand questions, and turned to Arthur for answers. "How did you get out in time? That fire looked like it burned everything so fast."

"We were warned." Mr. Weasley glanced at Snape, who was making his way to the other side of the room to meet Dumbledore. The headmaster had just entered with six other wizards all wearing the robes of Aurors, and they instantly fell into whispered discussion, Snape gesturing forcefully to make some point.

"Severus arrived with four other members of the order, telling us we had to get out of the house immediately, that we were going to be attacked any moment. We were barely out the back door with the first fireball hit." Ron's father looked slightly tortured at the mention of his home. Composing himself, he continued. "There was fighting, but we didn't see much of it - we had to make sure Ron and Ginny got to safety. I hope all our people made it out alive."

"They did," Dumbledore said from behind Harry. "Some are injured, but we had no losses tonight, thanks in large part to Severus." Harry looked at Snape, who acknowledged the words with a curt nod.

"There is more," Dumbledore continued. "This was, as we feared, not some random attack on order members. Jacob Nott himself led tonight's assault. He waited until the others had led our people away before appearing himself, and then he watched for Harry and Hermione to return. I was fortunate enough to be there, looking for them myself, when Nott was about to take them." A bitter grimace crossed his face. "He is dead." The words were met with silence.

Harry, who was looking closely at the Professor's face as he spoke, drew in a small gasp. There were blisters on his skin, and now that he was actively looking, Harry could see that the headmaster's hands were also red and blistered. It seemed the fireball had hurt him after all. What kind of power, Harry thought with awe, must he have to take that kind of attack and be barely hurt by it? Not only that, he had turned it back upon its creator! The more Harry discovered about his mentor, the more he admired him... and the more he frightened him.

Molly rose from sitting at the table, a disapproving frown on her face. "This talk can wait. The children have had a very difficult evening, and they need rest. We could all use some rest." Her tone brooked no argument, and while there were feeble protests from Harry, Hermione, and Ron that they were fine, no one argued overmuch.

As Hermione and Ron were heading for rooms upstairs, Harry crossed the kitchen in a rush to catch Snape before he could take his leave. "Professor?" he said.

"What is it?" the Potions Master asked irritably.

"I wanted to say... thanks. Thanks for warning them of the attack." Harry looked down at his feet. He had never thought this would be so hard. "We probably owe you our lives."

The head of Slytherin House stared down at him, expressionless. He raised his arm absently, scratching at the black lines of the Dark Mark that were magically inscribed into his skin. Then, eyes glittering, he turned away, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. With a shimmer, he vanished. His work that night must not be done, Harry thought. Snape's retreating voice echoed softly back to him from down the hall: "Just doing my job, Potter."

Harry made his way upstairs quietly, and he reached the top to find a somber-looking Hermione waiting for him. Without a word, she stepped up and pulled him into a tight embrace. The two stood there in the hall, not speaking, for some time.

She pulled away from him at last to stare at his face, hand gently caressing his cheek. "I'll see you in the morning," she said softly. Her door closed quietly behind her. Harry made it to his bed in the room he and Ron had shared the previous summer and fell into it. As exhausted as he was, sleep was a while in coming. The past two days had seen amazing things happen in his life; amazing and terrible. Was it only 48 hours ago that he had been in the deepest depression of his life? How quickly things can change, he thought. Still thinking about the change in course his life had taken, Harry fell into a deep sleep.

He awoke to a gentle shaking. Faint light was creeping through the window to his room; it must have been only slightly past dawn. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Harry was surprised to see the face of Professor Dumbledore looking down on him.

"Come downstairs with me, Harry. There are things you need to know." Quickly putting on his shoes, Harry followed.

Molly and Arthur were already there in the kitchen, the former briskly going about making breakfast, and the latter sitting at the table waiting. Molly looked upset when she saw Harry, a frown on her face. Arthur simply nodded. Harry sat down next to the headmaster, who turned to address him.

"In the past Harry, I have kept things from you in an attempt to keep you safe, much to our mutual regret. I will not do that any longer. You are as much a part of this fight as any of us; in some ways more so. Some of us may not like that fact --" His eyes darted to take in a scowling Mrs. Weasley. "--but that does not make it any less true." The old professor's piercing eyes returned to looking directly at him, demanding his attention.

"You need all the facts that we can give you going forward Harry, if we are to arm you against the coming darkness. The truth can be hard to bear, but bear it you must." The old professor regarded Harry shrewdly. "Last night's attack had only one objective, Harry: To capture you." When Harry didn't react, Dumbledore nodded. "Failing that, the attackers were to kill you. Voldemort fears you Harry. Having heard the prophecy, you know why. It is foretold that one of you will kill the other, and the Dark Lord means it to be you that dies. You must be careful, Harry. We have members of the order watching you as often as possible, but we cannot always be there. What's more, we are only human. We were misled last night. We learned of the attack in advance, it is true; but we let ourselves be drawn off from the Burrow, and Nott almost had you. I am sorry for that, Harry." He took a long drink from a glass of water and continued.

"Because we can't always be there, and because you are a target now more than ever, I have decided to arrange for some additional Defense against the Dark Arts training for you. Beginning later today and continuing every day once classes start, you will receive extra lessons from trained Aurors and experienced teachers. You need to be better prepared if you are caught by the Dark One's servants again. Much of this training is not learned until college years or beyond, so make no mistake - it will be difficult. But we have no choice. Do you understand, Harry?"

Harry drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yes Sir. Sir... how did Professor Snape know the attack was coming?" Silence fell over the kitchen at his words, and Dumbledore regarded Harry seriously.

"Severus told me that you already know what his role is within our organization, Harry. I believe you and he discussed it briefly during your private lessons. I will tell you this much, for it is all you need know - Professor Snape, having once been a member of Voldemort's inner circle, is in a unique position to uncover information passed between other members of the Death Eaters. It is those ties that allowed him to learn of the planned attack last night."

Footsteps interrupted their discussion as a sleepy Hermione made her way into the kitchen. By now the delightful smells of Molly's cooking had Harry's mouth watering. Dumbledore, seeing Harry's gaze stray to the stove, chuckled.

"Get something to eat. I believe we are done here for now. I must head to the ministry this morning to make a full report. Keep safe, all of you." With that, he rose from the table and made his way out of the house.

Ron joined Harry and Hermione in the kitchen, and the three teenagers fell to with an appetite. There was no talk during the meal -- an unspoken agreement. Everyone feared that to talk about what had happened would make it real, render what had seemed a vivid nightmare into an all too terrible reality. At length however, Arthur stood and addressed the three friends.

"We're going back to the house this morning to see what will need to be done to rebuild. There have been generous offers of help from the ministry and our friends, and there will be some wizards there to assist us. We'll all be leaving shortly."

Harry, absently picking at the rest of his breakfast, wondered just how bad things would look now that it wasn't evening... and now that the fire would have consumed all it could.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Although he had expected it, Harry was still dumbstruck when they arrived at the burrow later that morning. There was only one word that came to mind to describe what was left -- 'gutted.' Parts of the framework were still clinging to life, but most of the house was simply... gone. Ash and debris in a large mound marked where Ron's family had once lived. The stark reality of it came crashing down on Harry in a rush. Ron and his family no longer had a place to live... and they had lost it because of HIS being there. Watching Arthur, Molly, Ginny and Ron stare in varying degrees of disbelief at the ruin that was the Burrow, Harry could take no more. Spinning on his heel, he walked swiftly to the edge of the back yard where it met the beginning of the wood

Along with the feeling of reality came the anger. He had repressed it yesterday, too concerned with finding survivors, and then with simply staying alive. Now it began to rage in him unchecked, a fury that surprised and scared him. He had known anger before, usually directed at Dudley, or his Uncle, or even Snape when he was being particularly unreasonable in potions. This was different. Always before, something had pulled him up short before the anger could take control. For the first time in his life, Harry gave in totally to his anger. Fear had always been the emotion he associated with thoughts of Voldemort and his Death Eaters - now, it was rage, pure and white-hot and threatening to consume him utterly.

From deep within him, a horrible calm within the pure fury, Harry felt something twist.

Those overseeing the damage at the Burrow stopped their work abruptly. There was a feeling in the air, a stillness that wasn't natural. All eyes turned unconsciously to the edge of the woods, and gasps of fright and awe arose from the wizards and witches at the sight that met them.

Harry Potter stood facing the nearest trees, surrounded in a dazzling aura of color. Blood-red in hue, it throbbed, verifying in intensity like a horrible heartbeat. All around him, the sounds of life ceased. No birds were heard calling to each other. No small animals scurried about the undergrowth. Even the trees were still in the breeze, branches hanging lifeless. The people standing dozens of yards away could feel a pull, and almost see the invisible lines of power being drawn into the young wizard from the surroundings.

One Auror, a veteran of more than twenty years, looked at the spectacle with naked terror in his eyes. "Sweet Merlin," he whispered.

Harry was lost in an ocean of rage and power. Voldemort and his followers had destroyed his friend's home. Because of the Dark Lord, Harry's life had been nothing but one long string of misery. It had to stop. He had to stop it.

An unearthly scream poured forth from Harry's mouth. Wand raised high, he shouted out the words he had heard Jacob Nott speak the night before. Black lightning spat from his wand, shearing trees off at the base. More words he spoke from memory, and the trees burned, ball after ball of fire consuming them totally, just as the wood of the Burrow had been consumed. The sound of trees crashing to the ground was deafening, drowning out the horrified cries of the watching wizards as they closed in on Harry, frantic to stop the awful display.

Yes. Burn, Harry thought. It was so easy. The power was there, all around him, only waiting to be used for his vengeance. He would find the Dark Lord, and watch him burn, watch him die. From the dark recesses of his soul, Harry exulted. A rasping voice, reptilian, shouted its approval at the thoughts of vengeance and death. This is how it should be, the voice told him. No more cowering, waiting for death to come to him. HE would become death; take the war to Voledmort and his followers. He would teach them what sorrow was! Bubbling laughter rose, and Harry realized it came from his own lips as his wand rained destruction down on the woods in his path. And in his head, that snake-like voice, laughing in triumph...

A flicker, at the edge of memory. Two figures, staring at him lovingly from a picture. There was understanding in their eyes. Compassion. Harry saw his father's face before him, super-imposed over the burning trees. He looked... almost sad.

He jerked spasmodically with a shuddering gasp. Someone was holding him tightly, pleading desperately to him. He realized with a start it was Hermione, her pretty brown eyes filled with tears.

"Come back," she was saying softly, over and over. "Come back to me." He looked at her then, emerald eyes blazing with fire, and felt her shiver in terror. Behind her the other wizards stood warily. Some of them were obviously trying to pull Hermione away from him, fearing for her safety. Others waited with ready wands to see if Harry would strike out again, or if... whatever had just happened... was past.

Harry drew in great gasps of air as the power faded. The blood-red light that had limned his body faded. As his eyes focused, Harry took in the faces around him. It was easy to see what was written on them: fear. They all were afraid of him, even Hermione. His gaze came to rest at last on Molly Weasley, and Harry disengaged himself gently from Hermione's arms to stand before Ron's mother.

"I'm so sorry," he choked. "I know it isn't my fault, but it is because you were kind to me that you lost your home. I am so tired of all the people I love being hurt because of me. I'm sorry." She pulled him into her arms, and Harry clung to her tightly. He did not cry. He wasn't sure, for the moment, if there were any tears left.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Lunch that day passed quickly. Harry occasionally caught other members of the outing looking his way, fear or worry or even lingering awe in their eyes. He avoided their stares as best he could, talking quietly with Hermione and Ron. Mr. Weasley had been right; with all the help from the ministry volunteers and friends of the family, the Burrow would be rebuilt swiftly. For the next few days the family would live at headquarters, and then they would move into their new home. Although Harry was glad to hear it, he knew that nothing could restore the things in the house that had burned. It was a sharp reminder of how fleeting life and material possessions could be.

Once they were done eating, Ron went to see how his parents and Ginny were doing. Left alone with Hermione, Harry found himself at a loss for words. He looked at her helplessly, and she silently slipped her hand into his. When he spoke at last, his voice echoed both their sentiments at that moment.

"What is happening to me?"