Harry Potter: A Free Runner Story Against the Death Eaters
by Peace Revolution
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Harry Potter was a Parkour Champion.
Planting both hands upon the ledge, he cat-leapt upwards and ran for sheer dear life. At the end, he jumped onto the roof, roving with his feet and struggling to make the crossing.
He pulled his wand out of his sleeve with his teeth.
"Wingardium leviosa," he muttered. Flying upwards, he clung to his wand and landed on both feet onto the roof. Looking around, he spotted two billowing capes behind him. Damn! The Death Eaters were catching up.
As well as Dumbledore's Army, Harry Potter had trained in the triathlon and parkour. He had succeeded in running, swimming and flying. Muggle parkour had come as a shock, never really knowing much about it beforehand, and he loved arching his body through the twists and flips. Mixing running with parkour was new and was today…
"Stupefy!" he yelled. The Death Eater dodged, and shot back with a beam of jade light. Not Avada Kedavra, but something that could be as deadly…
Harry Potter rolled and ducked behind a large brick chimney. Dust clouded as the beam landed close-by. He pulled a Muggle gun from a pocket, but it misfired as he leant around the chimney, and misfired again when the trigger jammed from him pulling it so much. Harry threw the gun away over his shoulder. He dampened his sleeve and washed his glasses instead. They were starting to fog up with so much humidity. It was a very hot, damp July this year.
Harry was somewhere in Bristol, he estimated. As soon as the Death Eaters hit Diagon Alley, he'd Apparated to anywhere he could—which was what one of the moving picture postcards had shown him in the small tourist shop.
It was his birthday soon. Ginny had promised him a surprise party, although he'd been warned beforehand without her knowing.
"Serpensortia!" a large black snake crashed into the red brick chimney. Harry grinned, despite his former bad luck. They don't know it's me, he thought, and hissed to the snake in Parseltongue. "How many Death Eaters can you sense?"
"Dunno," said the snake. "Woss a Death Eater?"
"The shooting maniacs in black robes and masks," replied Harry, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He felt through his own robes for a portkey, but it had led to diagon alley only and had deactivated.
"Five," whispered the snake and disappeared as the Death Eater shouted, "Finite Incantatem!"
Five to take out, thought Harry.
As he gripped his wand, he thought, Damn! He retrieved his gun, shoved it into his pocket for further use, and gripped a small potions vial. He threw it over the chimney stack where it exploded across the ground, leaving a trail of cascading vapour and a bad smell of eggs.
The Death Eater screamed and fled backwards, hopefully over the edge of the roof.
Remembering that his birthday was just in a few days time, Harry leapt out from his hiding place and slid over the edge of the roof, firing large bursts from his wand; he grabbed the drainpipe with his feet and his thighs, and went hand-over-hand downwards till he was only two storeys up. Reaching for a nearby windowsill, he grabbed this then dropped and rolled when he hit the ground. He got to his feet, fixed his glasses upon his face, and brushed off his jeans. Parkour, he remembered, was hell on jeans. They were a bit too stiff, and left shoddy from all the manoeuvres. Somehow, his left knee had ripped.
Next, he should call the Ministry and Auror backup. He flipped open his phone, adjusted the seashells, and facetimed Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"Sir," he said, "I've got five Death Eaters after me, but I don't think they know who I am."
"You're limping," said Kingsley, concerned. Harry Potter ignored him, and continued to beat it. "Don't worry, I'll send backup. You're in Bristol, is that right?"
"Yes, I think so. They followed me from Diagon Alley, sir."
Harry scouted around for street signs and found none. He was in an industrial area, not residential. The shops around him were for home improvements and builders yards.
Ahead, there was the familiar scary billow of black and white masks. Despite looking like a Muggle, Harry was pretty sure that they recognised his lightning bolt scar from afar. He shut his phone off and pocketed it quickly. He raised his wand.
"Stupefy!" Harry ran like hell in the opposite direction, and leapt over a pile of sand. He landed on a metal pipe yet to be installed. Luckily for him, all the builders were on a tea break.
He balanced on an iron girder and leapt up to the next one, jutting out of the scaffolding. And again, up onto the tarpaulin roof. He lay flat and shot at the Death Eater attempting to fly up the building.
Four to go! When he peeped over the edge again, the Death Eater was sprawled over the giant metal pipe and twitching. The other Death Eaters didn't so much as help as swoop over the building site, trying to locate their prey.
The tarpaulin made crinkling noises whenever he tried to move, so he forced to wait until a big gust of wind whooshed through the building. He rolled over, and crawled flat on his stomach until he was off the tarpaulin and onto wooden scaffolding. He crouched, and shot at one unlucky builder until she was unconscious. And again at the next wondering what happened, until he had a pile of snoozy builders almost on top of each other.
He made a mental note to tell the Ministry about it, so all the Muggles would lose only a small amount of memory, when a Death Eater floated by, frothing at the mouth through the mask.
A rabid Death Eater, thought Harry, and a chill ran down his back. He wished for the nth time that day that he had his Invisibility Cloak with him, not a small brown paper bag in his pocket with moveable candy in it from Diagon Alley. Chocolate frogs, he thought of longingly. The Death Eater was facing the other way, and its movements were reminding him of Dementors.
Harry snuck up behind him or her, and shouted a binding spell. The rabid Death Eater didn't know what had happened, and landed, struggling, atop the pile of sleeping builders!
It spat, "Muggles! Filthy Muggles—oh fuck, it's really Potter."
"Who are you?" asked Harry. He held his wand under the Death Eater's throat. "Tell me."
"Brandon," said the Death Eater. There was enough froth to look like he had been brushing his teeth a lot.
"Before we begin, what's all that froth?"
The Death Eater shrugged.
"Personal problem?" asked Harry, trying again.
"Just something from the boss."
"Who's your boss these days? Voldemort's dead."
Brandon squirmed against his ropes. "No one you know. All the regulars you sent to Azkaban, Potter!"
"All the regulars are dead," replied Harry. "Why are you following me?"
"You're an Auror, aren't you? We thought we'd get some mudblood on his own."
"Don't say that word!" Harry gritted his teeth. Froth fell out of Brandon's mouth.
"What word?" said Brandon, innocently. "You said the Dark Lord's name."
"Stupefy!" yelled Harry, putting an end to the conversation. Brandon slumped over. Harry cast Mobilicorpus, and lifted him into the air. He rose over the side of the building and fell into the pile of sand.
Harry opted to slide down a metal girder that hung from a crane, over the metal pipe and skidded up the side of the pile. When he tried to pick up Brandon, however, the ropes came up empty.
"Miss me?" asked Brandon, reaching for his wand the same time another Death Eater appeared. He Disapparated with a crack.
"Potter!" she murmured. "Serpensortia!"
A big black snake erupted from her wand sporting deadly green poisonous fangs. It lunged at Harry Potter, who staggered down the pile, across the pipe, wielding his wand like a sword and swiping side to side at the glancing blows the fangs gave off.
"Stop!" Harry managed to hiss.
The snake ceased attacking and fell into its own coils. "So stupid," it said. It rose like a cobra and spat poison at the Death Eater. She took it on the arm.
Robes drenched, the Death Eater forgot for a moment it was a spell, rather like Harry had. He wondered what she'd done different. "Finite—" he began to say, when the snake spoke. "Strange suffering shocks so serenely," said the snake to him. Despite not having a piece of Voldemort's soul inside him, Harry Potter still retained his snake-speaking trait, but it was a little fuzzy these days.
"Finite Incantatem," managed Harry Potter at last. The snake disappeared in a swirl of magic.
The next hit was like a bludger. Harry took it in the stomach, just to the side, and planted backwards into the sand. He groaned and felt the area. He located his wand and held it up. He tended to rely on stupefy as a tactic all too often. He shot off a nose-diving spell in haste. The female Death Eater plummeted into the sand herself, face first.
Bent over, Harry Potter stood up, and Disapparated back to the tarpaulin high above. The snoozing heap of Muggle builders was still rocking the wooden scaffolding. Some of them were snoring. Patching himself up, he was suddenly freed of the bludger curse; he straightened up.
His seashells clanged. Honestly, he'd never get used to them… "Kingsley, here."
"Sir, all my Death Eaters have gotten away. Sorry, sir."
"Never mind, Harry," said Kingsley, gold earring swaying as he too was out and about. It looked like Knockturn Alley. "Return to Diagon Alley at once."
Just then, a familiar female-sounding Death Eater rose into mid-air above a certain sand dune and floated into a giant metal girder. Parkour awaits! She backflipped off it, still floating, and rushed around and over to skip up the crane's large pulley ropes. Sitting atop the crane, she looked all for the world like a giant black crow.
Harry, on the phone, made a small yet simple precision jump to the next row of scaffolding, and held his wand between his teeth, fumbling with the seashells. "Got one, sir. I mean, I haven't gotten her yet, though..."