Full Story Summary: Sirius and Remus are granted a youth potion by the ministry for their huge contribution to the War, which turns them into their eighteen year old selves. With the War fresh finished and the destruction just being cleared, they find themselves with nowhere to go back to. Dumbledore kindly grants them a summer stay at Hogwarts while homes and lived are rebuilt. Harry, Hermione, Draco (who switched sides during the War), Fred and George jump at the chance of residing in Hogwarts with no teachers and pupils and Dumbledore away on business, and request to join them. Together they plan for a fun summer with little hard work and a relaxing time after the strain of the War. But a strange guest joins them. Estelle is a ghostly figure from the past and with her comes memories and feelings most have been struggling to keep hidden. She too is suffering from memories she has been running from her whole life and familiar faces may cause her to break. Meanwhile a strange power hidden within the castle is growing stronger and more powerful. Lying undiscovered, it is only a matter of time before it escapes its prison. Can the group help each other forget and heal or will the strain of past memories split them apart? And what is the power threatening to escape its bonds? What will happen if it does?

A.N: This story is a dark fic and contains rape and violence, character death and Dark Harry. Just a warning for anyone who does not want to read about such things. Reviews are welcome and would make my day. I would really appreciate feedback on this story so please don't hesitate. I will take everything anyone says onboard.

Diclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and associated characters. Except Estelle, my own personal mark.

P.S. Please read beyond the Prologue. It gets a lot more interesting, I promise!

An Orange Sky

Prologue

The Woman's grief was beyond comprehension. Her fluttering white dress was a stark contrast against the rich ochre earth that stained her bare feet. With each step she took a seed slipped through her fingers to settle into the life giving ground and with each step she took a tear slipped from her eye to stain the dusty earth a dark shade of brown. The work was long and her feet sore but she never tired; her heart as numb as the empty world around her. When she was finished she surveyed her work, her blond hair fluttering in the cold breeze. There was no warmth for her any longer, no love in this most barren of places. She knelt, her white dress picking up the particles of sand.

"And there will be life," the woman whispered, placing her hand upon the ground. No longer did she try to use the spells she and her husband had spent so long forging. No longer did she restrain herself to the world that pulled so heavily at her feet. The sound of thousands of voices, whispering of the world, drifted towards her on the wind and tempted her to stay her hand. But she pushed them away until the light, softly glowing within her body, intensified and shone out upon the ground. She forged the light with her Will alone until it resembled a mighty forest, then, satisfied, she released her power and with a crack and a groan the mighty giants sprouted from the ground. Then out of thin air she produced a silver dagger. Placing its shining, icy surface upon her skin she applied pressure until hundreds of drops had stained the ochre sand around her red. Placing her hand upon the moist ground she fashioned the light into hundreds of beasts and insects of all types. Releasing her Will the animals appeared and no longer did the still air reverberate with silence but rather that of many different cries. The woman lifted her head to the blue skies just seen through the canopy and shouted: "And let them endure!"

Seemingly satisfied with her toil, the woman in the white dress entered the cave that stood by a waterfall of thick dark mud. The woman pondered how with the coming of life, perhaps the water too would clear. Inside the cave lay another woman upon the sandy ground, grotesquely misshapen, with inhumanly long limbs and dark hair that fanned about her. Her foot was shackled to a short chain of pure light that seemed to bury itself right into the earth. As the woman in white approached, the Thing looked up through milky irises and smiled.

"Such a terrible thing, grief, is it not?" it whispered through thin lips of blue. "You and I aren't so different any more, hmmm? Grief leads to madness and madness leads to death." The thing cackled in a high screeching voice that would have damaged the ears of any ordinary human. But the woman in white was not a person of normal limitations. With a wave of her hand she sent a pulse of magic that slammed into the Thing upon the floor. It jerked and then with a surprised look upon its face, it sneered at the woman.

"I see you have learnt cruelty as well. There was once a time when you would never have dared to raise your hand upon another living thing. Not even me, although I am barely living, am I now?" the Thing pondered, raising its hands of pale, almost translucent skin, to look at the veins below.

"I have a last task for you, Bringer Of Death; a task that surely you of all things would delight in." The Thing laughed in the face of the woman in white at her remark.

"I know my task. It is written so plainly upon your face. So many tasks and all the same. Have I no meaning to you and your kin but one of death? There once was a time when my skin felt the kiss of the sun as you once did, and my eyes saw more than the diminishing energy within these miserable creatures. And I would skip in fields of gold and collect flowers for my betrothed." The Thing's face twisted into one of great pain. "Have you no thought for your ever loving husband and your children still left to you?" The woman in white's face too became distorted in grief. She brought her hand forward as if to slap the Thing across the cheek but at the last moment she veered her hand to the side, missing the Thing by inches.

"Let the world be damned!" she cursed, instead sending again a pulse of magic towards the body curled up on the floor. She then sat down upon the sandy floor and weaved incantations too complex for any but the most powerful of magicians to decipher. These spells carved themselves into the walls of the cave, great weaving patterns of life and death and imprisonment and freedom, until the whole surface of the cave's walls were covered in symbols and patterns.

"When shall I carry out this task?" the Thing on the floor asked when the woman had finished.

"When the World is full enough to suffer, then you shall be free," the woman said in bitter tones.

"And what of my body? I have sustained it through my self Will all these long and heavy years, but a period of stillness shall not keep it alive and healthy."

"Your body shall be taken and a new host supplied to you when the time is right."

"Good," the Thing cackled, not lamenting the loss of its body in the least. The woman motioned her hand to banish the body but the Thing raised its head and stared with piercing eyes into the green irises of the woman.

"I shall not endure without some kind of satisfaction."

"I have replaced the forest you so greedily sucked from this land. If you are wise . . ." The Thing hissed.

"That is not enough," it cried, its shrill voice rising in anger. "You make these demands but you do not pay me in kind. I request more. It is my Will alone that keeps me in place. I can easily let go and then your task would be unfulfilled and this world will stay cruel." The woman tutted.

"You have no wish to recede to the place that you have sent so many thousands. Your only desire is to take and take until there is nothing left. Besides, my charms prevent you from leaving this cave in any way. Nevertheless . . ." The woman paused in thought while the Thing eyed, greedily, the blood dripping from the woman's open wound. The woman looked at the thing in concentration.

"I suppose I have no more need to remain in this accursed land . . . You may have your fill." With that the Thing screeched in pleasure and shouted: "Goodbye, Evair. Soon there will be an end to it all."

The woman waved her hand, the disfigured body vanishing without a trace and the resonating laughter slowly fading into the walls. She then once again produced the silver knife and, with a whisper and a flash of metallic light, said: "And let there be Death!"

The blood poured into the sand, the colour quickly staining red. The woman grieved, the husband found all. The fate of the world was decided.

Thunder roared. Rain pattered off of dark-green leaves to stain the rich, earthy floor below. Above the huge canopy of swaying branches, the dark clouds poured their souls out, reducing themselves to nothing. Hoots and whistles echoed from the dark mass of trees as the rainforest chattered away in its unusual language. The air was stifling hot. The raindrops falling to the ground quickly evaporated into fog. Shafts of moonlight streamed through the leafy roof, highlighting the ascending steam that coiled thickly around tree roots. The hearty smell of decomposing animal waste and rotting trees added to the heaviness in the air. Small insects chirruped and twigs snapped under a stalking predator's paw.

Suddenly silence descended, filling the air like a suffocating blanket. The inhabitants of the rainforest were waiting.

A blinding light ripped through the shadows to highlight thousands of green, orb-like eyes. They were all staring at one point. As the light faded and the shadows crawled back, the figure of a man stood, where there had once been only a patch of sodden earth, his body framed by a beam of moonlight. The rainforest screeched its protest, in a thousand voices, at this rude interruption but none of the voices dared to approach. Inhabitants of the rainforest had learnt to evolve quickly and in this troubled time, when the forest was a destination for fleeing dark magic, they had had to adapt faster than ever. There was power in the strange man and all the creatures could sense it. Even the raindrops, which were now pouring down, had enough sense to avoid him and the ground beneath his feet was looking drier already. The animals of the forest hissed through sharp fangs, staring at him with glassy eyes.

The man muttered under his breath. He straightened up and brushed at his clothing. He was wearing royal blue robes that dropped to the floor, the finely woven cloth decorated with golden stars that changed colour as he moved and the edges hemmed with emerald lace. A thick red leather belt, adorned with strange pockets of varying sizes of the same coloured leather, encircled his waist. His face was lined in many creases and his hair, which grew to his waist and was tied in loose ponytail, reflected the moon's colour of deep silvery-grey. His beard, matching his hair in colour and length though slightly frizzier, swung to and fro as the man looked at his surroundings. A creased hand promptly tucked the swinging beard of hair into his belt, where it remained out of the way. Sparkling blue eyes peered out of half-moon spectacles at the scene around him.

"Not too bad a landing, if I do say so myself," he muttered to himself in appraisal. His tone was deep and hearty, laughter and joy danced behind those words. His blue eyes scanned the darkness. No normal eyes could pierce the thick shadows but these were no ordinary eyes. Power radiated from this man, power that gave him the gift to see things that others could not. Finally, the man seemed to have found what he was searching for as he strode towards a clump of bushes in a decided fashion. A murmured word from the strange man and the bushes parted to reveal a path of black gravel almost hidden by rotting leaves. The thick trunks of trees lined either side of the path. Unlike other trees, whose branches swung freely and hung low, these giant mahoganies stood rigid, their branches shooting straight up. They looked like guard men watching for intruders and there was something about their manner that just dared the birds to make nests in their branches. The pathway echoed silence, its dull drone bleaching the life from the air. There was no life here. The animals had smelt the same power emanating from this place as they sensed it from the man.

The stranger's pointed, leather boots crunched onto the gravel. The sound of it ripped through the air and as it did the trees nearest to him leapt into action. Huge branches of gnarled wood thrashed down onto the path, beating hollows out of the earth. The man should have been clubbed to death in one strike but he was no longer in the same place. He was racing down the gravel path with an ease that no man his age should have. As he passed, the watch-trees nearest to him thrashed into life, leaves spraying from their creaking limbs. Soon the air was filled with the noise of groaning, creaking wood and black leaves fluttered onto the path. The man kept running at a steady pace, always one step ahead of the flailing branches. He seemed to be enjoying it. His thin mouth was split into an enormous grin and tinkling laughter followed him. He increased his pace, his starry robes flashing through a variety of colours with each stride he took.

The old man ran like this for what seemed like miles, never tiring and always followed by the sound of clear laughter and groaning wood. Then, the path suddenly stopped and with it the thrashing trees. The man stepped out into a clearing. Watery sunlight danced down with the end of the rain and the distant song of a morning bird could be heard in the distance. He seemed unfazed that he had run throughout the night. He merely glanced grimly at his destination. A concrete hut rose up out of the ground. It was barely distinguishable from the bushes behind it as the tin roof was covered in mud and decomposing leaves while the walls were decorated with green mould. Water dripped from the un-guttered roof, showing that the rain had only just stopped.

Two shadows detached themselves from the cover of one of the mouldy walls and stalked towards the strange figure. Their eyes glinted steel as they paced in the direction of their quarry. They reached the circle of sunlight the old man was standing in and the larger of the creatures stepped forward. The stranger chuckled as he recognised the beast. Its back legs, fashioned like a horse's, stamped irritably and its tail swished from side to side. Its front body was covered in a soft down of tawny feathers and its front legs, shaped into sharp talons, pawed the ground nervously. Beady falcon eyes stared at the man, distrust shown clearly across its beaked face. Forgetting himself, the man stepped forward to greet his old friend but the outlandish creature was not so easily trusting. As the stranger approached the large beast squawked and flapped his gigantic wings, spreading them wide in an act of hostility. The man backed away, his hands in the air. Keeping eye contact, he gently lowered his head in the form of a bow. Blue, pure eyes met yellow, sharp ones. Rising, the stranger saw the taloned creature survey him, his head cocked to one side. After what seemed like hours, the beast gently lowered his head and gave a friendly chirrup.

"Taurus. Banea. What good Hippogriffs you are? I hope you've been looking after her," the man exclaimed as he ruffled the larger ones feathers. The smaller one came forwards to greet him, her features were similar to the others' but her feathery down was a pure white. She nipped at his wrist playfully as he tried to pet her beak.

"So you're hungry, Banea?" Reaching into his long sleeves, the man pulled out three large raw steaks and idly tossed one each to the hippogriffs. Leaving the two to fight over the third steak, he crept towards the ivy covered door that was the entrance to the crude hut.

It stank inside. The stench swept over the man as he pulled open the simple metal door. The small light that entered through the doorway was only enough to dimly outline objects. The only window to the hut was covered in grime and moss and nothing but a faint green glow came from it. The man could just make out the contents of the one room that made up the ramshackle building. To one side was a shelf and what looked like books, presumably crumbling in the humid air. Next to this was a bucket, from which the disgusting stench was seeping. Beetles scuttled across the hard, concrete floor. This certainly wasn't a place for comfort. A large bowl's contents reflected a little of the light, showing that the bowl contained water. In the centre of the room the floor was blackened and scattered with ash, next to this mess lay a tripod on its side and a couple of saucepans.

The floor was littered with tin cans, some rusty and blackened while others looking like they were opened only the day before. Against one wall a large stock of cans were arranged in neat rows stacked on top of each other up the wall. Next to this strange sculpture was a thin mattress, its stuffing leaking onto the floor and a dark blanket tossed upon it. The only pleasant looking object in the room was a decorated trunk. From what little the man could see it looked to be made of dark mahogany, silver clasps glinted in the faint light and a leafy pattern was carved onto its edge. Tatty clothes spilled from the open chest. Unlike the neat order of the tin cans, the ripped and dirty materials had been cast across the floor and onto a cane chair that looked like it had no bottom.

The stranger stepped forward, his shoe sending a crumpled can skittering across the concrete. A rustling came from the mattress and a figure, that the man had assumed to be a blanket, stood up.

"One more move and I'll kill you!" The voice was feminine and although it sounded like she was trying to sound merciless, behind it there was a tremble.

"I congratulate you on your watch-trees, a variation of the Whomping Willow I presume. They certainly had me on my toes," the stranger chuckled.

"Who are you? Lumos!" the woman shouted. A light flared from the tip of a wooden wand in her hand. The wand was made of a dark wood, tapering from a thick handle that was engraved with strange patterns which seemed to move and made the eyes water, to a thin, glowing tip. The woman gasped as the sudden light illuminated the man's features. These features creased with worry at the sight of the woman.

She appeared to be about forty. Her hair fell in lank clumps and looked as if it hadn't been washed in months. Grime covered her face, deep scars criss-crossing her cheeks and forehead. Beneath the dirt her eyes glowed a striking green-brown and her features were still slightly recognisable. She must have been very attractive when she was younger. Her clothes were tatty and ripped, stained with filth and what looked suspiciously like blood. Her other arm was hanging limp by her side, bandaged tightly.

The woman's face contorted in anger.

"How dare you!" she shouted. "How dare you come to me in that guise!" Her hand was trembling, the wand raised like a weapon. "Who sent you? Tell me, who?" Her voice was spitting with rage.

"I sent myself," the man said simply. He was looking at her face, trying to find something that he recognised there. "I want to help you," he continued.

"You fool. I would never fall for that. Even out here, I know that my godfather is dead."

"Am I?" the man chuckled. The woman was worried. If this man was a Death Eater, would he not have killed her by now, or at least disarmed her? But perhaps he was trying to gain her trust, to lure her into a false sense of security, before he destroyed her. Hadn't the letter stated very clearly that Albus was dead?

"If you are truly Albus Dumbledore, then you can tell me something only he would know about me."

The man looked out of the door, up at the sky; it was pale blue, sunlight filtering down.

Very simply he just said: "Oh look, an orange sky!"

He caught her just before she hit the ground, her hair sweeping up more dirt from the rough floor. With surprising strength for such an old looking man, he picked the slumped body up and laid her gently down outside. Banea and Taurus wandered over, looking slightly interested. Banea nudged the woman's foot.

"I'm sorry to bring such awful memories back," the man murmured, stroking her dirty hair from her face.

"They said you were dead," she whispered faintly from the floor.

"A mere inconvenience, my child," Dumbledore stated. "Besides, what good could I do for you dead?"

The woman seemed to find some energy then as she sprang to her feet, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"Five years, five years and not one visit. And then . . . and then you waltz in here, not even sending me an alarm, getting me all worried and thinking I'm being attacked by Death Eaters. Only one message in the last two years, delivered with the supplies, and all it said was that you were dead. How did you think I felt, did you even consider your own goddaughter?"

"Estelle, as you can imagine, I have been exceptionally busy . . ."

"Busy! Busy doing what?" Estelle interrupted.

"I didn't want to send an alarm in the event that – that . . . you were dead and Death Eaters were inhabiting this place. I didn't want to warn them of my approach."

This seemed to calm the woman down.

"You really liked my trees?" she pouted.

"An exceptional idea. I have to say the first one almost got me."

"I put them in last year, you know, just in case, but they scared away all the animals that the 'Griffs hadn't already."

"You need to be seen to. What happened to your arm?" Dumbledore said, concern clear in his voice.

"Oh, nothing, just a scrap with some big cat that decided to jump on me while I was out foraging."

"Does this occur often?"

"Not really, usually they're too scared. I don't know what got into this one; it was foaming at the mouth."

"Perhaps it may have been a Death eater's influence," Dumbledore commented absentmindedly.

"What! There are some hidden in the forest?"

"Oh yes, now that the War is over they're-"

"It's over? Completely? What about Voldemort?"

"Very dead, I assure you."

"And what about. . . What about him?" Estelle hesitated, looking down.

"In Azkaban and I really don't think he'll be escaping anytime soon," Dumbledore said this in a very off hand manner, yet Estelle couldn't take it in.

Seventeen years of being stuck in this green prison and it was all over. Just one sentence from an old man and the suffering ended. Surely that wasn't right, nothing worked like that. She couldn't go back anyway. It would all be different. She wouldn't know anyone. She wouldn't have a house, possessions or any money. And why wasn't she crying? Where were the tears of relief? It always happened in the films. But Estelle was just getting a panicky feeling in her chest. She couldn't go back. The hut needed clearing, she had to get more supplies . . . there wasn't time for going back; she had too much to do.

Feeling as though she would be engulfed by the panic, Estelle took an involuntary step back. Realising what she was thinking, Dumbledore, gathered her into his arms to comfort her.

"I can't go back," she wailed into his shoulder, sobs causing the words to slur and blur into each other. "I just can't. What will people think? I have nothing there! Nothing!"

Dumbledore did not speak, as if unsure whether or not to agree.

"And besides," Estelle continued her rant, stepping back from him and angrily wiping the tears from her cheeks, leaving smears of dirt. New tears quickly flowed down to replace the ones she had rubbed away. "I've wasted my life. And look at me! Look at my face. I can't go back like this."

The last few words were lost in her sobs, as she flung herself back at him, wrapping herself into Dumbledore's comforting arms once more.

Dumbledore stared at her contemplatively for a few moments, taking in the scars that marred her face, gifts from the forest she had made her home, before seeming to come to a decision.

"Yes," he said with a small smile, "Yes, we will have to find a way to remedy that."