Hello,

This is my second story on this account; the other being 'Turning Through the Years' which is an Avengers story. I'll try to update both regularly, within a week or two of each other.

If you want to truly go by dates then this story should be taking place around 2003 if I did my math correct. I'm going to pretend that some of the 'older' characters were born in 1960 rather than 1954, simply for convenience. No this is not an OC/Harry story, or OC/anyone for that matter. Though there will be OCs in it, they are purely for necessity and will not become major characters. Yes Harry will be paired with female and possibly even male characters but I'm not promising anything yet. If homosexual pairings offend or sicken you then please do leave this story.

I know where I want to take this story, flames or what I like to call destructive criticism will not persuade me any other way. Constructive criticism however will be graciously accepted, I want your input but please try to play nice when doing so.

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Harry Potter, much like the rest of us I simply wish I could.

Warning: this story is rated M for violent content and graphic scenes, this story will contain graphic violence as well as adult themes.

Also, before you dive into this: I am American. I do not know British slang outside of Austin Powers and Father Ted. While I am trying and have my Uncle backing me up (who is from Ireland) as well as a few others, I can't guarantee anything perfect.

"You sure this is the place?"

"Positive. The Dark Lord had it in his reports, exactly twenty two years ago today."

The place in question was a good sized lake. The wet sand looked more like a mass of mud and fowl feathers in the waning moonlight, and the water was an inky black color, the gentle push and pull of the waves making it look like a living mass of tar. Sticks and litter floated by lethargically. Tangled clumps of pondweed and roots from the surrounding foliage forming small islands. A troop of cloaked men made their way to an open part of the beach, two of them stooping down to clear an area. All that could be heard was the gentle slosh of the water as well as the shuffling footsteps of the men hunched down in the sand. The three remaining men looked to the leader "Who's going to… erm retrieve it, Master?"

"Are you suggesting you won't do it, Arlisle?" the taller man asked in a threatening tone. His hooded face turned jerkily towards the man foolish enough to ask.

"Oh… oh of course Master, Bronx and I shall retrieve it." The timid man agreed.

"No, just you Arlisle" he began condescendingly "and please, do mind the leaches, they prefer the night as it is." The pleasure the man received from saying this was practically tangible.

With an audible gulp, the timid man carefully discarded his outer robes. Left in a crisp black button up and black slacks, the pale man's face finally came in to view. He had gaunt features, dark, dead looking eyes shaded by stringy silver hair. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a pouch, and from it he pulled a slimy, green substance. Just as the pale haired man was about to tip back the foul smelling root, a hand grasped his wrist.

"I think it wise that you save that. Besides, if you quit stalling you won't need it." The taller man growled out in an acid tone. And with a shaky nod, Arlisle trudged into the lake.

Upon opening his eyes, Arlisle had to withhold a shiver; the slate colored water seemed never ending. Looking down didn't help either, after the water fell to about six feet it appeared to drop off into blackness. Arlisle attempted to focus on his mission, but that did absolutely nothing to still his nerves. Pursing his lips, letting out a small stream of bubbles from his nose, the small man dove deep into the storm colored depths.

…

Arlisle could hear his heart beating thickly in his ears, why didn't he just use the gillyweed? He questioned himself. The Master said not to! A small voice in his head called tauntingly. Arlisle was ready to resurface for air and start over when he saw something not far from the bottom, a large something that was caught in tree roots that had bothered to tunnel that low in the earth.

As Arlisle got closer to the silvery smudge in his vision, the features began to become clearer. It was a human, a very powerful and very deceased wizard. Sinking down to the wizard's level, Arlisle daintily put a hand on the corpse's shoulder; his skin crawled with the thought of what he was touching. Arlisle drew his wand, moving to break the chains bonding the wizard to the tree roots before aiming the cherry wood stick at the water surface, rocketing them upward.

With a gasp, followed by heavy breathing, Arlisle drug himself as well as the cadaver onto the shore; only to be ordered by the Master to bring the body back in the water. "You are to hold it through the ceremony." Was the dismissive command.

…

Arlisle had to refrain from dropping the maggot food he held in his arms as the ceremony progressed. The three other men formed a half circle on the sliver of beach, chanting as the Master waded into the water—Bronx holding back his long robes. Arlisle froze in terror as the figure in his arms lurched, looking down all he saw were the same unseeing eyes. The corpse had been in the lake for the lesser part of three decades, its eyes hazed over and pebbled grey from time, pale blue skin hung taught like thick rubber over a frail bone structure, hair hanging loosely in what might have been curls at one time but were now only tangles of algae and pond scum, but no other movements joined the first, to Arlisle's great relief. Then as if to spite him, the body heaved, the slightly open mouth gave a gurgled sound, like a sink that couldn't drain properly. The milky eyes slowly rolled to the side to glance in the Master's direction, before the dead glance turned to rest on Arlisle. The Master gave a nod and retreated backwards with the rest of the men, leaving the silver haired man alone with the now not-so dead corpse. The body began seizing in on itself, as if trying to turn over, to breathe. Arlisle yelped and dropped the wizard into the water, watching as it floated onto its side, sucking in water at an alarming rate. Clammy knotted fingers began to claw at its pale throat, trying in desperation to ease the newfound burning in its lungs.

On instinct rather than thought, Arlisle grudgingly nudged the man closer to the water's edge. Once the half dead creature was on the beach it did its best to roll onto its stomach, and slowly but surely it got its legs underneath itself and gathered up on to its hands and knees. The Master simply watched on as the monstrosity heaved on the ground at his feet. "Arlisle?" the Master questioned knowingly.

As Arlisle stepped up to help the creature, several white plumes of smoke struck down around the small assembly. The Master was the first to disapparate, quickly followed by Bronx, the other three men however were caught off guard. The Aurors began seizing anyone they got their hands on, quickly subduing the four remaining dark wizards. Auror Ronald Weasley stepped up to the remaining figure, grimacing at the stench that surrounded it. A dark haired man came up behind Ron, a fellow Auror, Harry Potter. "And what do you suppose that is, Mate?" the ginger asked slowly. Harry approached the heaving man, nearly jumping back at the almost slimy texture of its skin. "It… it looks like it's just a man Ron. You suppose they tried to drown him?" Harry asked in an off-put fashion. "Sir… Sir, are you alright?"

…

Evan Rosier woke with a splitting headache, everything hurt, his head, his muscles, his joints, Merlin his chest felt ready to explode. As carefully as possible, Rosier tried to move onto his side, to see what exactly was happening. Had the Auror's gotten him? Last he saw, Moody was charging at him with death in his eyes… er, eye. Yep, way to go bell head. He told himself. Upon turning his head, Rosier was greeted with a lovely realization, I'm blind, for the love of Merlin I'm blind! Not only that but apparently he was still in that damned lake. Water quickly began to flood his nose and mouth, the burning in his chest only seemed to intensify, it was as if his lungs were filling with cement. Like a lead weight he began to roll on to his stomach, sinking until someone none too graciously kicked him onto the beach. Crawling onto his hands and knees, Rosier was finally able to cough up some of the water, but something was still blocking his airway. Beginning to panic now, Rosier forgot about who all may or may not be watching him as he coughed harder; trying to expel whatever it was that wouldn't allow him to breath.

"Sir... Sir, are you alright?" someone to his left asked. Obviously I'm not you arse. He couldn't help but think venomously, trying his best to shimmy away from the other man, Rosier continued his efforts.

…

Harry jerked back as the man's movements became more violent. Obviously the man was choking, on what Harry didn't know, but choking none the less. Quickly the Auror wacked him on the back, making the man lurch away from him. Harry could hear Ron gag behind him, they both watched as the man reached a knobby finger into his mouth and pull out what looked like pond scum. Water still dripping from his chin, the man rolled onto his side breathing heavily. His face now a mask of delirium, a dazed and relieved half-smile on his lips as well as half lidded eyes that looked at nothing in particular.

Well that was interesting to write. Be sure to share with me any thoughts or questions.