Date: Wed, 9 Jun 2004 10:03:05 +0100
From: MeTA4 <meta4@meta4.org>
Subject: Harry Potter and the Rising of the Dark, chapter 11
HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK
by Meta4. Chapter 11.
The Eleven (Elven?) Commandments
================================
1. Thou shalt bow to J.K. Rowling, creator of the Potterverse!
2. Thou shalt acknowledge all characters created by Her.
3. Thou shalt acknowledge the trademarks of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
4. Thou shalt not read the story herein if Slash offendeth you.
5. Thou shalt not read this story if thou art not old enough so to do.
6. Thou shalt not pass the work herein as thine own.
7. Thou shalt not gain profit from distributing the work herein.
8. Respect thy mother and thy father - only read this work when they are out.
9. Thou shalt acknowledge My copyright
10. Thou shalt contact Me if thou likest or thou detesteth this work.
11. Thou shalt never piss off an Elf...
HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK
by Meta4 <meta4@meta4.org>
CHAPTER ELEVEN:: Philosophy.
AUTHORS' NOTE: Apologies for the long delay between chapters, unfortunately
real life managed to get in the way! Things should get back to normal now,
though :-)
Harry had very quickly regained his full composure after the incident in the
hospital wing, the look of grim determination now set upon his face once more.
Although I missed the relaxed benign appearance of while he was unconscious, I
couldn't say his present demeanour was unjustified.
I, however, was finding it more difficult. I had been in Dumbledore's presence
for barely more than a couple of hours, yet I felt a great allegiance to the
man, and a debt of gratitude for allowing me to study at Hogwarts despite the
irregularities of it all.
And then there was my father. If he wasn't dead he was certainly being held
against his will as he'd never have made a conscious decision to hand all of his
worldly wealth over to me.
Finally, there was Draco Malfoy. From what the others had said, the
insufferable little bastard was usually left to his own devices and being pulled
out of school early was most irregular.
As the four of us walked through the cloisters back to Gryffindor tower, Harry
filled Ron and Hermione in on the letter McGonagall had asked me to look at. The
wind whipped the snow into a fury in the quad around which we were walking,
causing me to shiver and pull my cloak tighter around my neck.
I stopped and turned to look at the snow. Gazing into it, I expected to feel
relaxed and calmed by the pseudo-randomness of the mini-blizzard. Instead, the
more I looked at it, the more uncomfortable I felt. I jumped as Harry placed a
hand on my shoulder.
"You OK?" he asked.
"There's something very wrong here," I replied, still gazing out into they
myriad of snowflakes.
"How d'you mean?"
"There's something behind all of this. It all feels too organised -
Dumbledore's capture, my Father's disappearance... I just got this feeling
Malfoy is tied up in this somehow, as is the snow..."
"The snow?" asked Hermione.
"Look at it. Have you ever known snow this heavy and consistent? I mean I know
we're in Scotland, but even so..."
They all shook their heads. "It's like a Boa Constrictor gradually suffocating
its prey. Before anyone knows what's happened, it'll be too late to do anything
about it. It's smothering the country and before anyone knows it, they'll be
stuck in their houses. It'll keep getting colder and colder and by the time
someone realises 'this is a bit odd, isn't it?' they'll be powerless to do
anything about it."
"But who's doing this? I doubt even Voldemort could conjure up something as
large as a country-wide blizzard..."
"But we don't know for sure that it's covering all of England," countered Ron.
"We do: It was in Dumbledore's - or whoever's it was - letter. McGonagall said
she couldn't find anything untruthful about it, so I suppose we can take that as
a fact." replied Harry.
"Hermione - I think we're going to have to call on your expertise with Madam
Pince's indexing system again," I smiled.
We changed course and made our way to the Library. The omnipresent Madam Pince
looked mildly surprised at our entrance, yet pleased that some students had
decided to avail themselves of her domain on a Saturday. She smiled cordially as
Hermione asked if she may use the index.
I, meanwhile, noted with some amusement that the book she had previously been
waging war against when we'd last visited the Library had been vanquished. It
was now firmly Spellotaped shut and had a large, heavy glass inkwell placed on
top of it, although it was still shaking and emitting sporadic, muffled growls.
"So, what are we looking for?"
It's rather difficult to find something when you're not exactly sure what it
is you're after. Rather predictably, all the books on meteorology told us
everything we ever wanted to know about the scientific formation of frozen
precipitation, but no insight as to what unnatural forces may invoke it.
"Do we have anything like a weather almanac?"
Ron, who was balanced precariously on the top of one of the ladders to reach
the upper shelves, unearthed a rather large, well-thumbed volume entitled
"Severe Storms and Countless Clouds: A collection of the coldest, wettest and
most inhospitable weather from the British Isles".
Ron managed to pull it from the shelf and drop it into Harry's waiting arms.
We cleared a space for the comically sized book and opened it to the index page.
I couldn't help but smile at some of the hyperbolic titles for the sections, but
one of them quite suddenly caught my eye.
"The Dark Blizzard of 1903 - the Winter Britain Froze," I read aloud. I
flicked through the rather brittle pages of the book until I came upon the
relevant chapter.
"'In the last month of AD 1903, it is recorded that Great Britain did endure
one of the hardest winters that any living man had ever seen. It is said that
the Snowfall wasn't overly heavy, more that it endured for many days and nights.
Both highways and byways became blocked and the country as a whole was brought
to a standstill. Meteorologists of the time could find no explanation for the
arctic conditions, however contemporary stareomancers surmised that it was due
to ancient Rites of Dark Magick (sic). Legends concerning the periodic Rise of
the Dark abound in their various forms, however none have ever been proven,
either demonstrably or empirically.'"
"What's stareomancy when it's at home?" asked Ron as he climbed down the
ladder.
"It's a form of Divination, just like Arithmancy or Lecanomancy," explained
Hermione. "It's where witches and wizards try and make predictions based on the
weather."
"So where would we find stuff on the Rise of the Dark then?" asked Harry.
Hermione paused for a moment before striding round into the adjacent aisle and
reappearing a moment later with a copy of "Wizarding Lore - stories based on
fact, fiction and the downright ludicrous."
She opened the book on top of 'Severe Storms and Countless Clouds' and flicked
through the various chapters.
"There," she said, pointing at one of the headings. "The Rising of the Dark!
'Every five score years the Powers that comprise the Dark grow weary of their
previous submission to the Light. This restlessness provokes the Rising, an
event where all creatures and beings of the Dark wage war against those of the
Light. It is believed that precursors to the uprising can include bizarre
weather patterns (the last uprising, thought to be circa 1903, coincided with
one of the worst winters recorded), the disappearance of key figures within
contemporary society and general feelings of disquiet amongst those predisposed
to perceiving the general atmosphere of the world around them.'"
"Well that kinda hits the nail on the head, doesn't it?" said Ron, looking
more than a little concerned. Hermione continued.
"'The Dark is fabled to be fought and turned back by the Circle - six
individuals, each of which bear a Sign of the Light. The coincidence of the
Circle is arranged by the Orchestrator - a man charged with gathering the
members of the Circle by conscious request or otherwise. This position was held
by Merlin many centuries ago and is bequeathed to another on the vanquishing of
the dark.'"
"And what happens if the Dark isn't turned back?" asked Harry, staring
intently at nothing in particular as he did when he was concentrating hard.
Hermione scanned down the page. "'If the Light is unsuccessful in its charge
to repel the Dark, the Light will be overthrown as the dominant influence over
the world. The Dark will replace it until the next Rising - one hundred years
hence.'"
"Doesn't leave a second chance really, does it?" I asked, forcing a weak
smile.
"It does say that this stuff is based in fiction as well as fact," reminded
Hermione. "I mean, how much of that is actually true?"
"I have this really horrible feeling we're going to find out one way or
another," I replied.
"So what's the plan, then?" asked Ron.
"Well, I need to find out what happened to my Dad one way or another, so I
suggest we start there."
We tidied the books we had managed to pile up around us back on to their
original shelves, thanked Madam Pince and resumed our original course to
Gryffindor Tower.
As we climbed the stairs to the second floor, I paused as I heard Snape's
unmistakably slimy voice echo up from the ground floor.
"...is to leave this afternoon and Draco Malfoy has already left in accordance
with his Father's instructions to travel to one of his more obscure relations in
Surrey."
McGonagall's voice replied. "I don't like this at all, Severus. There's a
worrying correlation there between those that have been ordered to leave early
and the families that are known to have had dealings with the Dark. How many are
left in Slytherin now?"
"Only fourteen, the majority of which are muggle-borns. I would imagine it's
safe to assume that you have a full compliment?"
"With the exception of Colin Creevy who was with Dumbledore when he
disappeared, yes."
"So you are convinced that he has been taken against his will?"
"Even without the confirmation I have received I would have considered his
letter extremely strange."
"Confirmation?"
"Liam Blackdon was good enough to cast his eye over it and said that whoever
sent it didn't want anyone knowing exactly where it had come from."
"Is that so? Prey tell, Professor McGonagall: How is it that the students with
the most extreme talents always seem to gravitate towards your house?"
"In all truth I do not know, Professor Snape. Perhaps it is just meant to be,"
said McGonagall in a very proud voice.
"Indeed," replied Snape, sounding rather put out at the answer he'd just
received.
"Curiouser and curiouser," I mulled as the two members of staff went their
separate ways. "Do pupils normally leave before the end of term?"
"Not usually," replied Harry as we resumed our walk towards Gryffindor Tower.
"In fact, a lot of us stay here."
"What, over Christmas itself?"
He nodded. "For some of us school is better than home."
"Oh, yeah," I added, remembering what he'd told me about his Aunt and Uncle.
"Don't they live in Surrey too?"
"Yeah... I bet Aunt Petunia's well annoyed with this snow," Harry smiled. "She
hates anything that messes up the garden."
"Want to borrow Monty for a week? I'm sure he'd make short work of the lawns."
"Thanks, but I'm not sure even he could survive Aunt Petunia in one of her
rages..."
We reached the portrait hole and found the fat lady busy knitting what looked
to be a pair of leggings.
"For my sister, you know. She lives in a very drafty canvas up by the
astronomy tower," she explained.
Ron gave the password ("Danglement") and she swung aside, allowing us to climb
through.
It was lovely and warm in the common room, and quiet too. I guessed that most
of the other Gryffindors were probably still in Hogsmeade. We settled down into
our respective armchairs and sofa, Harry and I immediately being set upon by
Monty who had obviously decided that we'd left him forever and, as such, was
stupidly excited to see us again.
After he'd settled down on my lap with me scratching behind his ears, we
started discussing what exactly we'd do.
"So the Dark, then," I started. "It's still very much on the forefront of
people's minds?"
"Well, our minds at least," said Harry. "After Voldemort tried to kill me and
hurt himself instead, most people seemed to think that he was gone forever. I
think the whole idea of the dark is so scary to people that they'd rather just
try and ignore it and hope it doesn't bother them."
"To be honest, Voldemort aside, I don't know much about the Dark," admitted
Hermione.
"I'm sorry? Do my ears deceive me?" grinned Ron. Hermione continued after
giving him a playful clip round the ear.
"I don't think any of us considered there was anything more evil beyond
Voldemort. He was like the embodiment of all things bad, but if there's more to
this than that - which when you think about it there must be - it's altogether
more frightening."
"So where do we start?" asked Ron, playing up rubbing his ear for Hermione's
sake.
"Well, it might be an idea to see if we can find out why all of these
Slytherins have been sent home early," suggested Harry. "Seeing as out of all of
them we know Malfoy the best I reckon we should try and find him. And from what
Dobby says his Father is also as 'in' as he can be with the Dark whilst
maintaining a supposedly respectable public face."
"We know he's in Surrey, so how do we find out where exactly?" I asked.
"Snape said he was staying with a relation down there. I know the school keeps
records of next of kin and such should they find that something has happened to
a pupil's parents. It might be an idea to look there first," suggested Hermione.
"You wouldn't happen to know where these records are kept would you?" Harry
asked.
"The Headmaster's study," I replied. "When I first arrived he showed me the
records of one of my ancestors. They're kept in all those books behind his
desk."
"So we're going to break into Dumbledore's office?" asked Ron looking more
than a little concerned.
"Uh huh."
"Tonight?"
"Uh huh."
"And this doesn't concern you? I mean, we're breaking and entering into the
office of Britain's greatest wizard - don't you think he might have some kind of
ward in place to stop that?"
"Oh I'm sure," smiled Harry. "But he also seems to have a knack of turning a
blind eye when he knows its for the best. I don't see why his office security
would be any different."
"OK - Dumbledore's office tonight. If we find what we're looking for, we'll
set off to see Mr. Malfoy via Liam's house. If not, we'll regroup Sunday morning
and go from there. Agreed?"
"Agreed. We'll meet here at 1AM, OK?"
Everyone concurred. Hermione and Ron made some excuse about wanting to learn
more about the Dark and headed off back towards the library, leaving Harry and
myself alone on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. Bliss.
"Are we doing the right thing, d'you think?" asked Harry after we'd been sat
snuggling for one of those indeterminate periods of time you suddenly realise
has passed when you're with someone you love.
"To be honest - I don't know. What I do know is that I'm not willing to stand
by knowing that both Dumbledore and my Father have just vanished without a
trace."
"In which case, it's the right thing," surmised Harry. "You do know that
whenever we undertake this kind of thing it usually seems to rapidly spiral out
of control."
"Well, if it's any consolation, I feel like I could take on the world with you
by my side. And if you weren't by my side for whatever reason, I'd take on the
world to get to you."
Harry turned to look at me. "You're awfully sweet for a car thief," he smiled.
I kissed him on the nose. "I think those days are behind me now. You have to
remember that breaking and entering is a life-skill, though: Could be quite
useful this evening."
"This is true," he said, and kissed me back on the lips.
"Do you believe in fate?"
"I don't know," Harry pondered. "I mean, it was extraordinarily lucky you
nicked that car. If you hadn't..."
"I'd never have met Colin and Ron..."
"And you'd never have come here..."
"And we wouldn't have met. Then again, you can reverse-engineer any chain of
events. I mean, what if your Dad hadn't met your Mum - you'd never have been
born and even if I did come here we still wouldn't have met."
"And Voldemort might have been ruling the country."
"Oh, shit yeah - never thought about that."
"I mean, was I destined to be Voldemort's antit... antisi... an..." He
frowned. "Worst nightmare?"
"This could do your brain in after a while," I smiled. "Although if you take
this to its extreme, you could blame everything that happened on one event - the
big bang, or the creation of the world or whatever you want to call it."
"True, but doesn't it say that God gave us free will?"
"Yeah - so that means everything is just chance."
"Can't be. There is a higher order to things, I think, but what if it was more
like a gentle nudge in a particular direction? Like, we're offered the choice
and it's weighted so that we're more likely to take one route than another -
it's free will, yet directed at the same time."
"What, like a subconscious suggestion?"
"Something like that."
"Or someone 'charged with gathering the members of the Circle by conscious
request or otherwise'," I said.
Harry sat up on the sofa causing Monty to stir and snuggle down again. The
light was well on the way to disappearing outside and we were now illuminated by
little other than the warm glow of the fire.
"D'you think we're circle members?"
"I have no idea. I suppose everything we've done up to now has been totally
reactive - it's all been in response to events that have occurred, but what if
someone's controlling those events?"
"We'd be shepherded down a certain route,"
"Exactly."
"Do you think we could be part of the Circle?"
"I don't see why not - someone who's near-as-dammit killed the corporeal form
of the Dark and an Elf that can make his will reality: Sound like a pair of
candidates to me."
"So... Say we were two of the Six: How on earth would we know what to do?"
asked Harry.
"I'm guessing we wouldn't if we came into the 'or otherwise' category. We'd
just have to carry on doing what we're doing and trust in fate. Or rather the
Orchestrator."
"I certainly hope _HE_ knows what he's doing."
"Well, assuming he's had his oar in since the start of all this, he's done a
pretty good job when you think about it..."
"I suppose... Still, he could've just come and asked."
"Maybe. But perhaps then we wouldn't have done something, or done something
differently, had he done so."
"You know, you're absolutely right: This does hurt your brain!"
==========
"Thanks for helping," smiled Draco as he and Will flopped onto the rather
large bed in his room in Mrs. Pettigrew's house. Will marvelled at how the house
was furnished - everything looked to be extremely old and worn, yet somehow
exuded a solidity that the Ikean monstrosities at his own house couldn't even
hope to approximate.
"It's not a problem, Draco, honestly! How long are you here for?"
"Not sure, actually. My Father got me here from school for some reason."
"Oh, cool. Where d'you go to school?"
"Scotland. It's a private school for... Uh... Talented students. How about
you?"
"Me? I just go to the local comprehensive. Nothin' special really."
"Ahh."
There was a slightly uncomfortable silence before Will stood.
"Right, well, I'd better be going," he said. "Nice to meet you, Draco,"
"Uh - would you like to stay for lunch?" offered Draco quickly, scrabbling for
an excuse to keep Will with him.
"Thank you, but no. Nothing personal," he added as he saw Draco deflate quite
visibly. "It's just that my family are expecting me for lunch. I'd invite you
round, but I'm afraid the whole family are back for once."
"Oh? How many of you are there?"
"Well, there's me, the youngest. Paul's 16, Luke and John are both 18 -
they're twins, Chris is 23 and Jim is 25. And Mum and Dad of course."
"Hehe one short," said Draco.
"Huh?"
"You'd have been a seventh son,"
"And that's good because..."
"Oh, nothing really," said Draco dismissively. "It's an old myth that a
seventh son can have a gift for healing people or something like that. They say
if you're a seventh son of a seventh son then you can have almost supernatural
powers."
"Really?"
"As I say - old wives tales. I'll have to ask Mrs. Pettigrew about it," he
grinned.
Will smiled back. "I'll see you around, Draco - I live in the next house down
- just drop by if you want."
"I will do. Thanks again Will."
"See ya."
And with that, Will jogged down the stairs, waved to Mrs. Pettigrew on the way
out and pulled the collar of his coat up to his ears as he stepped out into the
snow once again.
He turned out of the driveway on to the road and was suddenly engulfed by a
flurry of snowflakes whipped up by a wind so strong he found it difficult to
catch his breath. Barely able to see where he was going, Will leaned into the
wind and battled on down towards his own house, but as he did so the wind
continued to rise.
In exasperation and more than a little fear, he grabbed on to what little of
the hedge was protruding from the snow drift he'd stumbled in to. Taking a
moment to get his breath back, he suddenly became aware of a figure standing on
the far side of the road.
The figure was looking directly at Will and, as it did so, lifted its arm and
pointed at him. He could feel his head swimming with confusion and wasn't even
sure exactly where his own house was or even where he'd just come from. All he
could concentrate on was the dark, cloaked figure with an outstretched arm.
In fact, he was so tied up with the stranger that he was not at all ready for
the large hand that grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him out of
the snowdrift. He screamed out loud, not knowing what on earth was happening to
him.
"Easy there, Will," boomed the deep voice of the hand's owner. "You looked
ready enough to pass out!"
"Uh... Uncle Merry? Uncle Merry!" yelled Will, wrapping his arms around the
man's waist.
"Hello, William," he chuckled. "You want to be careful walking alone. These
are Dark times, and there is only one man that is truly at ease by himself in
these conditions. Come on - let's get you inside."
And with that, he took Will's hand and led him towards the house. Will looked
over his shoulder as they walked, but there was no sign of the cloaked figure,
and the wind seemed to have dropped just as quickly as it had arrived.
He looked up to see the familiar profile of Merriman Lyon's face silhouetted
against the grey sky, complete with his trademark hooked nose, square chin and
sou'wester.
When they reached the Stantons' front door, Merriman did as he always did and
rang the doorbell. To the Stantons, he had some very strange mannerisms and
traditions, this being one of them: No matter who he was accompanied by, be it
family member, friend or relative, Merry insisted on ringing the doorbell and
waiting until he was invited inside. In this instance, Will's curiosity got the
better of him.
"Why do you do that Uncle Merry?"
"What's that, William?"
"Ring the doorbell when you know Dad's said you can just let yourself in."
"Ahh," said Merriman in his 'I'm just about to impart some wisdom' voice. "You
are never truly welcome in a man's house until that man invites you across the
threshold. A man's house is his castle, Will - never forget that."
The answer that Merriman gave was to Will as elegant as it was useless. He
knew, however, that once Merry had given his answer, there would be no
elaboration unless it was strictly necessary.
The door was opened a moment later by Mr. Stanton.
"And there's the king of the castle now," he smiled.
"Merry! Good to see you again!" smiled Mr. Stanton, pulling the handshake he
was sharing with Merriman into a hug.
"I found something of yours out in the snow," he said, standing aside to
reveal Will. "You know you should tie small items down in storms."
"Hey - I've grown lots since you were last here," snorted Will indignantly.
"Indeed you have, William, but your growing is yet to be completed. May I come
in, Mr. Stanton?"
"As ever, you are more than welcome, Merry. C'mon, Will - let's get you warmed
up. Sue! Merry's here!"
From the opposite side of the road, the cloaked figure watched Merriman Lyon
and Will Stanton enter the house before vanishing in a flurry of snowflakes.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Well, that's all for the moment. Let us know what you think (good or bad) at
meta4@meta4.org, or visit our web site at http://www.meta4.org.