"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"
Summary: Many do not realize what damage being enthralled with desire causes. It is but a mirror of reality.
Chapter One
No one could have possibly predicted what would have happened to the artifact that Harry Potter had used during his six years at Hogwarts, not even him. However, the items were usually destroyed if they had any connection to the war. Locations that borer any importance to Voldemort completely burned to the ground. Even places like the Shrieking Shack, a sacred wizarding landmark, was destroyed. A specialized team of Aurors swept the nation looking for anything even remotely suspicious. When they searched through Diagon Alley, many of the things they found were not surprising that is, until they happened upon the street with the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.
As the Aurors converged together they looked bored of their task. As the last few joined the group, dragging their feet, the Captain and Head Auror cleared his throat.
"Alright boys, this is the last street and then we're done for the day. Now don't grow lazy because you want to hurry up and be done, now! If I catch any of you slacking off, you'll be on desk work for a month!" He looked over the fifteen men solemnly. Some fidgeted under the mans unwavering gaze, while others seemed resigned, and a seldom few others straightened up and gained a determined face. The Captain waited a few more seconds before speaking again.
"Two men to each building. there is nine, so me and Clayworth will take Weasley's and Kinlan's. Mitchell, you and Davis got Rulkins." Two of the men nod. "Clarke and Farrell, Scrivener. Dickens and Harris, Lennox." As he named each pair they broke away from the group and went to their designated apartment, business, or townhouse. Finally it was just the Captain and Clayworth.
"Sir, I can take Kinlan's and you can go to the Weasley's if you want. It won't take long that way we finish up with the boys." The Captain nodded and turned, walking off.
Clayworth stood and watched him walk away. Once he saw the Captain knock on the door, he turned and went to Kinlan's, the building opposite from him.
As he walked up to the Weasley twins store, his trained eyes couldn't help but point out the six possible places attackers could jump out from, the four weapons he might potentially need, and the complete state of disarray the Weasley's place was. Before the Battle of Hogwarts the property was probably the most eye-pleasing and neatest property of the busy alley. Now, if it wasn't for the huge sign above the building, seldom few would have recognized it for what it was. As he walked up to the door he tried to peer into the windows, but they were boarded up.
He shook his head before knocking three sharp times. Seconds turned into a minute before he knocks again. This time he leans his head towards the door, listening. Faintly, the sounds of shallow breathing can be heard. Immediately the Captain pulls out his wand.
"This is Captain Belanger, Head Auror and if you're in there, Mr. Weasley, you need to open this door now. You have until the count of five. One." Belanger takes a deep breath. "Two." The silence is broken by a loud clang from inside. "Three." The temerature suddenly drops ten degrees as the sounds coming from inside the house stop. "Four." He tightens his grip on his wand. "Alohamora." he whispers.
Slowly he pushes the door open and steps over the threshold. He squints, trying to make out the first room with barely any light. "Lumos." A blue light immediately emits from the tip of his wand. He pulls in a loud gasp at the sight that meets him. The entire place is covered in nearly three centimeters of dust. In the corner,
just out of the reach of the false light comes a low creaking.
With the twenty odd years of experience in the back of his mind, Belanger slowly moves towards that corner, scanning for potential problems, weapons, and exits. The light creeps along the wooden floor, showing the path a mere two feet. Soon a shadow interrupts the light. Belanger raises his eyes and freezes. A slight, almost gangly man is hanging from the ceiling. HIs bright shock of red hair is greasy, tangled, and long reaching just past his shoulders. His shirt has seen better days, stretching past the already long limp fingers and heading more towards his knees than waist.
Slowly the body revolves around, letting the Captain see the man's face. It is the gaunt face of a destroyed George Weasley.