Rising of the Dark

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK

by Meta4. Chapter 01.

The Eleven (Elven?) Commandments

================================

1. Thou shalt bow to J.K. Rowling, creator of the Potterverse!

2. Thou shalt acknowledge all characters created by Her.

3. Thou shalt acknowledge the trademarks of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

4. Thou shalt not read the story herein if Slash offendeth you.

5. Thou shalt not read this story if thou art not old enough so to do.

6. Thou shalt not pass the work herein as thine own.

7. Thou shalt not gain profit from distributing the work herein.

8. Respect thy mother and thy father - only read this work when they are out.

9. Thou shalt acknowledge My copyright

10. Thou shalt contact Me if thou likest or thou detesteth this work.

11. Thou shalt never piss off an Elf...

HARRY POTTER AND THE RISING OF THE DARK

by Meta4 meta4@meta4.org

CHAPTER ONE:: Meet the arseholes.

Time does stuff to you physically, mentally and emotionally. Hindsight, always being as damningly crystal clear as it is, allows me to recall with rather embarrassing detail just how much of a shit I was.

In my defense, though, even now I can place a fair amount of blame for my attitude on my parents. No - really I can! My father was a businessman and a very dispassionate and unscrupulous one at that. If he could make a fast buck whilst cutting corners, exploiting people and generally screwing others out of their money, he would. And, if "credit" is the right thing to give him, he was very, very effective at it. I would normally say "good", but that word deserves no place in the same sentence when referring to good old dad without an appropriate negative being included.

My mum? Well, she... She was blond, had big tits and would shag my dad as long as the credit cards kept coming. She was sleeping around. He was sleeping around. She knew he was, but as long as the money kept flowing, she couldn't care less. He knew she was, but as long as there was food on the table and a cunt for him to fuck at his whim he didn't give a monkey's. It was a truly deep and caring relationship they shared.

Yeah, right.

As you can imagine, this loving, morally fortified background provided an ideal environment in which to bring up a child. Me. Liam Blackdon, at your service.

I was a fuckwit. What's more, not only did I know I was a fuckwit, but I loved and exploited the fact. You see, I wasn't exactly the most heavily built lad and so, by the age of twelve, I had learnt to make up for this lack of physical prowess with my wits and a sharp tongue. I was known in practically every police station in south Derbyshire, mainly for petty theft, joyriding, vandalism and miscellaneous breaches of the peace. However, thanks to the many Damoclean swords of blackmail Daddy had hanging over the majority of anybody who was anybody, including assorted law enforcement officers, council members, Customs and Excise, Inland Revenue staff and various other government and military personnel, our family was quite firmly in the "untouchables" section. Carte blanche for me, then.

As my body tried to keep pace with my mind, I suddenly twigged that I'm also good looking and again, like any good shit would, I exploited and used that fact to my advantage. Blond hair tied back in a short-ish pony-tail, grey eyes, tight bod and a dick I'm certainly not ashamed of simply added to my impertinence and self-assurance.

By the age of fifteen, I was a living, breathing nightmare. Mum and dad knew it. I knew it. So Dad treated this "problem" in exactly the same way that he treated any other problem. Throw money at it.

Now I'm not talking tens, or hundreds here. Not even thousands. Tens of thousands of pounds were shoved in my direction at obscenely regular intervals on the condition that I stayed out of my Dad's life and caused him as little trouble as possible.

It's amazing what happens when cash flows through your fingers like water. You suddenly gain "friends" of all sorts. Chuck someone five hundred quid and you'd be amazed what they're willing to do for you. Chuck the right person four figures and they'll do anything at all - not the scenario you really want when the guy conducting that particular orchestra is a fifteen-year-old who's two sandwiches short of a picnic.

One person managed to change all of this, however.

The fateful night when this particular chain of events began was a clear, frosty December evening. Mum was out with one of her boyfriends (for the third night in a row), Dad was out of the country on business and so I could do whatever I wanted. After a quite literally riotous evening with a couple of "mates" I ended up absolutely thrashing the crap out of a "borrowed" Audi S3 as the local police decided they wanted to talk to me.

I can't be sure exactly why they felt obliged to have a little chat but my feeling is it may well have been to do with the fact that I was doing over a hundred miles an hour through Derby city centre, chasing some poor fucker who'd mistakenly swerved in front of me at the previous roundabout.

It would appear that my rate of progress displeased the law enforcement officers and they wanted to let me know. The fact that I was fifteen and driving at over twice the speed limit in a stolen car would have done nothing to help an already helpless situation. Having evaluated this, I did what any other unhinged, moral-less idiot would have done and allowed as many horses as the turbocharged engine could deliver make their way unhindered to the four wheels of the vehicle.

I zoomed in and out of traffic, the tyres being almost torn from the rims as I hurled the car round impossibly tight corners, the only things stopping me from obliterating myself or some poor innocent pedestrian being some very clever electronics and sheer dumb luck.

I exited the city centre and dropped onto the A38, red-lining the Audi before each gear shift. 89 miles an hour in second, a dip of the clutch and a chirrup from the waste gates later and up to 125 in third, then a hundred and fifty-something in fourth and then hard on the brakes as I cut across two lanes of traffic out on to the exit I wanted and into the countryside.

The police Volvo had just about managed to keep sight of me, blue lights flashing, but the Audi had the same power with half the weight and a driver with no instinct of self preservation at the wheel. Within another couple of minutes, the police were nowhere to be seen. I didn't ease off, though - I was enjoying the adrenaline rush far too much. Alternating between second and third gear, I pushed the little S3 round the country lanes, not giving the slightest thought to the potential of a deer leaping out from the undergrowth or another car coming in the opposite direction.

Strangely, even if I had been anticipating a deer or another car, it could not have prepared me for what was about to happen. I rounded a sharp left-hander, tyres making their protests known as the traction control fought to keep the car going in roughly the right direction. Corner clear, I floored it down the straight grinning insanely at the sound of the screaming engine and roaring wind.

Then it happened. Something flew out of the forest to the right of me at about car roof height and, inevitably, we connected with a sickening crunch. The front windscreen crazy paved immediately and I stamped on the brakes, swearing loudly.

I tore off my seat belt, fought the door open and got out to assess the damage.

The front of the roof had been hit with such force that it had been driven back a good couple of inches, allowing for a fist-sized gap between it and the top of the windscreen. Marks that looked as if the vehicle had had a flame thrower run from the dent at the front over the entire roof adorned the recently flawless banana-yellow paint job. This pissed me off as the S3 was well fun to drive and I figured I could've got at least another few days out of it. Whatever had done this to "my" car was gonna pay.

I slammed the door and walked, seething with rage, back down the road. The night was crystal clear allowing the moon to cast a sharp white light over everything, including a smallish black mound in the middle of the road. I increased my walk to a jog until a reached whatever it was I'd hit.

Initially I couldn't work out what it was until I rolled it over. I gasped as I realised it was a kid a little younger than myself. He was wearing a long black cloak held together by a clasp at the neck and clutching, of all things, a broomstick.

I swallowed, initially feeling sorry for having hit him but almost immediately the dominant "shithead" part of my mind overruled the sorrow, turning it to satisfaction. 'Little fucker,' I thought. 'Leaped out in front of my car, caused a couple of grand's worth of damage and now he's paid. All settled then.'

As you can see, I was a perfectly pleasant, rational person.

I stood up, swore at the mass of flesh and cloak once more and turned back towards my car. As I turned, I was faced by another cloaked figure, silhouetted by the moonlight. Before I could do anything, the Halloween throwback pulled something (at the time I thought it was a gun) from its cloak, pointed it directly at me and uttered something in a voice that chilled me to the bone.

Almost immediately, it felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. Winded, I staggered backwards and tripped over the kid I'd left in the middle of the road. Dazed and confused, it took me a second to summon the power to get up again. As I sat up, the cloaked figure who was now approaching stumbled mid stride as if they'd suddenly lost all conviction in what they were doing, paused for a moment and then ran off into the woods.

If this wasn't enough, I felt the mass under me suddenly cough and splutter. The little shit was alive! And, just to really make my night, my ears just caught the sound of a police siren in the distance. I staggered up, looking round a couple of times until my eyes focused on the tail lights of the car.

"Th... Thanks," came a weak voice.

I spun round again. The kid was half sat up, propping himself on his elbows and looking straight at me.

Oh fuck. He was alive and he'd seen me. And the police were coming. Hit and run. Even my dad couldn't get me out of that one. I reasoned that the only way I had any vague chance of getting out of this one was to take this little pain in the arse with me before the police arrived. In one fell swoop I picked him and his broom up and trotted as fast as I could back to the car. I chucked him into the back seat and sat myself into the front. Putting my feet up against the windscreen I pushed with all my might, popping it out onto the bonnet with a crunch. Thankfully the engine struck up as soon as I touched the key. I slammed it into first, dumped the clutch and sped off deeper into the countryside, cursing as the cold wind streamed through the orifice left by the absent windshield and stung my eyes.

As we drove, I alternated between watching the road and the rear-view mirror. My passenger looked very scared, but was keeping quiet. We weren't a million miles away from my house and hence, not having caught sight of a police car for a while, decided to head for home.

I pulled into our lane and pressed the button to open the gates, drove down the drive and abandoned the car round the back of the house. I got out, flipped the seat forward and frog-marched cloak-boy into the deserted kitchen, practically throwing him into a chair as I turned and dug a couple of cans of Coke out of the fridge.

I pulled the tab and downed half of the can in one go before I turned to the kid who was sitting meekly at the kitchen table. I rolled one over the table to him which he caught and stood upright.

"So, what have you got to say for yourself?"

The kid looked petrified. Good.

"Uh... Th... Thank you?"

"Wrong answer." I slammed the coke down on the table, spun a chair round and sat straddling it, arms rested on its back. "The right answer," I continued, "is 'What do you mean, hit by a car, officer? I haven't seen anyone matching that description!'"

"Uh... I'm sorry, I... I don't quote follow..." he faltered. The kid looked genuinely confused now.

"Look - you just hit my car. I'm underage for driving and the last thing I need is for you to go blabbing to the police that I hit you while you were out walking minding your own business!"

"Walking," he grinned. "Good one. And forget the car."

"Damn right forget that!"

"No, I mean that's not important," smiled the kid. "You saved me!"

"Saved you?"

"The... uh... the thing that tried to curse us - you saved me from him! How did you do it?"

"Woah - hold on a sec - you think I saved you? Fuckin' hell mate, I damn near killed you!"

Crap. Admission by me. Bad plan. However this kid was quite clearly insane. Perhaps he had a concussion or something. Either way, whatever he was saying just wasn't making sense. Perhaps I should try and calm him down a little - the strong arm tactics obviously weren't working. Besides, if I could belt him at seventy-odd with a car, send him flying over the roof and thud on the ground and sit up moments later with ne'er a bruise to be seen then I was fairly certain that my fists would have little if any impact whatsoever.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Colin," he replied, staring back at me avidly. "Colin Creevy." He was sat right on the front of the chair, hands gripping the front edge of the seat as if in anticipation of something. Indeed, his voice too confirmed the eagerness. "What's yours?"

"Liam," I offered.

"Pleased to meet you, Liam," he gushed, and extended a grubby hand.

Cautiously, I shook it. "It really is good to meet another wizard," he beamed. "I mean, I would've thought you'd have been at school. Unless you're on attachment too,"

Totally cuckoo, this one. Definitely concussion. Against my usual judgement, my compassionate side made a very rare outing. I surprised even myself.

"Listen, Colin, how about you spend the night here - there's a spare bed made up so you may as well help yourself."

"Really? Oh thanks, Liam, that's really great of you! I mean, I'd hoped to be back at Hogwarts this evening but I was starting to get really tired and..."

"It's fine, Colin, honestly," I interrupted. "Just up the stairs, second on your right,"

He grinned once again and trotted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I just sat in disbelief at the kitchen table, not being able to comprehend exactly what'd transpired that night. I looked at my watch: 2:12AM.

I sighed and decided that an early (for me) night would be a good plan. I put Colin's untouched can of Coke back in the fridge, killed the lights and trudged up the stairs myself.

When I got to the top floor landing, I punched in the night alarm code then proceeded to my room, one further down than Colin's.

I stripped off to my T-shirt and boxers, switched off the main light and collapsed onto my bed.

Colin Creevy... What kind of a name was that anyway? As I sat and contemplated the odd things that had happened that evening, my mind kept drifting back to Colin. He had very fair blond, scruffy hair and dazzling blue eyes and a touch of a lisp when he spoke. He was built like a matchstick but despite that I couldn't help thinking that he wasn't offensive to the eye. Verging on cute, even.

I mentally kicked myself for that last thought as I really didn't want to be gay. I mean, as if I didn't have enough on my plate without knowing, deep down, that I was terminally attracted to other boys. My Dad would chuck me out of the house in the blink of an eye. The fact that I was even alive I'm sure displeased him but to be alive and gay I was sure would be enough for him to dispose of me. Not that he'd even notice if I bought another guy home and shagged him all night - he had managed to somehow make me blend into the scenery - I was another of the many things that he owned and in which he very quickly lost interest. Even so, I wasn't willing to risk it.

All in all, it had been one very odd evening. Consciousness left me in moments.

Initially I couldn't work out what had woken me. I never wake up in the middle of the night without a reason. I sat up and listened - not a sound. Then I heard the feint, rapid "BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP" of the alarm panel by my bed. Zone two, the downstairs hallway, had been tripped. Strangely zone one, the doors and windows, hadn't been. Not taking any chances, I reached beneath my bed until my fingers came into contact with cold metal.

I closed my fingers around the baseball bat and pulled it out quietly, tip-toed to my bedroom door and gently opened it a fraction. The dim night-light from the stairs cast an eerie gloom down the landing, but it was enough to confirm that there was no-one there.

Carefully, I ventured along the landing, pressed tightly to the wall. As I approached the hall's alarm panel, I could now see that zones two and five had been tripped, five being a pressure pad on the top step. I took a deep breath, stepped round the corner and swung, but my bat simply swished through thin air.

I exhaled with relief, but it was short lived. I heard a creak from behind me and, without looking, I made a wild swing in an arc with one hand. To my shock, the bat made contact with, as best as I could see, thin air accompanied by an "Oof!".

I punched the lights. Of all the scenes I thought may have greeted me, the one I was presented with certainly took me off guard. On the floor was a head, the face of which was contorted in pain. Aside from the grimace, the most striking feature was the head's bright red hair. For a moment I thought it was severed, but there was no blood anywhere. A moment later, a hand brandishing what looked like a stick appeared as if from under an invisible blanket. The head yelled "EXPELLIARMUS!". An intense flash of red light shot directly from the end of the stick at me which again took me rather by surprise, however when it hit it simply made my hand tingle slightly.

I advanced on the hand and head that was lying on the floor and, as they tried to shuffle back, the invisible "blanket" they were wearing fell away to reveal dress very similar to Colin's. Once again, the boy pointed the stick at me and this time yelled "TARANTALLEGRA!". A similar flash of light hit me, this time making my legs tingle ever so slightly. Eyes now wide with fear, the boy continued to try and back away but this time I fell on him, pinning his arms painfully with my knees and the baseball bat jammed hard under his chin.

"COLIN!" I yelled. "CREEVY, GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE,"

A second later I head a thud from Colin's bedroom and the door was wrenched open. Colin, bleary eyed, gasped as he saw me pinning the intruder down.

"Ron! Ron is that you?"

"Colin! Get this psycho off me!"

"Liam, it's OK, he's a friend of mine,"

"No, Colin, it's not OK - this lanky fuckwit just BROKE INTO MY HOUSE!" I yelled.

"OK, I'm sorry," the boy called Ron said, wincing with the pain of my weight on his upper arms.

"Let go of that stick thing!"

"What?"

"I think he means your wand, Ron," added Colin, wincing in sympathy with Ron's grunts of discomfort. Ron let go of the wand and, after I picked it up, I climbed off him carefully.

"Bloody hell, Creevy, you don't half know how to pick 'em," said the red-haired lad, rubbing his biceps alternately.

"Colin, what the hell is going on here?" I asked.

"I came to, uh, rescue him," said Ron, looking rather embarrassed. "We thought he'd been captured or something,"

"No, I'm fine, Ron," chirped Colin in his annoyingly perky manner. "Thanks for the effort though," he smiled tentatively.

"What kind of wizard are you, anyway? I mean, I know you can block spells like those, but I never knew you could do it with out incantation,"

I looked at Colin once more, confused as ever. "Colin, what the hell is he on about?"

"Well, we're wizards in training," he said quite candidly as if he'd just said 'oh, I like football'. "I assumed you were a wizard after last night when you stopped the death curse on me."

"Death curse? This bloke stopped the DEATH CURSE? No friggin' wonder I wasn't exactly winning,"

"Hold on, wizards? You're training to be wizards? Like with wands and dragons and cauldrons and shit?" I asked incredulously.

Ron continued, totally oblivious to my derisory tone. "Colin, Dumbledore needs to know about this bloke. I mean, he's like indestructible or something! No curse can harm him..."

"But he's a Muggle! Ron, we can't just take a muggle back to Hogwarts!"

Muggle? If anything sounded derisory, that did. "Err, excuse me - muggle?"

"Non magical person,"

"OK Liam - d'you mind if I try a little experiment?" asked Ron.

"Knock yourself out," I grinned. This was just nuts. No, actually - THEY were just nuts. No way could any of this be even half way true.

"Could I have my wand back?" asked Ron.

So far, the most this kid had managed to muster was a tingle in my fingers and, as far as I could see, the most damage he could ever inflict would be by throwing it at me. What the hell: I handed it back to him.

"What're you gonna do Ron?"

"The Cruciatus curse,"

The blood quite literally drained from Colin's face. Before I could do anything, Ron yelled "Crucio!" and yet another jet of bright red light hit me square in the chest. This time, it felt as if I was in hot sunlight, my skin feeling a gentle prickling of heat. Both Colin and Ron appeared speechless.

"So I passed then?" I grinned. I wasn't sure if it was because of the sheer lunacy of the situation or the fact that between them and myself, no-one would ever know of our meeting, but I suddenly realised I'd dropped - for the first time in years - my whole "attitude". For whatever reason, I was actually enjoying their company. Either way, I didn't get an answer from them.

"Well, I dunno about you two, but I'm going to bed again." I stated.

"Where's Ron gonna sleep?" asked Colin, conscientious as ever.

"It's a big enough bed - I'll let you two fight over it,"

Turning my back on the two lads, I yawned and ambled back down the hall to my room and closed the door behind me, leaving both Colin and Ron rather speechless. I always liked dramatics.

Back in my bedroom I had just enough coherence left in me to collapse into bed, drifting into a sleep interspersed with dreams of weird and wonderful lands inhabited by dragons and wizards and all manner of other strange creatures. That night, I slept very soundly indeed.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Well, that's all for the moment. Let us know what you think (good or bad) at meta4@meta4.org, or visit our web site at http://www.meta4.org.