I know, I know. I have a few others to do right now. But this just struck me and I needed to get this down, you know?

"Death, I'm bored." One Harridan James Potter, Lord of Potter, Black, and Peverell, Man-Who-Conquered, formerly the boy-who-lived, former student of Hogwarts, Gryffindor House, star seeker, defense prodigy, and most of all, Master of Death.

Though, that title was human made, he really was just Death's associate, and in most cases, friend these days. He did not want his immortality, but it came with perks. Once he got over the deaths of his friends. But society moved on, heck, muggles and magicals eventually declared truce and equality rights after the last Great Magical War, which was orchestrated by leftover Voldemort supporters that managed to escape from the after war Death Eater hunts. Mostly to America, but the ministry was strong there, contrary to the opinion of the Brits, and so when a full scale battle erupted and was caught on tape. Well, you get the picture of some conflicts due to the Catholic Church calling magicals demonic emissaries, but others began advocating once it was revealed even newborn babies could display accidental magic, and it was proven by muggle doctors and scientists. Now it was out in the open and special schools had been created for magicals all over the place.

"Yes, you've said so before."

Honestly, the world had been pretty stagnant bar a few excellent discoveries and inventions here and there. Such as the sustained flying spells and advanced healing spells, new shields and runes and other little enchantments. But Harry had centuries to study new and old magics, and was the go to expert for those who knew him and how to find him. Harry could be described as young, people thought he in the current time period was a descendant of the great Harry James Potter. And so called him Harridan James Potter the second, but he was alright with that. Kept hidden away so no one would go looking to see his family tree had stopped with him instead of continuing the generations down to who they thought he was.

"Isn't there anything I could do? Go somewhere I haven't gone?"

Harry had spent a good two centuries exploring the globe, ancient ruins and such. Often spending months with tribes, covens, and other peoples. Heck, he even spent four years with a circus just to pick up the skills. Spent three decades travelling over Asia to master the fighting forms there, and then a year in the Americas just seeing what the place had to offer. But he'd pretty much seen and done it all. He'd gone back to school multiple times, all those times had been high school and then two year college classes, once he braved six years for a doctors degree at the same time he took his Healers degree at St. Mungo's. He became quite adept at makeup and disguises then, especially with his acting skills once he took a stint in the underground world, joining the Triad just to have some thrilling fun. Eventually he faked being killed in a shoot out and left. Having grown bored of the constant drug dealing, killing, arms deals, extortion, and being expected to serve the higher ups. Sometimes even sexually, with a particular young heir to the head crime family, as he'd taken a liking to the 'fellow young crime prodigy'.

So Harry could boast he was excellent in bed, top or bottom. With all the skill of a club dancer and prostitute to match. His latest thing had been Olympic gymnastics, but once he was done perfecting those forms he was pretty done with the world. Having learned everything he possibly could.

"Well, you know I can't send you back in time, though I know you'd love to screw with people in the past, shake things up. This timeline is set in stone due to who you are. The balance would not allow you to go back."

Now, Death was a mysterious fellow. He appeared young, with dark, blank black eyes, looking pale and tired, with a slight blue tinge to his lips. Long lashes, dull black hair. Didn't help that the 'man' constantly wore black slacks and a black dress shirt neatly done up. Black socks and black dress shoes. A black vest over the shirt and straight black tie. He looked like a corpse for a funeral, minus the blazer, but that was just how Death was meant to be.

"This timeline. You always say that. And I always ask if you are implying there are others. But you never answer me. Is it because you cannot follow me if I did go to another?"

"No, but your concern for me is warming as always. There are other timelines, alternate universes almost. I'd be able to go with you, there will only ever be one Death, and that is I. I was just waiting for the right timeline to align correctly. I believe you will enjoy this one, read these. It will bring you up to speed for when we depart in a week."

"Thank you, Death."

"For you, my friend, we have eternity to explore. I am still sorry that the immortality stuck."

"I forgive you, how could you have known, after all."


In the timeline spoken of, two young assassins in Croydon had just been given briefings for time to plan their first missions since the death of their father. These were their first solo missions as well, but they'd adjust. The'd trained for it after all.


Harry had finished with reading the documents Death had given him, and his smile was full blown. The 'young man' was ecstatic. Victorian era London, but, with an underlying occult history as well! So exciting. He'd taken the time to study everything Death had given him, and even managed to make some clothes and other things a traveler to London would have in 1860's. He would get into the character of a well versed young man with a sharp wit and penchant for mischief. Of course, these Blighters and Templar may just put an interesting hitch into things.

Him and Death departed for February, just in time to see a pair of twins and an Indian man with the assassin symbol upon their clothing bump into Charles Dickens, Harry stopped to help the man pick up his papers and make sure he was alright, just a slight bruise he concluded. Death, by this point, had left to check on the Reapers he'd left in charge of this timeline, the shock those poor beings would get when their master showed up. Harry almost regretted missing it, but he wanted an established connection. The Indian man looked at him with an odd expression, this must be the informant, Henry Green. "Good day, sirs and lady. I'm Harridan Peverell, just arrived in London. If you ever need help I may be of some assistance." Harry introduced himself after Dickens extended an invitation for possible adventure to the four of them.

"Henry Green, I run a tea shop."

"Jacob Frye, and this is my sister, Evie. We just moved here as well."

"It was excellent meeting you, but I'm due for a meeting at my soon to be residence and shop. See you later. I'm sure I won't be hard to find!" Harry told them, hailing a carriage for a ride.

He made sure to have money ready for the payment the driver would want. He waved to the three before they ran off, being chased by some men and women in red uniforms. The Blighters, no doubt.

Once he'd arrived at his residence, he got his lease from the man who previously owned the place and then went inside to set up. He'd gotten a large area, a stage for bands or singers, a grand piano and some other instruments off to the side not yet tuned or set up. A bar that was not stocked, an empty kitchen. Tables needing to be put together, and empty walls. the place was tastefully done, however. Dark colours mostly. He set a pace for upstairs after making sure his shop was locked, he'd have to get curtains for the windows. Upstairs was a bit brighter, plain dark woods and unpainted walls. No wall paper either, to avoid mold and other poisonings common at this time.

Just because he was immortal and healed from everything. It still took time and could be extremely painful for him, as he learned when someone actually tried to kill him by poison. An experience he did not want to repeat. He'd have to furnish everything, and make up everything was up to standards he'd expect for safety and hygiene in his previous timeline. But he brought supplies and magic, and so was able to get his living quarters set up within a few hours, safe and sound. Including the faulty wiring and gas, it was a miracle the place hadn't burned down yet. He then put up curtains in the dirty windows, those he'd have to clean by hand, and faked working into the night before finally opening the curtains to wash the windows inside, before repeating as such for outside. Dressed in a slightly dirty and wrinkled white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a plain pair of black slacks.

But trouble had a habit of finding him, and as he was preparing to go out and order a stock for his new residence and business, Blighters walked on up. "You open?"

"Unfortunately not sirs, I just set up, I have to order stock. In a few days I hope to be open, however, and then you will have a warm welcome awaiting you."

"Let us see then." The only woman in the group ordered, brandishing her knife.

Seeing trouble and hoping to avoid it, Harry complied.

True to his word, as they saw, the place was completely empty of food and drink. They left with some minor calming and compulsion charms. Plus a strong compulsion to stay far away from the place unless invited or someone else reminded them of it. He decided to put his sign up once he got back, it would have black painted on purple, to go with the storefront, reading 'Lux', the 'x' being two daggers crossed over each other. It was refined but sharp, and he'd have no shantys or other little odd songs being played. Oh no, refined only. Unless he had a 'commons' night. Which would only be during celebrations. he'd already decided on that.

He decided to clean himself up, wash himself and make sure he appeared as a young, sophisticated business owner. He put on his best suit and headed out to find Henry Green, the man would surely know where to find places to order stock from. And buy glass wares, he reminded himself. He found the little curio shop with little difficulty, a subtle tracking spell helped with that. Upon entering he went directly to Henry. The twins were there as well, going over drawn pictures of a young girl, and three men. Clara O'Dea, Rexford Kaylock, Sargent Fredrick Abberline, and some other random man with the templar symbol. The pictures were swiftly yet nonchalantly swept away, but Harry made note to connect with the young girl at least. Urchins were excellent for intel, and he was sure they'd appreciate somewhere safe to rest the ill and get food that wasn't filthy scraps, treat the wounded, warm up from the winter chill. He couldn't house them all, but he could at least take care of some of them.

"Mr. Green, I must of caught you at a bad time but I was wondering if you knew a safe and reliable place to get stocks of alcohol and food supplies."

"Ah yes, I've heard that you are the one who refurbished the old bar in London and named it Lux. I do know a few places, allow me to draw you up a list. I'll see you two later." Henry responded, turning his last words to the twins, whom left quickly to search out their targets.

"Like foxes, those two." Harry commented.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, that look in the eyes, mischief written all over them, youthful, playful. Wit, stunning personality. Twins no less."

"Ah, yes your description of the twins is accurate. Now, here's the list. Down by the Thames you'll find many businesses, go only for these ones. Be forewarned, some may turn you down out of fear of Crawford Starrick."

"Then maybe I should talk with the industrialist. See if I can't get a deal out of him."

"Make connections first, though I highly discourage any dealings with Mr. Starrick."

"I will heed your warnings, Mr. Green, however, I have a feeling if I make a good impression he may call the Blighters off me. By listening to the gang members about it is obvious he has control over them for the most part."

"Be careful, Mr. Peverell."

"Please, call me Harridan, or Harry, Ry if you prefer."

"Well then, Harridan, call me Henry."

"Will do, take care Henry."

"You as well Harridan."


It took a few days, and a close call with the Blighters, before he finally met with Crawford Starrick. The man was charismatic, cunning, sly, but his eyes told of ruthlessness and willingness to do whatever it took to achieve his goals. A look that almost sent shivers down his spine. But he man also had some interest, clearly because of his looks. "Mr. Starrick, I am Harridan Peverell, I refurbished Lux. I've been turned down multiple times from many sources because I am not associated with you in anyway, I was hoping we could come to some sort of agreement so that I could keep my business running, and maybe eventually expand."

Straight to the point, the man seemed to appreciate that. "We may be able to, but first, may I ask why you are bandaged in a few places?"

"Ah, I had a run in with some of those gang members, the Blighters they call themselves? I had no ale, so they got rowdy. Nothing serious, just some cuts and bruises." Harry brushed off cheerfully, the older man frowned slightly.

A woman walked in after knocking briskly, seemingly baring bad news. "Miss Thorne, what has you all worked up?" The woman hesitated, looking at Harry.

"This seems rather urgent, I could come back at a later date if need be?" Harry posed it as a question.

"No need. Miss Thorne?"

"Ferris and Brewster are dead...murdered. Swift blades to the throat."

The two shared a dark look. "Tell the others to be more cautious, and promote someone to take over the iron mill. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Now, your business is called?"

"Lux, a bar in London at night, friendly cafe by day." Harry explained.

"Well then, I'll recommend you to some places with a letter, I'll trust you to make wise choices."

After a bit more chatter and a signed letter, Harry prepared to leave. "Good day, Mr. Starrick, Miss Thorne. Good day to you both. Feel free to come by Lux if you so wish to." Harry left pleasantly, warm smile he made sure to keep honest.

He caught some talk as he left the office hall. "Honest smile, you don't see that often, Miss Thorne."

"No, not often. Interesting man, Harridan Peverell."

Harry almost slapped himself, now he'd be under their watch.

"Call the Blighters off his shop, he was obviously in pain despite how well he hid it. Honest people like him really shouldn't be bothered."

"Yes sir."

At least that problem would be taken care of.


Well, they kept their word. No more angry Blighters came around to his shop, those who did were just looking for a quick breakfast. His tea was some of the best, and his home remedy cure for hangovers drew in hungover crowds. While it wasn't the most well known, people did come for a fun night. And because he couldn't get struck with plagiarism, he played songs from the future that had nice violin and piano covers, the upbeat ones. Jazz could be heard to, he claimed he got it from America when he was younger, by this time the colonies were independent and Brits hated them. So there was a distance. Plus, jazz was pretty popular down in the Southern states last he visited...in his other world back in 2056.

Plus, his alcohol came from his own recipe brews, which were admittedly much better. But he'd work through it well enough, 'slowly' developing his distilling and fermenting techniques, despite the fact he'd learned them from the true creators, for all he knew they'd never exist because he arrived here, so why not add this to the world a little early? It would get that toxic shit off the streets anyways, and add extra income.

Next he saw the assassins, any of them, was when Jacob and gang members from the Clinkers, now named the Rooks if he heard from pissy Blighters correctly, came in bruised and a bit bloody, calling for celebratory drinks. It'd been what, a few days since he last saw them? Aw, the man even recognized him. "Mister Frye, what a surprise! What can i get you this fine evening, looks like you had a spot of fun?"

"Ah, best ale you got Mister Peverell! This is the time to celebrate, we took Whitechapel from the Blighters! Now there won't be any more terrorizing citizens and heists in our taken territory!"

"Amazing, I'll get that ale. And some medical supplies, wouldn't do for you to get any nasty infections. And please, call me Harry."

"Then call me Jacob!"

With ale poured about, Harry went and got cleaners and other medical supplies, staunching cuts on foreheads and stitching a few of the deeper wounds. Picking rocks from a few nasty scrapes and putting a cream on bruises to help them heal faster. Jacob began speaking of which borough to take next, he was thinking of the Thames, make trade and transport easier. "Jacob, the Blighters and leaders are a tad too strong and organized in the central areas like the Thames. Might I suggest taking an outer borough first? You'd spread them thin, scare them a bit. Take Lambeth next, start to surround and corner them?" Harry suggested, putting a last bandage on Jacob's knuckle where he hit Kaylock on his chest, where he templar pin was no doubt.

"Yeah, I think I'll do just that Harry. Be careful though, the Blighters could be listening in anywhere. You do a pretty good patching job though, mind if I stop by every once in a while to get patched up?"

"If you need it Jacob, my doors are open to you, your sister, and Henry."

"Thanks. I must be off, here's payment for the ale."

"Do stay alive, I'd hate to see you go."

"Haha! I'll do my best."


Harry was serving the orphans Sunday morning, poor things barely escaped being taken as child laborers when a jovial man came in, right up to him. "Oh, hello. Jacob sent me, said you may be able to help?...Ah! Excuse me, I'm Alexander Gram Bell."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Bell."

"Call me Aleck."

"Right then, I'm Harridan Peverell, call me Harry. Now, what assistance do you require?"

"I've been working on freedom of speech, setting up transmitters for signals and ones without cables, downside is I need transmitters across a certain radius for it to work."

"And you need help scoping out the right areas for them to go, right?"

"That's correct."

"I'll get out my maps, I've made connections you know. I may...convince a few fellows to...comply..."

"For such an innocent looking fellow, you sure have a devious disposition."

"It's how you live in a dog eat dog world you know. How you survive. So what's the radius of your transmitters?"

...

It took a few hours, but they deducted a few places that would be the most effective without overlapping signals, excellent for intercepting Starrick's business. The illegal kind, that is. Harry saw Aleck out, then turned to the now finished children, they'd been playing some card games he introduced them to. Along with jacks and hop scotch. Of course, football and other little games they could play. But the end of February was approaching, and he had a feeling something big would happen. Evie came in, looking exasperated. "Wine or ale dear Evie?"

"Ugh, Scotch on rocks please."

"Oh, bad day then?" Harry winced, pouring the strong drink as was requested.

"Have you ever heard of Edward Kenway?"

"Yes, heard he was killed in his own home. Lovely house, from the outside anyways."

"Inside is lovely to, however overrun by Blighters it is...do you know of the old tales, of a war waged in the shadows? One for peace through freedom, the other peace through ultimate control and order?"

"The Assassins against the hidden Templar order dating back thousands of years, all the way back to the days of Greeks, Romans, and Ancient Egyptians? Yes, I am familiar. My family has a history of book keeping, and having excellent connections."

"Oh, excellent. Edward Kenway was the famous pirate, but also an assassin. He was killed by Templars in his own home, his son inducted into the order, his grandson worked during the American revolution before disappearing, his grandson connecting back to his assassin roots. His daughter was taken by others to another country, before he came back and reclaimed her home when Haytham Kenway, the templar converted son, found her. Haytham went off to the colonies, leaving the house to his sister. She had it until she died, and by this point Haytham's son had killed him out of necessity, taking the Grand Master with him. The Templars reclaimed the house, and Lucy Thorne now owns the house under Templar name! So Henry and I got into the Kenway manor and found lots of pieces of assassin heritage. All lost! A whole vault. Luckily I don't believe they'll be able to get into the vault, it has a password connected to the piano. There is another entrance through the sewers, but...it is only opened from the inside of the vault."

"Is there anyway that you could sneak back in and get everything?"

"No, they would have increased the guard and effort to get inside."

"Unless you had some help making diversions?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Send Jacob to a warehouse in London close to the Kenway home, blow it sky high with a few explosives, and sneak inside once they leave to investigate. They'll know it's assassins, so they won't miss the chance to try and kill you. There is an explosives shipment going out near the home in a day's time, I'll help you get inside if you want?"

"That would be lovely, but how would you draw the leftover guards?"

"Jacob can leave his Rooks at the explosion scene, and race over to take guards out while we sneak past. He can join us with some more Rooks at the end. We can leave a crate at the sewer entrance, and get it to a cargo transport that looks inconspicuous. Put some alcohol crates over it and it looks like an ale shipment to the nearby pubs." Who knows, maybe we can snake around and grab other things while w are at it?"

"Harry you are genius. Let's go to the train tonight once you close."

"It's Sunday, no drinks after ten."

"Excellent, half an hour then."

"Indeed."