Chapter 3 – The Price of Betrayal

The room was cold despite the two blazing fires that roared in open fireplaces on either side of the stone chamber. The light from the fires was but a mere orange glow that did not do more than turn the room’s natural darkness into semi-twilight. The brightest parts of the room were lit from above by a magical moonlight that shone regardless of the time of day, falling in two circles. One lit up a section of empty stone floor near the middle of the chamber. The other fell on a raised dais where a huge chair sat facing away from the first pool of light, looking over the rooms only visible form of decoration of a golden serpent symbol etched on the wall that seemed to glow with green energy contained within.

A noise sounded in the chamber as figures shrouded in black cloaks strode into the pool of moonlight that illuminated the floor. They dumped what seemed to be nothing more than a bundle of rags onto the ground between them. As they stood in statue-like silence, the bundle of fabric moved.

The movement was tiny, but it showed that something was alive under them, as the chair lit by the other pool of light began to turn away from the snake symbol on the wall.

Lord Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard and the one most feared for over a hundred years stood up from the chair in a smooth motion to face the two death eaters that had brought his latest target before him.

“Karakoff,” he hissed addressing the bundle of black cloth on the ground. “How are you?”

Karakoff made no response beyond a whimper as he tried to crawl deeper inside his black cloak and hide.

“You do not have the courage to face me?” asked Voldemort as he stepped down from the raised platform where his throne-like chair sat. “I’m not surprised.”

Karakoff shivered in fear as one of the death eaters tore open the cloak to reveal the harsh features of the former head of Durmstrang’s school. Voldemort glared at the traitor and compared him to the memory of his former follower. Karakoff had always been tall and thin with white hair and a goatee that finished in a curl. But he was now gaunt with sunken eyes and his hair was longer and untidier that he had ever seen it before.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself before I kill you?” Voldemort asked as his hand slid beneath the floor length black cloak he wore.

“M…m…my lord!” whimpered Karakoff as he cowered between the two death eaters. “P…p…please!”

Voldemort raised his wand in an almost idle gesture, pointing it at his betrayer.

“I…I was trying to maintain my position to better serve you when you returned!” argued Karakoff feebly.

“Others paid the price for supporting me,” said Voldemort darkly. “How many died or were sent to Azkeban because of you? Which one of those that you betrayed could have aided in my recovery far sooner?”

“I… I thought,” Karakoff stammered out only to be cut of by Voldemort.

“NO! You did NOT think! You betrayed me and there is only one price for that betrayal. Goodbye Karakoff.”

Karakoff shook his head quickly. “I'm sorry master,” he uttered feebly. Then, after a quick gasp of air, he screamed wordlessly while the room was lit up with a viscous green light accompanying Voldemort yelling out Avada Kedavra’.

As the light died, Voldemort looked down upon the traitor. “Apology accepted Karakoff.”



Harry sat bolt upright in his bed. His scar was burning like a hot poker was being pressed torturously slowly into his brain. Before he could even recognise his surroundings his right hand had shot up to his forehead to massage his temple, as if rubbing would take away the scar and with it the blinding pain.

The dream he had seen was just like the one he had experienced last year. He briefly considered getting out of bed to go and wash his cold, sweat drenched forehead but quickly reconsidered. His suffering, whether it was minor or extreme, had always been done silently and alone. It was times such as these that he had an unfulfilled ache for a mother’s arms to be wrapped tightly around him, rocking him gently and whispering calm and loving words in his ear...

Safely tucked away in her cage, Hedwig had sensed Harry’s anxiety and had woken. She hooted softly as if trying to comfort Harry in her own calm, loving way. No amount of comfort could help Harry right now. He knew this burning in his scar all too well and it was never a good sign.

In his fourth year at Hogwarts, the painful burning sensation that he’d felt periodically in his earlier years, had gotten worse. These pains had plagued him but somehow, after the end of the year and all that had happened, he’d managed to put the thought of the burning pain aside and going on about his summer as normal as he could (at least as normal possible for a young wizard living in a muggle household that was as decidedly unfriendly toward the magical world as was possible).

Now, with his head feeling like it was going to detach from his body (and part of him wishing it would), Harry’s fears came flooding back in a torrent of visions clouded in a green mist.

His mind now clearing and he recalled the dream he had suffered. He had seen in his mind’s eye the death of Karakoff. It had been as if he was standing in the dimly lit room among Voldemort and his death eaters but invisible to them.

He could see and feel the evil in Voldemort.

He was aware of the cold in the room that no amount of fire could warm.

He could sense the fear in Karakoff’s eyes and manner.

But what chilled him most was the sight of Voldemort so different from the first time he’d seen him at Hogwarts. Then he was just a shadow of his former self - being without a body and neither alive nor dead. But now… now he had form and he was out there, rebuilding his power base and, from the sensations in Harry’s forehead, getting stronger and stronger with each passing day.

As suddenly as it had come, the pain ceased and the nightmare vision faded. Harry was left sitting alone in his bed, dripping in a cold sweat while his right hand still absently rubbed his scar.

After a moments silence he was somewhat surprised to find his cheeks were moist with tears. He wiped at them with the corner of his bed sheet and surveyed the room telling himself that they were tears of pain and nothing else.

The first thing he saw was Hedwig with her glowing eyes, wide and fixed on him.

Harry threw the covers off of himself and slid out of bed. He was still a bit shaken from his experienced but managed to pad, barefoot, to the cage. Hedwig hooted softly as Harry quietly opened the door and she hopped out and fluttered to the corner of Harry’s bed where she began pecking nervously at the rumpled bedclothes.

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and stroked Hedwig’s soft feathers. In a way, this simple gesture, contact with a living and caring creature, was exactly what he needed after his nightmarish visions and tremendous pain.

“I… I don’t know what to do, Hedwig.” Harry said softly to her. “Voldemort is coming back stronger than ever. I can feel it and this time it won’t be just me he’s after. He’s got to be stopped. But what if more people are hurt or killed?” Hedwig looked at Harry as if she understood each word he had said. In a way, perhaps she did. “I guess you can’t really help me either, can you?” Hedwig nipped affectionately at his fingers then flew to Harry’s desk and grabbed a quill that lay across several sheets of unused parchment. Swooping low, she dropped the quill into Harry’s lap and perched herself on the edge of the bedroom windowsill.

“A letter?” Harry asked Hedwig. “You think I should write a letter?” The owl hooted as if in response. “To whom? Mr. Weasley and Ron should be here to get me from this place in the morning and Professor Dumbledore… well… he’s probably too busy to hear from me right now with classes about ready to begin again. Hermione…” he paused at the sound of his friend’s name. A warmth he had rarely felt came over him and he smiled. “Well, Hermione will be at the Weasley’s so I’ll see her soon too. Sirius… “ Hedwig let out a great screech.

“Hedwig!” Harry whispered harshly. “Shhhh!” Then Harry understood. “You think it would help if I wrote to Sirius?”

Hedwig responded with a soft hoot.

Harry moved over to his desk and sat down. He took one of the pieces of parchment and, dipping the quill into an inkwell, began to write his letter; one that he hopped wouldn’t frighten Sirius from his hiding place with Professor Lupin.

Dear Sirius,

I don’t know why I’m writing to you, but I had to write someone. It’s just that I think Voldemort has done something. My scar was just burning and that is never good. I’ve had dreams too. I dreamt that Karakoff was killed by Voldemort.

Please be well and be safe. You are the only family I have left...

Harry

Harry hesitated a moment before folding the parchment and fixing it to Hedwig’s leg. He was unsure if it was right to consider Sirius as family. But he didn’t feel disloyal. In fact, somehow he thought his mother and father would have approved and might even be thankful that Harry had someone like Sirius to turn to.

”I’ll be at the Burrow from tomorrow,” he said softly as he gave the soft feathers at her neck one last stroke. Opening the window, Hedwig nipped his finger affectionately and he stood and watched as she took flight.

The sun was just beginning to rise. The clouds reflected the red, orange and yellow of the sun as it began its trek across the skies. He took a deep breath of the crisp clean air and tried to put the feelings of dread out of his mind. Instead he concentrated on his upcoming trip back to the Burrow, the only place, other than Hogwarts, that he had ever really felt at home.

It was still early and the house was still silent as Harry quietly pulled out his trunk and began packing it with everything from his room that he would need in his Fifth year at Hogwarts.

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