Hey there guys, its little ol' me. I recently got the idea to check in on HP/Sanctuary fics, and I must say, they are a teensy bit lacking. So I decided to add my humble story to the lists. It takes place after my own version of the final battle. I'm sorry; I wasn't thrilled with the whole 'Harry being dead, but then being alive, then Voldemort really being dead' thing. It was weird. We're just going to pretend that Harry was a badass throughout school. End of that story, beginning of this one. Without further ado: Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you a fable of semi-epic proportions…
Sanctuary
By
Ancient Fox
Trees whipped and groaned, their leaves flying away from the force of magic in the air. Dirt flew away in clods, not strong enough to withstand the power being put out. In a clearing in a certain Forbidden Forrest, two men were battling to the death. Streaks of colored light flew between the two, each one dodged or absorbed by conjured shields that would flicker away as soon as they came. The spells that were dodged would continue until they hit the surrounding trees and shrubs, devastating whatever they hit. A bright purple flash contacted against a large tree, and the area where the spell hit was eaten away with acid. The tree creaked, and fell over, no longer able to support its weight. A muted blue curse hit a nearby shrub, and simply vaporized it, acrid smoke billowing up where it had once been.
The two warriors took no heed of this, each concentrating on the other, knowing that even a twitch in their perception could spell doom for them. One man, if you could call him a man, was dressed in dark, billowing robes, which flared out every time he called out an incantation, or spun to avoid a spell. His face was the most mesmerizing thing about him; but at the same time, it was the most sickening. A pale, hairless head, with narrow lips and red eyes, and only two slits for where a nose should have been. This man, this… thing hissed in anger and frustration at the futility of his attempts to kill his opponent, the very man fated to kill him. This man, this boy, had a short but athletic body, jeans, a black T-shirt, and a long black leather duster that seemed to absorb the very light of the moon. He had messy black hair that whipped to and fro from the wind. His bright green eyes were narrowed in concentration as he traded curses with the other man.
"It's over Tom, can't you tell? Your followers are defeated; your plans are in ruin. Only you are still resisting." The boy calmly asked as he fired a volley of spells at his opponent.
The other man, Tom, or Voldemort the Dark Lord, hissed again, not unlike a snake, and roared back, "I will kill you, Harry Potter! And when I do, no one else will stand before me!"
He deflected Harry's spells with a gesture of his hand, and shouted Avada Kedavra(sp?). The sickly green killing curse shot out of his wand towards Harry. The boy reacted and said Reducto, a bright red blasting spell that raced to Voldemort. The two spells collided, and then connected, forming a chain of magic between the two. Just like it had three years ago, a dome of energy surrounded the two. Harry concentrated with all his might, making his part of the chain grow stronger, and push closer to Voldemort. Tom screamed with effort, and made Harry's advancement stop. Harry racked his brain for anything that could help him. Quiddich, his friends, his parents; these all passed through his head, but still the chain did not move. Suddenly, the perfect thought revealed itself to him. Life. He wanted to live. He let the thought travel through his body, until he could think of nothing else. The chain rebounded into Voldemort, and blasted the man back twenty feet, dispelling the chain and the dome. Voldemort slid to the ground, smoke rising from his charred clothes. Harry fell to all fours and gasped for air. Its over. Thank God its ov—He was jarred from his thoughts by a long, wheezing breath. He looked up. Voldemort still had a little left. The Dark Lord struggled to his feet, and Harry rose as well. The two enemies closed in on each other, one hunched in pain, limping; the other, head high, and with purpose. As Harry got closer, Voldemort raised a shaky hand, wand still clutched in his grasp. A quick expelliarmus sent the wand out of his hand and into Harry's, who snapped it in two, and threw the pieces away. He regarded Tom for a moment, then threw a crushing right hand into the man's chin, and sent him stumbling. Tom began to crawl away, mumbling in fear. Harry easily caught up with him and kicked Tom in the side, knocking the breath out of him and rolling him onto his back. Tom swallowed the blood in his mouth and gasped, "Is this how it ends, eh Potter? With me on the ground, begging for the mercy I wont recieve?" He spat blood on the ground near Harry's feet. "Is that what you would have me do? Beg you for forgiveness? We both know I won't. So just finish it!" He roared out the last part so that it echoed throughout the trees for a few moments.
Harry stared at him for a moment then slowly raised his wand to point at Tom. The former Dark Lord sighed, and closed his eyes. Harry Potter looked at the man who had caused so many so much pain, and pitied him. With a clear, deliberate tone, he said "Avada…Kedavra." The killing curse hit Voldemort in the chest, and he slumped to the ground, lifeless. Harry lowered his wand. He began to walk away from the body. He didn't look back. Harry left the Wizarding World behind.
(Time Skip – 3 months later) New York City, New York, U.S.A
Harry had gotten out of England as soon as the battle was over, he had packed a suitcase, emptied his accounts, and wrote a note to Hermione and Ron explaining everything. Now he was in New York for a little R&R. He was in a small restaurant that he had come to frequent, when a man sitting the table next to him caught his attention.
"Excuse me, Miss?" He said, bringing the attention of one of the waitresses.
"Yes? Is everything all right?" She said, looking concerned.
"Oh, yes, everything is fine, it's delicious, but," the man said, "is it by any chance the chefs night off?" He asked grimacing a little. The waitress sighed, and confirmed that it was.
"Is something wrong?" she asked. The man sighed.
"No, no, its just that the salamic drizzle on here is counter-clockwise." He looked up at the waitress. "Instead of clockwise, you see." He nodded to himself as if it were common knowledge. "Not that it matters. It's just that…" He was cut off by his cell-phone, which began to vibrate. The waitress looked around confused, and then walked away. The man stared at his phone for a second. Then quickly paid his bill and left. Harry couldn't help but notice the badge on his belt as he walked past. Ah, what the hell. Harry also paid his bill, and followed the man, slipping on his invisibility cloak when he was on the street.
- 30 Minutes later.
As they walked up to the crime scene, Harry was forced to stop outside the building by the sheer number of muggle law enforcement officers. That forced him to rethink his options. He soon had an idea. He quickly charmed his clothes to look like that of one of the officers. The policemen standing at the door let him in with a nod. He walked up to the second floor of the building and turned the corner just in time to see the man walk in one of the rooms. Harry entered as the man began talking to the detective on scene.
"You're too late Zimmerman." The Detective said as Zimmerman got on his gloves.
"Yeah, sorry, I was at dinner." The Detective traded a look with the police officer with him, and said, "Well, we already got our guy."
Zimmerman looked at him, surprised. "Wow, really? No kidding. That's great." He looked at the two body bags that Harry was standing next to. "Two of our own, huh?" He whistled. "Have their families been notified?" The detective narrowed his eyes.
"It's covered." He said dismissively, trading another look with the other policeman. Zimmerman looked past the two into the apartment.
"Well, as long as I'm here, you mind if I take a look around?" The detective thought about it for a moment, then nodded, and gestured for him to take the floor. As Zimmerman looked around, he noticed several things. The figurines on the mantle, the beds on the floor, the picture on the wall , and the scuff marks on the floor from the chair. "Lotta people living in one apartment." He said almost to himself. He glanced at the detective. "Five?" He asked referring to the amount of people. The detective's eyes widened.
"Four, including the third dead body: an old man." He sounded impressed. Zimmerman walked across the cluttered room to the picture on the wall, recognizing it as an icon of St. Francis of Assisi.
"Religious people." He surmised, and walked over to the mantle. He inspected the small figurines and said, "Ukrainian, or Russian." Once again, the detective confirmed it.
"Russian." Zimmerman nodded to himself and cast another eye around the apartment. "Just the one kid?"
At this, the detective looked puzzled. "No kids." Zimmerman turned his gaze to the scuff marks on the floor from the chair. He bent down to feel them. "Hyperactive…fidgety. These scratches are pretty fresh."
"What the hell is he talking about?" One of the other cops said. The detective nodded.
"Yeah, we got the shooter, Zimmerman. He's at the hospital with one of our other eye-witnesses." Zimmerman stood up and walked into the only other room in the apartment; the room where the murders happened. As soon as he stepped in, already, he began to analyze the contents of the room, sifting useless info from useful. He walked over to the dresser, and peered into one of the open drawers. Under a pile of clothes, he pulled out a small, dog-eared comic. He looked at the title of it before putting it down again. Meanwhile, the detective and one of the other cops stationed in the room began to talk in hushed tones.
"Guy is a forensic shrink—regular Sherlock Holmes. I heard the Agency gave him the boot."
"And we're stuck with him now."
Harry, who had been listening this entire time, frowned. The Zimmerman fellow was good at his job, but at the cost of any kind of social skills. Zimmerman, who had not heard a thing, continued to look around the room, swiping a gloved hand over one of the window blinds, rubbing the residue between his fingers. He bent down and sniffed the cot of the bed. "Night sweats. Lots of fear in this room."
"Yeah, maybe it had to do with the triple homicide that took place."
"Nah, it's older than that. See that deadbolt? It locks from the outside." He said, gesturing to the shiny new triple deadbolt on the door. "These shades are never up. They're not trying to hide their heritage, they aren't illegal. So what are they hiding?"
What part of 'We got the shooter' don't you understand?"
"I'm thinking there was no shooting."
"I don't need ballistics to recognize the damage of close-range small caliber bullets. We got witnesses."
"But look." Zimmerman said, pointing. "Multi-directional blood cast-off on the walls. A blunt implement maybe. Five people in one apartm…"
"I told you, four people."
"But why were all four adults sleeping in the living room, and only the old man in here? There's something unaccounted for here."
"Then what the hell is it?" The detective asked.
"I dunno". Zimmerman shrugged his shoulders.
As he stepped outside the apartment complex, Zimmerman heard a strange noise. He looked up and saw something running across the roof of the building. He tracked it and followed it around the corner, until the thing leapt to the fire escape of the adjacent building and shimmied down the stairs. As he drew closer, he saw it was a young boy. He shouted to get the boy's attention, but the boy ran off so quickly he didn't have time to follow. As he turned back to the main street, and had to jump to avoid a motorcyclist who turned their helmet towards him before gunning the engine to race down the street. Suddenly, and car turned down the same street, and collided with him. He rolled off the car and onto the ground, barely conscience. A blurry figure walked up to him. As the figure knelt down beside him, he realized it was a woman. She smiled sadly and said,
"Well, not the way I'd hoped we would meet."
Then Zimmerman lost conscience.
Okay, its 10:00, I'm off to bed. I followed the episode format nearly word by word. I went into the first 15 minutes. The next chapter will cover the rest of Part 1 and part II. Thanks for reading. Cheers