Harry Potter and the Second War

Book 5: Rise and Fall

Summary: Voldemort has returned to full strength, and he's out for blood. Harry may be the second coming of the mythical sorcerers, or he may just be a talented young wizard. Regardless, war is coming, and Harry will be at the centre of it. The light has governed for fifteen years; now the dark is returning.

Rated M for violence, death and language.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated characters, places etc are the property of J.K. Rowling. Anything you recognise is hers, everything else is mine – I'm just playing with her toys for a while.

A/N: Just a quick reminder – italics = spell, Titus, Parseltongue, or possibly just emphasis. It should hopefully be obvious from context which it is. If Titus and Harry are talking, then all conversation is mental, unless otherwise stated.

Chapter 1: Goodbye, Harry

Harry Potter sat cross-legged in the back garden of Privet Drive. He was in a rare good mood. He had slept well the previous night, and his aunt and uncle had been out all day, while Dudley had been at a friends. He had therefore had the house to himself. Normally, Harry would not have been pleased by this; he enjoyed his family's company, and didn't see as much of them as he would like these days, as he spent his term-times – and an increasing amount of his holidays – at Hogwarts, or with friends. However, his family had been suffocating him recently.

When he was calm, and could think about it from their point of view, he couldn't blame them for being concerned. He had, after all, been kidnapped by Death Eaters a month ago. His blood had been taken, and used to restore the Dark Lord Voldemort to his full strength. They had duelled, and Harry had escaped. Narrowly. Very narrowly. On his return to Hogwarts, he had found that one of his best friends, Neville Longbottom, had been killed by Sirius Black, Harry's former godfather.

So yes, he could understand their concerns. Especially when you took everything else into account.

He had been having nightmares – replaying his encounter with Voldemort, which he had got through largely on adrenaline. The full terror of it had not sunk in at the time, but a month later, safe at home… Most nights, he woke up drenched in sweat, his throat sore from yelling out. Even Dreamless Sleep did not seem to help. Worse, perhaps, were the dreams where he saw Neville duelling Sirius. They were worse not because he was seeing his friend's death constantly replayed, but because in the dreams, Neville always survived. He had studied offensive magic. Harry intervened. Dumbledore intervened. Sirius ran. Something always changed the outcome. When he had those dreams, he woke up happy, only to find his good humour drift away when he remembered that Neville was, after all, dead.

All this did not put him in a good frame of mind for dealing with his magic.

Frequently tricky to control, ever since the graveyard he had been having extra difficulty. It was not so much that he was much more powerful than he had been previously, although his power had undoubtedly increased. Albus Dumbledore believed that Harry was a sorcerer, one of the original magic users. Such beings were, before Harry's appearance, largely believed to be extinct; many believed they had never existed at all. Harry wasn't sure whether Dumbledore was right or not, but he couldn't deny that he felt… well, he couldn't quite put what he felt into words. But he would walk down the street, to the local park, and the magic radiating from everything would dazzle him. He had been sitting under a tree, watching Dudley play football with some friends. Slowly everything about the tree filled his senses, clouding his mind, his magic rising to wrap itself around the tree's essence. It had been overwhelming, and Dudley had had to shake him to rouse him. He had pretended that he had dozed off in the warmth of the sun, but in reality, he had been lost inside his head, lost in feeling the tree. Going shopping with his aunt, he had sent her into a mild panic when he had simply stopped in the garden centre, feeling the plants as something about them twined with his magic – he had let his magic rise, and every flower there had suddenly bloomed, just for a second.

He could even feel vague traces of magic coming from the Dursleys', and that made no sense at all – they were Muggles, completely non-magical. Everything about his magic seemed confusing these days, and he didn't like it.

But today, he was rested, and alone. He was able to practise.

The back garden of Privet Drive was bordered by tall hedges at each side, so nobody could see into the garden from the other side, even if they looked out of an upstairs window. It was perfect for learning the feel of his magic again. He could have done it inside, but the curious sensations that bombarded him outside were dampened when he went indoors. Dampened, not silenced. He could still feel them, at the edge of consciousness. He wasn't sure yet whether this meant the sensations were created only by natural things, or whether something like a chair produced only a mild version of the feelings. He didn't really know how he would find out, either. Even Titus, the temperamental voice in his head, was silent on the matter.

He settled against the wall of the patio, fixing his gaze on a particular tree branch. Slowly, gently, he allowed his magic to spread out from his core. He closed his eyes briefly, as he felt it ripple out from every pore of his body, soaking out from under his skin, his nerves tingling and the tiny hairs on his arms standing up. His whole body felt alive, pulsing with energy and magic, and he felt the familiar wind ruffle his hair, blowing cool against him. He opened his eyes again, and looked down at the lawn.

There was a gentle, almost insignificant tug on his magic, and the earth beneath the grass was disturbed. A shoot sprouted, poking up from the earth, spiralling upwards. It slowly turned green, then grew leaves, then a head, yellow with white petals. Harry felt more magic seep into the newly sprouted daisy – still almost unnoticeable, like a moth landing on his arm – and the daisy grew taller, brighter. More alive. Then, after a moment, the head bowed, the petals wilting, dropping from the flower. The daisy faded, dying, and crumpled to the lawn. Harry reached out to touch it with the tip of his finger. There was no spark inside it now. Birth to death, in a matter of seconds.

What was he doing to it?

Harry tapped the bricks in sequence, and the wall split apart in front of him. The Alley lay in front of him, flat against the portal, and he stepped into it. He felt the familiar shudder as his body adjusted to a different concept of space, and then he was through. The magic of the portal made his skin tingle unnervingly. He looked behind him, at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Remus was waiting in there for him, having a drink with a friend.

Diagon Alley was bustling, as ever, but the shoppers were more hurried. Nobody stopped to chat, confining themselves to a brief wave of the hand as they hurried from one shop to another. It was the first time Harry could remember coming to the Alley when no-one had stopped to gawk at his forehead. It was something of a relief, but the reasons behind this change were upsetting and unsettling. A Daily Prophet billboard outside the Magical Menagerie declared the latest information on the war, in their usual exaggerated bluster. Truthfully, from what Harry had gleaned from his guardians, there wasn't much of a war going on at the moment. Harry's escape, and Fudge's uncharacteristically swift response to his information, seemed to have thrown Voldemort off-balance. Harry was willing to bet that the Dark Lord had banked on Harry's death, and a few months at least of confusion in which he could wreak havoc without response. Instead, the scales of power remained about equal, although that wouldn't last. Once Voldemort had decided his course of action, all hell would break loose.

This did not stop even low-level panic, however. Nobody wanted to be out too long, in case today was the day that Voldemort launched his attack.

Harry walked briskly down the Alley, his hands in his pockets. He was a little worried himself, if he was honest. Not especially about the prospect of a Death Eater attack – although he remained alert, his magic hovering beneath the surface, ready to strike when he needed, and his fingers were curled around his wand in his pocket. But Parvati had not sounded happy when she had rung up, and she hadn't explained a particular reason for wanting to meet. Of course, she could just have wanted to see her boyfriend, but he had sensed that there was something else on her mind.

She was already sitting down when he arrived at Fortescue's, eating an enormous ice-cream with a spoon. Despite the legendary high-quality of Fortescue's creations, his girlfriend did not look happy. Harry sat down opposite her, plastering a smile on his face. She looked up at him, and her eyes were red.

"Hey Harry."

"Hi there, how're you?" He leant across the table and hugged her. She smiled, and hugged him back, and as he sat back she let out a quiet giggle, her face lighting up for a moment.

"You need to be more careful, Mr Potter."

Harry frowned, and looked down. He sighed, and reached for a napkin. "This was a clean shirt as well. And now I'm going to be wandering round with ice-cream all over it!"

Parvati smirked. "It's your own fault. Besides, you could magic it away."

"Restriction of Under-Age Magic?"

"I'm sure you could do it wandlessly. Besides, the Ministry wouldn't be able to track your magic somewhere this crowded, you know that."

"Yeah, but we're in public, and in case you haven't realised, I'm quite recognisable…"

"True," she conceded, with a tilt of her head.

Harry settled back in his seat, the atmosphere a bit happier, and a more genuine grin on his face. Parvati grinned back at him for a moment, but then went back to looking at her ice-cream. He sighed.

"What's up sweetheart? You sounded upset this morning, and you've been crying, I can tell. Come on, you can tell me."

Parvati looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. "It's my parents. They're worried about the war, they remember what happened last time… They want to move the family back to India. As soon as possible."

Harry stared at her in silence for a moment. "For how long?"

Parvati shrugged. "As long as necessary. Until the wars over, assuming we win. Forever, if we lose."

"But… What about your friends? Your education? What about us?"

She looked away. "There isn't much point in studying if you could be killed tomorrow, right? And there's good schools in India, Hogwarts isn't the only magical school in the world, you know that. And…"

"And what?"

She winced. "They don't think that you're terribly safe to be around at the moment."

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. His mind was suddenly filled with distinctly uncharitable thoughts about Mr and Mrs Patil, but saying them out loud would do nothing to help the situation. Parvati looked up at him, misery radiating off her. He sighed, and reached across the table, taking her hand in his.

"They're probably right," he told her, quietly. It pained him to admit it, but he knew it was true. He'd always been a target for Death Eaters, and that would be even applicable now. Parvati frowned at him.

"You want me to go?"

"Of course I don't! But what else are you going to do, run away from home?" Harry paused, as Parvati seemed to be giving the idea some consideration. "You do realise that you can't, don't you? You'd have to go back eventually, and where would you stay?"

"… At yours?" The look on Parvati's face indicated that she fully realised the implausibility of this suggestion, but Harry played along.

"Yeah, that'd go well. 'Hey Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, this is Parvati, my girlfriend. She's run away from home and come to live here, ok? I'm sure you'll get along really well!'"

Parvati kicked him gently under the table. "Alright, so it's a stupid idea. I still don't want to go though. I want to stay – I'd want to stay even if we weren't going out, I've never been to India, I don't know anyone there…"

"You'll be fine. You'll make friends easily, you know you will. And they'll be falling over themselves to ask you out." Harry tried for a light-hearted tone of voice, but wasn't sure he succeeded. Parvati quirked her eyebrow.

"Whoopee. Boys I've never met following me round with their tongues hanging out. I can hardly wait. And it's not like I'm going to head out looking for a replacement for you, you know."

"I know, I know. I'm just kidding around – trying to cheer you up?"

She acknowledged this with a wan smile. "I know. And who knows? The war could be over by Christmas, and then I can come back!"

Harry grinned. "I hope so. That'd be nice!" And so improbable as to be impossible, he thought to himself. The chances of the Ministry finding Voldemort by Christmas, let alone defeating him, were miniscule. The idea bordered on insanity. He didn't say this though. Parvati genuinely seemed to believe it, if the hopeful look in her eyes was anything to go by.

"Harry, I know you might not be in the mood anymore, but… Could we just hang out now? Have one last day together?"

He couldn't resist her when she looked like that. "Sounds great. We'll start with an ice-cream – and I'll eat this one!"

Harry trudged back to the Leaky Cauldron a few hours later, his mood even worse than it had been earlier. Parvati had been collected by her mother, who had not even tried to greet Harry civilly. She had been too busy scanning the Alley for potential threats, her wand out. Parvati had thrown her arms around him, starting to cry, and her mother had practically pulled her out of his arms before they apparated away. He kicked a stone from his path, and it clattered against a wall, the sound echoing around the now largely deserted streets. He still couldn't quite believe that, in all likelihood, he would not be seeing Parvati again. Even if he survived the war – and he was going to do his damnedest to do so – they would probably have moved on by that time. The war would probably last several years, at least.

He looked up at the Ministry roof, visible over the buildings around him. What was going on in there, he wondered. Perhaps Fudge was ordering the arrests of suspects, perhaps the Wizengamot was passing wartime decrees – perhaps, just perhaps, the Aurors had caught a vital cog in Voldemort's network, and were right now interrogating them fiercely. Perhaps they would be raiding Voldemort's headquarters before the day was out, and the Patils would not have to leave the country at all.

"Optimistic to the last, eh Harry?"

"Got to keep my spirits up Titus, wouldn't you say? Even if it is just a dream."

"I suppose, although I'd go for real pleasures over pipe dreams in your position." Titus paused for a moment. "I'm… sorry that she's left, Harry. You were good together."

"What would you know about it?" Harry enquired, surprised. Titus was not usually this pleasant. "Relationships are hardly your area of expertise, are they?"

"No, I'll admit that – but I'm inside your head, remember? I know what you feel, and when you feel it. I know how much you enjoyed spending time with her, even today. I know you'll miss it."

"Yeah, I will," Harry whispered, more to himself than to Titus. Titus fell silent, and Harry approached the portal back into the 'real' world. The portal's magic washed over him, his skin tingling again, and then the wall was closing behind him. He leant against it for a moment, then made his way into the Leaky Cauldron. He brushed his hair down over his scar before setting foot in the bar; it would probably be fairly quiet now, but he was definitely not in the mood for autograph hunters today. Remus was sitting in a corner booth, engrossed in a book. He looked up, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed the air automatically, Harry's scent pronounced to his enhanced senses. It was only a few days to the full moon, so they would be even better than normal; there was a good chance he knew that Harry was upset before he even saw him.

"Hey kiddo. What's up?" Remus placed his book down on the table, the spine creasing. Harry grinned slightly, imagining Hermione's pained expression every time she saw that happen. He flopped down in the seat next to his guardian, and looked up at him ruefully.

"Parvati's family are moving back to India, they're scared about the war."

Remus sighed, and ruffled his hair. "I'm sorry Harry. But they won't be the last – they're certainly not the first. I'm sure you'll see her again."

"Yeah, maybe. I doubt it though, let's be realistic about this."

Remus shrugged apologetically. "Probably not, one way or another. But you're young! Not even fifteen yet, there'll be plenty of girls after you, you'll see."

Harry smirked at him. "Speaking from experience there Moony?"

"Don't be cheeky… Come on, let's head home. Your aunt's got dinner waiting for you."

As they walked out of the Leaky Cauldron, heading for the Underground, Harry spun round, scanning the road behind him. Remus turned as well, drawing his wand as he did so. He followed his ward's gaze, but could see nothing.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"I don't know… I just – felt something, I guess. Like someone was watching us."

Remus looked round again, and inhaled deeply. "I can't find anything suspicious… But let's apparate instead, hmm? They can't follow us like that."

Harry nodded, relaxing into Remus' grip, and then the blankness of apparation engulfed him. After they disappeared, the crack of displaced air echoing around the street, someone walked out from a doorway. The hood of his cloak was up, covering his face. He raised a hand to his face, speaking softly into something at his wrist.

"Target is headed home. Get the team moving. I'll be back in a moment."

He moved his hand back down as he finished speaking. For a brief moment, the tattoo of an eye was revealed on the back of his hand. Then, he too disappeared, with an ominous crack.