“Ronald Weasley!” The shrill vocals of Ms. Weasley were enough to send the most battle-hardened wizards scampering, and had a similar terrifying effect on the cluster of teenagers in her attic.
“Mum?” A freckled face poked over the edge of the staircase, head cocked in inquisition as to his mother’s livid features.
“I told you not to experiment with those pasties anymore, leave Fred and George’s damned creations well enough alone!” The feigned confusion on the boys face turned into a scowl.
“But mum, Harry and Ginny--”
“That’s enough, Ronald!” Snickers erupted from the three onlookers behind him as Harry tossed a wrapper at the back of Ron’s head.
“Better luck next time, Ronald,” Hermione teased with a smirk, glancing up from her book for only a moment to gauge his reaction.
“I’ll be so glad when we get on that train tomorrow,” he muttered with a swipe at Harry.
The four sat in the attic, cramped into a small circle between the stacks of their trunks and books. The enclosure was nearly stifling, but the only decent place in the house they could avoid prying ears.
“Why d’you reckon Dumbledore needed you to recruit that bloke anyway?” Ginny inquired, brushing her knee lightly against Harry’s as she shifted. His heart twisted.
“Dunno,” he sighed. Her eyes on his were maddening and he was sure Ron could see the lump developing in his throat. But his friend seemed not to notice.
“That’s Dumbledore for you, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation.” Hermione’s eyes were masked by the cover of ‘Practical Herbology and it’s Application in Defense’ but she nodded to iterate her assent.
“Come off it, Hermione, put the bloody book down and enjoy the last of your summer!” With a devilish grin, Ron snatched the work from between her fingers and tossed it down the staircase. It echoed with a sickening thump, followed by Crookshank’s hiss and several muted curses as Ms. Weasley dropped the casserole she’d been working on all evening.
“RONALD,” she bellowed.
“Wasn’t me, mum, it was Harry!” he hollered back. This effectively silenced the poor woman, who still regarded Harry as a guest of honor in their house, despite the fact that he’d spent the better part of the last five years under her roof.
“I’ll clean it up, Ms. Weasley!” Harry called with a glare in Ron’s direction.
“Don’t worry dear, I’ve got it.” Contenting herself to muttering, she flicked her wand and the culinary creation soared back onto the mended platter.
“You’re such an ass, Ronald,” Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes at her brother’s guffaws. Harry curled a fist and landed it on his friend’s shoulder, knocking him back into the trunks he was propped against.
“Well deserved,” Ron agreed as Harry helped him to sit up. “And now we toast.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a clear vial with an amber colored suspicious-looking liquid sloshing inside.
“Is that dad’s firewhisky?” Ginny demanded, looking moderately impressed.
“Aged to perfection.” Ron grinned mischievously. He tugged at the stopper, briefly sniffing at the concoction before raising it to his lips and taking a draught. Wincing, he swallowed quickly, shoving the bottle into Harry’s hands who quickly repeated the process before Ginny and Hermione both followed suit.
“To a good year,” Ron spoke hoarsely into their silence. “To sticking it out together despite--” A sharp gasp interrupted him and the three turned to see Harry grimacing in pain, his hands flying to his forehead.
“His scar,” Ginny muttered, lightly touching his shoulder. “Harry, are you alright?”
Harry couldn’t hear her, however, he had soared through the darkness to a large, imposing Manor. Now he was seated at the end of a long table, eyeing two terrified youth who sat before him. His hands, pale and thin, were twisted around a serpent that had lazily positioned itself in his lap.
“Lord Voldemort rewards those who help him.” Harry’s voice was shrill and cold, sending a shudder through the young man who avoided his gaze. “Those who do not, however…” The girl looked away, not in terror as the boy did, but in what appeared to be boredom. Fury boiled in Harry’s stomach and he raised his wand towards her, murmuring the Cruciatus curse.
Her scream, the fire in her eyes as she slid from her chair onto the floor before him; they forced a laugh from between Harry’s lips.
“Get her up, Bellatrix.”
The blond boy followed the movement of a robed woman warily as she crossed the room towards Lysanda’s trembling form. She glanced towards Harry from under heavy lids, her pouting lips twisting into a smirk.
“Up,” she snarled, jerking the girl roughly to her feet. “Stand proud before your Lord, Lysandra. Hasn’t your mother taught you better?”
“Narcissa is my mother,” the youth snarled through clenched teeth at the woman circling her. A flash of fury spasmed across Bellatrix’s gaunt features and the noise of her palm against the girl’s cheek reverberated through the room’s silence.
“Ungrateful wretch.” Tugging Lysandra closer by a hank of hair that she’d gripped savagely, she leaned towards her ear. “Pray you do not fail your Lord, girl. You will be truly dead to me then.”
Upon being released, she slumped into a chair again, her forehead pressed against the cool marble of the table. Harry, who had been stroking the snake during the proceedings, glanced up at the three before him. Bellatrix was breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on Lysandra’s prone form. The blonde boy, too, was watching her, but with an air of sorrow and concern.
“You leave tomorrow.” A bob of the head from the boy, a tired nod from Lysandra. “Do not fail me,” he cautioned quietly. “Do not fail your Lord.”
The scene dissolved as quickly as it had come. Rather than in a high-backed armchair in a gloomy manor room, he was huddled on the floor of an attic dripping in sweat and shaking.
“Mate, you look bloody awful,” Ronald murmured, shaking him to determine his condition. “You alright there?”
“Of course he’s not, Ronald,” Hermione snapped, brushing him away. “Harry, drink this.” A pitcher of cool liquid was tipped into his mouth, soothing the fire in his throat. His vision swam into focus before him, and three pairs of eyes were staring at him in confusion and concern.
“Was it the whiskey, mate?” Ron pressed.
“N-No,” Harry stammered, brow knit together. “I saw Voldemort again, I was Voldemort again!”
“What did you see?” Ginny’s voice was twisted in fear.
“Malfoy. He’s planning something with Malfoy. And…” He trailed off, remembering the young woman who had defiantly stood with her chin held high before Bellatrix Lestrange and Lord Voldemort.
“And?” Hermione’s agitated inquisition cut through his reverie.
“There was another, I don’t know who she was, but she’s in trouble.”
Dark Lord's Bane by katjak
Chapter Endnotes: more coming, I promise