Into The Long Dark

DISCLAIMER: The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story.

SPOILER WARNING: The events in this fic take place immediately after Book 6.

Thanks to Evil Auntie Snape for being my Beta and my friend!


Saturday, 9 August, 1997

~~~~~TWO~~~~~~~~~\"UN VITO INFUSCO\"~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry Potter slumped down on the dusty old crate, his wand slack in his hand. He was exhausted from his attempts to probe Malfoy\'s mind. He had gotten much better at Legilimency over the summer, especially after his birthday, but he still found the experience quite draining. He had expended a lot of energy by throwing The Cruciatus, twice, and then the healing charm, and this latest attempt to glean information from Draco had set his head spinning. Harry sat on the crate, his vision slowly clearing as he stared into the cell at the now unconscious Slytherin. He would have to remember to obliviate Draco\'s memory of this whole affair.

Let\'s hope I don\'t wipe his entire memory. The thought of Draco and Lockhart sharing a ward at St. Mungo\'s made Harry chuckle.

Taking a few deep breaths, Harry reflected on recent events. It was amazing so much had transpired since that awful night on The Astronomy Tower. Since the funeral, it had been rough for him. Rough for everyone all around, to be sure. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control, as if the death of Dumbledore had set chaos in motion. But nabbing Draco would help turn the tide. It was a wild stroke of luck, and Harry intended to exploit it as much as possible. Besides, he thought, It\'s only for a day or two more. Draco will have softened up sufficiently for his purpose, and then he\'d be gone.

Sirius\' will had left Number 12 Grimmauld Place to Harry. Remus was to receive the balance of Sirius\' bank account at Gringott\'s. Unfortunately, the surviving members of the Black family, namely Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, had somehow managed to gain access to the vault over the years while Sirius was in Azkaban. Bill Weasley had investigated the situation at Gringott\'s, but unsurprisingly, all transaction records had been \'lost\'. There was only a small pile of galleons waiting for Remus to claim, but to the impoverished werewolf, it was more than enough to make a fresh start. Remus had been extremely grateful when Harry had told the werewolf to consider Grimmauld Place his home as well. Harry was sure that his godfather would have wanted it that way.

Harry had taken up permanent residence at Number 12, only returning to the Dursleys just long enough to collect what few belongings he had there. It was just after Dumbledore\'s funeral, and it amazed Harry how his Uncle Vernon & Aunt Petunia kept out of his way. While his Uncle simply ignored him, Harry was certain he caught his Aunt actually shedding a few meager tears as he carried his single box of possessions out the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive.

Assuming that his Aunt was simply upset that she was losing her summer gardener, landscaper, cook, and servant, Harry was somewhat surprised when she pressed a sealed envelope into the pocket of his jacket just before he Apparated back to The Leaky Cauldron. Much later, he had examined the envelope, which was a putrid pink hue and adorned with very fat, ugly cherubs that reminded Harry of Dudley. His Aunt had inscribed only the word \"Harry\" on it in her tight, spare handwriting. Harry still hadn\'t opened the envelope. It was buried in the bottom of his trunk upstairs.

His head very nearly cleared, Harry watched as Draco shifted his position slightly, a faint moan escaping his lips. Sighing, Harry ran his fingers tiredly through his now shoulder-length hair. How many times had someone commented on how much he now resembled a young Sirius? He could still envision the look on Remus\' face the first time Harry had pulled up alone on Sirius\' motorcycle. The emotions that played across the werewolf\'s face ran from surprise, to confusion, to joy, to sorrow in a matter of seconds. They had found the old cycle under a tarp in the pixie-infested garden shed. Remus had taught Harry how to ride. The two of them had spent a few days that summer zooming around the countryside on the old motorbike. Those were the days Harry wanted desperately to remember.

They had become quite close over the last few weeks, with Remus filling Harry with stories and tall tales of Sirius, his father and mother, and the Marauders. His former instructor was now the only link to his parents and godfather. And the werewolf was so very gentle and oftentimes a bit sad when talking about the past, especially Sirius. Remus had never said it straight out, but Harry suspected that he and Sirius were much closer than best friends. He couldn\'t understand how he had been so blind--it was right there in front of him.

Just like me, he thought.

Now Remus was off meeting with some of the werewolf clans, attempting to enlist their aid against the Dark Lord. Harry didn\'t know exactly where Remus had gone, he had been away for more than a week, and Harry had no idea when he\'d be back. He found that he missed his former professor terribly, more so than he would have thought. Harry couldn\'t wait for Remus to return. It would be good to hit the road again on the old Indian cycle. Harry longed to wrap his arms around the werewolf, the wind whipping by them as they rocketed down the road. He loved those rides.

There had actually been a birthday party for Harry when he turned seventeen. It was for Neville as well, since their birthdays were so close. Molly had outdone herself, producing a spread of food fit for an army of giants. The kitchen had been decorated with balloons and streamers, and even Kreacher sported a birthday hat. Harry couldn\'t decide if the colorful hat perched on the head of the turnip-nosed elf was hilarious or scary.

Arthur hadn\'t been able to attend, and only Ron, Fred, George, Hermione and Remus had been there. Tonks dropped in for a bit, as did Moody. There were presents, and Harry dutifully opened them with all the relish he could muster. Neville enjoyed himself immensely, since his previous birthday parties had apparently been rather dull in comparison. \"Gran always said she preferred a more dignified sort of thing,\" he stated, more to his plate than anyone in particular.

The party broke up quickly, with the guests stepping into the hearth one by one and disappearing with a flash of green. Molly nearly hugged Neville unconscious before leaving. Mum\'s adopted another one, Harry thought wryly. Ron and Hermione were the last to leave. Hermione hugged both Harry and Neville and mouthed the words \"Be Careful!\" pointedly at Harry.

Ron clapped Neville heartily on the shoulder, and then became confused as to whether to hug Harry or just shake his hand. The result was Ron pumping Harry\'s hand vigorously. \"Take care, mate. See you in a couple of days.\" Then, the handshake over, both boys stood awkwardly for a brief moment, and then Ron moved toward Harry too quickly, bumping his head against Harry\'s while attempting some kind of quasi-hug. Then Ron pulled away and stepped into the hearth. Harry spied a rather bemused expression on the werewolf\'s face. Yeah, he\'s sorted it out, he thought, rubbing his aching forehead absently. Remus had left the following morning.

Finally feeling like himself again, Harry stood up, and verified that the cell door was locked and properly warded. Draco had starting moaning rather loudly, and Harry smiled as he charmed out the torches, trudging up the steps with a weary satisfaction. The hoarse noises stopped completely when the cellar door creaked shut, thanks to the Silencing Charm. Since the old Black house was still the headquarters for The Order, it wouldn\'t do at all to have Draco\'s moaning and wailing wafting up through the floorboards.

Heading down the hall, Harry started as a doxie bounced off of his boots, careened into the baseboard, and continued scurrying dazedly up the hall, finally disappearing into the parlor. Bloody pests! There always seem to more of them! He made a mental note to remind Kreacher about the doxies. Again. A lot of good that\'ll do, Harry mused, shaking his head.

As he walked into the kitchen, Neville was apparently attempting to cook something on the new muggle stove Harry had recently acquired. After all those years cooking for the Dursleys, Harry\'s kitchen skills were quite respectable, and he found that he actually enjoyed it. Harry had stumbled across the new shop in Diagon Alley, Muggle Madness, which featured a wide array of muggle items. The shop catered to the large number of witches and wizards like Harry that had grown up in a non-magical environment. He had dropped an obscene amount of galleons in the establishment, sending the manager into a subservient frenzy. Harry was able to carry all of his purchases back to Grimmauld in a small sack, engorging them back to their normal size once home.

Molly had nearly hyperventilated when she discovered the modernizations for the first time. \"Wot you need all this Muggle nonsense for?\" She was even more disturbed with the muggle boombox Harry had acquired. Fred and George had instructed him on how to charm it to operate at Grimmauld Place. Harry had all but grown up a Muggle, and everything else aside, Dudley had had good taste in music.

Now Harry found that he really enjoyed listening to the new muggle music that was out there, and had compiled a rather large compact disc collection. Molly tutted loudly on each visit, suggesting more appropriate artists for Harry to listen to. Even the Weird Sisters were too intense for Molly; some of Harry\'s new favorites made them sound downright mellow.

If Harry hadn\'t been perusing the racks in his favorite muggle music shop, he never would have seen Malfoy last night. Bloody Brilliant, he thought.

Neville was hunched over the new stove, apparently having a time of it, as the smell billowing across the room reminded Harry of a Potions class gone awry.

\"Um, what is that, there, The Potion Of Death?\"

Neville whirled around quickly, and in the doing, knocked the smoking pot and its contents onto the floor.

\"Harry! I didn\'t hear you come in! Damn! Sorry!\"

Beads of sweat had popped out across Neville\'s forehead, and splashes of whatever it was he was concocting dotted his t-shirt. \"I was trying that Chili recipe you said you liked, but I botched it somehow,\" he said quietly, covering his mouth with a large pink potholder.

\"I was never good at Potions,\" he added, as if that explained everything,

Trying very hard not to smile, Harry flicked his wand and cleaned up the mess, the pot, and his friend\'s shirt. Neville\'s eyes went wide with amazement.

\"Wow, you can do that non-verbally? That\'s great, Harry!\"

\"Yeah, great. Now I can clean a Death Eater before he knows what\'s going on.\"

\"You know what I mean!\" Neville huffed. \"It\'s great that you can do it at all. It\'s only a matter of time before you can do it with the more complex spells. That\'s what I meant.\"

Harry put out a hand and clamped it to Neville\'s shoulder. \"Sorry. I know what you meant. Rough day, yeah?\" He gave Neville\'s shoulder a little squeeze.

Neville\'s face brightened, and he flushed the palest pink in his cheeks. \"It\'s all right. I know you\'ve had a rough one.\"

Harry returned his friend\'s smile. \"Thanks, Nev. You know, chili is hardly a potion,\" he said. \"Part of the fun of cooking yourself is putting your own spin on the ingredients. I\'m sure you\'ll get it. Nice potholder, too, mate.\"

Neville actually blushed, but smiled, quickly adding \"It\'s Molly\'s!\" He tossed the potholder onto the counter as if it were on fire.

The smile quickly faded from Harry\'s face as he watched his friend make up some sandwiches. It hadn\'t been a good summer for Neville, either. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had taken to going after any of those who participated in the incidents at the Ministry of Magic last year, including their families. Luna Lovegood\'s father was seriously injured in two attacks, and had taken to publishing The Quibbler from a secret location. The Weasleys had reluctantly decided to abandon The Burrow. Molly had rationalized that it was far too big for her and Arthur anyway, with most of the kids gone. Arthur had apparently decided there was too much upkeep on the property, not to mention that the gnomes had all but taken over the garden. Harry knew better. It simply made sense to move the Weasley household to a new, hopefully secret location, unplottable like Grimmauld Place. He was sure The Ministry had something to do with the move as well.

Neville\'s Gran hadn\'t been so lucky. In her younger years, Augusta Longbottom had been a most formidable witch. Harry had met her a few times, and her handshake was like a vise. Aside from her rather disturbing taste in hatwear, Harry liked her well enough, even though she was a bit rough on Neville at times. Augusta certainly didn\'t deserve to be poisoned with her morning tea. Strange, how her elderly house elf had confessed to accidentally switching the sugar with poison.

At least it was quick, Harry thought. And not very imaginative, eh, Tom? Running out of ideas?

Now Neville was also on his own, and like Harry, he had a sizable inheritance to fall back on. Having seen his Gran\'s equally disturbing taste in decorating, he could understand why Neville preferred the shouting picture of Mrs. Black and Grimmauld Place. And that was fine by Harry. It was a big house, and with Remus gone, he welcomed Neville\'s company.

Except for the party or meetings, they hadn\'t seen much of Ron or the other Weasleys lately, owing to their moving out of the Burrow. In addition, Bill was still recovering from the werewolf attack. Even though Madame Pomfrey had assured them that the chances were slim that Bill had been infected with the Lycanthropy Curse, it had been only two months, and no one was sure if Bill was spared or if he would indeed begin to change. Even Remus had been unable to find another case like Bill\'s. So in a word, the Weasleys had their hands full.

Hermione was spending time with her parents, and the Ministry Of Magic was working to move them to a safer location. Being Muggles, they were completely powerless against magic, and Hermione was very busy helping to set up the wards and instructing her parents how to use them. She had looked rather tired at the party, Harry thought.

The next meeting of The Order was scheduled in three days; Harry assumed he\'d see them all then. Remus should be back by then, too.

\"How is our guest? Behaving himself? Maybe he\'s hungry--should I make him a sandwich?\" Neville paused to look at Harry.

\"Er, he\'s fine. No problem,\" Harry answered quickly. \"Don\'t bother with the food. It would be a waste of time, anyway.\"

\"Typical of him,\" Neville sniffed. \"How about I take one down anyway? I wouldn\'t mind seeing Draco Malfoy locked in a cell. Bet he\'s pacing about like mad in there!\"

\"NO!\" Harry\'s response was much louder than he intended.

\"I told you, I don\'t want you going down there,\" he added, hastily trying to soften his tone. \"And you\'re right, Nev, he\'s stalking about the cell like a mad skrewt.\"

Neville was looking at him intently, a wary expression on his face. Harry looked away, pretending to examine the floorboards.

\"Cheers, then!\" Neville blustered. \"No problem! I just thought, y\'know he might be a bit peckish....\" He went back to his sandwich assembly, muttering under his breath.

Deciding that remaining silent was best, Harry turned and seated himself at the large table that dominated the kitchen. It was one of the few items that had survived the recent upgrade. The huge cobblestone fireplace was also unchanged, but Harry had found a cool beveled mirror in the basement and hung it over the mantelpiece. The mirror had a beautiful walnut frame, and had cleaned up rather well. It appeared to be muggle in origin, as no spirits or ghosts traveled across its surface. On the mantel, Harry had added some framed pictures: Sirius on his cycle; his parents dancing; the Weasleys in Egypt; and one of Dumbledore with Harry during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Neville had added a few of his small potted plants, and the overall effect was quite homey. Damn stupid, decorating at a time like this, Harry thought. If not now, when?

Neville had finished with the sandwiches, and had just opened two bottles of butterbeer. Harry wasn\'t really all that hungry, but Neville had gone through all the fuss. He looked up again, and Neville was struggling to open a bag of muggle crisps.

\"Careful, there! Here, let me sh....\" began Harry anxiously.

Neville made a surprised \"Ooommph\" sound, and the bag exploded, showering crisps all over the floor.

\"Sorry!\" Neville stooped to begin scooping up the spilt crisps, emptying the rest of the bag onto the floor in the process. \"Bloody Hell, why do they have to seal them like that?\"

Harry got up to help Neville capture the uncooperative crisps, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face. Harry mused as to how the only time he smiled lately was with Remus or Neville.

They had the crisps back in the bag in no time, and Harry tapped the bag with is wand, performing the Cleaning Charm. He shrugged sheepishly.

\"No sense in them going to waste, yeah?\"

Neville shook his head, grinning. \"Merlin forbid! Now, sit down and eat something!\"

Harry gave Neville\'s shoulder another little squeeze, and they both stood there, neither one moving away. Neville began fidgeting with the crisp bag, and before there was another spill, Harry slowly withdrew his hand. \"Let\'s eat,\" he said briskly. Neville nodded vigorously, and they both sat down at the large wooden table.

It was still a novelty to perform magic outside of Hogwart\'s. Since they were both \'of age\', it was no longer illegal for them to do so. Harry found it amusing how Neville continued to look furtively about just prior to casting a spell, as if the doing of it were somehow naughty. While Harry had a firm grasp on Apparating, Neville was extremely hesitant to try, since his first \'successful\' attempt had been a splinch. It had only taken a few minutes for the instructor to restore his head to his body, but the memory of it had completely discouraged Neville from further attempts.

Rides on Sirius\' motorcycle elicited the same terror in Neville. He clamped his arms around Harry\'s waist so tightly while they were riding, it was difficult to breathe. Neville always pressed his head closely to his shoulder, and Harry was certain that his eyes were squeezed shut. Harry smiled again as he recalled how Neville ever so slowly released his \'death grip\' on him, even after the cycle had been stopped for a few minutes. It had been a while since their last ride; they\'d have to get out again soon.

\"What are you smiling about? The sandwich can\'t be that good,\" Neville said with a crooked grin.

\"Oh, nothing, really. Just thinking about when we can take our next cycle ride.\"

Neville\'s grin evaporated like a badly mixed potion. \"Oh, yeah, well, whenever, I guess.\" He began to chomp intently on the remains of his sandwich.

Harry watched with amusement as his friend then began to studiously arrange the crisps on his plate. He noted how Neville had also let his hair grow out. Not quite as long as Harry\'s was, but close. Neville had grown a few more inches, and thinned out as well; the round faced little boy Harry first met at school was gone. His longer hair covered up his prominent ears, and Neville\'s large front teeth looked more in scale with his nearly adult face. Not model-handsome, to be sure, but looking good anyway, Harry thought, remembering to chew on the bite of sandwich he had in his mouth. Down, boy!

Neville had also adopted Harry\'s mode of muggle dress: cycle boots, jeans, and t-shirts. What would old Gran say about that? he thought. Harry had even bought Neville a second-hand leather cycle jacket for when they went riding. Harry had found Sirius\' old riding leather in a wardrobe, and it was his new favorite. What a pair we make, Harry thought, and not for the first time. The two had been nearly inseparable that summer, either researching or studying spells in the Library, or practicing hexes and blocks with Tonks or Moody.

Neville had completed the arranging of crisps, and scooped up his plate and butterbeer bottle. Harry watched as he walked over to the sink, and as if on cue, looked quickly from side to side, casting the Cleaning Charm. The dishes began to lazily wash themselves in the soapy water.

\"Dirty brats in the house, there is.\" Kreacher had shambled into the kitchen, carrying some wood for the fireplace.

\"Kreacher,\" Harry said, \"Did you find it? It\'s been more than a week since I asked you. And there are still doxies running amok.\"

Kreacher dumped the load of firewood haphazardly near the fireplace. A few logs decided to escape from the pile and roll messily across the floor. \"Yes, yes, Brat Master. Kreacher has looked but not found. I still look, Brat Master.\" The frown on the old elf\'s face deepened as he gave the errant logs a swift kick with his foot. They rolled under the table.

\"Doxies aren\'t that bad, no, not bad at all, compared to dirty brats.\" Kreacher\'s huge eyes fixed a malevolent gazed upon Harry. The expression of disgust looked as if it were permanently molded into the elf\'s sagging grey skin.

\"It\'s wearing off again, I think\", Neville said, shaking his head gravely. \"He\'s gone back to that \'Brat Master\' thing.\"

Harry nodded in agreement. \"I noticed that , too,\" he said, sighing. \"It doesn\'t last very long, does it? Well, nothing for it, I suppose.\"

The elf was almost through the kitchen doorway when Harry drew his wand and shouted \"IMPERIO!\"

Kreacher stopped dead in his tracks, seemed to wobble ever so slightly, and then continued to walk out of the kitchen. Returning his wand to his pocket, Harry called out to his house elf. \"Kreacher.\" The elf stopped and turned to face Harry. \"Yes, Master? What do you require of Kreacher?\" The frown had been replaced by a rather blank expression, which coupled with the huge round eyes, was somewhat disturbing.

\"Please continue your search, as instructed. And take care of the doxies in the parlor, please.\" Harry and Neville both watched as the elf made a small bow.

\"Yes, Master.\" Kreacher then turned and actually strode out of the kitchen.

\"I\'m not sure if I like him better that way, either,\" said Neville, as the elf disappeared from view.


Nodding, Harry agreed. \"Well, it\'s plain I need more practice with the Imperious Curse. At least we get a few days out of him this way.\"

Neville charmed the now clean dishes back onto their shelves, and went to grab two more butterbeers.

\"How about some real beers, yeah?\" Harry said.

Neville noticed the wicked smile on his friend\'s face. \"Not muggle beer, eh?\" The widening smile on Harry\'s face confirmed Neville\'s suspicions. \"We can\'t leave him here alone, can we?\" It was extremely unfair, but Harry knew he could persuade Neville as easily as he could cast a Lumos.

\"He\'s fine. I stunned him, and he\'ll be out for hours.\" Harry watched as Neville\'s face wrestled with the possible problems inherent with the plan. Bugger, he\'s damn cute when he looks like that, Harry thought. Watch it, Potter!

\"Well, I suppose it would be fine for a short bit.\" Neville took note that Harry\'s evil grin had widened still more. \"Oh, no, not that place!\"

Harry nodded his head up and down as he imitated Neville as best he could: \"Oh yeah, THAT place!\" Neville made a face, and Harry plowed forward. \"Live band tonight. VNV Nation. Bloody good music, for Muggles! All ages show! I\'ve even got a few pounds somewhere around here.\" Harry cocked his head slightly to one side and tried to look as innocent as possible. Neville sighed. Harry beamed. Yesss! Got \'im!

Neville had the defeated expression of one who had agreed to spend the evening cleaning out the catbox. \"All right, all right. No cycle! I can deal with the Tube, though.\"

Harry leapt across the room and threw his arm around Neville\'s shoulders, clapping his other hand sharply onto Neville\'s chest. \"Brilliant!\"

Neville wheezed at the impact. \"I suppose we\'re already late, yeah?\" He looked at Harry who nodded.

\"You know it! I\'ll tell Kreacher. Take care of the fire. I\'ll grab the muggle money!\" Harry released Neville, and sprinted for the doorway. But before he hit the hallway, the kitchen was bathed in intense green light, as the flames in the hearth blazed high. Harry skidded to a halt and turned to look at the fireplace. The head of Minerva McGonagall bobbed ever so slightly in the flames.

\"Mr. Potter. And Mr. Longbottom as well. Excellent. I am pleased that I have caught you both. May I have your permission to enter?\"

Harry could have sworn that an expression of relief passed over Neville\'s face. Bloody typical. Would\'ve been a good show. too, he thought.

McGonagall\'s head wavered impatiently, her eyes moving from Harry to Neville and back again.

\"Well, Mr. Potter?\" Her mouth was drawn to the thinnest line imaginable.

\"Er, yes, of course, Professor, by all means.\" Harry watched dejectedly as the Headmistress of Hogwart\'s School of Witchcraft And Wizardry stepped out of the hearth, her tartan skirt swishing menacingly.

\"Thank You,\" McGonagall said icily, drawing herself up and clasping both of her hands together at her waist. \"I have important business to discuss with BOTH of you.\"


A/N: The chapter title translates roughly as \"A Life Made Dark\"