BOOK 9

Title: John.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling.

Summary: Henry Bellamy is the most powerful wizard in the world. The criminal family Khatabi believe themselves to be the most powerful wizards in the world. When Bellamy defeats them, the matriarch, old Riza Khatabi, takes a terrible revenge. Henry Bellamy, once known as Harry Potter, now becomes the John Doe. This story is set in the not too distant future.

Terminology used: Anirage is the technical name for wizards, and muggles are called 'Medj.'

A very brief history of the previous eight books of this series.

Harry Potter is now called Henry Bellamy. He is very old, and his power is greater by far than any other wizard of the world. His wife is Pat, a muggle, and his daughters are Susan, Lesley and Mary. Old handicaps: a tendency to stagger to the left when ill or tired, and occasional trembling attacks.

Chapter 1/Part 1:

The young horses were excited, some of them cantering around the paddock, bucking and playing, others claiming a position close to the strange man who entered their large paddock. They were the forty-three foals of the previous year, categorised now as yearlings, though few were quite twelve months old. They were of the stud, the 'Line of Sheba,' now very well known among the show jumping fraternity. There was a profit sharing arrangement, and while Paul Pickering managed the stud along with his own Andalusian stud, it was Henry Bellamy who was the actual owner.

One by one, he spoke to the horses, blacks, bays, chestnuts, and quite a lot of skewbalds. Each of them wore a halter, with a name and number shown on the browband. Although the young man's name was Henry Bellamy, he was almost always known as just Bellamy, except to his employees and the children of his employees, who universally called him Boss. Even Paul sometimes called him Boss, though Paul had never been an employee. To his wife only, he was Henry.

Eight names were entered in the note book that Paul carried. Eight good looking young horses were rejected, according to Bellamy, not brainy enough to be of the Line of Sheba. Paul objected to the exclusion of one, a beautiful black colt that showed the promise of speed. But Bellamy was adamant - the Line of Sheba horses had to be clever, he said. He added, "Keep him, if you like, for your own use, but a good showjumper has to have brains."

Paul was grumpy. "I might just do that." And then he pointed to a small black filly. "I really think we should reject that one - she's way too small."

Bellamy whistled, and the filly shook her head, and then cantered to him. He caressed her, talking to her. The filly nuzzled him and whickered.

Paul raised his eyes to the sky. It was perfectly obvious that the filly would stay. It wasn't final. There'd be another cull in a year's time, and yet another a year after that, when it would be decided which of the fillies might be kept for breeding, which sold as 'Line of Sheba' horses, and which sold separately. The Line of Sheba horses were in high demand and fetched extremely high prices, but their reputation could not be risked by including inferior animals.

Bellamy conceded to the rejection of three other young horses, though. Paul was better than himself at assessing the conformation and likely athletic ability of the young horses, but it was only Bellamy who had the almost mystical communication with his horses that enabled him to pick the brainy ones.

Paul waited for it, and it came. "I wish we could keep them all," Bellamy sighed. "They're all beautiful."

Paul smirked, and said, "The next lot?"

Paul took the lead as they looked at the older horses. Bellamy held each one, and talked to it, as Paul ran experienced hands over it, and then stood back, and just looked. Three more were rejected.

"Not quite up to standard," Paul said.

Bellamy nodded. The stud had been going for many years now, and for quite a lot of years, he'd been away from home and out of touch. It was Paul and his parents who'd developed it from the few mares he'd kept. Paul's judgement was good.

"Are you planning on gelding all of these colts?" Bellamy asked.

"I was," Paul said.

"Not that one," said Bellamy decisively, pointing at an oddly marked skewbald.

Paul wrinkled his nose, saying, "I hate its markings - it looks ridiculous."

Bellamy laughed. "We can always do it later, have another look at it next year, if you like, but I think it could be the best of them all."

The skewbald colt stamped his feet, tossed his head, and led the others in a sudden dash around the paddock. He knew he was being discussed, and wasn't at all sure that he liked it. Paul said, "He's currently called 'God Wot?' but maybe we should give him a more dignified name if we're going to keep him."

The next group were the three year olds, and the most important selection was to be made. Which of the fourteen fillies should be kept for breeding, which should be sold? There was also the lesser question - were any of the geldings needed for riding horses, or should they all be sold? There was one ungelded colt, called Tattler. But he hadn't developed as well as Paul had hoped, and it was decided that he would not, after all, be kept for breeding.

Two hours passed as Bellamy and Paul argued, continuing even over the afternoon tea provided by Paul's wife, Helena. Fourteen-year-old Marcus Pickering joined them, with the sure instinct of a growing boy when food was in the offing. Helena smiled at her son, who glanced at the pair and shrugged. They were again in dispute over 'God Wot?' It happened every year, this sometimes heated discussion, in spite of their close friendship.

When finally peace was restored, Marcus and Helena joined Paul and Bellamy as they admired the Andalusians. They were beautiful, showy horses, though Bellamy privately thought that they were stolid and without character next to his own. Paul guessed at his thoughts, and said stoutly, "Each one of your horses is more trouble than the whole thirty of the Andalusian mares!"

Bellamy grinned. He didn't deny that a horse with brains could be more trouble.

When Bellamy finally cantered off astride the bare back of his bay gelding, Paul went back to the paddock with the three year olds. He pointed his wand, muttered the words of the spell, and Tattler, the colt, became a gelding. Tattler shook his head and stamped his foot, but gelding a horse with magic was a painless process, and he dropped his head and began again to graze.

The horses for sale would be sent to Paul's brother, who lived a lot further away from Henry Bellamy. Bellamy's home was hidden, as even though there'd been few attempts at killing him in recent years, he was immensely valuable to the world of wizardry, and his security could not be risked by allowing clues such as the famed Line of Sheba stud, just next door. Henry Bellamy was 'the great wizard.' He could break spells that no-one else could break, so that he was in demand for healing the victims of curses when the mediwizards failed. And even more valuable, while the great wizard was around, no potential criminal wizard was likely to raise his head too far. Bellamy's abilities were legendary, British wizardry very lucky to have him.

Although he still looked a young man, he was now aged one hundred and sixty-four. As far as was known, there had never been a wizard who didn't appear to age at all, although there had always been a few powerful wizards and witches who aged more slowly than normal, achieving sometimes great ages. A witch in Morocco, for instance, finally died at one hundred and sixty-three. Not many had ever lived longer than that. She'd looked very, very old, of course, and Bellamy, at a year older, was young and vigorous.

Arriving home, Bellamy found his wife in the walled garden that she loved. "I got tired of Susan," she explained. "She's never still!" Bellamy grinned. Susan, aged thirteen, was home from school for the short Easter break. She was a livewire.

Bellamy hugged his wife, and the expression in his eyes evoked an instant response in Pat. But she shook herself. "We can't, not now, there's people everywhere!" she said.

"There's always the secret bedroom," her husband murmured.

But Pat was firm. "In just two years, the three of them will be off at school, and then we can make love whenever we choose." She continued sternly, "Right now, we have to be discreet."

Bellamy wasn't easily dissuaded, running caressing hands over her body, and saying softly, "The secret bedroom is discreet." Pat was weakening, but then Lesley and Mary, their younger daughters, suddenly pulled open the door in the wall, and demanded from Pat the answer to a burning question they had about super novae. Bellamy resigned himself to waiting until evening.

There were people everywhere. In a paddock not far away, Victor Armitage, who looked after the horses, was presiding over a riding lesson. Four boys of seven, eight and barely nine, children of Bellamy's employees, plus two daughters of Paul's employees, were neatly cantering around a paddock as Victor watched critically. Mary, Bellamy's youngest daughter, glanced over at the riders with disdain. Lesley and Mary, at eleven and nine, were tall for their ages, thin, and with strong boned, plain faces. They took after their mother, in their looks and in their very considerable intelligence. Susan, the oldest, was small, slight, and quick of action as well as of wit. Susan deemed herself too old to be bothered with riding lessons.

The following day was the annual Ministry Ball, always held on Easter Saturday. Bellamy was reluctant, but Pat said that there were people she wanted to catch up on. She looked at her sulky husband. "We'll leave before the speeches," she soothed. Bellamy was a sociable creature in most ways, but anything that hinted of formality had him shying off. And he loathed the way he was fawned upon at these events. He was too famous. He thought that British wizardry should be accustomed to him and treat him as just part of the scenery. But he was always stared at, people took his photograph, and even though he invariably refused, there was always someone asking for his autograph. There were always reporters, too, though they'd long given up asking for interviews. Still sulky, he grabbed the first set of dress robes that came to hand and slipped on the fancy garments.

Pat regarded him fondly. She was glad she'd allowed him to grow his hair long again. He was no longer in such danger as he'd been when she'd decreed that he had to have a short, normal haircut in order to be less conspicuous, and it was suitable that the great wizard should look the part.

The girls were left in the charge of Therese, one of the security guards. Bellamy wrapped his arm around his wife, and they were instantly at the venue, brightly lit with moving, coloured lights that gave it a festive air. Pat, who was Medj, that is, a normal person, not Aniragi, reflected for about the thousandth time, what a handy skill apparation was. She knew it could be dangerous, and that many wizards and witches chose not to use it. But her husband, of course, was an expert. And while apparation range for everyone else was only a few hundred miles, Bellamy, she knew, could apparate anywhere in the world he chose.

Bellamy and Pat were expected, and bodyguards provided by the Ministry, whether wanted or not, came straight to their sides. Kupec, Scott and Otis were well known to them, but although they were friends too, they were uniformed, on duty, and Otis reminded Bellamy quite sternly that they were not to be distracted with conversation. The bodyguards were aurors, the soldiers and policemen of the wizarding world. They were physically strong and fit, highly trained, and very efficient. They were the elite of their world, and most of them displayed an arrogance in their stance that showed how well they knew it.

Bellamy had been around so long that hardly any of those present were strangers. Pat had been married to Bellamy now for long enough that she, too, knew a lot of people. Looking impressive in the robes that became her tall and awkward figure, she went straight to talk to Dianne Abercrombie, the current Minister for Magic. Bellamy went with her to begin with, but Dianne sent him to speak to Don Alcott, who was looking for him.

It was only a quick rundown of the countries he'd be visiting over the next few weeks. Since most countries had finally made wizard duelling illegal, Bellamy's workload had dropped off considerably. It had been Pat's suggestion, that he simply refused to visit any country in which wizard duelling was legal, although self-defence was still permitted. His stand had been met with indignant disbelief at first, but then there was a trickle, and then a flood, as each country's governing body had passed the desired legislation. In some countries, it was not strictly enforced, but even then, the new legislation had some deterrent value.

"I'll be retiring soon," mentioned Don, who'd been an auror before his injuries compelled a change. He now coordinated Bellamy's trips.

Bellamy was surprised. "You're not that old!"

"I'm getting older all the time, and my legs pain these days, or rather, where my legs are supposed to be."

"It's a dangerous life, being an auror."

Don was reflective for a moment, but then grinned. "It has its advantages!" At Bellamy's questioning look, he said, "Being known to be an auror almost guarantees success with the girls."

Bellamy laughed, and teased, "Still? What about Lily?"

"Not since I married, of course," said Don.

"Of course," said Bellamy, and he smiled. "Nothing can compare to having your own wife." He spoke with perfect sincerity. Pat was his fourth wife, and he'd loved each of them with all his being. He was never so content as when he was married. "You know, about your leg pains - have you tried a spa?"

"Pretty expensive," said Don.

"Pat organised one for us several years ago," said Bellamy. "The old ones at home swear by it." And he offered, "I can conjure one for you, if you like. It'll last at least seventy years, though you'd best replace it after that."

Don laughed. "I can just imagine the sudden flood when it vanishes!" Conjures seldom lasted long, the official record just sixteen months. But Bellamy, of course, was different.

"I'll think about it," said Don, "But I think I prefer to avoid conjures, even yours."

Bellamy nodded. He would have liked to offer money, but knew how unwelcome that would be. He always had enough money, but people were touchy about offers of help. And anyway, Don was in a well paid position, and there was always compensation given when an auror was injured in the course of duty. Don could probably afford a spa if he chose.

Don and Bellamy were joined by other ex-aurors then, and the conversation became general, and then turned to reminiscing. There had been some interesting times for a while, when Bellamy had left his world and crime had made a resurgence. The Auror Department was still somewhat overstaffed as a result of those years, though a lot had recently gone to America, who were recruiting. Bellamy was beginning to feel guilty, as the mostly big men talked of problems that would not have occurred if he'd not been gone.

After a while, he took his leave, and strolled to join some other old friends, watched still by Kupec and Otis, though Scott was close to Pat. Bellamy knew there'd be other aurors on duty as well, though not in uniform. But many of them would be present only as guests. It was the Ministry Ball, after all.

A young woman had been waiting for an opportunity, and now approached him. Her exotic good looks were outstanding. Her family assumed that Bellamy would no longer be so much in love with his plain, middle aged wife, that he would not be tempted. But Bellamy only glanced at the slant eyed woman in front of him, acknowledged her greeting with apparent boredom, and went on his way. He was accustomed to approaches like this, and didn't bother analysing motives. This one was not the usual love-struck teenager. She was supposed to have his baby. Witches were very good at getting pregnant just as long as the man allowed the bare possibility, but Bellamy had almost instantly forgotten her.

The attempt was only one of a long series of approaches by the Khatabi Family, made now and then almost all his life, as soon as it became known that Bellamy was exceptional. Part Japanese, part Arab, Annilie was beautiful, but now she looked helplessly at her father. It had not been expected to be needed, but an infatuation potion was added to a drink that was offered to Bellamy. He accepted with courtesy, and routinely vanished it. It was well known that he never ate or drank at public gatherings. Although he could almost always detect poisons or drugs in his own food, there was the possibility that others around him might also be poisoned. Just another precaution in a dangerous life.

The Khatabi Family had, quite deliberately, been concentrating the bloodlines of the most powerful wizards and witches known, for hundreds of years. But even in his long ago youth, Bellamy had been choosy. It was not beauty that he looked for when he chose a woman to go to bed with. He avoided witches, who always knew who he was, and whose motives were suspect. Instead he chose medj women, not too young, not those looking for commitment, but honest, straightforward women, who loved sex.

He'd always had a lot of success with women. It was a gift. With a change of expression and a change of tone in his voice, he could show a yearning desire that had a woman wanting him. It was not magic, though possibly a part was due to selection. Long before he knew that he had any telepathic talent, he somehow knew when a potentially available woman loved sex. As often as not, then, it would appear that he was the seduced, rather than the seducer. It helped of course, that he was goodlooking and had an attractive body. But he was married now, and wanted no-one but his wife.

Bellamy looked around restlessly. A photographer took his picture, and he turned and walked away abruptly, although with no planned destination. If he stayed still too long, he'd be surrounded, and not with those he chose to talk to. There was Margaret Barnes, his employee, but Margaret was deep involved in flirtatious conversation with a tall redheaded young man, presumably her latest boyfriend. Margaret was not conventionally attractive, but had a great deal of character. Margaret and her brother Peter were the fourth generation of Barnes who'd worked for him, or, as they put it themselves, looked after him.

He joined Hugo Smith, instead. Like Margaret and Peter, and like several others present, Hugo was one of his own descendants, although several generations removed. Hugo ran a Joke Shop, and he and his partner entertained Bellamy considerably with their talk of the latest chain of merchandise, invented by 'a wild and whacky witch from the west,' as they put it.

Meantime, Pat was deep in conversation with Dieter Roche. Dieter was a Senior Auror, and, although in his early sixties, was Team Leader when Bellamy did his overseas trips, spell-breaking. There were always these days, Dieter, plus a minimum of four younger aurors as bodyguards, even when Bellamy apparated home every night, and a mediwizard. They knew that Bellamy was often bored by the job and that he didn't need the pay, so they tried hard to make him as happy as possible when they travelled. If Bellamy wouldn't or couldn't do it, there was no-one else. Dieter said to Pat, "I heard that Caradoc finally died."

Pat nodded. "He was buried on our property, as he wanted. He'd lived there something like seventy years."

"How did Bellamy take it?" Dieter asked, in a consciously casual tone.

"Not all that well. He told me that evening that he was just going for a walk. The next morning, he rang up, very sheepish, needing to be picked up from a medj hospital. It seems he became very drunk, and then took on a London street gang. He was thrashed!"

"Tony didn't tell me about that!" said Dieter, surprised. He assumed that the healer would have been automatically called in.

"Henry refused to see Tony," said Pat, in tones of despair. "He insisted he was perfectly all right, put on anti-bruising lotion himself, and, I suspect, healed a couple of broken ribs himself, too."

Dieter shook his head. "He should have seen his healer."

Pat shrugged. "He mostly does what I say, but this time, I let him be. Caradoc was a great loss to him."

Dieter was very fond of Bellamy, and was quiet for a while. There had been a time when Bellamy had become lost in confusion, a result of the grief caused by those around him dying, all of them, one by one, while he was left, forever young, unchanging. Bellamy had wanted to make himself die, but it seemed that he saw his dead wives and they refused to allow it. Dieter had been put in charge of him at that time, with authorisation to put him down if he deemed it necessary. A wizard as powerful as Bellamy, insane, was a fearful thought. But Bellamy had never shown any tendency to become dangerous, only becoming more and more quiet and sad, and allowing himself to be guided by the aurors. Even in that state, he could work cures that no-one else could work, and several aurors owed their lives to him. The great wizard was indispensable.

Dieter said, "I can count the number of times I've seen him drunk on the fingers of one hand."

"He became a bit tipsy when Mary was born," Pat said, "But that's the only other time I've known."

Dieter was one up on Pat. "He became extremely drunk at an Aurors' Party one night. It was after he found and confiscated the reward that was supposed to be paid to his killer."

Pat smiled. "I remember now, he said that he and Ryde won the horse and jockey race."

Dieter laughed. "Julia raked them all down the day after, but I saw her smiling, and she told me later that she should never have told Bellamy about the steeple chases they'd had once at a previous party."

Dieter was silent for a moment, then said, "He showed us something that night. He may not even remember it, as he passed out straight afterward."

"What was that?" asked Pat.

"Does he talk to you about his fears of confinement?"

Pat shook her head. "He's told me that it's what his nightmares are always about, being helpless and a prisoner, but he's a very private person. Even now, there's a lot I don't know about him."

"He showed us images, very real images."

Pat nodded. She'd seen the images that Bellamy could conjure in the air.

"The first one was when he was very young, just a scrawny kid, he said, and five aurors surrounded him. There was an ambulance trolley, and he said he'd been stuck full of tranquilliser."

Pat said, "He was barely seventeen. I read about it in a biography. The other students came to his defence and refused to allow the aurors to take him."

"There were other occasions, too. And then the last, the image was just his wrists, tied in the way that aurors tie prisoners, and there came with the image a feeling of uttermost horror."

They were both silent for a time then, looking in the direction of Pat's husband, now surrounded by a large group. "He carries scars," said Pat, finally, softly.

Bellamy was looking around in desperation. He'd known this would happen. He was surrounded, being gloated over by people in whom he felt no interest. There were reporters there too, noting down any word he was foolish enough to utter. And there was a matron with a marriageable daughter, thrusting her at him, as if she thought he was going to abandon Pat and settle for this girl, who was currently only looking embarrassed. He preferred not to be rude, but he longed to just disapparate from their midst. Otis was trying to keep an eye open for threats still, though Kupec was watching Bellamy, amused at the despairing look. Off to the side, there was a bang, and sparks. Otis was instantly close to the side of Bellamy, who said quickly, "Probably another attack, I'll have to leave," and turned his back on his harassers.

He crossed swiftly to Pat and Dieter, who were still talking. Like a child, he pleaded, "Can we go now?"

Pat smiled at her husband, and nodded. Bellamy gave a deep sigh of relief, and a hundred pairs of eyes watched as they strode to the apparation zone and vanished.

The bang and sparks had been nothing, of course. As the aurors had straightaway suspected, it was only Bellamy's idea of a diversion to enable his escape.

***chapter end***