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Author: Myth & Legend Story: The Shadows Of Silence Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 5 Words: 113,891
"Always here, never far, Now I don't know where they are. Tombstone cold, words unsaid, It's all your fault that they are dead." "Words Unguided" ~Ms Brown Over the first few weeks of term Harry grew used to the comforting, emotive voice of Remus Lupin, going through all manner of topics in relation to Harry's education. It had been agreed that a professional demeanour would have to remain intact for any serious learning to be done, and the old title of "Professor" had been easily reinstated. Dumbledore would occasionally stay in his office whilst the lessons were going on, giving silent encouragement when spells went astray or taking an active interest in the lesson. Harry had grown accustomed to the scents and sounds of the room. There was the constant smoke of the fire and the hot feather duster smell of Fawkes. Something on the mantelpiece made a gentle, rhythmical hum, and the murmurs of the portraits came in a comforting tide. Mistress Drew would attend once a week, sometimes just to watch, other times to lend a helping hand in practical sessions. Although his trust in the woman was not fully restored, he couldn't help but appreciate her presence. Her manner was often blunt and to the point. ‘Since you can't see a damn thing, Mr Potter, your safest bet is a total shield, a sphere which encompasses your entire body and can be extended to a radius of over seven miles across. Remember, as it increases in size it decreases in strength.' Today it was Professor McGonagall's turn, and Harry could hear her purring a welcome from where she sat stiffly in her feline form. He sat down opposite and inclined his head, resisting the urge to tickle her behind the ears. He heard the familiar rush of her transformation, and her gentle Scottish brogue reached his ears. ‘As I am sure you've discovered by now, Mr Potter, your fellow classmates have begun to study the advanced Transfiguration skills that are required to animage. I stress this at the beginning of every year—the ability is not available to everyone. It's not fully known why some people can animage and others cannot. Some wizards claim it is genetic, and true enough, those students whose parents are capable find it easier themselves, but a great deal of Muggle-born students manage it. I personally believe it is merely a matter of skill.' He heard her rise and pace around the room, as though restless. ‘Many children often experience something unusual within their childhood. Your father, for example, is known to have said that sometimes he felt that his head was very heavy. Once he – illegally – learnt to animage, he related it to the antlers of his stag form. I myself used to think I had a tail when I was younger. A few students have no strange sensations until the day they change, when it is usually out of fright or self-defence. I prefer the transformation not to happen in this way because the student doesn't know how to turn back. About one in a thousand children will change very gradually. They will notice little differences, some that stay and others that will fade in a few seconds. Change in skin colour is the most common of these signs. Have you ever had anything like this Mr Potter?' Harry thought back throughout his childhood and shook his head. ‘I don't think so.' He could just imagine his aunt's horror if his skin had changed colour. ‘Then we shall start with the basics…' Harry had been listening intently for over an hour, answering the Professor's questions when she asked, and silently wishing that he could take notes so he would remember it all. They were interrupted by a knock on the door, before it creaked open on its hinges. ‘Professor McGonagall, I'm afraid the Headmaster needs to speak with you, it's urgent.' Professor Lupin's voice was low and grave, as though he had received a shock of some kind. ‘Could it not wait until after the lesson?' ‘No I'm afraid not, all other students' lessons have been cancelled. Harry, I think it would be a good idea to return to the common room.' ‘What's going on?' For a moment Harry thought he would receive no reply, but Professor Lupin drew a heavy breath. ‘Voldemort has attacked a number of households throughout the country. Some are related to the students at the school. There were a number of fatalities.' McGonagall's gasp was a faint rush of indrawn air, but Harry barely registered it. Cold waves of dread were washing over him as he thought of Hermione. Had her very worst fears come true, had she been targeted simply because she was his friend? His mind was whirling as he hurried back towards the common room, occasionally tripping and stumbling as obstacles impeded his path. He bumped into someone's shoulder. They were sobbing hard into their hands and he reached out, apologising profusely. There was silence for a moment, and through the tears a small voice said, ‘It's okay.' As he carried on he thought he heard an older voice say, ‘Maybe he doesn't know yet,' before he hurried away. The Fat Lady was wide open, and he could hear a thick silence within. Someone was crying gently and he heard the rasp of a tissue being pulled from a box as he climbed into the common room. ‘So you heard, then?' Ron asked. ‘Professor Lupin told me, who was it?' ‘A lot of us,' a tight voice said from beside the fire. Harry identified it as Seamus and winced, thinking of the boy's Muggle father and witch mother. ‘Me mam's fine and so's me dad, we got off easy.' ‘The Creeveys are with Professor Dumbledore now, and so is Dean, I – I don't know what's happened,' Hermione mumbled as Harry took a seat between Ron and a slimmer, more feminine figure he assumed was Ginny. ‘Are your parents all right?' Hermione huffed out a sigh of relief and Harry thought he heard her make a movement. She seemed to remember herself and said, ‘Yes, they're fine. Our house has been watched for so long now; but Lavender's parents have been injured, and so have Kirke's.' ‘I know my Dad's in St Mungo's. They were after my mum,' Kirke said grimly. ‘Dad wouldn't let them.' ‘I ought to get going,' Lavender's voice was watery and tight, ‘I have to get to the hospital. I have no idea how bad it is.' As she rose Harry thought she paused beside him, as though there was something she were desperate to say. ‘This is all your fault, Harry, I wish I'd never even set my eyes on you!' ‘Lavender, that's not true,' Ron said gently, ‘if you're going to blame anyone, blame You-Know-Who.' Her only reply was a sniff as she turned to follow Kirke from the common room, slamming the portrait hole behind her and leaving the atmosphere dark with despair. ‘I can't believe this happened,' Ginny mumbled quietly, her slim figure pressing closer against Harry's arm, as though she was seeking comfort from his vital warmth. Harry hadn't really spoken to her since she'd stormed away from him in the library, but she sounded so confused and hurt that he wished there was something he could do. There was the rustle of paper as the Daily Prophet was dragged off the table. ‘Do you want me to read it to you Harry?' Neville asked. ‘That is, if no one else minds hearing it again, it's just he hasn't got the whole story.' ‘Please, Neville.' The boy cleared his throat, and with his voice no more than a low mumble, began to read out the article. ‘In the early hours of this morning, the image of the Dark Mark appeared over the sites of the first major Death Eater attacks in over fifteen years. The emerald skull with its serpentine tongue was ignited over twenty-seven households across the country. Despite the rapid response of the Ministry to the alarms, more than forty people were found dead at the scenes. Their bodies bore no mark of violence, and it is assumed that the notorious "Killing Curse" was the cause of murder Also killed were two Aurors who arrived just as seven robed and masked figures were leaving one of the locations. The house was left demolished and the bodies lying where they fell. In these dark times, it seems that this is just the beginning of a potential string of attacks. Despite being ridiculed for its denials and its failure to respond to the threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Ministry has ensured the nation that it will be doing its best to get to the bottom of these crimes. However, critics say that the Ministry must first face the problem of Azkaban's missing guards before it can hope to incarcerate and give trial to these felonious murderers.' Harry swore quietly. ‘Does it say where the attacks were?' ‘Nationwide—it's too early for them to be giving any specific information,' Hermione said quietly. ‘The thing is,' Seamus said quietly, his voice cracking slightly, ‘this is just the beginning, isn't it? I mean, what if they start attacking wizarding families? What if next week it's you up there with Dumbledore, Ron, or Neville? Everyone's trying to pretend it's not happening and it is.' ‘People won't be able to pretend anymore, Seamus, and at least I know my mum and dad can defend themselves. Although,' Ron's voice lowered to a mumble, ‘I don't know how long they'd last against You-Know-Who. It's the Muggles I feel sorry for, they don't even know who it is, or why they're being attacked.' There was the gentle creak of the portrait hole being pushed open and Harry could hear shuffling footsteps before Dean's voice said, ‘They're dead.' For a moment there were no words to say; everybody just sat there in silence as the horror unfurled. Dennis was crying quietly and Harry heard Colin lead him quietly up to the dormitory. There were no tears from Dean, just a kind of ragged breathing and the quiet chattering of his teeth as he was plunged into shock. ‘I don't know why; they never did anything to him, why attack them? I mean with Hermione or Ron, I could understand the motive, but why me?' ‘I don't know,' Harry said quietly. ‘It's in all four houses, isn't it? Even Slytherin.' ‘Doesn't make it any better though,' Dean's voice wobbled a bit and Harry closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he didn't feel so bloody helpless. There was a gentle hoot from the window and the clattering of talons against glass. The sofa moved as Hermione stood up to let the bird in and retrieved her delivery before the owl swooped off once more. ‘The evening edition, it's been released five hours early because of the massacre,' she informed them, unfolding the pages and beginning to read. After a few seconds, Harry thought he could hear her hands shaking, for the pages were whispering against one another. ‘What's wrong?' Harry wanted to know. ‘Nothing,' Hermione responded quickly, but he heard the paper change hands and Ron made a sound halfway between fear and shock. ‘What is it?' ‘Harry?' Mistress Drew's voice was gentle, almost sisterly in the silence. ‘Can you come to the Headmaster's office please?' For a minute Harry just scowled before swearing and rising to his feet, feeling his way towards where the Professor stood, holding the portrait hole open. She walked in silence next to him, her pace slow and measured as she let him walk. He knew what was coming. He was dreading it in every fibre of his being because he wouldn't know how to react. He would bet every Galleon in his bank account that one of the locations had been named, and it was in Surrey. ‘It's the Dursleys, isn't it?' A few more solid footsteps marked their progress before the woman responded. ‘I don't really know, the Headmaster simply asked for your presence.' ‘I'm surprised he has time for me, there must be a lot of people who need to be told bad news.' ‘About three or four in each house, I think.' Mistress Drew's voice was heavy with sorrow and hatred, as though she herself had been told something that was hard to swallow. ‘No one knows where he'll strike next; I think in some ways that's the worst part, waiting and dreading that next time it's going to be you who's told your family are dead.' ‘I was told that a long time ago.' The moving staircase was grinding away to itself as the stairs rose from the ground and made their way upwards. The door was already slightly open and Harry could hear voices arguing from within. Mistress Drew went in first and the shouting stopped. There was the sound of clothing being straightened, as though someone had been thoroughly dishevelled by a fight of some kind, before Harry was urged inside. ‘Miss Tonks, Mr Shacklebolt, I would appreciate it if you followed Mistress Drew and waited outside. I must talk to Harry alone for a while.' Their footsteps trooped outside and the door shut behind them with a leaden boom as Harry sat in front of the Headmaster's desk. He felt a set of talons grip his knee and reached out gently to stroke Fawkes' head. The bird trilled softly and sidled up and down before coming to rest and listening to Dumbledore's words. ‘Do you know why you are here, Harry?' ‘He got the Dursleys, didn't he?' Dumbledore sighed, and for a moment, the man sounded truly old, as though he had seen far too much. ‘I had hoped that you would hear it from me first, rather than the papers.' ‘I have heard it from you first, Sir. I just assumed that, well, it seemed inevitable.' ‘It shouldn't have been. The Dursleys were well protected. There were wards all around the house, and they knew what to do if something went wrong. It seems that either they were too stubborn in their refusal to acknowledge the magical, or the Death Eaters were too quick.' ‘Dudley?' ‘Died with his parents, Harry.' He bowed his head, not sure what to think. He'd never liked them; they'd been cruel and unkind, often in the most devious of ways, but whilst he may have wished for some form of retribution, he had never truly wanted them dead. ‘Was it quick?' ‘I believe so. Alas, there were more than just the Dursleys who suffered. Little Whinging was one of the worst hit areas. The whole street was attacked, not a house was left standing.' Harry felt a pang of something in his chest. The Dursleys he could cope with; the grief was minimal compared to Sirius' death, but the whole street? They might have been dreadfully snobbish at times, and too proud of what little they had, but they had never done anything to deserve such a fate. ‘The Cerebrals weren't with them,' Dumbledore said quietly, his voice dragging Harry's thoughts back to the office. ‘There was no sign of any unknown magic. Either Voldemort is hiding it from us or…' the Headmaster trailed off, and he sighed, his hand rasping against his beard as he paused. ‘I apologise, Harry, whilst I am well aware that you did not take kindly to the Dursleys, I know the events of today must come as a shock. Please, go and have some time to yourself, time to settle your mind. My concerns can be discussed another day.' Harry left the office feeling numb and confused. He passed other people blindly, almost falling down the stairs in his preoccupied state. He didn't know what to feel. All around him people were mourning the loss of their families. There were tears and sobs echoing around. He could hear the scattered people huddling in groups, trying to find solace in the embrace of their friends. He turned away from them all and walked in a straight line. The armour clanked on either side of his as the helmets turned slowly, watching his distracted progress. He didn't know what had hurt him more – Lavender's words of blame, or the news that a whole street had been annihilated because of him. It was his fault, she was right, but it was something he was helpless against. Wherever he went and whatever he did, Voldemort would always be one step behind, killing all those in his wake. If he'd known that the Dark Lord would return almost as soon as he, Harry, entered the wizarding world… He shook his head—if he'd known before he got here he wouldn't have believed it, and in the darkness of the night he would have been frightened. For God's sake, he was frightened now. Terrified that one day he'd wake up to find everyone had died, that everyone had gone to a better place and left him to deal with Voldemort. He was scared of more loss. His parents had been hard to swallow, he'd noticed since he was very young that there was something he had lacked, but it had always been missing from his life. Sirius had been almost impossible to believe, and still was. It was a pain that would never fade. But through everything, the Dursleys had been the only constant. They were an unkind and dismal constant, but there nonetheless. They had been a safety net to return to, and now it had been removed. It was, he realised, his last connection with the Muggle world he'd grown up in, and now it was gone. He cleared his throat as it tightened with tears and stopped walking. Others had lost more than him. They were blinded by their tears and broken by their grief, and here he was feeling sorry for himself. At least it hadn't been Ron or Hermione. He couldn't have stood there and accepted that. He could never stand their tears. It was true, he'd give his life for either of them, just as he knew he'd step in the line of a curse for the Headmaster or Professor Lupin. It wasn't much of a family, and there was no blood between them, but even Harry could acknowledge that some bonds were stronger than those of relation. His feet worked their way back to the common room, passing by small huddles of people. He caught snatches of conversation, gentle words meant to soothe, but that only seemed to deepen the grief. Some of the first years, only children really, were orphans tonight. So many people's lives had been changed, and all by one man. No, Harry corrected himself, not a man, a monster. The Fat Lady didn't even ask for a password as he reached the portrait hole. He opened it and stepped inside, frowning in confusion as the gentle, quiet chatter died away. Someone took his hand. He thought it was Ginny, but he wasn't sure until she asked if he was all right. ‘We knew about what had happened, it's in the paper. We just didn't think we should be the ones to tell you.' ‘I'm okay, at least I'm better off than other people. Is Dean here?' ‘Yeah,' a cracked voice said from by the fire. ‘I'm sorry.' The apology seemed loud in the quiet air, but Dean gave a little, mirthless laugh. ‘It's not your fault, Harry, and anyone who blames you is just hurt too much to see it, that's all. You didn't wield the wand or say the curse. Don't blame yourself.' But as he sat down amongst his friends, he couldn't help but wonder if he had done what Dean had denied. He'd waved the wand, back in the first year, and accepted the wizarding world with open arms. Now he was trapped in a war zone, and there was nothing left for him to return to.
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