Harry Potter & the Devil's Triangle

Prologue

            In 1435, a small Muggle fishing boat came across a shoreline that he had never seen before. A glass archway glistening against the hot sun stood before him. When he stepped foot upon this mirage, he quickly discovered that he was not alone.

            Two stone staircases spiraled upwards on opposite sides of a levitated arena. On either side of the dueling ground were two women, both wearing white robes and black boots. One had long, red curls and the other was blonde, and shorter than the other.

            "Who is that?" the red haired woman asked.

            "I don't know… You don't suppose he's one of them?"

            "I think you're right… Look at his eyes. They're so dark and narrow… And that nose! It's almost as flat as your chest."

            The blonde reached out her right hand, which held a funny looking stick, and shouted,

            "Serpensortia!"

            A large, scaly beast flew from the stick's end. It had a diamond shape pattern along its back that faded as it got to its gray rattle tail. The red haired woman froze, her deep blue eyes widened and she lifted her own funny stick. She did not say anything though.

            Suddenly, a spark of yellow lightning sprung forward. It hit the snake full forward and disintegrated it. All that was left were flakes of its shedding skin that tumbled slowly to the sands below them.

            "A Blasting Curse. Well done, Miriam," the blonde said.

            "I've been practicing over at the Sea Cradle."

            "Oh, yes… But you still need some work. Why don't you practice on him?"

Her eyes narrowed at the Muggle who just stood helplessly below, staring up at the two women. He took off his hat, holding it by its straw rim, and stepped forward. His knees shook tremendously, and as he walked, his bare toes dug into the cool sands, clutching it.

"All right, Demora,"

The red, curly haired woman named Miriam spun around from her platform. Instantly, she disappeared from the air and then reappeared just as quickly next to the Muggle man. He jolted backward, nearly tumbling over.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

However, he didn't seem to understand their language. Instead, he fell to his knees and started bowing down. His arms flailed about in a swimming motion, up and down. Miriam smiled at him, cupped her delicate fingers around his stubbly chin and lifted his head slightly.

"What should we do with him, Demora?" she shouted.

"If you won't play with him, I will."

And just as the red head did, Demora disappeared and reappeared instantaneously. Out from her robe's side pocket she drew her wand and pointed it at the Muggle's head. He didn't seem to understand his life was in mortal danger because he continued to worship the women as goddesses.

"Leave him alone," another voice entered.

A black haired witch approached the other two. Her robe was not white like theirs but instead golden with a copper robe tied around her waist. An orange and bright pink flower was pinned to her hair, lifting the right side up. Her lips were also painted pink.

"Or what? You'll tell your father on us?" Demora said.

"She's right. Let's just use a memory charm and send him away like all the others."

"Actually, he's coming with me," the black haired woman said. "My father has set into a law a new rule. Starting midnight tonight, all Muggle crafts, whether by sea or air, will be Disapparated and then Apparate a few miles to the East of us, somewhere in what they call the Pacific Ocean."

"He can't do that," Demora said and stepped forward. "Your father isn't in charge of making the rules."

"He is now. Mister Lee is dead. My father is now in charge of our Ministry of Magic."

"Impossible!" Miriam hissed. "When did Mister Lee die? We would have heard of it."

"Today, actually. My father, who of course you know was in charge of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is now in charge of it all!

"Your father wouldn't know the difference between a criminal and a saint," Demora hissed. "He's a babbling buffoon. I will leave my job in the Ministry if he is put in charge of it."

"Then you better pack your bags, my dear," the black haired woman said. "Miriam, hand me the Muggle."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little face about it," she said.

"No, Arianna, you have no authority here. Go back to your land."

"You will address me properly!" Arianna spit in Miriam's face.

"Miss Chang…" Miriam said softly. "Fine, take the man. He's a simple fool who washed up on the wrong shore. He doesn't understand us or our ways."

"That's not for you to decide."

Arianna reached forward and grabbed the Muggle's arms. She pulled him off the ground and dragged him behind her as she walked away. A few minutes later, there was a scream and all was silent…     

Chapter 1

            For nearly six centuries, there has not been a single non-Muggle disturbance at the Devil's Triangle. Whenever a prisoner was delivered through Double Disapparation—that's when the guard Disapparates handcuffed with an anti-charm enchantment to the criminal—the delivery has been scheduled since the capture's arrest.

In nearly 600 years, no innocent wizard, unless it was a guard, has set foot upon the luscious, burning sands. Until three days from this very date.

            Harry Potter lay asleep, but not soundly, in his heavy blanketed bed. The heat of early July stung at his pale skin but Harry never felt the heat these days. Coldness nipped his tender body after the death of his godfather, Sirius Black. Sometimes Harry would have to press his fingers onto the Dursley's fire-top stove, when no one was looking of course or think him mad, just to feel the sensation of warmth once again.

            And on this July night, Harry's sweat beaded down his forehead, down his neck and way down his back. He turned over quickly in his sleep, smacking his head against the corner of his desk. But the surging pain did not wake him from his deep slumber. His lids stayed close, his irises twitching around beneath them.

            A bony, frail wizard with a twine rope strung around his neck staggered lifelessly under the squelching sun. On the other end of the rope was a slender, tall woman with long blonde hair that fell just below her trim waist. She dragged the wizard into a caged dome as a big as a small mountain.

Inside the cage on the curved ceiling was the illusion of a burnt, red sky, thundering lightning and a rush of thick, dark clouds closing in fast.

            "Number 3-7-9, armed and ready!"

            The woman threw a long wand into the ragged wizard's right hand. Then, she kicked him below his left knee and pushed him forward. The wizard proceeded to walk until he came across a spiraling staircase made of rough stone. Just as he started to climb it sluggishly, another wizard from the opposite side of the arena rose up the stairs.

            Like him, the opposing wizard was weak and sickly. His bones protruded out from underneath his thin, yellow skin. He too had a staff-like wand and had been pushed forward to fight. Tattooed in black ink on his upper bicep was a number. 9-4-7. And underneath that number was a shape, a perfect triangle with three letters inside that were very blurred.

            "Forward your wands," a loud, ominous voice boomed.

            Suddenly, there was an exchange of forceful light blasting from each end of the dueling sides. It didn't take any more than that one hit to knock off 3-7-9's opponent. Slowly, 9-4-7's right leg jerked and twisted to the side. His arms frantically tried to grip into the air, as if something there could pull him up. But there was nothing.

            Horribly, his body tilted backward and then his feet lifted from the platform. A crowd of dazed spectators did not cheer now. Actually, they booed and hissed. Their thumbs pointed downward as their chanting and rude slurs filled the dome. Soon, the arena was nothing more than an awful clamor.

            The victor stood with his wand still shaking from his hand. Quickly, another opponent was forced up and given the same routine as the last. Beneath this new wizard's platform was the bleeding body of the loser, unmoved and halfway buried into the unforgiving sand. Lying next to him was a rotting corpse, flesh hanging off its green, molding bones… And next to him, a naked skull, its forehead crushed and eye sockets unrecognizable… And next to him was another corpse… And next to him…

            "Oww!" Harry Potter awoke, startled, sitting upright in his bed. His scar burned in pain just as it had a few years ago; but Voldemort was gone. Or at least, he couldn't possibly be lurking around Privet Drive.

            Harry rubbed his lightning bolt shaped scar and then pulled the covers closely to his shivering body. He was still so very cold. Even his lips began to turn a shade of pale, pastel pink.

But Harry could not drift back to sleep after what he had just seen. He couldn't remember everything about his dream, just that there were so many bodies, so much blood and so much pain.

            The following morning, Harry lay still in his bed. It had been a few hours since his scar had hurt, and he didn't think he actually fell back asleep. All he thought about was Sirius and that he would be the first person to turn to about it. Obviously, he couldn't do that. Or could he?

            Harry grabbed his oversized sweatshirt that Dudley had so kindly given him when he had returned from Hogwarts a few weeks ago. As he pulled together the rest of his attire, Harry realized that his only mode of transportation to get to Sirius would be a Muggle bus. His Apparition test wasn't until his 17th birthday, a year away, and using his broom would break the magical code.

            Fortunately, Harry had some Muggle money left over from a while back in his piggy bank. Quickly, he smashed the white, porcelain pig into little pieces, sort of like a piñata but without the orgasmic chocolate inside. After collecting the change and single bills, Harry rushed out of his room, down a flight of steps and jumped to the front door.

            The Dursleys should still have been asleep at that time. Well, they should have been, but Vernon often liked to eat a small breakfast before his real breakfast. Aunt Petunia was still on her diet with Dudley, which was failing miserably. He was still as big as whale, but a whale was still more attractive. And so, as Harry reached for the knob, a voice made his hairs stand on end.

            "Where do you think you're going, boy, at this hour?"

            "I… I'm just going to get the paper."

            "It's Sunday. You know I already got my comics," Vernon hissed as he stuffed a wad of Dunkin Donuts into his gorged mouth. Crumbed of white sugar fell into his newly grown beard. "Where are you really going?"

            "It's none of your business," Harry snapped back and turned the doorknob.

            "None of my… None of my..." Uncle Vernon put down his foot and stormed over to the door. His mouth was still stuffed with pastries. "You tell me right now where you are going and then you will go back to your room and not make a sound."

            "All right, I'll go to my room," Harry began. Vernon smirked with that grin of achievement, but it was quickly wiped away when Harry continued. "While I'm in my room, I'll write to my friends in the Order about this. I don't think they'll like it very much. Keeping me here against my will."

            "Your friends in the Order? No, no, they don't need to know about this. Go run off now, before I change my mind," he said and turned around. Vernon hadn't admitting defeat and so he didn't push the matter any further.

            Harry ran out the door and walked several long blocks, taking him about forty minutes. At the end of this walk, he found himself standing in front of a building with a Muggle sign reading, "Bus Terminals A and B."

            It was B that led to his godfather, Sirius. Just as Harry entered the building, a bus turned the corner and stopped short. Along the side read the letter B and a dozen Muggles got off it. Harry ran out the opposite doors and jumped onto the black steps. He grabbed the silver bar on the side for balance.

            When he met up with the bus driver, the man pointed at a box for change.

            "I don't know how much it is," Harry said and took out a wad of cash. "Will this do?"

            The bus driver nodded, and Harry placed the money into the box. He found his way to an empty gray seat next to an old lady wearing a rather large hat. Her entire head was shadowed by it. They didn't speak at all during the entire ride.

            "Next stop, The Gardens Cemetery."

            Hearing these words brought back some of the most dreadful memories Harry had ever had. Sirius's death itself was just as bad as his funeral actually. It had to be kept secret, in fear of the wizardry community discovering how Sirius died. Only a few select people showed up, including the members of the Order, Harry, his best friends Ron and Hermione and Professor Dumbledore. Everyone wore black on their clothes and wore white in their faces.

            As the bus came to a halt, Harry got up and exited along with the old lady next to him and a few others in the front seats. After the bus pulled away, Harry looked over the hill of tombstones.

There were so many of them covered in flowers and wild colors. But as Harry focused in on Sirius's, off on the side under a small tree, there was nothing pretty on it besides some leaves that had fallen.

            "Oh, Sirius," Harry said to himself as he approached the grave.

            For a full hour, Harry stood there with eyes fixated on the plague drilled onto his tombstone. Eights words were etched into it.

            'The ones we love never truly leave us'

            "And I'll always remember that," Harry finally said.

Just as Harry turned around, he screamed, "Ahh!"