All around him the air was thick and dark. The night hung oppressively and the weak beams of moonlight failed in their futile attempt to brighten the shadowed world. Time itself seemed to stop and pause for a moment, unable to draw breath in the gelatinous heaviness of the air.
The dark limbs and huge trunks of the trees in the Forbidden Forest surrounded him. Odd creatures, several so rare as to be without names, skittered just out of his peripheral vision, breaking sticks with snaps and hooting softly. Even the natural noises of the animals were muted and mired in the thick atmosphere.
He wanted to turn away, to wake up and remember that this was all a dream, but he could not. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, watching in horror as the werewolf approached.
The coat of the beast was a dull gray and the hair was matted and snarled. That and the feral gleam in his eyes were evidence that this particular werewolf had chosen- or been forced- to leave society completely and instead was making a life for himself deep in the dark and dangerous woods.
The werewolf stopped its slinking advance, sinking back on its haunches. The head lifted and the mouth opened, letting out a howling moan that brought him to his knees. His hands pushed inwards on his ears, trying to block out the piteous sound. Slowly, he began to rock back and forth in time to the wolf's crooning. His eyes, however, never left the gleaming yellow orbs of the wolf which held his complete attention.
The eyes spoke of a mission that the werewolf had been assigned, one which he intended to complete that very night. They promised horrid pain and yet strength and power beyond imagining. At the same time that they offered suffering, they held out wild hopes.
Ever so slowly he began to moan, his howl rising up in the direction of the full moon along with the wolves. Together the two creatures cried out their pain and torment, knowing that those who resided safely within the walls of Hogwarts would look out in the direction of the Forbidden Forest and shiver in fear at the innumerable dark things which stalked unknown just beyond the safety of Hagrid's wooden hut.
The two remained that way for some time, understanding each other on a much deeper and more primitive level than anything either had ever experiences. But while the werewolf cried in the self-assurance that he was working towards ending the pain that came as a result of his sub-human status, the other merely screamed and shook because he saw no end to his torment.
Suddenly, the howling stopped. The werewolf's eyes shone with an unholy light. I could help you, they seemed to suggest. That's why I'm here.
The other one scrambled away, scuttling backwards like a crab. I don't want what you have to give. Leave me alone, he pleaded.
The werewolf, however, just gave a jaunty grin and began to walk slowly towards his companion, tail wagging in an unfriendly manner. His prey scurried away from him once more, stopping when his back thudded painfully into one of the large gray tree trunks. Absentmindedly he thought that he would have a bruise.
The sharp teeth of the werewolf, however, promised that a bruise would be the least of his problems. The wolf was only inches away, and he could feel the heart thudding within its ribcage, beating in precise time with his own. With a vicious roar the wolf lunged at him, biting his flesh-
"Wake up, Harry, come on!" The voice was insistent and thick with worry. "It's just another nightmare, you're fine. Wake up, Harry, please!" The voice cracked with emotion. He heard rushed, panicked breathing and low moans and it took him a moment to realize that the terrified noises were coming from him.
He opened his eyes to see the concerned face of Draco staring intently down at him. The blond was biting his lip anxiously. He sighed in relief and smiled slightly when Harry's eyes focused on him. "Harry, you're alright, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Harry answered, his voice raw from screaming in his sleep. He allowed himself to relax among the soft, silk-covered pillows. "It was just another nightmare."
"You've been having a lot of them lately," Draco commented. Unconsciously he began to chew his lower lip. "Is anything wrong?"
"No, it's just..." Harry did not know what it was.
"Do you want a Dreamless Sleep potion? I'm sure we've got one around here somewhere..." Draco gracefully stood in one fluid motion and began to look around the room.
"No, it's alright," Harry told him. "I'll be okay, I think. I've had a lot worse."
"If you're sure," Draco responded, moving back to the large bed to sit next to Harry.
"It's nothing, really. It's just getting awfully close to the full moon."
Draco nodded in understanding. "It's been a year now, exactly a year, since you were bitten. Or it will be as soon as the full moon comes."
Harry shivered at the memory. "You'll make sure to stay away from me, won't you? I don't want to accidentally bite you. There are some others who I wouldn't mind cursing with lycanthropy, but you're not one of them."
Draco frowned deeply. "I don't want you to have to go through this alone. This will be your most painful transformation yet. Even the Wolfsbane Potion can't do anything for you exactly a year after you were bitten."
"Draco," Harry warned, "without the Wolfsbane I won't be able to control anything that I do while I'm a wolf."
"I know." The blonde's face brightened in a sudden cheeky grin. "I was going to wait to show you, but now seems as good a time as any."
"Show me what?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"This." There was a small pop and a large, pale wolf with hair the exact color of Draco's hair sat in the space Draco had vacated. The wolf grinned and its long pink tongue lolled out of its mouth for a moment before turning back into a madly grinning Draco.
"You're an Animagus!" Harry said excitedly, also grinning from ear to ear.
"And a wolf at that. Now you won't have to transform alone." Harry did not say anything, but Draco could tell by the look in his eyes exactly how much it meant to him.
Hermione Granger irritably stuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was so hard to concentrate on memorizing all of the necessary spells when her hair could never manage to stay within the confines of the low ponytail she had pulled it back into. She was curled up in one of the comfy scarlet armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, a book of advanced spells propped open on her lap. The shining head girl badge was pinned neatly on the front of her robe, the metal shining in the red light from the snapping fire.
Ron Weasley was also in the common room, though he was stretched languidly over the length of an entire leather couch. He was also studying, though far less intently than Hermione. He had a matching head boy badge, though he did not wear his with the same confidence that Hermione did.
Ron's younger sister Ginny was reading, along with her boyfriend Neville Longbottom, from a book on protection charms. The two were seated closely together on a velvet loveseat, arms loosely wrapped around each other.
Other than the four of them the room was totally empty. The edges of the common room that the light from the fire could not quite reach were shadowed and threatening. It was a sad day indeed when even the Gryffindor common room had lost its familiar sense of complete safety.
"This is completely hopeless," Ron sighed, closing his book. He was tempted to slam it but did not want to deal with an irate Hermione. "None of this stuff is going to help us in the slightest."
"You don't know that," Hermione answered stubbornly, skewering her boyfriend with a pointed glare. "We're going to need every bit of help that we can get."
"Ron's right, Hermione," Neville interrupted her. His voice had deepened to a warm bass and his face had lost its childish roundness. "The counter curse for a tripping hex isn't going to do us much good against Avada Kedavra."
"But we have to learn as much as we can," Hermione argued fiercely. "We can't sit back and let the adults take care of things anymore! We're of age now, and in our last year. This is our war, and we're going to be the ones who have to fight it."
"Hermione, as much as I wish you were right, this isn't going to work."
"Then what is?" she demanded. "What do we have left to place our hopes in?"
"Sheer dumb luck?" Ron guessed. Ginny swatted him none too gently on the arm. "What? A lot of battles were won that way!"
"I thought you were supposed to be the master strategist of the family," Ginny pointed out, crossing her arms firmly across her chest.
"This isn't anywhere near as simple as a game of chess! In chess, one side doesn't have the advantage of the Unforgivables."
Hermione sighed deeply. "Chess is too simple to really be a good metaphor for war. It doesn't take into account fatigue, or low morale, or troops ignoring orders."
"But it's missing good things too," Neville pointed out. "Courage and sacrifice and nobility. Plus there's hope and prophecy and-"
Hermione cut him off with a dry sob. "Don't you mention any prophecies. I don't believe in prophecies anymore. And hope's something for fools. Hope won't get you anything." Her brown eyes held a look far too bitter than any seventeen year old had a right to have.
Lord Voldemort sat calmly on his throne. The chair was a grotesque thing, yet oddly beautiful in a horrifying and sickening way. It was composed entirely of human bones. The legs of the throne ended in long-toed skeleton feet. At the end of each arm of the chair was a human hand, one of which had fingers driven deep into the palm in agony. The back was someone- or several someone's- ribs and spine while atop of the monstrosity was the skull of a small child.
The thing may have been almost unbearably uncomfortable, but he loved it none the less.
Around the edges of his throne room a hundred of his assembled Death Eaters stood solemnly with their heads bowed in reverence to their master. He smiled at the sight of them. These were not even a fraction of his forces. In the past year his army had grown considerably.
"What is the status of the attack?" he asked calmly, playing with the fingers of one of the skeletal limbs.
"Diagon Alley has fallen, my lord," a single Death Eater, indistinguishable from the rest answered. He stood proudly in his black masked robes. "Pockets of resistance are being exterminated as we speak. We already have control over the important areas such as Gringotts and the Daily Prophet."
"And what of casualties?"
"Only ten Death Eaters died. This is in comparison to over fifty Aurors and innumerable witches and wizards of no importance."
"Excellent. You will be well rewarded for your prompt and diligent execution of my orders, Lucius." The elder Malfoy bowed smoothly and stepped back into the circle of his fellows. "This is most encouraging news. Already we have brought the Wizarding world crashing to its knees. Soon we will control it totally." His red eyes shone with a fevered and fanatical light.
The Death Eaters smiled behind their masks.
Dumbledore slumped behind his desk in the midst of his office. Although the room was filled with spinning silver instruments that would have captured and held the attention of any other man, Dumbledore was not at all interested in the trinkets. His blue eyes, which had managed to retain their twinkle even through the darkest days of the earlier war, when he had first formed the Order of the Phoenix to oppose the growing threat of Tom Riddle, were as dead as thousands of wizards and witches across the island nation.
He would have liked to blame himself for all of the tragedies that had befallen his beloved homeland, but was incapable of doing so. No matter how many times he replayed the events of the past year over and over again in his head he could find nothing that he could have done differently, nothing that could have possibly brought any light into this darkest of situations.
And now Diagon Alley had fallen to the forces of darkness. The Ministry of Magic was already threatened. Soon, Voldemort's armies would be powerful enough to begin the assault on Hogwarts.
It should never have come to this.
The fates were toying with him. He wondered if they realized that this was not merely a game for them to play and toss away when they grew bored of its monotony. Gods had a startling record of not realizing that while they could not die as a result of their grudges against one another, the mortals they used as their soldiers certainly could.
He did not have the time for all of this melancholy nonsense, yet he found himself unable to escape the cycle. There were so many things that desperately needed his attention: the castle's defenses, the preparedness of the students for the battles they would undoubtedly have to participate in, and the affairs of the Order.
And yet, despite the mess of documents scattered across the fine mahogany surface of his polished antique desk, he could force himself to do nothing but sit and reflect on the past bitterly.
In the end, it was he that had failed the Wizarding and Muggle populations alike. If only he had not been so careless, if he had paid more attention to what was transpiring underneath his very nose. If only he had not been so busy with trying to run a school and a secret organization and still remain a resource to the Ministry at the same time.
If only he had been more aware, Harry Potter would not have succumbed to the darkness.
Harry woke up feeling understandably tired. Tonight was the full moon and his bones ached accordingly. He lay in bed for a long time without moving, luxuriating in the warmth and comfort, something which even he had still not grown completely accustomed to.
After perhaps half an hour Draco came into the room. A small host of House Elves bearing heavily laden breakfast trays followed behind him. Harry rolled his eyes at the other boy's extravagance, but smiled kindly in thanks.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed facing each other, the two began to dig their way through porridge and fruits and hams and a dozen other dishes. Harry ate lightly, mostly poking at his food and moving it around his plate with his silverware.
"You need to eat, Harry," Draco admonished gently. "You won't survive the transformation if you don't have the strength to eat." Harry tried to comply, but by the end of the meal his plate was still half-full. As the House Elves began to clear up the dishes, Draco said, "Master wants to meet with us as soon as you're dressed."
Harry nodded. In a few short moments, both he and Draco were striding confidently down the halls, crimson robes flapping behind them. Other Death Eaters scurried out of their way, bowing low in obeisance. The two young men ignored them all except for the occasional acknowledging nod.
"Ah, my two young snakes," Voldemort greeted as the two boys bowed in front of them. His face bore an oddly parental expression of pride. "Today is a day of utmost importance for you, Harry."
"Yes, my lord," Harry answered, bowing again.
"You need not be so formal, my snake," Voldemort hissed softly. "Today you will become a true werewolf. In honor of such an important occasion, I believe you deserve a reward." Harry smiled at the honor bestowed on him. "I give you my permission to do whatever you wish with that wretched family of yours. Draco, of course, may help you."
"Thank you, my lord!"
Voldemort smiled, and were it not for his hard eyes and serpentine features it would have almost seemed as if he were a benevolent old grandfather. "Enjoy your time." With that he dismissed them.
Draco grabbed a hold of Harry's hand as they walked through the cold stone corridors. He gave it a comforting squeeze. "After all of the abuse they showed you, you will finally have your revenge, Harry."
"That I will," Harry responded, eyes half shut and corners of the mouth turned up in a look of ecstasy. His eyes flashed a steely emerald. "And I will enjoy every minute of it.
Harry and Draco Apparated just a few blocks away from Number Four Privet Drive, the closest they could get as a few of the wards originally set up to protect Harry from the man he now served were still in place. The few Muggles who were out working in their yards saw the hard glint of murder in their eyes and hurried away to hide inside their houses until the odd strangers left.
"Look at all of these damn Muggles," Draco snorted in disgust. "And their houses and contraptions. The world is much better off without filth like this."
Harry nodded his head in complete agreement. "The sooner the scum is eradicated the better off we'll be. Especially lowlifes like the Dursleys," he growled.
"Don't worry," Draco soothed, putting a calming hand on Harry's shoulder. "They'll be taken care of soon enough."
"It will never be soon enough for me," Harry disagreed, but relaxed at Draco's touch.
Soon, they were walking up to the house where Harry had spent the worst years of his life. Vernon Dursley, a dark gray business suit straining around his girth, was walking towards his brand new car when he spotted the two wizards.
Instantly, he ran inside the house, shaking in complete terror. Harry grinned, a sadistic, maniacal look. He drew his wand simultaneously with Draco. Without even waving the polished stick of wood, however, the door of the Dursley residence flung open wide before him. He stepped into the foyer, noting how little had changed in the little over a year he had been gone.
The floors were still the same ugly color and pictures of a simpering Dudley were plastered all over the wall as usual. He breathed in deeply and turned to Draco. "Can't you smell the fear?" Draco nodded, cheeks flushed with the same excitement that made Harry's eyes light up. Harry's eyes fell on the cupboard under the stairs, and his expression darkened and soured. "I want to show you this."
He opened the cupboard door, pointing inside. "This is where I slept until I got into Hogwarts. The bastards wouldn't even give me my own room." To Draco, this was a crime beyond imagining.
"Our House Elves have closets bigger than this!" he raged. While Harry doubted that the Malfoy's House Elves had any closets of their own, he appreciated the metaphor. "We're going to teach them a lesson, Harry. I'll make sure they wish they'd never dared to touch you." Draco's jaw was set stubbornly and his eyes were resolute. He was radiating warmth and support, at least towards Harry. What he felt for the Dursleys though, was pure, unadulterated anger and unbridled hate.
"This way," Harry said, leading his friend into the living room. All three Dursleys were clustered together on the far side of the room, eyes bulging out of their heads. "Why, Dudley," Harry greeted jovially at the sight of his cousin. If not for the twisted, sardonic smirk on his face and the sarcasm which laced his tone as he thickly as he had always wanted to lace the Dursleys' food with poison, he almost sounded overjoyed to see his cousin. "I thought you'd be away at good old Smeltings about now."
Dudley stammered something about being expelled. "Oh, too bad Dudley. Although I'm really surprised that you stayed in as long as you did. Must have been hard with your small brain."
Dudley roared and launched himself at Harry, perhaps not realizing the difference that a year had made in his cousin. Harry waited until Dudley was almost upon him before stepping aside and letting his cousin run headfirst into the wall. He sprawled backwards on the floor.
"Tsk, tsk, Dudley. I see that you seem to think you can still beat me up the way you did when we were younger. Things have changed, though, you see. I'm not the sweet innocent boy I once was. I've joined with Voldemort."
Petunia's face went instantly white; she at least actually knew what he was talking about. Dudley, however, remained as stupid as ever. "So what?" he asked sullenly.
"So this." Harry raised his wand and struck a pose like the pictures of wizards in Muggle books. "Crucio!"
Jennifer O'Keefe was a petite redhead who was in training to become an Auror. Under normal circumstances she would never have passed the physical or intellectual entrance exams, but the Ministry had become desperate for Aurors. Unfortunately for Jennifer, she was smart enough to realize that she was only allowed in because there was a great need and she resented it deeply. She was determined to prove herself.
So it was that she was at the Department of Law Enforcement's Dark Magic Monitors on that rainy morning. There were still small flashes of Dark magic popping up in Diagon Alley, but that was to be expected. She did not bother to draw the Auror in charge of the monitors to them as there was nothing they could do for the time being; Diagon Alley was lost to them.
Still, she sat in front of the small glass panel that popped up with the location of the dark magic. Most of it seemed to be coming from the Leak Cauldron. Sighing and brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face, she moved on to the next monitor, one that did not focus solely on London.
Number Four Privet Drive. The letters appeared boldly on the glass panel, larger than she had ever seen them before. Her blue eyes widened, startled. "Auror Wolk!" she called, her voice demanding immediate attention. "I've never seen such a large degree of Dark magic at use at one time!" Auror Wolk, an ancient man who had likely fought alongside Dumbledore when he defeated Grindewald, limped over to her display.
"Bloody Merlin," he cursed. "Dispatch two squads of Aurors to the scene immediately!"
"Yes, sir," she responded cheerfully, instantly obeying his orders. After she had relayed the location and a warning to be careful, she sat back in her chair, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. She had proved to them that she deserved to be an Auror.
Of course, when she found out a few hours later that not one Auror had survived, she lost her pride in her achievements.
Dudley lay panting on the floor, his fat body slick with sweat and his tiny eyes bulging out of their sockets. Aunt Petunia was sobbing loudly on the other side of the room. Harry did not even bother to give her a taste of physical pain; the emotional side of the spectrum was quite enough.
Vernon Dursley, though, had sat through the torture of his son stonily and he had lost none of his despise for wizards or their ways. "What's that disgusting thing on your cheek boy? It looks like vermin to me, just like you always were."
"You mean this?" Harry pointed to his left cheek and smirked. A tattoo of a silver serpent rested there. This though, was a magical tattoo. The snake's body rose and fell slightly as it drew breath. When Harry pointed to it, the snake uncoiled, shining fiercely against the boy's pale skin. "That is the mark that my master has given me. None of his other followers except Draco and I have it. It is a symbol of our power."
"Power? You're just a bunch of freaks pulling bunnies out of hats and expecting people to clap- ahhh!"
This time it was Draco who had fired the curse. "You know, you filthy Muggle, I'm growing really tired of you. And because you couldn't keep me entertained, you'll pay even more." Draco laughed caustically and Harry joined in.
"Turn around, Death Eaters!" a curt voice barked sharply.
"Aurors," Harry breathed, and pivoted on one foot. The Aurors, some two dozen and all, gasped collectively. They had all heard that Harry Potter had become a Death Eater, of course, but none have them had truly believed that the Boy-Who-Lived was a traitor. Here, though, was concrete proof.
"Harry!" Tonks pushed her way out of the back of the crowd of Aurors. "What do you think your doing?"
"I'm paying back my... family," he twisted the word around bitterly, "for all that they've done to me."
"That's not you Harry, it can't be," she pleaded.
"Do you doubt his word?" Draco asked, stepping up beside the shorter boy.
"Maybe he's under Imperio," someone else muttered.
"Please," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I am not so weak that that curse can control me. What I do I do of my own free will."
"Then I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that we're going to have to take you into our custody."
Harry cocked his head to one side and twisted the corners of his lips upwards. "Have fun," he shrugged, before firing off a quick succession of Unforgivables. One by one, the Aurors fell over, massacred.
"I suppose that we'd better finish with them before more Aurors show up," Draco said.
As one, they turned on the Dursleys.
When the report reached Albus Dumbledore of the massacre at Number Four Privet Drive, all he could do was shake his head sadly.
"Harry, my dear boy, where did I go wrong? What did I do that caused you to turn to the side of darkness?"
Professor McGonagall, who had delivered the news, announced stiffly, "I hardly find that it is your fault that the boy allowed himself to be tempted and fell."
"But it is my fault, Minerva. I'm one of the closest things to a parent he's ever had, and I led him astray, somehow."
"He'll come back eventually, Albus. He has to. The prophecy-"
Dumbledore shook his head again, eyes filled with sorrow and despair, a look so foreign to his face as to make him seem an entirely different person. "The prophecy may not be fulfilled as we had thought it must be. Perhaps it doesn't really apply to right now at all."
"There is always the hope that Potter will come back to us. He has been fighting against You-Know-Who for nearly his entire life; surely he would not throw that away so lightly."
"I'm afraid, Minerva, that Harry Potter may be irredeemable."
With that one sentence, all hope went out of Minerva McGonagall's soul: if even Dumbledore had declared Potter irredeemable, then there was nothing that they could do to save him.