Fulfilled

Chapter 1 – The Witch Doctor

Harry had come across many lies throughout the course of his life, but the biggest one he had read had been in a career pamphlet-type parchment. He still remembered the words three years later: "Auror training will fulfill you to means end, making your life whole and worthwhile by helping the community."

Even now, he laughed when he thought of that sentence and associated himself to it. Nothing about his life had been fulfilling, whether it be kissing for the first time or meeting his godfather. Certainly Auror training wasn't going to do it. These events seemed trivial to him after all he had been through. Even defeating Voldemort once and for all didn't satisfy his hunger for revenge. He had sliced the powerful wizard with a swish of a sword, and in a second, he died. Harry didn't have the chance to slice him piece by piece for every inch of pain he had caused him every second of his life because immediately after he had stabbed him, he disintegrated into filthy dirt, disappearing forever.

Sometimes he wondered what he was living for now, at the age of twenty-three training to become an Auror after all the Dark activity had died down. What was the purpose of his life? Was it all about getting high marks in training, trying to be the best Auror, and living in a world where Quidditch teams and candy shops were more valuable than relationships with people Sure, Harry had thought about this before in his teens but he had always been occupied with the battles against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, not to mention all the schoolwork teachers piled on him and the other students every day. But now that he was independent, he was starting to question his lack of happiness and meaning in life.

Finally coming out of his reverie, Harry faced his cubicle with fatigue. Fresh droopy bags lay under his eyes with the addition of creases that made him look ten years older. He had spent all last night arranging Ministry forms that the secretary, Melinda Evars, had piled on his desk the previous day. He still was not done filling them out.

As Harry was filling out the last line of the selected form, he got distracted by a man crossing the dashed line to the right of him.

"Stop, mister. You're not allowed past that line."

"Oh." He stopped abruptly and then turned, "I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright."

Beyond that line, the top secret files about all the suspects and victims were stored that weren't supposed to get into anyone's hands. Despite the warning signs on both sides of the line, people still blindly walked through the barrier.

His eyes scanned the room beyond his mahogany-colored cubicle and rested upon Neville, about ten feet away, who was frantically writing and quill-dipping away on an extended piece of parchment. Harry made his decision, getting to his feet, and paced himself to Neville.

It was a normal day on the second floor of the Ministry of Magic, where select numbers of Aurors kept tabs on criminals and could be evacuated at any time of the day. Both Harry and Neville were entry-level Aurors, meaning they served all the purposes of a real Auror but were on a probationary period for one year. It also meant that the other real Aurors stole the chance to take control and tease them to no means end.

Harry stood on the edge of Neville's desk and patiently waited, ruffling his uncontrollably bushy hair and folding his arms. Knowing Neville, it took him about a half a minute more than most people to realize that Harry was standing there. As he looked up, he said, "What?"

"Help me fill out the witness forms?" This was another lie Harry had discovered in the pamphlets. Where on it did it say that he was going to get stuck with paperwork every damn day?

"No." replied an astounded Neville, eyeing his own pile of assignments, "Don't you see all these I have to get to?"

It was incredibly easy to take advantage of Neville, "Please?"

Neville narrowed his eyes, "What do I get in return?"

"A home cooked meal at my apartment tonight."

"Sounds good."

Harry smiled expectantly, but when Neville opened his mouth again, his face fell, "But if you're not going to cook it, then what's the point?"

"Are you mad? You want to taste my cooking?"

Neville laughed, causing a few of his papers to fly to the ground, and hurriedly said, "Then why don't you tell your wife to make it for you? No, wait, you don't have one. How about your girlfriend? No, wait, you don't have that either."

"Oh hush," Harry snapped. His cheeks blushed crimson as soon as those words traveled through his ears. "Why is it that every time I talk to you, that subject turns up?"

"How come ever time a woman flirts with you, you shoo her away?"

"Because it's my choice. I'm not interested in a relationship right now, for the last time." This, of course, was a lie.

"Yes you do," Neville corrected him, "You're just too afraid of it."

Harry squashed his thoughts like a bug, "Moving back to the subject. Are you going to help me fill these out or what?"

Neville glanced at the papers and then at Harry, and nodded, "Fine. Here, give them to me. But I have to warn you. It'll take a while."

"Take all the time you need." Harry smirked as he turned to go back to his cubicle. Neville didn't know it, but he had magically contracted the hundred twenty three applications into sixty-three and he wouldn't find out until he opened them.

The room, or the more proper term, hall, was busy as always, with herds of people scattering left and right like flies. This was where the calls came if there was an emergency situation to be taken care of. The alert system was very simple. Every cubicle had a warning alarm that would flash red and the desk would vibrate when there was a call. Each Auror was assigned to a specific location and could be called upon any minute. Harry, on the other side, didn't have one of those alarms because he was chosen by select few Aurors who he would accompany on minor crimes all over the world.

The alarm suddenly went off, ringing and clattering throughout the office. Christian McGregor flew up from his seat and was at the teleporter when he summoned, "Potter! Longbottom! Head out!"

Harry dressed his cloak and immediately ran to Christian, the rim of his long cloak dragging across the floor like a broom. Christian's eyes riveted left and right on the text block of the teleporter, which informed the location and problem of the emergency. In no time, they were gone as the three of them gripped the pretzel-like Portkey and transported themselves to the selected site.

Swirls of color zoomed past Harry, moving rapidly, and making him dizzy enough to puke. This wasn't his first time using it, but still, he got that feeling. It took longer than usual to land, and when they did, Harry was sure it was a mistake.

Desolate fields surrounded him like the grounds of a full-sized Quidditch field in the midst of the morning. Clouds with shades of gray blocked the sun and he couldn't see any type of life in the vicinity. About a few hundred meters were a heap of trees cluttered tightly together as if they were blocking sight of another world.

"I think you made a mistake, Chris," Harry announced, once again observing the world around him. "This place is completely barren."

"I do not make mistakes, and call me Christian, not Chris." Christian said in his usual stern voice, "Follow me."

Neville raised his eyes, at Harry, and he shrugged in answer. Unfortunately, Christian marched towards the forest and both of them followed with reluctance.

"Where are we exactly?" asked Harry. Something told him that he was not in England.

"Africa."

"What?" An alarmed Neville cried out, but then lowered his head with embarrassment. He didn't know Christian well enough to be comfortable around him, but knowing Neville, he wouldn't be alright communicating with anyone.

The trees grew closer as they advanced, and soon enough, they were in. Within a minute of walking inside it, he found out that this forest was three times worse than the Forbidden Forest back at Hogwarts. Here, there were gnats, mosquitoes, and flies, roaming in the dense barrier of sky, often biting into Harry's flesh. All kinds of bugs crawled on the ground, some of them he had never seen and didn't want to.

"We are getting closer," Christian informed them as he held his wand tightly and sharpened his eyes. Harry and Neville did the same. Harry wondered what kind of evil could be stirring in the middle of nowhere.

Quite an amount of time passed before Harry sensed a human movement. He was standing alert on Neville's right side while Christian was in the front. A faint whisper ignited his ears, causing him to swerve to his right and approach the noise with caution. Harry motioned the others to follow him.

Finally, he saw it. A man in chloroform green stood against the thick bark of one of the grandest trees in sight, polishing his wand with velvet cloth beyond the pint of complete luster. The size of his cloak gave away his size. He appeared to be close to six feet and a half feet tall with broad muscular shoulders and veins popping out of his wide neck.

Harry turned to his partners, "Ready?"

"No," Came a hoarse whisper from Christian. "Let me go first. He seems dangerous."

Harry raised a hand in protest and leaded on. As they grew closer, another figure came in sight. It was the frail body of a woman sprawled lifelessly on the ground, on top of the sharp blades of pale green grass, her long auburn hair covering half of her face. Harry gulped. It was now or never.

He Disapparated and then appeared right in front of the villain. Surprised out of his mind, the man Disapparated, but Harry blocked it and forced him back to his original spot. Just as he was about to cast an Anti-Disapparation Jinx on him, the man's deep voice rang out, "Conglacio!"

Harry was stuck inside ice. Literally. Between the trees of moist atmosphere, it had still been considerably warm, but now he was in ice. Sharp knives or nails weren't enough to describe how frozen he felt. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of dry ice on his head.

In half a second of this action, Christian Apparated to his side but didn't waste any time looking at him because he instantly rained spells at the surprised villain. The villain blocked all of them as he ran for it.

"Neville! GET HIM!" Christian bellowed, making Neville jump but nevertheless aim a spell, "Circumvolo!"

A jet of purple light struck the adversary. He flew twenty feet into the air, screaming like a helpless child along the way, and fell to the ground with a deafening thud.

Harry wished he hadn't seen all of that, because it just made his pride fall deep beneath him. Forget the cold. Neville had gotten the wizard when he couldn't. Wasn't he The-Boy-Who-Lived?

"Check if he's out while I handle them," Christian commanded Neville. After putting a silver chip in his pocket, he turned to Harry and muttered a counter-curse. Harry felt the external bitterness wash away as he walked his way to the fallen woman. He cast a reviving spell as Christian used a Magical device to call the assistants from Mungo's.

To Harry's disappointment, the spell didn't work. Her eyes may have been wide open, but that didn't meant there were hints of life in them.

"She's dead." Harry announced, and as he said those words, a wave of sadness swept him. The woman in front of him appeared middle-aged with long red hair and olive-green eyes. The resemblance she had with his Mum was uncanny. Ignoring everything else, he stared at her. Is that what his mother had looked like when she had died?

Neville's voice brought him back to the present, "Looks like it. You okay?"

He nodded, but he was far from okay. This dead woman made him realize how much he wanted a family. He craved for parents he could defy, brothers and sisters he could argue with, a wife he could love, and a child he could adore.

Why did he have to come here now?

"No, you are not," argued Christian, breaking Harry's thoughts. "Look at your arms. Your neck. As a matter of fact, your whole body."

He was right. There were spongy red marks all over Harry's body. He touched his wrist lightly, and suddenly, blistering pain riveted through his arm.

"We should get you to Mungo's as well," said Christian, towering over Harry's fallen figure. He had no intention of seeing or staying in that place, so right away he shook his head, "No. It's okay. It'll heal by itself."

"No it won't." Christian examined him and knew Harry wasn't going to give in, so he commanded Neville, "Longbottom. Take Potter and try to find a lake if you can. He could dehydrate."

"Dehydrate? Please." Harry's feet pressed against the ground, only to result pain in his butt as he tried to stand. He fell back, cursing his weakness.

"Come on." Neville lifted him up and carried him through the forest with Harry's hand placed firmly on Neville's shoulder.

"Good heavens, what happened to you back there? Were you asleep?"

"No. I don't know…just distracted, I suppose."

"He did not want to come, that's why!" Christian shouted from afar. There was some truth to that. If Neville or Christian hadn't been there, he would've been dead.

As they walked into the clearing, Harry had a flashback of two fifteen year olds helping each other up the steps in the Department of Mysteries. Neville had been the one kneeling on him then. It was funny how the tables had turned.

"Wow" Neville proclaimed, looking amazed, and Harry could see why. He felt as if he'd just stepped into the sixteenth century. There was a lake after all, but next to it was what astounded them. African-style teepees lay scattered throughout the land, flags of green and brown breezing in the still air. It appeared to be a calm day because a few people were outside.

"Let's ask them for help."

"Are you sure about that?" inquired Harry doubtfully, as he cast his eyes on them again. They seemed to be indigenous people, with large jewelry like rusted pearls and stones touching their naked chests. Two of them were bald while the other three had hair on the middle of their forehead.

He eyed them as if he was expecting them.

"Oh Bushmen of Ghana." he breathed, which Harry took to mean 'Oh my god'. The man was dark, wearing a tan loincloth that thankfully covered his privates, and took Harry's arm, rubbing his hands over it. He flinched with pain. After a few seconds, the man went into his teepee.

"Strange. How did he know we needed help?"

"Uh, look at yourself, Harry." Neville pointed athis rashes.

"Valid point."

The man came out with brown paste in his hands. There were black dots in it, making Harry think it was dirt mixed with something else.

"What is that?" Harry exclaimed, and repulsed. The native didn't understand because he shook his head and advanced on him, slapping the paste on Harry's arms.

"Looks disgusting." Neville's face distorted, "I think he's a witch doctor. That would explain the clothes and the yummy-looking remedy."

Harry was too fatigued to roll his eyes at his friend's last comment. He focused his attention on the so-called witch doctor and noticed a level of soothing in his arms. The paste was warm and really did smell like dirt, but that didn't stop him from being curious to know what it contained.

"Stop." Harry held his hand up and proposed a type of sign language to make him understand. The witch doctor stared at him for a minute and then his eyes traveled down to the ground. With a stubby finger, he pointed at a pair of ants escaping a crease slowly.

"GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!"

"Why?" Neville cried, trying to stabilize Harry but failing.

"They're ants, ants! GET IT OFF!"

"Alrightalright! Scourgify!"

Neville splashed Harry with water until the cream diminished completely. Harry lost his head. He wanted a shower. He needed a shower. Covered by filth, he craved a shower.

"Out-of-here." Harry took a handful of Neville's robes and dragged him as far away from the witch doctor as possible.

"Ants?Why?" Harry coughed while he rubbed his arms to the max. A heavy thunderstorm would make his day at any moment now.

"I guess it was a remedy."

He heard a gurgling sound from his side, and as he turned, he wished he could disappear. It was another witch doctor in close proximity washing his mouth with water, or so Harry hoped. He motioned Harry to come to him, but Harry knew better. "That way, Neville."

"Look. He has water."

Harry glared at Neville.

"It's just water."

"Yeah, and that was just dirt."

"Come."

Perhaps Harry gave in because he was too weak to object. The witch doctor handed him a bucket of water. Harry reluctantly gulped it down. Surprisingly, he found it to be clear and taste like normal water.

As he was drinking it, the man said something in a language he didn't understand. Harry frowned. "What?"

He said the same thing again but that didn't help Harry at all. He tried his hardest, but it didn't work, until the tent opened again. This time, an old woman stepped out. Her black hair, streaked with faint gray, billowed in the air as she walked to them. A pair of faded blue jeans and a vest was what she was wearing. Harry realized she was a Muggle and was a bit uncomfortable standing there in a cloak.

"He's asking you if you wish to know your future." she explained, folding her arms.

Harry lifted his head from the bucket, shock, confusion, and curiosity evident on his face.