Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Harry Potter and the Tsuki no Hime ❯ Chapter One - Summer's End ( Chapter 1 )

Authors Notes: I made a mistake in posting the first part of this fic. Within the fic, I labeled that first part as chapter one. Well, it's not; it's the prologue. THIS is chapter one. Just deal with it! And I WILL finish Mended Wing. I just needed a break from having to think about it, I think.

Thankies: Bah, all you thankies people know who you are. ::gets beaten:: Okies! Okies! Thankies go to Trenchcoat Man, Marika Webster, Fuuzaki-chan, ALS, Ilirial, and Isis, and to all you faithful readers out there who read all my stuff whether you know what the hell I'm talking about or not.

Spoiler Warnings: For any deprived soul who either has not read the books at all and thinks they may want to after reading this OR who somehow hasn't gotten around to reading the fourth book yet, there are some major fourth book spoilers. Go read the fourth book! BAH!

Disclaimers: I haven't stolen the Sailormoon or Harry Potter characters! I'm just borrowing them for a bit!

Harry Potter and the Tsuki no Hime

Chapter One - Summer's End

Harry watched as Pig flew off towards the Burrow. He hoped the owl would get there before September first, but with Pig one could never be certain. He might decide to take a detour around London first. Harry had warned the little bird against such shenanigans, but he wasn't entirely certain Pig had been listening. Harry squinted. Pig seemed to be heading straight for the Weasley's.

With his letter sent, Harry took to organizing his room the way he wanted to leave it for next year. Dudley inevitably came in and changed something because he knew Harry would be irked, but no use leaving his room in a mess he would only have to clean when he returned. His trunk had already been mostly packed, only his History of Magic textbook and a few rolls of parchment left out so Harry could finish the paper Professor Binns assigned. He knew he'd procrastinated, but after six years of History of Magic and the ever-boring Binns, Harry simply hadn't been able to bring himself to write the thing. He had a week in which to research enough material for two scrolls filled with the dullest information about the different magical schools and their founders. Before leaving Hogwarts last year, Hermione had required he and Ron get a head start, so Harry knew a little about Beuxbatons, but not really any more than he'd known at the end of his fourth year.

Harry paused, swallowing down the memory of his fourth year. Sixteen now, two years older than he had been then, and Harry still couldn't shake the waves of fear that crossed him whenever he thought of Voldemort rising again and Cedric's body lying on the ground. Once he'd thought that Voldemort could never be his worst fear; the Dementors of Azkaban were far worse. That was before he'd seen the thing that had been Voldemort dumped into a cauldron and rise from it a fully formed wizard. A wizard who could touch him. A wizard who had ordered the death of a boy Harry had just begun to be friends with.

Surprisingly enough, to Harry as well as everyone who knew him, his fifth year at Hogwarts had been uneventful. Voldemort hadn't sieged the school in an attempt to capture or kill him. No spies were turned up, no adventures had. Only boring old school work. The most exciting thing that happened was Neville telling Snape where to shove his arrow root. A conference with Dumbledore proved to place Neville in an advanced Herbology for gifted students instead of fifth year Potions. Harry still grinned when he thought of it.

With memories of his recent, happy fifth year, Harry began his work again. Since the room was so small, it took him less than fifteen minutes to clear the entire space. He sighed when done and fell down on his bed. His mind began to wander again. Harry's mind tended to wander often considering how little entertainment the Dursley's provided.

The thing his mind settled on was Ron's letter, the one Harry'd sent a response to via Pigwidgeon. Ron relayed to Harry all news from the wizarding world because under no circumstances would his family allow him a subscription to the Daily Prophet. The most recent rumor circulating spoke of some great breakthrough in the war against Voldemort. No one knew any specifics, but everyone had a theory, including Ron:

"It's got to be Dumbledore. He's come up

with something brilliant. He IS the only one

with enough brains to think of anything powerful

enough to work. You can bet that You-Know-Who

doesn't stand a chance of winning against anything

Dumbledore comes up with. After this year you won't

have anything to worry about."

Harry appreciated Ron's optimism, but something told him it would take a lot more than even Dumbledore to defeat Voldemort now, even though the Dark wizard had yet to make a move against Harry, Hogwarts, or anyone for that matter.

A rumbling tummy reminded Harry that he hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. He glanced at his watch and arched a brow at finding it to be three in the afternoon, long after the midday meal should have been served. The Dursley's certainly weren't the most loving of families, but they'd never starved him. Not even just before his second year when they'd locked him in his room in an attempt to keep him from going back to Hogwarts. Cold soup had been his only meal, true, but it was still food.

Curious, Harry crept quietly down the stairs, prepared to hear one of the three Dursleys screaming about something. Only the creak of the stairs greeted his ears. Dread iced over his stomach. The Dursleys were never this quiet. It simply wasn't in their natures. Where was his pathetic excuse for a dysfunctional only family? Not even a whisper of Dudley's heavy, labored breathing came to him. They couldn't be up stairs; Harry heard all three descend hours ago and none return for any reason. He swallowed as his feet hit the bottom of the stairs and stopped. Nothing. Harry almost ran the short distance to the kitchen, expecting to find at least his porkish cousin, raiding the fridge in desperation. No one. Fear closed his throat to keep him from calling out. It was a selfish fear, not for his aunt, uncle or cousin. He feared their disappearances signaled the long-awaited attack. Did Voldemort lurk over three fresh bodies, waiting for a fourth?

There's still the front room, he thought in frantic hysteria, they could still be there. Though in every book or movie ever written, the family never remained safe. The last room searched always contained the corpses.

Harry forced his legs to move, to carry him from the kitchen to the front den. He turned into the doorway, nearly hyperventilating because he expected to see the Dursleys sprawled in death and Voldemort grinning with a pointed wand.

Instead, three pairs of eyes turned upwards. It took Harry a moment, between panicked breaths, to take in the fact that the Dursleys were indeed alive. In another moment he realized that not one of them had commented on his strange behavior. Finally, he noticed Aunt Petunia's ashen face and Uncle Vernon's stricken expression. Even Dudley wore a speechless look of shock.

"W-What's happened?"

Harry expected his uncle to call him a dolt for not already knowing before answering the question. But Uncle Vernon merely said, "The Prime Minister's been assassinated."

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

The King's Cross station didn't have the same feel as usual. The crowd that usually milled on any day of the year seemed to have drained to a small trickle of the most determined people, and even these few had closed and drawn expressions. Harry took a moment to watch the people passing and wonder what they were thinking. A man crossed his path to the front, clutching a newspaper tightly in both hands and glaring straight ahead. A woman sniffled and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. A week had done little to ease the pain of the country at the loss of the Prime Minister.

Harry sighed and leaned back against the brick wall. Uncle Vernon had dropped him off an hour ago, without any complaints or insults. As good as a week with nice Dursleys could have been, Harry had to admit it was strange and unnatural. He wanted everything to be normal again. But things hadn't been normal since his eleventh birthday.

"Harry!"

The Weasleys approached from his left, Ron waving. Harry was surprised to see Mr. Weasley with them. He was even more surprised to see how serious Mr. Weasley was as he settled his gaze on Harry. Mr. Weasley rarely accompanied his family to King's Cross because he usually had work to do within the Ministry. The last time he'd done so was in Harry and Ron's third year, when . . .

Harry swallowed, suddenly sure that his worst fear had in fact come true.

"Harry," said Mr. Weasley with a brisk nod of his head, "Can we talk?"

Harry glanced to Mrs. Weasley, who looked nervous but motioned for Harry to go with her husband. The four Weasley children all glanced between themselves. Even Fred and George wore solemn expressions, and Ginny seemed even more on the verge of tears than usual. Harry felt his heart banging around in his chest as Mr. Weasley put a hand on his shoulder and led him away from the others. How bad is it? How bad?

"Harry, I know that there's a lot you can handle," Mr. Weasley began, "After all, you were very mature about Sirius Black, and you were only thirteen then. You're sixteen now, so I'm not going to sugar-coat things for you. Harry, He Who Must Not be Named is responsible for the death of the Prime Minister."

In the pause that followed, Harry tried to swallow and found he couldn't. His throat clenched shut like it had a week ago when in his moment of insanity he thought Voldemort had killed the Dursleys. Only this time he was right. Almost since the moment he found out, he knew. Knew that Voldemort had something to do with it, that his evil would not be contained to the wizarding world. But there was one thing he didn't know.

"Why?" He looked up into the face of his best friend's father. "Why would Vol- You-Know-Who want to kill the muggle Prime Minister?"

"We don't know exactly why yet. All we know is that one of his aids recalls seeing a strange man in the building not long before the Prime Minister's body was discovered. That stranger fits the description of Peter Pettigrew."

Wormtail. Of course. It made sense that Voldemort would send his lackey to do the dirty work, even if he had regained the faculties to do it himself. And Wormtail could kill with magic, he had the skills.

Avada Kedavra!

"Damndest thing," Uncle Vernon said, face white. "There wasn't a mark on him. Not a bullet hole or a stab wound or anything. But they say he had this look of horror frozen on his face like he'd seen whoever did it. But what did they do, give him a heart attack?"

Harry shuddered.

"I wanted you to know, Harry. I thought you had a right."

"Yeah," Harry said and shrugged, trying his best to look as if this news didn't bother him. "Everyone knows he's coming after me next."

Mr. Weasley stared at him a moment, blinked, then nodded as though something had been confirmed for him. "Well then, now that that's over, I suggest we all get onto the platform." He spoke now loud enough for the waiting Weasleys to hear. The next few moments had a familiar feel to them as Mrs. Weasley worked to organize not only her own children but Harry as well, putting together their game plan for getting onto platform nine and three-quarters without any muggles noticing. Harry was only too glad to let her think for him in those moments, because he wanted not to think. Not about the platform or the train or school or Voldemort or anything. He wanted only to be told what to do and do it.

Finally on the train, Harry plopped onto the seat and slipped his face into his hands.

"Hey," Ron said as he sat on the seat across the compartment, "you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just fine."

"That's probably the worst lie I've ever heard you tell, Harry Potter." Hermione's voice floated from the doorway. "You can't be fine, now that You-Know-Who finally made a move."

"Hermione, I really don't think that now is the time to be pushy." Through his fingers Harry saw Ron glaring at their third friend, who ignored him as she sat primly on the seat beside next to the red-headed boy.

"It doesn't matter. Harry's been through a lot, and we've never made him talk about it. But it's been more than a year, and he still isn't talking." Now she turned to Harry, who lifted his head to glare back. "It's not healthy, Harry, it really isn't, and if you don't talk to us soon you'll end up in St. Mungo's. Or worse, a muggle psychiatric ward, talking to a muggle head-shrinker. Is that what you want?"

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, settling them out of the window to watch the people pass. Just that moment the train gave a whistle and began moving, slowly leaving King's Cross behind. "No," he answered Hermione, "it's not what I want. But I can't. Not yet. I just . . . I can't."

Hermione gave a little 'humph' but said no more. Harry imagined Ron had something to do with that. Truthfully, he valued their worry, but also their discretion up until this point. He didn't want to talk and didn't think he could. Neither of them would really understand. They would be sympathetic, yes, and they would pity him, but they wouldn't understand. And after that all Harry would see in their eyes when they looked at him would be the sympathetic pity. He knew for a fact he wouldn't be able to handle that.

Relief lifted his mood from him when Hermione asked him if he'd finished his essay for Professor Binns. From there launched a heated discussion about the merits and faults of ghost professors. Harry and Ron both felt strongly that Binns should retire, considering no one quite remembered exactly how long he'd been dead. They wanted someone who could teach them more recent wizarding history. In five years Binns had yet to teach them anything remotely interesting. Hermione, however, felt that Binns could be considered a historical landmark in himself, or at least an official treasure, and it would be a shame to see him placed in the back of the library with nothing to keep himself occupied with. Harry and Ron groaned, feeling the oncoming of another S.P.E.W.-like project. Perhaps it would be Protecting the Economical Rights of Deceased in the Work Place.

"You didn't finish you essay, did you?" Hermione finally said.

"I didn't have time," Harry lied. He'd had the week, but had spent the week deciding what to do if he heard that Voldemort was on his way to Hogwarts. He had a plan, one he wouldn't be sharing with his friends.

The train ride passed quickly as they spoke, making up for the lost time during summer vacation. All too soon the announcement came that they were approaching Hogwarts and all students should be dressed in their uniforms and ready. As sixth year students, the three of them were already prepared, having dressed an hour ago. They were stepping out of the compartment when Ron stopped and looked at Harry and Hermione.

"I just realized something. We just spent one entire trip to Hogwarts without once seeing Malfoy."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then smiled as they recognized Ron was right.

"What do you think it means?" Harry had to ask.

"Maybe he's been transferred to Durmstrang!" Ron grinned, clearly excited by the idea. "I mean, Ferret Boy always did say he wanted to go there rather than Hogwarts! Maybe he finally convinced his mum and dad to let him."

Harry laughed at Ron's use of 'Ferret Boy', the name they'd taken to calling Malfoy after his run-in with Moody in fourth year.

You mean the pretend Moody. Remember, he wasn't the real Moody after all. The real Moody just got out of St. Mungo's a month ago.

The three filed out of the train like dutiful students, still basking in the glow of their Malfoy-free ride. All around them flowed the molten sea of black robes forged by Hogwarts students. The first years all carried the same aura of nervous excitement about them that the first years before them had, and the first years before them. Harry remembered feeling the same when he first set foot on Hogwarts ground. At least he and his classmates would ride in carriages to the school instead of crossing the lake with Hagrid.

No sooner had he thought the name than the half-giant came into sight. Harry was surprised to see that with him he dragged a rather reluctant looking blonde girl with a strange hairstyle. And her face was an interesting shade of red as she seemed to be screaming at the top of her lungs. Hagrid wore a pained expression. Then he saw Harry, Ron and Hermione and waved them over, a grand smile spreading over his face.

"Harry! Just the boy I've been lookin' for!" Hagrid breathed even easier when the girl at his side ceased her tirade to stare at the three students in what must have been suspicion from the way her blue eyes narrowed. She spoke to them, but she wasn't speaking English. It wasn't even American English. "This here's Rabbit."

"Her name is Rabbit?" Hermione asked, eyes locked on the two buns atop the girl's head.

"Well, at least that's what her name means. The translation spell Dumbledore gave me don't exactly know the difference between regular words and names."

"Oh."

"She's an exchange student from the Mahou Academy in Japan. She'll be with us as a sixth year." At this point Hagrid leaned over and whispered to them. "She ain't too happy to be here. Misses her home and old school an everythin'. But I'm sure you three can make her feel right at home." He grinned and pushed Rabbit forward towards the three, then turned away. "Gotta take in the first years now! See ya, Harry! Ron! Hermione!"

He left the four of them standing there, the three Hogwarts students staring curiously at the other and she glaring back with angry eyes.

End Chapter One.