Harry Potter and the Orb of Slytherin
By: mcjazzman32
Fandom: harry potter
Summary: The world hangs on the courage of one person: Harry Potter. In a struggle between two different kinds of magic, that of love and hate, Harry must find the will to overcome the Evil One. Pumpkin Pie Unite! HHr
Fic type: Books/Harry Potter Pairings/Main char.: Harry P., Hermione G. Published: 2006-06-09
Last updated: 2015-02-04
Words count: 155,124
Chapters count: 26
Converted usingDate: 2020-08-18
Chapter 1 Chapter 1: The Return December 23rd
A shadow crept eerily forward on Grimmauld Place as it made its way to Number Twelve. There was no noise or wind, as one would suppose there would be on such a dark and foreboding winter night. When an unknown man cloaked and hooded in black creeps steadily towards the headquarters of the last resistance to Lord Voldemort, there's usually a little wind, at least. The light from the streetlamps split the man's shadow like scissors to a paper snowflake, all even; all a perfect, yet unfinished facsimile of his one true form. The figure, who had a rather large snake entwined on his shoulders, seemed to be sucking the wind out of the air with his very presence.
He had a small traveling bag that wrapped around his shoulders and across his chest; in his hand, there was a large staff that was topped with a whitish-clear orb, glowing dimmer than the pale full moon, but still bright enough to see from a distance in the dark cold – the staff enclosed the orb on only one side and jutted out at the end. Around his neck was a thin chain that bore a round, golden amulet which was inscribed with an unknown language and had a serpent in the middle. There was simply and unmistakably a dark feeling surrounding the man. He was a powerful wizard
- a killer.
Stopping at the window of the mansion, the cloaked man looked in and saw what to any normal eye would be a discouraging scene. In one corner was a man in a lounge chair who seemed to be utterly exhausted. He had disheveled red hair and the look of a man who was once
very cheerful but had been drained by the worries of the world, leaving him empty of any cheerfulness. Arthur Weasley got up from his seat and walked across the room to where his wife, Molly, was sitting. She was at a desk, evidently responding to various owls that had been sent to her that night, holding back tears she didn't want to shed until after she had finished. She walked out of the room with her husband - it was evident she was trying to be strong for the others who were present.
Among them were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. If one could describe loneliness in detail, then what the cloaked man saw on their faces would be the muse. The two of them weren't close together or far apart, but it was evident to anyone they were both missing something they hadn't truly realized they could lose until it was gone. Ron was looking into the fireplace kindling, but not really seeing anything; Hermione, meanwhile, was looking down into a book that was on her lap, but the man could see she wasn't turning any pages.
In the face of this raw human emotion, the man outside the window could do nothing else but look inside himself, for he also was human...or, at least, he believed he was at the moment. There were times when his life almost seemed completely gone. His breath came out in puffs that sliced through the bitter cold, but he himself was not affected. He had endured much worse than the cold of English weather. What his mind was completely focused on was where he wasn't – inside with the ones he loved.
He could see the lower half of his face reflected in the glass, so he pulled his hood back a bit wanting to see his own eyes. They were as green as emeralds and the darkness underneath them showed how very tired this man actually was. He looked at his hands, straining to see something,
anything - as if looking at them would provide answers to the questions he was seeking. Once he realized that there weren't any answers to be found, he raised one of those hands to his forehead, straining to figure out how to go about approaching the people he longed to face. As he rubbed his head, he came across the scar...that curse of a scar. If there was one thing that Harry Potter hated more than Voldemort, it was the blunt scar that had haunted him for more than seventeen years.
