The following story is continued from Spirit of Fear: The Misguided Fox (story ID 3623224). It took me seven years to complete that first installment's seventy-six chapters. Naturally, seven years is plenty of time for me to improve as a writer, so those early chapters aren't the best-written, but I feel the story improves as it progresses.

With this, I am attempting a re-introduction of sorts to my original character in the first few chapters so returning readers can get up to speed, as well as laying a foundation for new readers. For the full story, though, I recommend going back to the first part and reading through.

I also recommend you check out The Lost Shadow's prologue, Spirit of Fear: Sigma (story ID 11211724).

This story contains elements from the Harry Potter franchise, copyright J. K. Rowling and her publishers. This and related stories will generate no revenue for me on this or any other publication. Many thanks to Rowling for crafting this wonderful world in which our creative minds have been having so much fun.

Rated Teen for language, occasional violence, suggestive dialogue and alcohol reference. Thanks for reading!

Spirit of Fear: The Lost Shadow

Chapter One

Calm Skies

The streets of London had a new member to the ranks this past month.

When the summer sky went from blazing orange to royal purple, eight cylinders rumbled under the whine of their supercharger as they propelled a silver Aston Martin Vantage between the early-Postwar row houses, finally turning in on a small square named Gimmauld Place. Broken windows peered down from time-worn walls which propped up doors with peeling paint as the Vantage rolled past cars of a similar state to the houses.

None of Grimmauld Place's residents, not even the teenagers using the condemned house as a hideout to smoke and drink, could fathom what the owner of this rather-expensive sports car was doing there. Policemen had occasion to pass it by and wondered why it hadn't been vandalized yet. The car would just show up almost every night, miraculously find a parking space, and the driver would step out and enter one of the houses.

Thing was, no one could ever work out which house. The more imaginative residents wondered if it had something to do with the mysterious Number Twelve house. For as long as anyone could remember, Number Twelve simply never existed. City planners occasionally omitted numbering a house "Thirteen," given the superstitious nature of some people, but Gimmauld Place instead lacked a "Twelve." What started as a local curiosity soon became the subject of ghost stories about Number Twelve and the silver Aston Martin.

And just like almost every night, the Vantage prowled the streets until it found Grimmauld Place and parked in a space just between numbers eleven and thirteen.

Only tonight, there was someone waiting for him.

The stranger with graying hair and tired eyes was garbed in patched and shabby robes. He watched the car approach and stop in front of him as he checked his pocket watch.

When the engine shut off, a young man stepped out. His silver eyes matched his hair, unkempt and just barely reaching down to his shoulders, yet somehow staying clear of his face. He stood tall with a medium build, wearing a black leather trench coat over blue jeans and a t-shirt. His lean, almost angular face would be considered handsome if only it didn't project quiet frustration this evening.

"You're Lupin, right?" the young man asked, his American accent standing in stark contrast to the British all around him.

"Chey McGonagall, I presume?" the stranger answered.

"Yeah." The two shook hands. "Nice to finally put a face to the name."

"You're late," the stranger remarked.

"Two minutes," he retorted.

"Still late, according to him."

"Had a lot to cover with my contact," Chey explained, rounding to the back of the car and opening the trunk, out of which he pulled a black broomstick. "Are we doing this or what?"

The two left the car and houses behind them and approached the small square lined with overgrown hedges, wherein stood several other people holding broomsticks.

"You're late," one of them growled. He stood short and hunchbacked with a mane of gray hair, face covered in scars and a piece of flesh missing from his nose. His eyes were mismatched, one small and black, the other large and blue, darting this way and that, independent of the other.

"I got some information to make up for it," Chey answered. "And skies are calm, so if we leave now with no headwind we'll still make it on time."

The disfigured man grunted in agreement. To the purple-haired young witch holding two brooms, he said, "Tonks, brief him on the way."

"Right, Mad-Eye," she said, handing one of the brooms to Lupin. Something about her magic seemed familiar, but a bit off. To Chey, she said, "Don't mind him."

"Why would I mind?" he responded, taking to the sky with the others on his own broom.

The London streets shrank below them as they climbed into the air, the warm July air giving way to the chilly heights. The cold, thinning air put Chey in mind of his time in Colorado, where he and his classmates would hold impromptu broom races through the mountains.

Up here, Chey's mind was finally clear. It had been a long month of work for him, coordinating meetings, verifying information, passing intelligence to his superior and dodging questions. It was good to get a new perspective, putting some distance between himself and the buzz of the city and magical community. True, he could still feel the presence of the witches and wizards flying with him, but compared to walking the halls of Hogwarts or the Ministry of Magic, it was practically solitude.

Well, it would be solitude, if Tonks wasn't talking to him over the noise of the wind.

"That's a nice Firebolt, you've got," she said, attempting small-talk.

"What's the situation?" he answered, getting to the point.

"Wait, weren't you involved in planning this?"

"I just got the Specters," Chey said. "I don't know what happened, just the Old Man wanted some Ghosts on our side. He sent Bones with the details, then forwarded me the passwords."

"It's Harry Potter," she explained. "Dementors attacked him near his family's house in Surrey."

"He fought 'em off," Chey said. It wasn't a question. Harry wasn't the kind to go down without a fight. And from what Chey heard, the boy had held his own against those vile creatures before.

"Right, but he had to use the Patronus Charm, which the Ministry of Magic detected. It's his second offense, so they've convened a hearing."

"So we're taking him into friendly hands," Chey finished. "Who did we have on guard when it happened?"

"Two that night: Mundungus Fletcher and a squib named Arabella Figg."

"Only two people?"

"Hey, we're lucky Mrs. Figg lived nearby."

"Remind me: who's Fletcher?"

"He's the slimy git. Scarpered off that night for some kind of 'business transaction.'"

"Someone had a word with him yet?"

"He came to us pretty bruised up from Mrs. Figg hitting him with her cat food."

"Cat food?"

"He says it was a bag of cans."

"Doesn't sound like quite enough," he muttered to himself. "How long have the Specters been on post?"

"Since yesterday. Mrs. Figg told us she saw a big brute sitting in a car all day, sweating right through his shirt."

"Could be them. We'll know when we land."

"So if you didn't know what we're doing, why did you come?"

"Old Man said you guys needed a familiar face."

"Really? I heard Moody asked for some firepower."

"Someone might have mentioned that."

The man with the mismatched eyes led them on a winding course, the easier to check if they were being followed. It wasn't necessary, since Chey could sense everyone in the sky capable of magic. They flew alone, but it wouldn't do to pester the irritable Auror, so he held his tongue.

"Remus, McGonagall," he called out when they reached the sleepy suburb, "you land first and give us the all-clear."

Chey obeyed, following Lupin on their descent to the houses below. The neighborhood was devoid of magic, save for some kind of concealment charm on the house they were headed towards. As they got closer, he could sense a handful of fuzzy spots, like his mind was trying to avoid thinking about them. These must have been the Specter team Forsythe had requested. Chey flashed back to his conversation with Forsythe, when he was told the pass phrases to confirm they were indeed Specters.

They touched down in the small yard at the back of the house, next to one of the fuzzy spots. He knocked on the tall fence and quietly called, "Stinger."

"Welcome to the neighborhood, Coyote," an American accent responded from beyond the divide.

"How's the Skeleton?"

"Still got one good eye."

"And the wildlife?"

"Quiet all day. Jackals left the den, Owl's in the nest, top floor. Twenty minutes to fly the coop."

"Got it."

"Might want to make yourself known. Owl's been anxious."

"Thanks." To Lupin, he said, "We're good."

Lupin lit a green light on the end of his wand and waved it over his head. Within a moment, the rest of their flight landed.

"We've got twenty minutes," Chey said to Moody.

Before anyone commented on the very put-togetherness of the house and backyard, Moody barked his orders. "McGonnagal, you and me first, search for traps."

Moody opened the back door with a wave of his wand and held it in front of him as he began surveying the kitchen. Chey, too, checked for any surprises, though in his own way. When they'd completed their sweep, they waved the rest of the party in.

"Tonks, you-" Moody started, only to be interrupted by a plate dropping to the floor next to a recoiling Tonks, whose hair flashed white for a second. Moody grumbled a moment before finishing his thought, "...stay clear of anything fragile. Jones, mind mending that?"

"Gotcha, Mad-Eye," said the witch with black hair, slightly older than Tonks. A twirl of her wand rejoined the shattered pieces of the ceramic plate.

"Specter says he's on the second floor," Chey said. "Probably heard us come in."

"How is he?" Lupin asked.

"He's up," Chey answered, directing his senses towards Harry. "Feels like he's on pins and needles. Better let him come to us."

"We'll wait at the landing," Moody announced.

"Not all of us," Chey corrected. "Just the ones he knows."

"Right. That'll be me, you, and Remus."

"And me," one of the older wizards raised his hand, this one was rather short, wearing a purple top hat.

"When did he know you, Dedalus?" Jones accosted him.

"Four years ago in the Leaky Cauldron," he answered proudly.

"Perhaps we'll keep to people he'll recognize right away," Lupin said diplomatically. More than half the people who came looked star-struck just standing in the kitchen.

The three chosen ambassadors moved to the lower landing at the end of the hall. When it was a minute before seeing anything, Chey suggested Moody try unlocking the door behind which Harry stood.

They could hear the latch click and the door's hinge creak. Soft-footed feet padded out to the upper landing until the wiry fifteen year-old frame stepped onto the upper landing, wand raised towards the house's intruders.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," Moody barked.

"Professor Moody?" the boy said with uncertainty.

"I don't know so much about 'Professor.' Never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

Their person-of-interest lowered his wand, but kept on guard. This kid was smart indeed.

"Take it easy, Specks," Chey said. "We're moving you out."

"Chey?" the boy asked. He was still inquisitive, which Chey felt was understandable. After all, the last time they spoke, Chey had every intention of keeping his distance for an extended period. That was a mere two months ago.

"It's all right, Harry," Lupin interjected before Chey could explain. "We've come to take you away."

"P-Professor Lupin?" Harry asked in disbelief. "Is that you?"

"Why are you all standing in the dark?" Tonks interrupted, casting a lighting spell to illuminate the stairwell. The light was unwelcome to most, as they had since become accustomed to the dark. Still, they endured, finding Tonks had made her way to the landing where Chey, Moody and Lupin stood. When they had adjusted to the light, Tonks continued, "Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would. Wotcher, Harry!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said another of the crowd Harry wouldn't have recognized; a black wizard with a shaved scalp and a single gold earring, going by the name Kingsley Shacklebolt. "He looks exactly like James."

"So much for keeping it to familiar faces," Chey muttered.

"Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?" Moody growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bing back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know."

"Harry, what form does your Patronus take?" Lupin asked.

"A stag," Harry answered.

"You think the enemy can't find that out?" Chey asked when Lupin looked satisfied. "Anyone watching when he was attacked would know it." Moody grunted, his face twisting into something that resembled a smirk. "Specks, when I left Hogwarts, you asked if I would come back."

"You said maybe when everything blows over," Harry answered. "So, why are you here now?"

"Kind of a long story." Chey glanced at Moody and said, "We're good."

Harry walked slowly down the stairs, clearly uncomfortable with everyone watching him. Halfway down, he must have realized he still had his wand out, so he made to tuck it into his back pocket.

"Don't put you wand there, boy!" Moody accosted him. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!"

"Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?" Tonks asked pointedly.

"Enough," Chey stopped them. His interjection drew looks from the older members of their party. They didn't expect commands from someone so young. "Lupin, answer his questions. Moody and I will check the perimeter."

Moody looked as if he wanted to say something in return, but instead headed out the back door with Chey.

"I got a tip from Muskrat," Chey said once they were out of earshot from the others.

"Ah, so that's why you're late."

"They're moving to block the appointment."

"They can't."

"New rules in the works that say they get to approve new staff appointments. It's got backing from most of the governors."

"Three guesses who rounded them up."

Chey glanced through the windows into the house to see the rest of the group still milling in the kitchen. "We're on a deadline, people!" he called to them. He watched them long enough to see they got back into action, with Tonks following Harry upstairs to collect his belongings. "Either way, looks like the Old Man will have a hard time getting someone he likes."

"Fudge would have reason to reject bloody everyone on the short list."

"Including you and me."

"What makes you think I'd go back?"

"You took the job last year for a reason."

"Favor to an old friend that's been used up. I'm better use at the front, anyway."

"Fair enough. Though I gotta wonder why I was on that list."

"Same reason we're here tonight: familiar face."

"I don't know if that would be enough," Chey said, leaning against the wall behind which their Specter contact was hiding. "And if I was him, I wouldn't put distance between me and the contacts I've made. They'll get nervous if I drop off the grid."

"On that subject," Moody inquired, "how's Muskrat fare?"

"He feels isolated. I don't blame him."

"Eh. I never envied the men who went undercover. Too many lies to keep straight, the chance someone might find you out. And Occlumency's nothing in a fight."

"The point is to keep him out of the fight. He's pretty well-placed, after the alienation from his family last year. All he's gotta do is bury himself in his work and no one will look twice."

"Long as he knows the risk," Moody dismissed.

"We made it clear."

"He's a boy."

"So he'll learn."

"War is a time for knowing, not learning."

"Thought that was why we kept old guys like you around?"

"Only works if you whelps will listen."

"You can't deny there's at least a touch of comedy in the arrogance of youth," Chey countered. "And didn't the old man say mirth was one of our weapons in this war?" He knocked on the fence behind him, "Stinger, how do we look?"

"We're solid, Coyote," the faceless Ghost answered.

"Got it. Give us two minutes." To Moody, he said, "Let's get them out of that house before they're completely mesmerized by the blender."

"Distracted by Muggle trinkets," Moody grumbled. "The Auror contingent's gone to shit."

"Hey, man, sometimes magic just can't purée a bisque like a rotating blade. Even the kitchens at Beauxbatons knew this."

Chey watched as Moody hobbled back into the house. Harry returned to the group, whereupon Lupin took a moment to explain that they were leaving a note for Harry's family. Given what Harry had said about his family, Chey doubted they would take much notice of his disappearance, let alone the note. Moody then beckoned Harry forward and rapped him on the head with his wand. Harry's skin and clothes then took on the appearance of the walls and appliances behind him. Moody had used a Disillusionment Charm, a kind of active camouflage for living things. As a practitioner of the Illusionary Arts, the charm was never on Chey's radar. But with his refocused approach to magic, perhaps it would be worth a look...

"Got any news from Panther?" Chey asked the Specter behind the fence.

"Negative," Stinger answered. "We're just here for overwatch."

"Sorry you had to spend all day on it."

"Part of the job, Coyote. But it's a little weird for us how uneventful today's been."

"Must be a suburb thing."

"You never know, kid. One time we found a whole militia in someone's basement just outside Boston."

"Maybe next time," Chey offered.

"I got a pair of old knees that are happy to relax for once. You have a safe flight, Coyote."

Moody led their party, including the disillusioned Harry into the back yard, brooms in hand.

"Clear night," Moody grunted, his odd eye sweeping the sky as ever. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, Potter, we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below, McGonagall's on your right, I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed–"

"Is that likely?" Harry asked suddenly.

"–the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks," Moody continued. "If they take out all of us and you survive Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you."

"Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously," Tonks said as she strapped Harry's trunk and bird cage to a harness hanging from her broom.

"I'm just telling the boy the plan," the marred auror growled. "Our job's to deliver him safely to headquarters and if we die in the attempt–"

"No one's dying today," Chey interrupted. "The air is clear, so even if there is an attack, I'll feel them coming a mile away."

"Everyone get ready," Lupin said, looking toward the fence, whereupon a red light shone through the slats. As they all mounted their brooms, Chey could feel a sense of excitement from Harry, like a dog anxious to be let off the leash. A moment later, the red light became green.