Chapter- 19 : Desperation Part - 1
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"No!"
Harry awoke with a cry and sat up straight in bed, his skin pale and clammy, making the crisscross patches of scar tissue on his chest stand out in clear red lines. With a shaking hand he reached for the glasses on his bedside table.
A cocoon of sheets tangled his feet, restricting his range of motion and he let out a frustrated growl when the bedside table was further away than expected and his reach fell short by a foot. Cursing, he kicked his feet to force himself free from the blankets. Dreaming about Voldemort coming back to life and killing all of his friends had always made him grumpy and today was no exception.
The nightmare had been a frequent one since the war ended. Not having a psychopathic megalomaniac hell-bent on ending his life had been a momentous change and surprisingly hard to accept and get used to.
He'd driven the grieving Weasley family spare with his lack of sleep and resulting temper, especially when things with Ginny hadn't exactly worked themselves out. Only after Hermione had bodily dragged him out of the Burrow and informed him he would be staying with her parents had things gotten better. Partly because Dan and Emma Granger were bloody saints and not affected by his outbursts, but more so because they were good listeners and had been able to help him accept that Voldemort was dead and he was never coming back.
Cue trans-dimensional vortex in their living room.
Swiping a few beads of sweat off his brow with the back of his hand Harry wandered to the living room and sank down in a chair in front of the fireplace. Playing with his new wand he lightly and wordlessly summoned and banished the still-glowing embers, jerking them around and breathing life into the fire. It didn't take long for flames to crackle merrily in the gloom of early morning.
Mission accomplished, Harry hunched over and brooded.
The dream was familiar, with torture and death at the hand of Snakeface's wand, except that tonight his friends and family had stood by and watched. More, they had egged the bastard on, smiling maliciously all the while.
He did not have to live in the Divination tower to interpret that little detail.
Warily Harry looked around in the dark corners and the moving shadows to make sure Voldemort wouldn't come strolling in right this minute, dressed evil-chic and acting casual before suddenly bombarding him with curses. Really, it was about what he expected of his life thus far.
His gaze travelled over the bundle of creepy lethifold-like bedhangings he had ripped from the ceiling days ago and in a sudden bout of anger he snarled and swept his wand to banish the whole thing into the fire. Breathing heavily he watched the flames lick and catch, eventually engulfing them.
The victory against the crime against bedroom decorations everywhere made him feel a little better and he watched the foul thing burn with a small smirk on his face.
A hoot interrupted his gloating and Harry swept his head around, his body suddenly tense and alert for any kind of danger.
Sitting on the windowsill was a large tawny owl, its brown feathers speckled with white. Tied to one leg was a thick envelope bearing the crest of the Ministry of Magic.
Finally!
Harry jumped from his seat and raced towards the owl. With a bloodthirsty grin he untied the envelope and ripped apart the seal in his eagerness to get at the contents.
This is what he had been waiting for, why he had all but sequestered himself away in his tower the past two days. He'd see the blasted Order in Azkaban, exactly as they deserved.
As his eyes flew over the page his smile faltered.
Dear Mr. White,
In response to your missive of June 27th of this year Aurors Jones and Shacklebolt investigated your suspicion of the execution of a Dark Ritual at Hogwarts School for Whichcraft and Wizardry. The Auror Office is delighted to be able to lay to rest your concerns: no evidence was found of any Dark Arts activity.
Sincerely,
Gwyneth Throckmorton
Night Shift Secretary
Auror Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry's left eyelid twitched. He opened his mouth but the words seemed locked in his throat, the tense muscles in his neck keeping them from exploding out. Instead, the parchment spontaneously combusted in his hands and crumbled to ash on the carpet, leaving a dark stain.
Sharp twinges of his singed fingers finally broke through his composure and Harry spewed a litany of curses as he shook his hands to relieve some of the stinging.
Aurors Jones and Shacklebolt.
Sodding Order members had intercepted his owl. Not in time to prevent an Auror investigation but early enough to get themselves assigned to it and sweep it under the rug.
Harry paced from the open window, past the trap door in the floor to the shelves filled with crystal balls, many of which he had exploded and repaired the past few days and he resisted the urge to vent by doing so again.
There was more than one way to skin a kneazle. In this case he would just need a bigger knife; go over the traitorous Aurors' heads.
Who was the Head Auror, anyway? Surely interfering in an Auror investigation was a crime in itself, they were just digging their own graves here.
A quick perusal of an old newspaper made him wrinkle his nose. Scrimgeour was not exactly what he had in mind when thinking about the Aurors' boss reigning hell and damnation down on Dumbledore and his Order. Despite his lion-like appearance the man had proven to be a petty politician with no desire whatsoever to do the right thing unless it got him what he wanted.
No, he needed someone else. Someone honest. Someone who-
His eyes fell on another name, buried in the Daily Prophet's back pages and he stilled.
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If you're eager to delve deeper into the story, consider joining my Patreon for exclusive content and early access to new chapters
50+Advanced Chapters there.
(P).(A).(T).(R).(E).(O).(N)
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