The
Lightning ChildThe Lightning Child
By
Richan
Disclaimer:
Don't own nothing but my computer and car. I need the car for work. I need the
computer to live. You can have all my student loans, though. I'm tired of
paying them. Don’t own my house. It's the bank's.
Warning:
Slash ahead! A tiny bit of violence and cussing
Pairing:
I would be giving things away if I said it, but since this takes place in the
time of the Marauder's, it's safe to say James/Lily – or is it? Everyone else
is up for grabs (and if I had my way, I'd take Remus... *rubs hands together
gleefully*)
AN:
I know I should be working on The Revolution of Light and any number of stories
I've got started or going, but I was waiting for the verdict on it from my
beta-reader when this idea just popped into my head. Admittedly, it was actually
a plot-bunny that decided it was tired of waiting, since it took residence in
my brain after going to my cousin's football game last fall, just after he
kicked a 40-yard field goal - as well two 50-yard goals in practice earlier
that week (yes I remember that – my cousin is a *good* football player!!!!!!
And it was videotaped :P), so I'm not sure if it's entirely sane or not after
all that euphoria, but it finally pushed its way through to my fingers (and
keyboard). Anyways... please let me know if I need help (Not mentally - I already
know I'm quite insane, thank you) in writing this story, ie, plot wise or
grammar, since my beta/sister is gone for the week at a conference for work.
Enough
with my rambling....
Chapter
One
Thunder crackled through the sky as the
Quidditch game continued. Spectators and players alike were having trouble
distinguishing anyone against the pitch-black sky, lighted only by the power of
magic and the electrical rushes of lightning. The game was already bad enough
without the storm that had suddenly appeared. Gryffindor versus Slytherin
always turned into brutal games, with at least one player having to stay in the
hospital wing for longer than a day, even with the best treatment that Madam
Pomfrey could give. Malfoy and Potter were madly dashing through the onslaught
of rain, desperately searching for the ball they were looking for.
The girl announcing the game could barely be
heard over the storm, the megaphone that she spoke through useless against the
wind that blew violently across the pitch.
All of Hogwarts were startled, then, when a
deafening thunderclap sounded just as lightning hit the exact center of the
pitch, blinding all there for a couple of seconds. When they opened their eyes,
a collective gasp rose.
At the exact spot where the Snitch is
released lay a charred body, smoke rising from it where the rain was hitting
it.
Dumbledore rose as silence fell over the
pitch, the lightning and thunder mysteriously vanishing from the area, the sky
slowly fading to a misty gray as the rain let up. Walking quickly to the center
of the pitch, the players hovering quietly nearby, he bent over and checked the
body. "Poppy!"
Potter watched as the nurse hurried over to
the Headmaster, from which she quickly emerged from a conference and conjured a
stretcher, carefully lifting the body onto it. He was tempted to watch were she
was going, but the arrested look on Dumbledore's face kept his eyes trained on
him.
"Students and faculty, I am sorry to
say that this game must be called off - " He was cut off by the groans of
all the students, who had been eagerly awaiting the outcome of the first game
of the season. The headmaster held up a hand, requesting silence. "Please,
prefects, make sure that all students head back to their dorms. Mr. Potter and
Miss Evans, please stay here. Quietus."
James Potter lowered his broom to the pitch
next to Dumbledore as several staff members joined them.
"Albus, what is this about?" asked
Professor McGonagall.
"Whoever sent that boy used very
powerful Dark magic. I do not want to take the chance that it could be used
against any of the students," the headmaster answered.
"What about... him?" asked Lily
Evans as she stopped next to James.
"He's alive," Dumbledore said in a
soft voice. "Barely, but Poppy may be able to fix him up. The magic that
was used on him was very powerful."
"What was it?" asked Professor
Flitwick.
"Verbannen. The old banishing
curse."
******
James hurried up the stairs to Gryffindor
tower. He was exhausted, the duties that Dumbledore had assigned him taking
much longer than he thought they would. Lily had been sent back to the tower
almost an hour ago. Wondering if she had escaped the mob that was sure to be
surrounding her, he gave the password to the Fat Lady and crawled through the
entrance.
Silence met him, slightly unnerving him for
a moment as he realized that every single Gryffindor was watching him.
"James!"
Never more than that moment was James
grateful for Sirius. His best friend could be counted on to get him out of
tight places, knowing that James would do the same for him.
"Hey, Padfoot!" James turned
around and made sure that the portrait was closed. "I don't have much to
tell," he announced to the common room. "Dumbledore said that we
would have to stay here until some people from the Ministry come to check that
guy out."
"Is he alive?" Remus asked as he
came over to James from their usual couch.
James nodded. "Madam Pomfrey's been
working on him all day. Dumbledore said that whatever brought him here was very
powerful."
About twenty people tried to ask questions
all at the same time.
"Shut up!"
The common room was shocked. James Potter
rarely ever yelled, and he was pretty much a polite person when wanting things
quiet.
"I don't have any more answers. I have
to wait just as long as you for my questions to get answered," James said
in a quiet voice. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go to bed."
He walked quickly up the stairs, hurrying up
to his bed. Tossing his shoes and Quidditch robes aside, he lay down on his bed
and was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.
******
A groan startled him from the blackness he
had been hovering in. A rustling close to his ear quickly followed the sound.
"Hello?"
The voice sounded familiar, but the gentle
lilt to it soothed him as he realized he ached all over. Cracking an eye open,
he quickly shut it against the bright light that assaulted him.
Another rustle, this time a bit further from
the first, sounded.
"Open your eyes, now," the voice
said. "I've taken care of the light. It won't hurt you, now."
Obeying the soft words, he opened his eye
again, his blurry vision slowly focusing on the face a foot away from his.
"My, what pretty green eyes you have,
child," the voice said.
His disjointed thoughts put the voice and
face together as being the same person, the familiar feeling coming back to
him. Opening the other eye, he focused on the woman again.
"Wha - ?"
The cracked sound seemed to be coming from
his own throat, making his jump and then wishing he hadn't. Another groan
issued forth, telling him that he had been the one to make the same sound that
had woken him as his head threatened to split wide open at the movement.
"Shh," the woman whispered. She
reached over to a table he hadn't seen before and brought a glass of water to
his lips. "Don't talk, just drink."
The cool liquid rushed through his mouth,
taking the burning sensation of his throat down a couple of notches. Closing
his eyes in bliss, he gulped the water greedily. The water was quickly gone,
even as he wished the glass had been much larger.
"I can't give you anymore for fifteen
more minutes," the woman said. "I want to make sure you can keep that
down."
He didn't understand her reasoning, but
shrugged it off. He knew that he wasn't up to making any demands, and as long
as she got him the water in the time she stated he didn't mind.
"Ah, our patient is awake?"
The new voice sounded old to his ears. He
understood that as he saw an elderly man walked through the parted curtains.
The white beard and hair were very long, topped by an odd, pointed hat that
made no sense to him.
"Yes," the woman answered. "I
was just about to call you down." She stood up and pulled the chair close
by next to the bed. "Why don't you sit down while I get the medicines
he'll need now that he's awake."
The old man nodded. "Hello," he
said in a friendly voice.
He responded to the kindness he sensed
laying underneath. "Hello." His voice was still cracked, making him
wince inwardly. Something about it didn't sound right.
"Please, let me introduce myself,"
the old man began, "I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster here at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
He wrinkled his nose at that. The words were
very familiar, but just out of reach. He knew they were important, though.
"And your name?" the headmaster
asked.
Opening his mouth, he stopped. What was his
name? That, like all the rest of the thoughts since he had woken up, lay
scattered behind something that was blocking them. Just one name popped up.
"Harry."
"Just Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure," he
said in a quiet baritone, the edges becoming less sharp as the cracking in his
voice faded. He rather liked the sound of it, knowing that it fit him better
than the noises he had made earlier.
Dumbledore reached over and patted him on
the hand.
He jumped back at the touch, knowing
instinctively he did not like being touched without permission. "No!"
The headmaster jumped back himself, startled
at the reaction to his gesture. The twinkle that Harry had seen in his eyes had
dimmed. "I'm sorry," Dumbledore said in a sincere voice. "I
won't do that again if you feel uncomfortable about it."
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized
instinctively, a part of him wondering if he would be punished.
"You have nothing to be sorry about,
child." The headmaster stopped briefly as the woman came back through the
curtains, several glass tubes and a goblet in her hands. "Ah, Madam
Pomfrey! May I introduce Harry to you?"
The woman smiled. "Hello, Harry,"
she said in her gentle voice. It turned brisk as she pulled a tube from the
table where she had set all the others and poured half its contents into the
goblet. "This is going to help you get your energy back. Your body took a
fairly big hit, and this will help get you back up to speed."
"Um..." Harry trailed off, eyeing
the purple contents of the goblet once it was in his hands. "What
hit?"
The two people watching him looked
surprised. "You - you don't remember?" the man asked.
Harry shook his head and clutched it as pain
shot through it. "How did I get here, and where is here?"