August 29, 2127
It was cold and damp, like usual in England, but today seemed especially so as it often did when one of the world's greats, one of its heroes, had passed. It was getting late; the services were over, the well-wishers, hangers-on, politicians, family, friends, both real and imagined, some enemies, and of course, the press were long gone from the site. All save one reporter, young and ambitious, who stayed to see if anything else would happen. She knew there was always someone; some person who didn't like the crowds that would show up after it was all said and done. Her patience was well rewarded as she noticed a single elderly man sitting in the chairs lined before the great mausoleum in which the greatest hero in recent history was now laid to rest, Harry Potter.
The old man sat for some time before struggling to his feet and walking with great assistance from his cane towards the altar stone that lay in front of the monument. He laid his hands on the stone and looked up at the carved relief of Lord Potter's face.
A sad smile then a pat on the stone before he suddenly spoke, "Is there something I can do for you young lady?"
The woman started. How had he known? She was concealed behind powerful charms; ones used by her family of reporters and investigators to find the truth and ferret out details. Dropping the glamour, she walked over to the man, who had by then sat back down in a chair in the front row.
"I was just waiting for someone," she said nervously.
He smiled indulgently at her, his eyes a bright, deep blue that belied his obvious age.
"I have children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, young lady. I have fought terrible foes and been hounded by determined enemies. I knew you were there all along and I know you are not just waiting for anyone in particular. What is your name, girl?"
Knowing she was not fooling this old codger, she decided to drop the charade and just be out with it.
"I'm Pricilla Skeeter. I'm a reporter and I was just doing some last minute coverage of the funeral and decided to stay and see if anyone else more interesting stopped by."
"More interesting than the Minister? Or all the flunkies of various countries and sappy fan-girls? Hah! Hmmm. Skeeter. Any relation to a Rita Skeeter?"
"My great grandmother, sir. May I ask your name and why you are here so late?"
"Oh, dear me, where are my manners." The old man seemed a bit flustered for a moment.
Before he could reply himself, a house elf, strangely dressed in what looked to be a cross between a Hollywood bouncer and an old Victorian style butler's outfits, faded into view.
"Dis be da Lord Staros Aniken Marcus, Earl of Moneda and Foula, Knight of the Garter, Order of Merlin Second and Third Class…" the elf started. Pricilla was suddenly a bit afraid. This was Harry Potter's most hated rival and the greatest villain to walk Britain since Voldemort!
"Enough, Carcerous. How many times do I have to tell you? I am not the earl anymore. I passed that title on to my grandson seven years ago." Despite the severity of the old man's tone, Pricilla got the impression this was a normal thing between elf and master, and likely on going until the old man died.
"Anyway," the Lord Staros continued, "I doubt she needs the full gamut of awards and nonsense hung around my neck over the years. Most of it was utter crap. As to why I am here, madam, Mr. Potter was my oldest and dearest friend. We spent a our school days together, did a lot of things over the intervening years, and now that he is gone to join his ladies, I imagine I shall be soon as well. I waited until after all the hubbub to ask them all to wait for me just a little longer before we go off in search of our next 'Great Adventure' as a certain old goat used to call it."
Pricilla was a bit startled by this statement. She asked, "Your friend? The two of you have been the bitterest enemies for the last hundred years! Your battles in and out of the Wizengamot are legendary! How can you call yourself friends?"
The old man chuckled a bit and smiled. Pricilla was a bit worried by that smile. It promised neither warmth nor kindness.
"Do not worry, my dear. I shall not harm you. You just brought up some dear memories of other arguments we had before. As to our friendship, well, Sun Tzu once said to keep friends close and enemies closer. Mr. Potter and I were much more than we appeared in public. We have a history that would shock most people and cause a great many others to rant in denial or kill themselves in despair. But I suppose that with him gone and me probably soon following, the world can know at least some of the truth."
"Wait. Was Harry Potter your secret lover or something? Is this some kind of twisted half-romance, half-unrequited love story?"
Staros looked at the woman for a few seconds as what she said sank into his brain. The response was not exactly what she was prepared for.
"Bwah hah HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH…" began a spine breaking, full belly laugh from the twisted old man. As tears started to form at the corners of his eyes and he clutched his sides, his elf sidled over appearing most distressed.
"Lord Staros, dis not bein' good fer yer heart. You be needin' t'be calm, sir."
Having laughed himself to near asphyxia, Staros waved the elf back while trying to regain control of himself. Pricilla looked a bit worried, both for the old man's health and for what the laugh might mean.
"Yes, HA, yes… leave me be, ha ha… oh gods, heh… why does everyone always jump on that bandwagon even after all these years? Hah… I once had someone in our fifth year who was convinced that Harry and Draco were secretly in love as the reason behind their school fights."
"Draco?" asked Pricilla, wracking her brain to remember who that might be in connection to Harry Potter. "Oh, Lord Draco Malfoy. Didn't he end up as the Head of Education back in 2020 or something?"
"Yes, that Draco. Bit of a prick, but decent enough fellow once you got past his pretentious, overblown ego. Anyway, back on topic. Let's get together tomorrow at my home. I'll give you something that I can assure you, will make your career for the next several decades."
"OK, how's ten tomorrow morning sound?"
"Just wonderful," Staros said. "Opportunity awaits, my dear. See you then." With that, the old man got up and leaning heavily upon his cane, apparated away, his elf fading away immediately after.
The following morning, Pricilla had informed her editor of the barest of tidbits revealed the day before and gained his enthusiastic authorization to spend an extended period of time interviewing the little known, but very publicly Dark, Lord Staros. The hints about secret ties to Lord Potter, recently deceased, only made it that much more intriguing.
Apparating to the location provided to her the day before, Pricilla was surprised to see a rather plain looking, although obviously Victorian styled, three story home set on a small hill overlooking a large town. Just looking around, she couldn't tell if it was Sutton or Poole, Watford or Crawley, or any of a dozen other smaller communities. She guessed she was in a southern part of Britain by the warmer air, but none of the by-ways or larger streets stuck out as being familiar.
Shrugging it off as being unfamiliar with muggle towns, she turned back to the gate and touched the latch. It opened of its own accord as she did so, which she took as a sign of welcome. Walking up towards the house, she sketched out a few details into her notebook about the appearance and "feel" of the home. Hardly could she describe it as being the lair of an evil Dark Lord, but more like a retirement home for a well to do businessman or one of the pureblood families.
As she reached the door, the elf from the previous day, 'Carcerous, wasn't it?' faded into view. Nodding once at her, he opened the door to the home and bowed her through. The main foyer was simple in design, with rich walnut paneling and a staircase that obviously led to the family living areas.
"We be goin' dis way, Missus Skeeter," said Carcerous, gesturing towards a door on the left. "Da Master be seein' you in hees front study."
Smiling politely at the aged elf, Pricilla followed him down a short hall past a few other doors, all shut of course, to a largish oak door set into a stone wall. Frowning slightly, Pricilla couldn't seem to remember there being any masonry apparent from the exterior. Was she still in the same building? Or was it so heavily disguised that she simply couldn't see the stonework?
Chuckling as if guessing her thoughts, the elf simply opened the door and bowed her through. Pricilla stepped into the room and realized there was definitely no way she was in the same building as the window opposite the door was enormous, spanning a good twenty feet or so, and showed a view that could only be described as tropical. Then she realized that the view meant nothing in the magical world, she could be in closet of the Victorian home that was bespelled to be larger and show this vista.
"Ah, Ms. Skeeter, please, come in and have a seat. Care for some melon?" asked Staros, holding a small tray out towards her.
"No, thank you, milord," she replied, seating herself in the overstuffed chair next to his own and pulling out her memory crystal and notepad. She set the crystal down onto the small table between them while she prepared her notepad for the interview.
Putting down the tray, Staros picked up the crystal. Holding it up to the light, he seemed to be appraising its quality before nodding once and placing back where he had picked it from.
"I remember a time when those were a dream. Harry and I grew tired of the issues with mundane technology and the influences magic could have on it when we set out to create those. I believe we started a whole new form of research after we marketed the first few. The Department of Mysteries is still rather upset about the whole deal I believe. Pensieves were too damned bulky and a pain to use, often limited in their ability to portray truth since it was still a matter of an individual's perception. And mundane recorders had the unfortunate weakness of being magically manipulable. But, that is a different story than the one you are here for."
Pricilla nodded to the old man across from her, her reporter enthusiasm showing rather brightly in her eyes. If this panned out, she would be set for life, even better than her great grandmother.
Staros picked up a large tome that Pricilla hadn't seen before, sitting as it was on the opposite side of Staros' chair. Handing it to her he said, "This is the best part. This is the collective diary of myself and one Harry James Potter. Our plots, our correspondence, our wild ideas, even our tears and regrets when things went south. Harry had the other one, but in accordance with his will, certain possessions like this book's twin were burned and the ashes scattered.
"I have altered the protections we placed on it to include you into the secret of its contents. Anyone else will either ignore the book, get a blinding headache from it, or run afoul its defenses if they pry too hard. I have also changed it so that it will reveal only a single decade of our notes at a time, to be spaced out in one and two year increments."
Holding up his hand at her about to be voiced protest, he smiled at her. "You would like it all at once, I know. But, with it being forcibly spaced, I am making sure that you are set up rather prettily to write a new expose on various topics as time wears on. This protects certain people from recriminations and will allow the world to digest what it reads before getting the next whammy."
"OK, I understand that now," Pricilla said, knowing there was little she could do about it. Knowing Lord Potter's affinity with warding and the rumors about the Dark enchantments Lord Staros was supposedly able to create, she wouldn't try breaking the spells on the tome.
"Anyway, let's start with the beginning. A little after Harry was born, so too was I. The usual thing for women and children throughout time. But there were some catches. After all, Harry was the target of self-styled Lord Voldemort while my family was in exile at the time. An exile that was just ending…"