Verus Malum

Verus Malum

Chapter One

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's Him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"

A door opened, slammed shut. Panicked breathing, someone running up stairs. A sound like thunder as the door was blown apart.

Laughter. Cruel, cold, laughter.

A flash of green.

Harry Potter woke with a start. He stuffed his fist in his mouth, holding back a scream. It wasn't the first nightmare he'd ever had, but that didn't mean it was a walk in the park. He frantically scrabbled for his glasses with his right hand, simultaneously reaching for his wand with the other.

"Lumos," he muttered once his glasses were on. Soft light filled the enclosed four-poster, illuminating Harry's tired face. His eyes, a vivid green, flicked around warily. Once he had slowed his breathing and ascertained that he was in no danger, he put out his wand and lay back with a sigh, other hand running through his scruffy black hair.

It was the third day of school and already he was having nightmares. At least today was Saturday, and he wouldn't have to put up with Malfoy trying to belittle him at every opportunity. In the frame of mind he was in he would probably snap and hex Malfoy's nose somewhere unusual. The euphoria of the Quidditch world cup a few weeks previously had well and truly gone, replaced by a sense of unspecified foreboding. His thoughts of the previous weeks strayed onto the dream he had had at the beginning of term, where his scar had hurt. Did it mean something? Harry was still waiting on Sirius' reply, but he hoped his godfather would have some answers at least. The last thing he wanted to do was bother Dumbledore with his overblown worries.

Thinking of where Sirius was hiding provided him with a brief distraction from the nightmare. Was he on a sandy beach? Hidden in a lush forest? More than likely he's been taken in by a family for being a friendly stray... Harry mused with a smirk. But as his mind wandered again he was brought back to the subject of the nightmare. He wouldn't be able to sleep now, not while thinking about his parents' deaths and Dementors.

Studying the top of his four-poster bed, he realised he needed to get out, to leave the dorm and go for a walk. He didn't know what time it was, but it felt early.

As he quietly drew back his red velvet hangings, he saw that it was indeed dark outside. The fourth-year dormitory was quiet, save for Ron's gentle snores from the adjacent bed. Tip-toeing softly, Harry reached his trunk and silently poked around for his invisibility cloak, his only family heirloom. He also decided to snag the Marauder's Map, for although the walk was entirely innocent he couldn't risk being caught by Filch. Or worse, Snape.

Covered by the cloak and clutching the Map and his wand, Harry crept out of the dorm and through the Gryffindor common room. He gently pushed open the entrance portrait, wincing at the creaking it made. He left it slightly ajar for when he got back; he didn't want the Fat Lady reporting he was out of bed.

As he set off at a brisk pace through the darkened corridor, Harry felt calmer. The dream had just been a dream, a throwback from the Dementor attacks last year. He shouldn't dwell on them or wallow in self-pity. He had had thirteen years to come to terms with his parents' murders, and he thought he had his emotions regarding them under control.

So why did he keep dreaming about them?

Shaking his head to clear it of thoughts, Harry checked his location on the Map, the stone passageways being too gloomy to get his bearings. He was surprised to see he was a few doors away from the library, guarded by the fierce Madam Pince. He had obviously wandered further than he thought, the library being three floors down from the Gryffindor common room. He

Harry glanced at the Map again, checking for any night-time patrollers. Filch was occupied with Peeves in one of the Transfiguration classrooms, their dots moving to-and-fro across the drawing.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, Harry walked the rest of the stone corridor and entered the stuffy library. The place was eerie at night, deathly silent. Harry swore even the air seemed thicker. Books towered on shelves like spectators, urging him to come over and read them. Dust motes spiralled down from the high ceiling, nearly making Harry sneeze. With a shake of his head, he crossed the room and sank into a puffy armchair.

Ron had better not hear of this, he thought. A daring midnight adventure to... the library!

Harry eased back, letting the cracked leather cushion his tired body. As he looked around, still under the cloak, his eyes fell upon an interesting part of the library; the restricted section, separated from the other books by a thin gold rope. Harry had only been in there once, and hadn't had any misfortune befall him. He remembered with a snort of laugher the first disastrous visit. A book had screamed at him, causing him to run in blind panic. Despite this incident, Harry was sure the section didn't have much in the way of active defences. However, Dumbledore may have decided to upgrade the defences since he had last trespassed. The books in the restricted section contained very Dark magic indeed, and the fact that a first year could access them by just being invisible was a serious flaw in the schools defence network.

While he thought, Harry stared at the golden rope. It seems to be almost daring him to cross; its soft sheen was captivating. Gripped by a sense of adventure and scarcely knowing was he was doing, Harry rose from the armchair and pocketed his belongings, striding over to the rope with his jaw set. He carefully stepped over it, eyes closed, expecting the worst. All that happened was a faint tingling sensation and an unpleasant cold feeling at the ends of his fingers and toes. Once he was across, he waited with bated breath for Filch to come rushing in. Nothing happened. Harry checked the map cautiously and was pleased to see nothing had changed. Dumbledore was still in his private quarters, Filch was still chasing Peeves. He had gotten in apparently undetected.

Why he had bothered was still a mystery to him. He wanted nothing from the restricted section; only a vague sense of mischief and thrill seeking had carried him across. The shelves that made up the section were unsettling in themselves, most of them exuding an aura of malice. The books weren't nice to be around either; most of them were bound in unpleasant substances or covered in strange stains. Harry ran his finger over the books, picking out various titles from the half-darkness - A Guide to Torture, Know Thy Enemy and Lamia Venatio: A guide to hunting the Darkness, were among the most pleasant ones. Finally, his eyes came to rest on an incongruous volume, entitled Everto Suscitatio. The book itself was fairly plain, a hefty, black leather-bound book with pages made out of old parchment. But there was something about it. As Harry moved his finger onto its spine, a feeling of bliss enveloped him. He felt a floating sensation, his troubles slipping away and his mind relaxing. Who cared about his nightmare? He couldn't even remember it. He would forget all about it if he just kept his finger on the book's spine...

Pick up the book... echoed a voice in his ear. Harry could sense a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, telling him that it was a stupid thing to do, but the voice won out in the end. He plucked the book from the shelf. No alarms rang so he picked his way over the golden rope and back into the library proper.

Read the book alone... the voice echoed again. Harry, still wonderfully carefree, had the nagging feeling once more, stronger this time. However, the voice repeated its request, which silenced the feeling, and Harry felt himself walking out of the deserted library and back to the common room. He had a detached feeling, one where he could think his own thoughts, unencumbered by responsibility or worry. He was only dimly aware that he was now in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. The common room's guardian was waking up, having sensed someone approaching.

"Who's t-t-there?" she yawned, stretching. Her keen eyes scanned the passage and she was surprised to find no one there. Harry had approached stealthily, hidden by the cloak.

"Reveal yourself, else I sound the alarm!" the portrait warned, mindful of Sirius Black's attempted murder the previous year.

Harry felt a tendril of worry pierce his consciousness. He couldn't let go of the book. He didn't want to. Teachers would make him. He didn't want the portrait to sound the alarm.

However, his fears were groundless, as the Everto Suscitatio began to glow softly in his grip. As the tome began to get brighter, the Fat Lady began to look drowsy. As the book began to turn white, she fell asleep once more. Harry, still under the book's influence, entered the common room and shut the portrait-hole securely behind him.

Once he returned to his dorm, Harry put away the cloak and Map. He gave the room a quick check to see if anyone was awake, as per the voice's request. Then he got into bed and cast silencing, locking, concealment and intruder-detection charms on the soft hangings, something which would normally have been beyond him. But the voice had asked, so he had obeyed.

Harry sat cross-legged on his four-poster, the book still in his grasp. As he set it down to read, his fingers inadvertently left the book's spine.

The blissful feeling left him, his senses sharpened, his vision cleared. Harry Potter took a breath, his conscious restored. For a moment he was confused. His last lucid memory was of the library, placing his finger on the Everto Suscitatio's spine. Then... nothing except a vague feeling of warmth. He was more than slightly frightened. The memories of Ginny and Tom Riddle's possession were brought to the forefront of his mind, gripping him with panic.

What if he had done something? He had been supremely stupid. Stealing a book from the restricted section! Touching a magical object without checking it first! His parents would have been ashamed. Harry looked again at the book, which was sitting innocently on his red-and-gold bedspread. The title was picked out in handsome gold font on the front. There was apparently no author. Wand gripped in his hand and heart in his mouth, Harry cautiously stretched out a hand, ready to withdraw if the book showed any sign of magic. He had to check it out, so as he could warn the Headmaster about the book's malevolent powers.

The cover was as he had expected, smooth and soft to the touch. It was only the spine which seemed strange, exuding that feeling of control. Harry had been foolish, but he certainly wasn't stupid enough to touch that part of the book again. Opening the book gingerly, he shielded his eyes from any enchantments that were placed on its pages.

To his surprise, the first page was completely blank. As he began to carefully turn to the second page, a message in purple ink began to appear. It was written in a vaguely familiar elegant script.

"Are you a Hogwarts Seventh Year student?" the message asked.

Harry decided to try his luck. "Yes," he replied in a deep timbre, trying to fox the book into thinking he was older.

"Very well. Proceed with caution, reader," the message replied, then winking out of existence. The first page revealed itself as... a dictionary of sorts. Amazed that he had bypassed the Hogwarts checking system so easily, Harry leaned closer, trying to decipher the densely-typed and faded words. The title of the section was A Liste of Daemons Most Foule.

Promising, Harry thought dryly. If this book was about demons, then that would explain the booby-trapped spine. He would have to find a way to ask Hermione about mind-control spells later, hopefully without arousing her suspicion.

The first name was heavily stained with an unpleasant-looking substance, making it difficult to read. Harry pored over the page, struggling to make out the words.

"As...Asmodeus...Asmodeus appello..." he murmured under his breath, absent-mindedly reading the ancient words aloud.

It was at this point that things began to go terribly wrong.

Harry's wand, clasped tightly in his right hand, started to grow uncomfortably warm. Harry tore his eyes away from the book's text to look at it. His wand was turning a sickly red colour, the shade of old blood. It was also becoming unbearably hot, yet, try as he might, Harry could not let it go. He began to really panic, calling out for Ron or another dorm-mate. But the silencing charms he had placed around the bed when under the book's influence prevented them from hearing his cries.

The book itself was also turning red, but more the colour of fresh blood. The words had begun to distort and warp, curling around each other to form a twisted spiral. Harry watched in horror, vision blurred with pain, trying to separate his paralysed fingers from his wand. A faint roaring sound began to echo in his ears as he fell backwards, spasming from the pain his wand was inflicting. The first page of the book had by now become a small whirlpool of darkness, strange runes flickering around the rim.

To his relief, Harry managed to relinquish his wand, only to see his hand was completely unblemished. He grabbed his wand again and rolled onto his stomach, meaning to get the hell off of the bed. However the sight of the book froze him in place by the head of the bed.

Where the aged manuscript had once sat was a portal of fire, seemingly leading to the interior of his bed. Black runes, sparks and the occasional whiff of sulphur issued forth, and the roaring had increased in volume to a crescendo.

As the sound began to overload Harry's hearing, it stopped.

What replaced it was far more chilling.

Triumphant laughter, not unlike that in his nightmare, reverberated around the closed-in bed. From the burning portal clambered a figure. It was humanoid, but made of darkness. It was as though someone had found a piece of the night sky devoid of stars and cut a man-shaped section of it out. The silhouette was about a metre in height and stood at the foot of Harry's bed, looking faintly ridiculous in the familiar surroundings. At its feet the fiery maelstrom soundlessly turned back into the book once more, as though nothing had happened.

Harry stared at the darkness, fear twisted round his stomach. This was not good. He had summoned something he had no knowledge of, from a book which was obviously restricted.

Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't benevolent. The figure seemed to turn what passed for its head from left to right, taking in its surroundings through some unseen detector. Then it opened its mouth.

And what a mouth. A slash of crimson, more like a raw wound then a mouth. Harry swore he could see glistening bone in the recesses of the creature's maw. Blood tricked down its "chin" as it smiled a hideous smile.

"Hello, mortal," it began in a whisper. The voice surprised Harry. He had been expecting the booming tones of damnation. Instead the voice was quiet and insidious, death-bed tones. He wasn't hearing as much as he was being probed by the creature's voice. He remained silent, gripping his wand in white knuckles. Sensing a reply wasn't forthcoming, the demon continued.

"You have done a... foolish thing tonight, mortal. You have summoned me, wilfully or not. I would prepare for one of the worst pains imaginable, for I will not be accommodating in my methods just because you are not yet mature."

Methods?, Harry thought in terror. His mind began to shift into overdrive, completely ignoring the rest of the demon's speech. If he could fire off a spell before this thing attacked, he might be able to divert its attention enough to escape.

The demon appeared to read his mind, as its smile widened, looking more insane then happy. "That would be... unwise, mortal. Using what you call magic on me would be extraordinarily ineffective. And you do not want to anger me by defying my power, do you?" the words were spoken quietly, but the force behind them was staggering. Harry felt his head was beginning to throb painfully from just listening to the demon.

Ignoring Harry's obvious discomfort, the creature took a step forward on the bed. Harry backed up, pressing his back against his headboard. He tried to shift the curtain to his left, only to find it was securely fastened with a charm. The demon noticed his bid for freedom and moved faster than Harry would have thought possible, suddenly appearing inches from his face. The fetid mouth leered, blood dripping onto Harry's duvet, the coppery stench of blood washing over him.

"I would brace yourself, mortal. This will not be enjoyable." The creature strode back to the end of the bed as Harry struggled to marshal control of his limbs, his brain numb with terror. Before he could make up a plan, the demon turned on his heel and ran at Harry, a dense shadow slipping along the surface of the bed without a sound.

"Bugger," muttered Harry as the shadow lunged at him.

The last thing he saw was the demon's mouth. It was smiling.