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Chapter 1
Isolation
.
The Light and the Dark
Harry Potter was in a fury and the summer heat wasn't helping either. An explosive argument with his Uncle Vernon had driven him out of the house but that had been only the extra flame that caused his pot to boil over. No, it was prolonged isolation that had built up the pressure. Cedric's death and the rebirth of Lord Voldemort in Hangleton Graveyard were fresh in his mind. Why was there nothing in the news about the matter? And why was nobody answering his owls? Surely he could trust Ron and Hermione to keep him informed?
The late afternoon sun was relentless. He trudged on, hardly aware of the route he was taking, for he had pounded these streets so often lately that his feet carried him to his favourite haunts automatically. And then, as his feeling of frustration peaked, his confidence in his friends leaked away. Harry felt a dull, sinking sensation in the stomach and before he knew it, a feeling of hopelessness that had plagued him all summer rolled over him once again.
He turned a corner into Magnolia Crescent – empty stone and concrete baking and blinding in the bright heat. Halfway along was the narrow alleyway down the side of a garage where he had first clapped eyes on his godfather. As he passed by the narrow entrance, his eyes instinctively darted sideways in the vain hope that the great black dog might come bounding out to greet him; he ached for good company and for new information.
The passage was dark – unusually dark for a day such as this, Harry thought. Two paces further on, he slowed, came to a halt, and glanced behind him. Was it wishful thinking that he thought he'd glimpsed a flicker of movement in the deepest shadow of the narrow corridor? Aware that he was completely alone on the quiet, sultry street, he drew out his wand from the back pocket of his jeans, then stepped slowly and cautiously back.
"Sirius...?"
A faint sound reached his ears; was it a voice?
"Hullo...?" he whispered, curiosity inching one foot forward, then another.
The passage, being cooler out of the sun and free from the oppressive glare of the furnace-white road, did nothing to discourage him from what might have been a reckless venture, and soon he was deeper into the passageway than he'd intended. It had become a true corridor, causing Harry to gaze all around him in puzzlement. How could the darkness extend beyond the length of the garage? The blue sky above had receded to a hazy ribbon across the enveloping blackness. The street which could not be more than a few paces behind him appeared a distant shimmer. The notion of Alice down a rabbit hole crept into Harry's thinking. What is going on?
"AARGHHH!" Harry stumbled backwards and fell over.
For a moment only, there had been an indistinct figure just ahead, closer than was comfortable, and made visible only as a translucent contour against the dull orange glow which had flamed beyond it.
Harry scrambled awkwardly to his feet, croaking incoherently, "Who are you!" and "What are you!" while swerving his wand back and forth defensively ahead of him.
Without warning, or any sound, the reddish-orange light flared more vigorously yet did not relieve the darkness that surrounded Harry. The flames did, however, expose the figure to be more substantial than Harry had first thought. Its strange radiance silhouetted the man's dark rumpled hair, outlined the edge of his stubbled jaw, and glinted off spectacles, wristwatch, and a ring on the finger of his extended left hand.
The man – probably in his early twenties – was so very like the form that had emerged recently from Voldemort's wand in the graveyard that Harry took one step back out of reach, alarmed that the Dark Lord might lie beyond the radiance. "Dad...?"
The light caught the lengthy tresses of a second, more slender figure, just beyond the first, and Harry gasped. "Mum...?"
"Harry," she said, and her smile was conveyed mostly by her tone, "we've waited so long for this moment." Her voice was softly lilting and gentle.
"But we can't stay long nor go further than this... umbra," said the man, waving his hand through the curious blackness.
His voice had a depth of assurance and authority that caused such a surge of emotional pride to sweep through Harry, that he found himself weeping, and glanced sheepishly behind. Dudley was somewhere out there and it wouldn't do to... he whirled back round, rubbing away tears with his forearm. "This isn't a trick?"
Both figures shook their heads. "You can't help him," said the man.
Unseen, Harry's brow wrinkled up in puzzlement.
"Dudley is lost to this world – let him go."
Harry's frown deepened. "How did–?"
Seemingly aware of Harry's painful uncertainty, the shadowy woman came forward to embrace the youth. He felt the man's comforting arm round his shoulder too.
"Trust me, Harry," said the man, "I know exactly what you're going through right now, but it won't last."
"You're both solid? You can't be..."
Harry shook his head away from the woman's soft, rosy curls; breathed in her flowery scent; touched her cheek as if to reassure himself she really was substantial. "I wish I could see you more clearly."
Wand still in hand, he drew back to cast a light.
"Save your magic for Death Eaters and Dementors, Harry," said the man. "Ordinary light cannot penetrate the shadow cast by this fire."
"But... how can you... how can you even be here? What are those flames?" Harry's eyes widened in shock. "You're not...? Oh, God, no – you've not come back from...?"
The woman turned her smile to the light but Harry struggled to see anything more of her features. She said, "Think of it as a special Floo portal from another dimension."
"But you're not suffering? You're happy, right?"
The couple's hands reached out to each other and their profiles indicated their smiles were dazzling. "Blissfully happy," they said in unison. "But we need your help to keep it so," added the man.
The visitors looked at one another then nodded.
"We can't linger, and nor must you," said the woman. "Take this, keep its secrets close, look to your friends for we can never return."
"But..."
The man pressed a dark shape into Harry's hands; it felt like nothing more exotic than a lightly-filled carrier bag. How they read his incredulity in the dark he did not know but they both laughed. The woman kissed his cheek; the man shook his hand and showed reluctance to let go. Finally they departed whence they came.
"Run, Harry!" came the man's fading caution. "Hurry, there's not much time! Stay indoors until the danger is over!"
"What danger? What must I do? Can't I ever see you again?"
The man's final words sounded like: "You'll see me when you get home, so make haste before it's too late!"
"What? But you said..."
The shadow was lifting; strong daylight flooded in, and Harry blinked.
"What did he mean he'll see me at home? Uncle Vernon will blow a gasket if..."
He'd edged towards the street exit, aware of the increasing heat and light – and something more.
Something wasn't right.
Run, Harry! the man had said.
Harry looked up and down the empty street. A whirl of dust carrying litter sprang up in the dry gutter. A cat began yowling desperately at someone's door across the road. Looking up, heavy grey clouds were moving in. Rapidly.
Harry shivered in the heat. "What th...?"
He ran. He ran from he knew not what. Fear had seized his mind and he yielded to it. On reaching home, he slammed the front door behind him and leaned back on it, panting.
"What in blazes is up with you!" snapped his uncle as he blustered out from the living room. "What have you done to the weather! And what's that you've got there?"
The switch from the surreal meeting in the alley followed by his inexplicable flight of terror, to this mundane domestic irrelevance caused Harry's brain to freeze for a few moments. Then he remembered the bag in his hand and raised the side to examine it. 'ALDI' boasted the slogan.
"Give it here!"
Mr Dursley snatched at the bag, peering inside and frowning angrily because Harry continued to cling to it.
"It's magic! They're uuh... magic leeches! I'm going to erm... vanish them before they suck out all our brains! Here! Want some?"
He shook the bag in his uncle's face then stomped off up the stairs to his room.
"THERE. IS. NO. SUCH. THING. AS. M– M– M–"
"MAGIC!" Harry shouted down the stairs just before he banged shut his bedroom door.
.
Food for Thought
"Ah, Hedwig – finally you're back! Anything for me?"
The owl hooted mournfully from the open window then fluttered over to her cage where a pile of treats awaited her.
Harry sighed and thoughtlessly sagged the carrier bag down onto the floor. Distracted by the continuing lack of messages, he sat down on his bed before remembering the last thing he'd been told in the alley. He leapt back to the door, opened it, then slowly closed it again. No way would his aunt and uncle forget to mention if Harry's ghostly father was in the house. It made no sense. Unless...
He dashed across to his wardrobe, pulled the door wide, and peered inside. His cheeks grew hot at his own stupidity. He banged the door shut then went back to the bed. "Got me looking for spooks in my own wardrobe now..." he muttered to himself. Hedwig hooted in sympathy.
For ten minutes he fought an urge to look under his bed. Finally, he knelt down to tidy up some of the Daily Prophets he'd slung about in disgust at the lack of real news about Voldemort. While on his knees it wouldn't hurt – he told himself – to sneak a sideways look. But there was nothing under the bed except dust. He flung the Daily Prophets into a heap in the corner causing Hedwig to flutter irritably, then Harry sat down once more.
Laying back on his bed, he thought hard, What had his dad actually said? It had been something like... You'll see me when you get home so... hurry up or you'll be too late!
"Damn!" Harry was on his feet again, pacing up and down, eyes half-closed in concentration. He must have missed him.
CLANG!
Harry opened his eyes. He'd kicked the carrier bag aside with his foot.
"Aha!" I forgot that! What an idiot! Perhaps there's a picture of Mum and Dad in there!
He lunged for the bag and peered inside at the contents. They were just grocery eatables: a big pack of peanuts, a very small round tin of shortbread, a pathetically squashed packet of Squarios potato crisps, a can of Coke and another of Pepsi, a KitKat, baked beans, snack bars, and other junk. He stared at them in disbelief. His father had been a Marauder. They'd give Fred and George a run for their money any day. But to find a way back to his son, only to leave him with a can of cold beans and junk food seemed a cruel prank.
Harry slumped back down on his bed, staring despondently at the labels. Baked Beans in Rich Tomato Sauce, Large Economy Size. Had his father known he was often locked in his room, hungry and miserable, glad of a bowl of cold soup pushed through the cat flap? Not even able to go to the loo unless his aunt allowed him? A crushing sense of shame filled him; he'd wanted his mum and dad to be proud.
He tried to find some kind of message in the slogans and ingredients – perhaps a code – but they were all very ordinary. Even the best-by date on the underside of the bean tin got squinted at, but the light from the window was failing rapidly as the storm clouds swung overhead. A cool gust of air began blowing the curtains about, and Harry pushed the window half to. He switched on his bedside lamp and held the can near while he peered at it. His glasses glinted in the shiny metal surface just like his dad's had in that heavenly light, he noted morosely.
The sell-by date hadn't revealed anything, and yet a niggle in his mind grew... what was he missing? In a moment, several separate concepts connected within his mind – the glimmer of his reflection – the date – hungry – you'll see me when you get home. He angled the can and stared closely at the reflection of his spectacle lenses.
With a WHOOP! he pulled open his wardrobe door again and stared at the tall mirror on its inner panel. There he was. You'll see ME when you get home! ME! That was my future self in the alley – just like when I fought off the Dementors beside the lake at Hogwarts two years ago!
Sell by date: JUN 2004 the can had said – NINE years from now! He'd be in his early twenties by that date. Surely this all meant he would survive at least until then – he must have! And he'd be married! Married to a lovely, kind-sounding person with long, flaming-red hair like his mum! He blinked. Ginny Weasley? Had her early crush blossomed into something more? She'd gone to the Yule Ball with Neville but had not sounded very happy about it beforehand. Had she secretly wanted to go with Harry? Yes, she'd stopped smiling when he mentioned Cho.
As he closed his wardrobe, he cursed himself for not asking her first – she'd have been better company than Parvati. He considered her recent behaviour. All he could remember was her painful shyness when she was around him. But what had he done to help her? Nothing apart from Riddle's diary and that didn't really count. She was a good sort and a good friend, yet he'd never really given her any nice words or sympathy with her own worries. I don't even know if she had any worries! He owed her big time. The least he owed her was his proper friendship.
Look to your friends... he mused, that's what his future self had told him. Perhaps he hadn't meant Ron and Hermione? And to think he might be married to her – to a real girl! He would be, he then realised.
"Ginny Potter." He said the words aloud a few times and liked the sound of them. Well, even if Ron and Hermione won't tell me what's going on, then surely Ginny might? If she likes me enough to marry me, surely she'll answer an owl or two! He strode over to his desk to begin writing her a message. Hedwig looked on with interest.
While wondering how to start, he sharpened a new quill with the penknife from his desk then dipped the point in the inkwell. Finally, he commenced his message. But as Harry wrote, the sky outside grew even darker. He shivered again, but this time there was a good reason – the temperature was dropping rapidly. Freak low pressure summer storm or something, he told himself, and carried on writing:
Dear Ginny,
How's your summer been so far? I was just thinking of you and decided to write. Hope you don't mind.
He chewed on the end of his quill for a while thinking what else he could put. It was really hard writing to girls. Especially when you've no common interests. He couldn't ask her what was going on with Voldemort – she'd just think he was only writing because his real friends were ignoring him. Then she'd think that he thought that she was not a real friend. Annoyed, he sighed and moved his parchment closer to the light. It was getting really black outside now, and...
Getting up to properly close the window against the near-icy breeze, he could just see the edge of one part of the road past the side of the house. For a moment he thought he'd glimpsed a couple of tall hooded figures with pale faces. Wizards in Little Whinging? Puzzled, he reached for the window handle again, intending to lean out, then changed his mind, thinking of those wizards at the Quidditch World Cup who'd – Ginny had enjoyed that match! Diverted by the idea, he swung back to continue his writing:
I'd forgot you liked Quidditch.
He stared at the sentence. She'd think he was a complete prat for sure. Problem was, he was useless with words, and girls were... over-sensitive. Ginny had hero-worshipped him for years but now she'd find out how ordinary – no, less than ordinary, he really was. She'd stare in disbelief at his dumb message. In his mind's eye he could see her sneer as she turned to Ron and Hermione. "I can't believe how immature Potter really is, sending me a soppy love letter and getting all tongue-tied. Wait till I show all the girls at Hogwarts!"
That was a real possibility! A curious fear gripped his heart. Biting his lip didn't help. How could he ever face anyone again? A chill shuddered up his back at the humiliation. The contempt in her expression was there for all to see, highlighted by the darkness blossoming on all sides like black ink staining around her brightly-illuminated smirk in his mind. Ginny despised him! Loathed him! Regarded him as less than a worm! And she was right! A cold, empty void swallowed him and every scrap of self-respect drained away as intense shame churned him inside.
The doorbell rang downstairs, breaking into Harry's nightmare. He found himself curled up on the floor, shaking. What had happened? Voices drew him to his feet and he opened the bedroom door a crack to listen.
"You're Mr and Mrs Dursley, is that correct?" A man's voice. Harry imagined Uncle Vernon nodding his head in reply. "And you have a son named..." – Harry knew the name was being read from somewhere – "Dudley?" Again silence on Uncle Vernon's part, which was very unusual.
"This is WPC Louthgate, and I'm Sergeant Pearson. "We're very sorry to have to inform you that there has been a serious accident involving your son. May we come in?"
"NOOOOO!" That was Aunt Petunia's shriek. "What happened! Can we see him? Where is he? What is the–? Is he–?"
The officer sounded as if he understood Mrs Dursley's last incomplete question for he said, "No, but we're told he's not making much sense, that is, not... not really all there, if you see what I mean. If we could just come inside for a few moments..."
The shuffling of footsteps and the closing of the front door drove Harry back to his window to check the weather. Dudley sounds normal to me – probably scared by a flash of lightning. But the sky had brightened considerably since he last looked. He opened the window. Warm air gushed in and the unfinished message on his desk fluttered up on the breeze. Harry snatched it out of the air and read the words while his mind was elsewhere.
I'd forgot you liked Quidditch.
That last sentence didn't sound so bad now. He took up his quill and sank down into his seat. Until last year's world cup match, that is! Well, we have something in common!
He was still feeling shaky, but now a rare grin crept over his face. He liked the addition. It showed his interest but without sounding like he was after... a blush followed the grin but he did not try to rub it away. The courage of future certainty was sweeping through him.
Perhaps we could swap a few messages? My cousin's just been in an accident – don't know what yet. Probably fell off his bike onto his fat a–
Harry chewed some more, trying to think up a different word beginning with A that would be more polite to say to a shy young girl.
– arms and legs! Oh, and an old friend gave me some snacks so that's a nice treat! We just had a small storm but It's still so hot here even though the sun's going down. I don't suppose it's any cooler at The Burrow, is it? How are things there? Bet you're having loads of fun with Ron and Hermione. Any news? I've not heard anything yet about – he hesitated – You-know-what. There's nothing in the Prophets. I hate being stuck here worrying about – you know – what happened, and not knowing what's going on, and what the Ministry are doing about– He tried to remember if Ginny minded him saying the name 'Voldemort'. He wrote down You-know-who.
The police could be heard departing downstairs as he signed his name simply, Harry
There, he told himself, that's upbeat and nice with no soppy love and kisses but a decent hint about me getting invited to The Burrow for the rest of the summer!
Harry was feeling rather good about himself – the best day of the holiday by far.
"Ron and Hermione aren't my only friends!" he declared aloud. "If they want to ignore me then let them!"
"Mmm..." Perhaps he'd better be cautious about those two. He scraped a little red sealing wax into the old teaspoon he kept for that purpose, then warmed it over his bedside lamp bulb. After rolling up the parchment nice and tight, he dobbed it with a spot of hot wax – to keep out prying eyes, he told himself – then attached it to Hedwig's leg. "It's for Ginny," he told the owl, and paused. "Uuh... better not let the others see you, if you know what I mean?"
Hedwig hooted and took flight through the window and veered northeast. Harry scratched his head and leaned out to see better. The owl was heading for London. Have the Weasleys gone to Diagon Alley? "Oh well, Hedwig will know where to find her."
A picture filled Harry's mind of Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys laughing and singing and eating cauldronfuls of ice cream out in the sunshine while he... he was still trapped here. It kind of took the shine off things.
"BOY! GET DOWN HERE!"
Harry sighed. Now what? He'd barely got the door open when he was confronted by his uncle stomping up the stairs. "GET IN YOUR ROOM!"
"But you said..."
"What have you done to our Dudley! What happened while you were out?"
Mr Dursley pushed Harry backwards into his bedroom. He was so close that Harry could feel the spit hitting his face as his uncle raged.
"The weather! Something freaky happened while you were out and I want to know what!"
"I didn't even see Dudley! What's up with him?"
"Up with him? Up with him! His head – that's what's up with him, boy! He's gone all doolally. Hit and run without a mark on him, they said. Almost comatose. Barely a sensible word has he spoken. Staring like a–"
"–In case you hadn't noticed, Uncle, I haven't got a car and I'm not old enough to drive! So it couldn't have been me!"
His shoulder was shoved backwards by a meaty fist. "Don't you get clever with me, boy! Your aunt and I are going to the hospital. You'll stay in your room and no funny business!"
Fun? Huh! No chance of fun inside a mile radius of Harry 'Who?' Potter, thought Harry gloomily as Mr Dursley stormed out, locking the door behind him with a loud click.
Harry booted out angrily but pulled back in time – last time he'd kicked the door, his foot had got stuck through the cat flap. He sank down onto his bed once more and resumed thinking how unfair life was to him in particular.
.
Ginny's Message
Harry was still sitting with his head in his hands an hour later when a waft of air told him that Hedwig had returned and was hopping about on his desk waiting for him.
Blinking in surprise, he got up, noticing as he did so that the sun still had not quite set. "That was fast, Hedwig! So they were in Diagon Alley?
Hedwig's large eyes slowly blinked but Harry's attention was on the message the owl had brought with her. He unrolled it, grabbed a drink can out of the bag, and began to read:
Dear Harry,
Thank Merlin you're alright! I was going crazy with worry when I heard!
His face screwed up in puzzlement, Harry scratched the back of his head trying to think what she was on about. He took a couple of swigs of cola before continuing:
Sorry to hear about your cousin, but from what I've heard of the way he treats you, it's a pity he didn't get a kick up his fart arse instead.
Harry spluttered Coke down his chin.
Mum will kill me if she finds out I'm writing, because Professor Dumbledore made Ron and Hermione swear not to tell you anything but he never thought to tell me as well! We're not at The Burrow, I can't even write down where we are because there's a spell that stops me writing it – Dumbledore again.
Harry stared at the twisted squiggles that followed Ginny's words, as if a cat had tried to scratch the parchment with inky claws. Clearly she had struggled to tell him the address but a charm or a curse had prevented it. Why was he being excluded? He re-read the start of the sentence again – over and over. We're not at The Burrow. So he was trapped here at the Dursleys for the entire summer. His heart sank and his gaze drifted down again to see if there was any other information.
There's going to be a meeting to discuss things – some sort of secret organisation, Fred said, but he wouldn't say what. Everybody's going to be here!
"Except nobodies like me, of course!" Harry turned on his heel and almost screwed up the message in frustration. "I'm the one who saw Voldemort! I'm the one who nearly got killed! I'm the only one who can tell everyone what happened! But, oh, no, leave me out of it!"
His face twisted up darkly, but eventually he sank down onto his bed and continued reading. It wasn't Ginny's fault, after all:
You can't have been reading the Daily Prophets right through because they keep making out you're some horrible, deluded, attention-seeking prat who thinks he's a great tragic hero. It makes me so mad! We think – Hermione and Ron and me – Fudge doesn't want anyone to believe you about You-know-who.
Harry groaned and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling before forcing himself to read more:
But you never said anything about what happened where you are either! Did they get close? How did Dementors get in Little Whinging? Sirius told us and–
Harry slowly put his drink down on the floor beside his bed, trying to absorb what he'd read. Dementors had been in the village! And his godfather was with the Weasleys! Everybody was there, laughing and dancing and eating ice cream by the gallon, when for all they knew he was fighting Dementors! Why hadn't they come to see if he was safe? They hadn't even warned him!
Abruptly, confusion swamped Harry. He'd been happy and confident reading and writing at first, then insecure, depressed again – even fearful. Terrified for a while! So it had been Dementors outside! That's why he'd felt so chilled and miserable. He'd never made the connection because, well, he'd been distracted by meeting himself and his own ghostly wife! Who wouldn't be distracted! And it was so unthinkable to even consider magic here in this utterly Muggle environment!
So what was happening in Little Whinging that Dementors would be here? Did everyone else know? Why weren't they telling him?
Annoyed again, he paced, almost knocking over his half-drank can of Coke on the floor. Absently, he picked it up and began to gulp it in little snatches of irritation.
"I wish someone else had won the tournament. I wish one of them had faced Voldemort and all his gang. See how they'd like it! Yeah, maybe Dementors too for good measure, only–!"
He paused. That must have been what hit Dudley.
"Sheeeesh..." Down he sat again, all his self-importance deflated. They'd got Dudley instead of... me. Almost a sort of coma the police had said, or something like that. What had the Dementors done? Taken Dudley's soul? I wouldn't wish that even on Duds.
For a while he pondered his cousin's fate, and his own sense of guilt. He, himself, must have been the likely target that had drawn the filthy creatures into the village. He desperately wanted to talk to Sirius – or anyone – to find out if that was true and who'd sent them here.
"AARGH!" He was shaking with anger. "And everyone's invited to talk about it except ME!"
Hedwig hooted a reminder. Harry looked across at his owl, then down at Ginny's message still in his hand.
Sirius told us and Dad confirmed it. They think the Dementors must have been after you.
"You don't say..." muttered Harry. "Hooray. Someone wants me after all. Pity that they're ugly, scabby skeletons that drink out your soul but I suppose I should be grateful."
He slammed the can of cola down on his desk – he'd need to conserve some of it for later.
I wish there was something I could do, went on Ginny. If these messages are of any comfort then I'll keep on writing. I'll try to find out everything I can and let you know.
She'd signed simply, 'Ginny'. He stared at her name for a while, running his fingers over what she had written, where her hand had rested. It was his only contact with anyone who didn't want him dead. For a while he'd forgotten they were to be married – it seemed so fantastically unreal. But it was true. She cared. At least one person cared about his welfare and how he was going crazy locked up in this house. That made all the difference.
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