Harry Potter and the Fortress of Woe

He is dead.

This short, ugly thought vibrated over and over in Harry’s mind, driving all other notions away. Nothing was as it had been just a month ago. Harry knew that change was the only constant, but why did things always change to worse? Dumbledore was dead, slain by a man he had foolishly trusted. Reality had hit Harry like a ton of bricks, as he had seen his mentor falling down the astronomy tower, his blue eyes broken and lifeless. In this moment he had realized that he was all on his own, that safety was just a nice lie we told ourselves each day until we bloody believed it ourselves. Of course he had known before that he would need to fight Voldemort one day, but he had never guessed that he would have to do it without Dumbledore’s guidance. He was not ready for god’s sake!

He was nowhere near being ready! He just was a nearly seventeen year old schoolboy, who had been incredibly lucky in the past. Sure, he had done some remarkable things in the past, okay, so he had been able to summon a corporal patronus at the age of thirteen, but this had not done him any good. He was a powerless as a newborn babe, unable to prevent any of the horrible events he had been forced to witness. Sirius had died in front of his very eyes, as had Dumbledore and Cedric. If he really was this Chosen One, shouldn’t he be able to blast the average Death Eater into oblivion in a heartbeat? Shouldn’t he receive a special training? Sifting through Voldemort’s past with Dumbledore in the past school year had been interesting, alright, but it had not done him any good.

Granted, he had learned about the Horcrux and had a vague idea what kind of items Voldemort would choose as soul containers, but he still did not know where to continue his search for the wicked magical devices. And even if he would stumble over one of them, Harry was sure that he would never been able to bypass the mass of protective enchantments Voldemort had surely cast on them.

Sighing, Harry stood up from the chair he was sitting on and started pacing in the room. He was standing in his dark bedroom, only illuminated by the full moon shining outside. The room was a mess. Spellbooks and scrolls of parchments were littered on the floor, along with some issues of The Daily Prophet and a stack of letters. Documents of a month filled with useless research.

Harry’s gaze fell on a stack of schoolbooks, right next to his bed, and his temper flared. Useless things! He had spent most of the month reading them, searching for anything giving him an upper edge in a confrontation with Voldemort. Of course he had not found anything; the knowledge he was searching for was hardly going to be ever published in any schoolbooks. Frustrated, Harry started to stuff the books back in his school trunk. However, he stopped as a certain book landed in his hands. His potion book. Potions. Snape!

White hot rage erupted in Harry, incinerating his whole being. With a howl of rage, he threw the book as hard as he could against the next wall, strangely satisfied as it hit the concrete wall with a dull thud. Snape had been a traitor all along! He had deceived Dumbledore, who had been to naïve to listen to the doubts about the ex-death Eaters loyalty Harry and others uttered. Snape had done what Draco Malfoy could not; he had murdered the helpless headmaster in cold blood. And Harry had been forced to watch everything! To make matters even worse, Harry had been powerless to capture the traitor in the aftermath of Dumbledore’s death. Every spell he had thrown at the greasy haired potion master had been blocked or even reflected! Snape had even dared to taunt him with his inability to deal damage! Harry had lost count how often he had killed Snape in his dreams during the last month, but his rage was all but diminished. He had vowed to himself on the night of his mentor’s death that he would avenge Dumbledore and send Snape and Voldemort straight to hell, even if it was the last thing he did.

But how on earth was he going to do this without any place to start? He either needed someone to train him or more potent books and both he was very unlikely to get. The Order had remained out of touch for the last month and the letters he traded with Ron and Hermione were uninformative at best. Of course they would not write anything about their planned quest in them, because of the possibility of the messages getting intercepted, but Harry could read between the lines that both of his friends still were eager to start their search. He kept playing along, but knew in his heart that they were only fooling themselves. They did not have any clue who on earth R.A.B. was and it was unlikely that they would stumble over the solution. If R.A.B. had been one especially important follower of Voldemort, then they would have already found out everything about him during the research they had done back at Hogwarts. Harry was sure that Hermione was doing some more inquiry one her own, like he was, but he doubted that she had been more lucky than him.

He had frequently considered sneaking into Diagon Alley to get his hands on more defence books and maybe to find something out about R.A.B. in an archive of older The Daily Prophet issues. However he had always dismissed this plan as soon as it had popped into his head. He knew that the house was still watched by the Order and he doubted that his guard would allow him to go shopping in the current situation of turmoil. Unwilling to upset his few allies, Harry had grudgingly remained put, waiting for the adults to sort it out like a good boy.

Only it did not appear as though the adults had any control in the moment. Dumbledore’s death had greatly shaken the Order, causing its efficiency to drop dramatically. Many of the Order’s informants and other contacts had been answering directly to the headmaster and only few were willing to continue their service under the changed circumstances. The ministry was trying to keep the populated parts of Wizarding Britain save, mostly concentration on Diagon Alley and the ministry. However, no one was left to defend the people in their own homes and consequently murders of muggleborns and their families, as well as of blood traitors were much too common these days. Often, houses were founded completely deserted, littered with evidence of a fight, but devoid of any bodies or inhabitants. Apparently Voldemort wanted these people captured before he killed him, but Harry and the rest of the Wizarding World could only guess, what for the dark wizard would need this great amount of captives.

Finally growing tired with his pacing, Harry sank down on his bed and ran a hand through his messy hair. It had grown too small for him this summer, a bed Dudley had used when he had been eleven not nearly long enough for his six feet frame. At this moment one of Uncle Vernon’s rumbling snores shook the house. At least the Dursleys were ignoring Harry this summer, clearly remembering Moody’s threat from last year. Maybe they were also intimidated by the thought of Harry coming of age this summer. Whatever the reasons were, Harry was totally fine with it. He doubted that he would be able to endure the constant quarrelling with his unloved relatives on top of the trouble he had in his world.

Sighing, he laid down on the mattress. He briefly contemplated going to sleep, but decided against it. His nights were everything but restful. Instead of granting him refreshing, dreamless sleep, his subconscious constantly plagued him with images of Dumbledore plunging to his death, of Sirius falling through the veil and of Cedric staring at him with cold, lifeless eyes. However the worst was when the scenes started to change. Suddenly, he saw Ron getting hit straight into the chest by Snape’s killing curse, watched Hermione flying through the veil and saw Ginny falling of the Astronomy tower. Ginny. Damn, he had managed not to think of her today.

Harry tried for a moment to fight down the thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, but it was completely impossible. It was the old story of the man, who had been promised to receive a pot of gold, if he did not think of a white horse for a day. Consequently the man had started to think of a white horse as soon as he had heard the promise. Ginny had been Harry’s white horse since he had broken things off with her after Dumbledore’s funeral. He knew that it had been the right thing, or at least that was what he told himself night after night. He just was unable to forget her.

Who could anyone forget her smile, which was mischievous, kind and seductive at the same time? Who could anyone forget the way her fiery hair glittered in the firelight? Was it possible not to realize how beautiful she was when you passed her in the corridors? Especially when she was angry about something and pouting in this delicious way, which makes you want to crush your lips against hers and … Stop it, you sound like some mushy romance novel writer! But it was too late. The image of Ginny’s full red lips had taken Harry down a road he had not at all wanted to go. His mind was travelling a mile a minute, down into dark fantasies, which would cause Ron to skin him alive if he ever found out about them.

Sighing, Harry rose again from his bed, invigorated by the strange cocktail of fear, loneliness, depression, frustration, desperation, longing and arousal he was feeling. He knew he was very close to finally cracking up; the strain the war was putting on him taking his toll. He really needed to get out of this blasted house and to do something useful. Harry’s gaze travelled to the window and settled on the full moon outside. A shiver ran down his spine. Full moon. Remus Lupin was a werewolf right now, possibly running undercover with his darker kin listening to Voldemort’s beck and call. A frightening thought.

Truth be told, Harry was terrified at the thought of coming face to face with Voldemort again. The dark wizard had caused Dumbledore’s death and the headmaster had been the only person Harry had really considered unbreakable. No matter in how much trouble he had been, Dumbledore had always been there either to get him out at the right moment or to pick up the pieces after everything was done. He had been Harry’s guarding angel, his helper in the most desperate situations. And now he was gone and Harry was all alone in a hostile world.

It scared him out of his mind, but it also fuelled his determination to make Voldemort pay for everything he had done. His mentor’s death had only been the finally straw; he had meant it when he had told Dumbledore that he wanted to be the one finishing Riddle. The dark wizared had destroyed Harry’s every chance of a normal life, in a normal, caring family. He had taken away from him the only link to his parents; a person Harry had considered a mixture between brother and father. He had made Harry watch his mentor tumbling down the astronomy tower and he had made Harry terminate his relationship with Ginny, the best thing that had ever happened to him in his short life.

He had meant every word of it, when he had told Ginny that the brief two weeks they had been together had been like something out of someone else’s life. What he had not told her was why he thought so. It had been too good to be true. In his life there almost always was a catch when something great happened to him. Sirius offers him to live with him, but before this has any chance of happening the tables turn and Harry finds himself in a worse situation than before, knowing what could have been, but unable to change anything. Yeah, he had been forced to play the old “what if” game much too often in his life and he should have know that his relationship was doomed from the start. He did not know if it was fate or just a life load of bad luck, but it annoyed him to no end.

Frustration and anger hit him so hard that he had to use every ounce of his will power not to bash in the window in front of him, just to have an outlet. He knew that he would only feel worse afterwards and maybe would get into serious trouble with the Dursleys. He really needed to get out of this bloody house! Well, he would be seventeen tomorrow and would have kept his promise to stay at the Dursleys as long as possible. He would leave for the burrow as soon as he had turned seventeen, unless he received more detailed information from Ron or the Order. Harry knew that Bill’s and Fleur’s wedding was going to be soon and therefore he strongly suspected that the Order’s momentary operation centre was the slightly ruinous building in Ottery St. Catchpole. The wedding was going to be another baptism of fire. Ginny had not written a single letter to him in the summer and he had the distinct impression that she was up for something. Knowing how stubborn this girl could be, he had made a mental note to expect everything during his stay at the Weasley’s.

He told himself that he would fix things between Ginny and him as soon as everything was over. When everything was over, how often had he thought this thought during the summer? He had lost count. When he had lain awake at night, in no hurry to meet his countless nightmares once again, Harry had carefully planned his life after Voldemorts defeat. He had designed thousands of variations, but one thing was constant in all of them. He would always be happily married with Ginny and would have lots of kids. God, he was such a cliché, but he could not help it. Well, probably he would not have to worry about becoming or being a cliché. Maybe his life would end as a splattered mass of gore on the ground, with Voldemort triumphing face sneering over him.

Before Harry could follow these dark thoughts any further, a white shadow flew through his open window. Hedwig! Harry walked over to his loyal snow owl, and discovered that she was carrying a letter in her beak. He supplied her with some owl treats, before taking the letter and ripping it open, recognizing Ron’s messy scrawl immediately.

Hey mate,

I thought I would give you your birthday present a bit earlier. Tonks gave Hedwig the letter, as she was guarding you today, just to make sure that it did not get intercepted. Anyway, Bill’s and Fleur’s wedding will be in five days and mum is going absolutely berserk. Prepare to hear nothing else than wedding talk all day long and to be ridiculously busy with the whole thing. She’s going around the twist if you ask me.

Still, you are heartily invited to join us in this madness. There is a portkey enclosed in this envelop, which is going to bring you right to the burrow. It will be activated as soon as you turn seventeen. Don’t try to apparate unless you want to get blasted in a thousand pieces! Oh, and we still have to talk about you-know-what, we should have a plan before pulling this through. Hermione is here and she’s driving me nuts as usual.

Hoping to see you soon

Ron

Harry turned the envelope upside down and watched an old scrap of parchment flying out of it. He carefully hid the portkey under the loose board in the floor and finally went to sleep; hoping despite hope that this summer could get any better.