Unbeta'd. Sorry about that, but will be sorted asap. Enjoy!
Stepping back in to the smoky main room Harry found that there were a few bleary eyed patrons nursing a tea or coffee and several making their way to the Diagon Alley entrance in the back.
Once out in the small courtyard Harry found himself surrounded by a small group of people; more stepping through the door behind him and penning him in.
The sudden tightening in his chest and the blind panic that tried to take over his senses was not unexpected, which was the only reason Harry managed to stay in control. Focusing on his breathing seemed to help as several businessmen shuffled a little closer as an old witch at the front used her wand to open the gate into Diagon Alley.
Harry stayed where he was, counting the seconds between drawing a breath in and letting it out as the main part of the group pushed forward through the arch. However, several of the men close to him stayed where they were for a few seconds, staring at him with the same glazed look that Tom had had. One even drew a little closer and seemed to be, of all things, sniffing him.
Just when Harry was starting to feel the tight control he had on his panic start to slip a sudden shout and a crash from Diagon Alley had the men all turning towards it and the daze over them was broken.
They all gave awkward, embarrassed choughs or fiddled with their briefcases as they pointedly didn't look at Harry and marched forward, soon swallowed by the ever-growing crowd.
Harry wanted to stay where he was for a little longer to regain his bearings but he saw the bricks starting to shift on the wall and slipped into the street before the entrance closed behind him.
Sliding into the flow of the light crowd, Harry weaved between the people, trying not to cringe whenever someone brushed against him.
To distract himself he glanced around and saw, for the first time, the difference between now and what Diagon Alley had looked like before the start of his fifth year.
With Voldemort's return finally acknowledged by the Ministry the population had buckled down and prepared for war. There was a tightness to people's faces that suggested sleepless nights and a continuous level of tension and stress. Those who were older, who had lived through the first war, had a greyness about them of depressed acceptance, while younger people would start at every little noise and seemed fearful of everything. The only ones who were relatively unaffected were the young children; most of whom were clutched close to their parent's side.
There were a large number of shops that had boarded up windows, posters pasted to the wall pronounced in bold lettering to report anything suspicious to the nearest Auror, and every now and again the street and rooftops would crackle with the amount of defensive and protective spells that had been cast on them.
There was a much larger number of visible Aurors as well, standing on street corners and conversing with shop keepers and public alike. There were probably plenty more plain-clothed ones blended in with the crowd.
Despite all the fear and worry though, Diagon Alley ticked along at its usual pace with the shops opening their doors for customers and the street filled with people hurrying to work, Harry swept along with them.
In no time at all Harry spotted the familiar towering building of Gringotts and carefully extracted himself from the crowd, artfully dodging every stray elbow and briefcase, trying to ignore the lingering gazes.
As he started up the stair his hand automatically raised to push his fringe down over his scar; a nervous habit.
The usual two goblin guards at the main doors had been doubled to four and they scrutinized him with black eyes before bowing him in.
Once inside the cavernous room Harry was quick to spot a vacant out-of-the-way desk and headed over to it, waiting for the goblin to finish scribbling in his ledger before he spoke.
"I would like to make a withdrawal from my account."
"Name?" The creature hissed while scrutinizing him with even more intensity than the guards had.
"Harry Potter."
He promptly cursed himself for forgetting how well sound carried in the huge room when a middle-aged woman a short distance away, digging through her bag for her account book, jerked her head up and stared at him.
The goblin appeared shocked; its mouth actually dropping open for a few seconds before it got a grip on itself and snapped its jaw closed.
"Mr Potter, well well, your Inheritance appears to be rather …unique."
Harry shot the goblin a glare, rage and desperation momentarily filling him then leaving him just as quickly and the small creature actually cowered back for a second, eyes filling with fear.
Harry blinked in shock and there was a long moment where the goblin and boy simply stared at each other, neither seeming to know quite what to do, before the goblin straightened and gave an uncomfortable cough while pressing a small black button built in to his desk.
They waited awkwardly for a while, the goblin sneaking glances at Harry in apparent fascination, while Harry kept half an eye on him and half an eye on the woman, who kept trying to subtly edge closer except she wasn't making a very good job of it.
A large goblin finally appeared behind the seated one, holding in one scored hand a thick chain attached to the collar of one of the most monstrous dog's Harry had ever seen: the thing was huge and solid muscle with gruesome scars criss-crossing the flesh. It didn't really seem to have any hair and had two fearsome looking heads with thick strands of saliva dripping from the over-sized fangs to land on the tiled floor, where it hissed, while hazy red eyes fixed on Harry. As one the two heads started to growl, but a jerk on the chain from the handler cut them off.
Harry suddenly recalled from Lupin's class in the third year them talking about the two-headed guard dogs that the goblins used. There were several legends about where they originated from and how they were breed (no one but the goblin's apparently knew and they were keeping it a closely guarded secret) but the most popular theories was that they were a descended from the hellhound, Cerberus, who guarded the gates of the Underworld in Greek mythology, or that they were breed from the union of a serpent and a dog. They were commonly known as 'Ringers' as one head would attack while the other let out a deafeningly loud ringing wail to draw attention. The last thing about them Harry had been told was that it was unlikely that he would ever see one as they were only used publically in times when security was at its highest, or that there was a high-profile customer who needed either guarding, or was considered dangerous enough to need the Ringer to keep them in line.
Harry wasn't sure which category the use of the Ringer fell into right now, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter considering the way the beast and the two goblins were looking at him.
"Mr Potter wishes to make a withdrawal from his account. Accompany him to his vault."
The handler gave a jerky nod, eyes not leaving Harry's form for a second, before leading him to a door to the right of the desk and gesturing him through.
As Harry passed by the dog the thing gave a low double snarl.
The corridor beyond was a surprise as every other time he had been there he had been led immediately to the cart that would take him down to him vault.
"Follow me," the guard grunted. "We have to take a bigger cart."
Harry had to marvel at the goblin's strength in handling the huge dog, because although large for his kind he was still over two heads shorter than Harry. His shoulders and chest were almost as wide as he was tall though and he easily manhandled the chain, tugging the beast along which was keeping one head facing forward, but the other turned and watching Harry unsettlingly.
They didn't have far to go before the goblin opened another door and this one led to the familiar rock of the tunnel. The cart waiting for them wasn't familiar though.
It was obviously designed to accommodate the dog and was much larger than normal, but it was also fitted with bars that caged in the occupants and divided the cart into two separate sections.
"Isn't this overkill?" Harry had to ask and the goblin sent him a look filled so much with a swirling mixture of fear and hate that Harry wished he hadn't asked.
"For your kind? Nah, it's barely enough in my opinion. We only store your species' money and valuables because of the pact, but just 'cus you lot promised not to drink from us anymore don't mean you don't like to play around with us from time to time," he spat at Harry's feet and the Ringer started growling again, this time though the handler didn't stop it. "Look, I'm sorry Mr Potter, I really am that you were turned into one of them, but the deed's done and it'll only be a matter of time before you start to give in to your instincts. None of you can seem to help yerselves, not that you try to resist much anyway."
Harry didn't know how to react. The goblin's statement had raised a lot of questions for him, but also there was the animosity, not to mention the fact that they had realized he couldn't exactly be termed as 'human' anymore by merely looking at him.
He held his tongue as he stepped into his side of the cart, trying not to panic when he heard the bars clang shut behind him and the snick of the key turning in the lock.
The goblin then marched around to his own side and a little nudge had the beast entering and seating itself as close to the divider, therefore to Harry, as possible, putrid breath rattling through the bars accompanied by a soft but continuous growling.
As soon as the goblin shut his side the cart set off, moving much slower than the previous ones Harry had been on and Harry realized he would have the time to ask a few of those questions burning away in his mind. As to whether the goblin would answer them was another thing entirely.
"What's your name?" Harry decided to start out as politely as possible and was rewarded by an incredulous look.
"Well, none of you lot have ever asked my name before. Must be the last bit of your humanity, I suppose. Guess it can't do any harm; the name's Kafillit."
Harry tried to smile reassuringly but it was a little difficult with two monstrous faces within a foot of him with eyes promising murder.
"Nice to meet you, Kafillit, I'm Harry, as you know. Look, all this happened to me just last night and I'm a little thrown to be honest. You seem to know a fair amount about what I've become so do you mind answering a few questions?"
The polite tone of voice and friendly manner seemed to be throwing Kafillit for a loop and he didn't know how to react. Finally he gave a cautious nod.
"Great, thanks," Harry beamed, his face twisting uncomfortably in the unfamiliar action when he would rather give in to the panic and tear his way out of the cage. "Firstly, how were you able to tell? As far as I know I still look human."
Kafillit snorted.
"Only to the humans. Kalfah, they're a dumb lot; can never see what's right in front of their faces," on seeing Harry's puzzled face he explained. "See, humans have very limited senses; they can't even smell a person's magic, which is why they miss so much. A dark witch or wizard, for instance, to a goblin, reek to high heaven with the amount of dark magic they have swimming about in them. Everyone's magic got a different scent, ya see, but all humans have the same base scents; this sorta earthy tone. Vampires don't. We knew just by smelling ya that ya weren't human no more."
Harry couldn't help being fascinated.
"So what is a vampire's base scent?"
Kafillit gave a feral grin.
"What do ya think, Mr Potter? Blood, o' course."
In a grim way it made sense. It also reassured him that no humans would be able to immediately realize the differences in him.
"So what's this 'pact' you spoke about?"
Kafillit's face dropped the grin and his heavy brows scrunched together.
"S'like when the bank was first set up the vampires approached us about storing their money here. At first we refused 'cos they were killin' a lot of us, but then they agreed that they'd stop feedin' on us an' also that they'd provide us with protection if we ever really needed it in exchange. It was too good to pass up and they did stop the killin', but every now an' then one'll pop up and have a 'play' with one if us; leavin' them ruined, but 'cos it doesn't break the pact we can't do anything."
Harry felt a flare of empathy at the defeated look on Kafillit's face. How many times in his own life had he been cruelly played with, unable to fight back? More than enough.
"I can only promise that I'll never do that."
The goblin waved away the promise easily.
"S'nice of you ta say that, Mr Potter, but it's only a matter of time before you see us the same way the rest of ya race does: as intelligent vermin, but still vermin; something to be looked down on."
Before Harry had a chance to say anything in response the cart slowed to a stop outside a familiar door.
Kafillit got out, leaving the Ringer in the cage, and moved around to let Harry out.
Harry himself felt hard pressed not to just slam the door open, jump out and refuse to ever go back in it when the lock clicked back. He managed to restrain himself just enough to give a quiet word of thanks and then move quickly, but not too quickly, from the cage.
The door to his vault was opened and Harry took his usual moment to be floored by the sheer amount of wealth in there before filling a couple of small sacks. One day he would have to properly explore the vault as he had heard that families sometimes kept other valuable items in them besides money; he didn't have the time for that today though.
As distracted as he was, it was no great shock that when he stepped out of the vault he came face-to-face with the Ringer, who had used Kafillit's distraction to its advantage and slipped from the cage, leaving the goblin partly stunned and groaning on the ground.
Harry barely had time to drop the two sacks, freeing his hands, before the thing lunged for him.
He had been momentarily surprised as he hadn't noticed the beast sneaking up on him, but as he leapt back out of the way of the snapping jaws the red fog descended again, braying for blood.
Harry felt his teeth lengthen as he ducked a swipe by a huge paw and he bared his own fangs at the beast before exploding forward; all rage and power.
The Ringer didn't even have the chance to back away as one ferocious blow left one head unconscious. A brutal kick then slammed it into the wall. As the creature staggered, blood dripping from its mouth, Harry used a swipe to knock its feet out from under it and then pushed one foot into the conscious heads throat.
All traces of aggression had left the Ringer by this point and it lay there, barely able to whimper, clearly defeated, but still the red fog egged Harry on, demanding that it pay a far higher price for daring to attack him. It deserved to die, plain and simple – take it down permanently before it had the chance to attack him again.
"-enough, Mr Potter! He's done! Mr Potter!"
Kafillit's frantic voice broke through the fog and Harry raised burning silver eyes to the goblin who was tugging on his arm by this point.
"It tried to kill me."
"I know, Mr Potter, and you dealt with him. Look, he's young an' stupid, wants to prove 'imself to his pack. Probably thought that since a vampire is his natural enemy that attacking you was the way to go, but he's learnt his lesson and I'll deal with him properly later. He made a foolish mistake, but he don't deserve to die for it."
The fog cleared enough for Harry to be able to see just how terrified Kafillit looked and he noted how young the goblin actually was - probably only a few years older than him.
It was a monumental effort, every fiber of his being was screaming at him to destroy the threat before it tried to harm him again, but Harry managed to pull his foot away and take a step back.
Kafillit rushed forward, falling to his knees beside the dog who gave a weak, regretful whine.
"You are the biggest bloody idiot, Karlt," Kafillit hissed, worry seeping through his anger. Karlt whined again in response. "Don't take that tone with me; you deserve what you got attacking a damned vampire. You were told that you don't stand a chance against 'em, but did you listen?" The whine was now very apologetic and Kafillit gave him a fond pat before looking nervously up at Harry.
"Er, d'you mind giving me a hand in gettin' 'im back in the cart, I won't be able to move 'im by meself."
"I don't know. Will he try and go for me again?"
Karlt gave a long whine and a bizarrely intelligent shake of the head; on seeing that Harry managed to clear the last of the fog from his head and bent down.
It took them a few minutes, but between them Harry and Kafillit managed to get Karlt back in the cart. By the time the Ringer was settled his other head was starting to come around and the fully conscious head seemed to be filling it in if the small barks and whines were anything to go by.
Harry went back and scooped up his bags of coins before grudgingly getting back into his side of the cart, thankfully though Kafillit left it unlocked this time.
The journey back up to the surface was silent, Kafillit dividing his attention between looking after Karlt and warily watching Harry, as though expecting him to go berserk at any moment. Harry just wanted to get out of there, already sick of the bank and Diagon Alley.
The cart drifted smoothly back into its docking station and Harry helped Kafillit move Karlt out of the cage. Now that both heads were conscious, once he was out of the cart the Ringer managed to stand, albeit shakily, on his own.
"Just turn left and head to the doorway at the end of the corridor; that'll lead you back to the main hall," Kafillit didn't meet his eyes and Harry felt a little exasperated.
"Look, I am sorry for attacking Karlt, but what was I supposed to do? He attacked me."
Kafillit lifted his head and his eyes were hard.
"Yeah, but you didn't have to almost kill 'im. He was done, you'd beaten 'im, but you wouldn't stop," he shook his head. "Ya weren't going to stop if I hadn't made you, ya see? This is what I meant by you giving in to your vampire instinct; killin' is as natural as breathing to 'em. Ya better be careful, Mr Potter, every vampire walks a fine line between gettin' the blood they need to survive an' going too far. Make sure you don't cross it."
Humbled and rather ashamed Harry couldn't give a response as Kafillit led the limping Karlt through the door, which clicked shut behind them. He stood for a moment in the gloom and let the goblins words sink in: the truth behind them cut him deeply. In the past twelve hours he had almost given in and killed four living beings, three of them human, and he had wanted to so badly he had felt that he might go insane if he didn't. Twice now it had been someone else to pull him back to rationality. The rage at what had happen to him mixed with the fear of it happening again along with his new instinct kept overwhelming him. Cutting himself off from everyone until he could control himself better was the best decision.
With a sigh he steeled his resolve and exited the tunnel, turning left as instructed and headed for the solitary door at the end.
A few moments later he wished he hadn't opened it.
Flashes of light blinded him and he fell back onto the door, one hand shielding his face. The flashes continued sporadically, but there was enough of a lull that he could lower his arm and squint at the large crowd gathered in front of him, several holding cameras that they continued to click away as if he were some sort of rare exhibit.
The red fog swirled promisingly in the back of his mind but he resolutely pushed it back down and stepped forward, staring blankly straight ahead.
Pieces of paper were thrust at him for autographs while reporters crowded forward asking a flurry of questions about Voldemort and his Inheritance.
Harry's on-the-spot plan had been to ignore everyone, walk through the crowd and to finish his business with the bank before leaving, but the group had surrounded him and he was hard pressed to take a single step forward.
"Harry! Harry, darling!"
One shrill voice rang out over all the others to his sensitive ears and in no time at all Rita Skeeter appeared, elbowing her way ruthlessly through the crowd.
"Harry," she cooed and tried to take his arm, but Harry twisted like a snake out of the way. It didn't seem to faze her though and she continued in her sickly sweet way that made Harry very dearly want to rip her throat out.
"My, haven't you grown up into a handsome young man. The readers will love the pictures. Now, darling, you simply must tell me all about your Inheritance; the public deserves to know!"
Harry felt bile rise in his throat and he painfully swallowed it back down. He had always hated this media circus, but with the way he was now everything was too much – his new heightened senses were still raw, and his battered psyche simply couldn't handle the closeness of everyone.
The crowd somehow seemed to push even closer and Harry noticed the slightly glazed look to everyone's eyes. He had to get out of there, right now, or at least away from them.
Panicking now and starting to pant in desperation he looked around frantically but he could barely see over the crowds heads.
He spotted a window bay with the curtains half drawn not too far away; if he could somehow get there without anyone noticing …
Someone chose that moment to run their hand up his thigh and he was suddenly back with Dudley in that hellhole of a room.
With a dull, deep thump the invisible blast of magic pushed everyone back, knocking some off their feet and plunging the massive room into a darkness that should have been impossible with the huge windows high on the walls streaming sunlight into the room. Confused and frightened shouts went up as the goblins called for calm and a few moments later the light returned. People pulled themselves upright, looking around in confusion and goblin guards seemed to materialize about the room, running a quick diagnostic sweep over everything before confirming that nothing had changed. There was one though and a rather conspicuous one at that - Harry had vanished.
The reporters and fans, Rita Skeeter in particular, almost fell on the guards, demanding to know what had happened to their hero and the goblins tolerated them for a moment before ordering them to either get back in line or to leave. Nothing could apperate or disapperate inside the bank, they confirmed, and then the last thing that set the crowd buzzing: as far as the guards could confirm, the magic originated from Mr Potter himself.
Rita seemed to go into an almost hysterical haze, babbling about the wonder boy becoming the wonder man and powerful wandless magic, before she rushed off, desperate to get the story to print first.
The other reporters were quick to realize what she was doing and hurried after her and the remaining adults drifted around a little shell-shocked before either being politely led from the hall or getting back into line.
Harry observed all of this from a tiny gap in the curtains, hardly daring to breath for fear of someone hearing him.
He stood there, frozen, with his eye glued to the gap for minutes on end, before he saw the last of the crowd, business done, make their way out of the doors, leaving only witches and wizards who had no idea he had even been in the bank in the first place. Only then did he let out a sigh and sag in relief.
There was a miniscule "u-um," from behind him and he almost jumped through the ceiling before spinning around, heart in his throat. He found himself blinking down at a little girl, no older than six, almost dwarfed by the large basket she was clutching nervously in front of her.
"Are you really H-Harry Potter?" She whispered.
She was tiny, her size exaggerated even more by the baggy uniform hanging off her small frame. Thick curly hair had somehow been tamed enough to go into a rough ponytail and matching brown, chocolaty eyes gazed up at him in a mixture of excitement and apprehension. In a wild way she was uncommonly pretty but most people would overlook her beauty in favour of seeing her scruffiness.
Harry, a little unsure of how to deal with a child, quirked one corner of his lips up into a half-smile, half-grimace.
"Unfortunately, I am. What's your name?"
"Lily."
It seemed ridiculous for a name to affect him so much; plenty of girls responded to that bright, magical sound, but she was the first he had ever met with a matching name to his mother and honestly he was glad it was her.
"Lily was my mother's name," his soft and slightly wistful smile making the girl relax and beam back.
"Really?" She asked, her voice rising a little but still remaining quiet.
Harry nodded before a thought occurred to him and he glanced back through the gap in the curtain. It was unusual for a child this young to be on her own but from his hiding place Harry could see no adult that looked like they might be waiting for her.
"Is there an adult with you, Lily?"
The girl confirmed his suspicions by shaking her head and Harry was hard pressed to hide his snarl at the thought of such a young child being on her own in a time of war.
"I'm from the orphanage," she pointed out the small crest on her uniform where it read 'Trinity's Home for Children'.
"I was sent to buy some food but heard some people saying you were in the bank. I'm not supposed to come in here on my own though and everyone was noisy so I hid," she looked at him curiously. "Is that why you hid too? Because everyone was so noisy?"
Harry felt a wave of fondness for the child and couldn't suppress the urge to pat her on the head. Her hair and the fierce intelligence in her eyes reminded him a little of Hermione.
"Yes, I don't like crowds and noise and everyone was upsetting me, so that's why I hid."
Lily frowned thoughtfully.
"It's wrong of people to do that then if you hate it so much. You should tell them to leave you alone."
Harry was unable to suppress a chuckle and it felt unbelievably strange to do so again. How many weeks had it been since he had last laughed? Not since before Sirius- he cut the thought off quickly.
"I've tried, Lily, really I have, but you know what adults are like; always thinking they know better."
Lily gave a huge sigh and eye-roll in agreement.
Warmed by her honest approach Harry let himself slide to the ground, still in a position where he could keep an eye on the gap in the curtain, and motioned for her to join him which she did.
They talked for a while about unimportant things, throwing silly little jokes back and forth, and Harry was delighted with how easily he could make her smile and laugh; he felt better than he had in a long time, and while he could feel the depression and memories hovering just out of reach, waiting to pounce, he revelled in the moment.
Finally Harry had to reluctantly bring the conversation to a close, knowing that if he left it much longer the crowd in the street would be too huge for him to be able to deal with in his fragile state of mind.
It was only when he was helping Lily to her feet did he realize that he was touching her and that she had grown in confidence enough to pat his arm, poke his leg, and at one point even wrap her little hand around his during their conversation without him thinking anything of it.
A little stunned he led her back into the main room where no one gave them more than a bored glance.
Together they approached another out-of-the-way desk and the goblin merely raised its eyebrows at him. Pulling one of the sacks from his pocket he dropped it on to the counter with a heavy thunk.
"I'd like to exchange this for muggle money please."
The goblin speedily counted it out, confirmed the amount and exchange rate with Harry and then swept off. Harry felt Lily give a light tug on his hand.
"Are you going to the muggle world?"
A small smile graced his lips. On any other person he would have found the question invasive and irritating, but with Lily she simply radiated innocent curiosity.
"Maybe. It always helps to be as prepared as possible for any eventuality."
At that moment the goblin reappeared, carrying with him a considerably lighter sack which Harry gratefully took. He really didn't know why the wizarding world didn't adopt the paper money system.
"Will that be all, sir?"
Harry nodded and started to turn away, but the goblin hadn't quite finished with him.
"Thank you as always for your patronage, but next time I suggest reigning in your instincts and perhaps a little subtlety?"
With Lily still watching him Harry had to settle for a cold smile.
"I will certainly bear that in mind."
X
On entering back onto the street, Harry felt a lump in his throat form.
What had meant to be a quick visit to the bank had instead taken up a considerably larger swath of time and the streets were much busier. People jostling and bumping him was inevitable.
Suddenly he felt a tentative touch to his hand and he glanced down into Lily's upturned face. She beamed at him and he felt his fears recede a little. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she were with him and he did genuinely want to spend more time with her.
A thought occurred to him.
"Do you need to be getting back?"
Her expression soured a little and she pulled out a piece of paper on which appeared to be quite a long list.
"I have to get these things for, Anna, the cook, but I can never get them all in one go because they make my basket too heavy."
Harry saw an opportunity.
"Tell you what," he started slowly in a conspiratorial manner. "How about I carry the basket and help you get your things if you keep me company on the errands I need to run. Does that sound okay?"
If she had said no he would have been disappointed but he wouldn't have dreamed of pushing it with her. However the grin that split her face said it all and he felt his heart lift even before she happily agreed, and so it was with a lighter soul than he could remember feeling in a long time that he extended his hand and she took it without a moment's hesitation, then together they headed down the steps and joined the crowd.
It took two hours; two glorious hours in which Harry was not dogged by a black thought nor felt the now familiar tightness in his chest whenever someone bumped him, for the two of them to get everything done from Lily's list and almost everything done from Harry's own.
The basket was weighed down, far heavier than a small girl could carry and Harry had to wonder what sort of adult would constantly send her out to do such an impossible task on her own. Of course, the basket was practically weightless to him, but even in his bigger hand it was still frustratingly large and constantly got in the way and caught on things. Still though, the basket was full to bursting with an assortment of food, drink and potions material, the last of which meant he was able to order several ingredients that he felt might be useful and have them sent on to his room at the Leaky Cauldron. He honestly hadn't been aware so many shops were happy to deliver his purchases to his quarters, and he'd been quite positive a few of them had explicitly told him in the past that unless he ordered by owl it was pick-up only.
If he were to look at every unusual reaction he'd had in the last two hours then he could say with absolute certainty that people had been acting very strangely indeed around him; something that for once, didn't have anything to do with them recognizing him as Harry Potter. People had, quite literally in some cases, been falling over themselves to make even the tiniest thing easier and more pleasant for him, including giving both him and Lily all their purchases at ridiculously low prices. One girl had actually burst into tears when Harry had innocently inquired about the cost of something and she had automatically blurted out the full price before seeing her managers face. Stuttering and getting redder by the second she's tried to amend it and Harry had tried to sooth her with a calm voice but she'd finally snapped and dashed from the room, leaving the grovelling manager to finish the sale.
Finally, the most mind-boggling thing for Harry was the amount of floo-address he'd be given; some slipped in with Lily's purchases, others hidden under his change, some blatantly given to him with confident smirks and he had a feeling he would find more with the packages that had been sent to his room. It was beyond him what they wanted and he treated them all with suspicion, destroying the addresses as soon as he was out of their eyeshot.
Pushing the bizarre behaviour of the witches and wizards from his mind, Harry focused instead on enjoying the short time he had left with Lily as he started walking her back to the children's home.
It took them going along just a few small, strangely empty streets, leading them away from the hustle and noise of Diagon Alley for Harry to realize they were being followed.
For humans they were probably almost silent, but Harry was no longer so, and because of that to him they were making quite the racket. He could smell them too and they were rather …ripe.
"Listen," a deep voice growled, obviously trying to be quiet. "Are you sure that's him, 'cos he don't look like …well, him."
"For the tenth blasted time, yes I am sure that's Harry bloody Potter you half-brained nitwit," this voice was much higher, and quivered weakly even though the apparent bravado, somehow familiar. "I saw him being surrounded by the press in the bank and waited outside for him to come out. That's when I called for you and the boys. I've been following him and that damn girl for bloody hours."
Harry couldn't stop the grim smile that spread across his face; he recognized the voice now. There was only one man that he knew of whose sentences ended in that squeak: Peter Pettigrew.
So today was the day that Harry would see him brought to justice one way or another. Something seemed to stir and unfold in the back of his mind, bringing with it the red fog.
Harry was quick to spot what he needed as they rounded the next corner: a little way up the cobbled road there was a small alcove between two buildings; simply a small space that didn't go anywhere. He led Lily over and crouched in front of her, depositing the basket by her feet in one relaxed, unhurried movement.
"Lily, I'm afraid there are some bad men following us that I have to deal with. I need you to stay here and not come out until I say it's safe, okay? Don't even peek your head out, just stay hidden here."
Lily's eyes grew wide and glazed over in fear. Her breath started to come in short bursts and she began to tremble.
"N-not like the bad men who killed mummy and daddy?"
Harry felt a sickening lurch in his stomach. He knew there was a reason for her to be in the children's home, but he'd hoped that she may have been simply given up at birth. While that was painful in and of itself at least the child wouldn't be able to remember the brief time they had had parents.
"I'm sorry to say that they are from the same group, most likely."
Tears started to run down Lily's face as she opened and closed her mouth but no sound came out apart from small, desperate gasps. She was clearly hyperventilating and almost hysterical with fear. Harry quickly pulled her down to the ground and transfigured an abandoned cardboard box into a light blanket that he wrapped around her shoulders.
"Lily, you're hyperventilating, I need you to put your face between your knees and focus on my voice."
To his relief she did so, still choking back her sobs and struggling to breath. Thankfully Harry could hear that the men were still about a street away and proceeding very cautiously.
"Just listen to my voice. I want you to take a slow, deep breath in and hold it for three seconds before letting it completely out. Ready? Okay, in, one, two, three. That's it. And out, one, two, three. That's good, that's good, and in again, one, two, three and out, one, two, three. No, no! Just listen to my voice. Focus on nothing else but my voice for now. You ready? And in again..."
Harry continued until he could hear the group nearing the corner of the street they were on, keeping his voice soft and soothing the entire time.
"Now, Lily, just continue on with the breathing. Remember, right now think of nothing but your breathing and I'll be back before you know it."
She gave a faint nod but didn't break her focus and Harry stood up and stepped back into the street, heading at a relaxed gait towards the corner the men were hiding behind, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline he'd always had before some sort of fight.
He'd long ago worked out that it was a survival tactic: initially he'd frozen and his mind had gone blank, as many people's would, but all that did was get him into more trouble: Vernon and Dudley had never had any problem with hitting a still target. So, apart from these past few weeks where his body had betrayed him, he'd quickly managed to push past that and it wasn't long before he never felt clearer-headed or more sure-footed than when he was facing down some kind of danger. He supposed that was why he'd always been so quick to rush into perilous situations at Hogwart's, dragging a hapless Ron and Hermione along with him. He really had been a terrible friend to them.
Harry paused a few feet from the turning and waited as he heard them arrive at the corner and then seem to go into some type of nervous conference. As the seconds stretched and the frenzied whispers showed no sign of stopping he decided to take the initiative.
"Do hurry up, gentleman. I don't have all day."
There was a long silence and Harry could picture them all staring at each other in shock before there was a scuffing sound and the group of hooded and masked men shuffled around the corner, the embarrassed air detracting any fear that the menacing Death Eater uniform was designed to arouse.
"Oh dear," Harry chided, looking rather disappointed. "Is this the best Voldemort can give me? Well, I suppose it is a bit of short notice so I'll just have to be content with the slim pickings."
That certainly shook off any embarrassment from the group and outrage was quick to take its place.
"Everyone knows it's only been a fluke that you've survived this far, you little shit," one of the men snarled. "That and you seemed to have an awful lot of people willing to throw their life away for you. However," he gestured to the empty street, sneer apparent even behind the mask, "I don't see anyone here to do that for you right now and you're outnumbered so I think you're just going to come along quietly."
Dramatic speech finished the Death Eater stood back, apparently expecting Harry to drop to his knees and beg for his life. Instead he merely looked bored, refusing to show that the stab at how many people he'd lost while protecting him had hit home hard.
"Are you finished? Man, Voldey is really scrapping the bottom of the barrel with you lot, I'm surprised he let you out unsupervised."
As they gaped at the apparently unfazed boy, Harry shifted into a more ready position, almost trembling with the adrenaline and red fog coursing through him. The thugs before him may be idiots, not even close to someone like Bellatrix on terms of strength, skill, or twisted insanity, but they were still Death Eaters and that meant they had tortured, killed and that violence was as easy as breathing to them; something that they would continue to do unless he took this golden opportunity to stop them here and now.
"Well," he continued, his voice dropping from a bored banter to a bloodthirsty growl, "bottom of the barrel or not, you're still my enemies."
The men had a split second to realize that maybe three of them hadn't been enough and to half raise their wands before Harry sprung forward.
As Harry's senses heightened even further time seemed to slow; it was almost pathetically easy to dodge the curses sent towards him, leaving them to explode on the street and sending fragments of cobble flying.
The Death Eater who had spoken and who seemed to be in charge of the little group stumbled back and pushed one of the others towards Harry, trying to fire more curses around the falling man. It was the work of a moment for Harry to grasp the back of the man's head and to slam it down with such force into the ground that he could feel the bones in the man's face crumple.
He jumped over the downed man, still dodging curses, and swung his leg out in a vicious kick that made the other lackeys knee bend sideways in a way it really shouldn't before the man fell, screaming loud enough to wake the dead. Another hard kick put a stop to the racket and then there was one.
Inwardly Harry marvelled once again at the changes his body had gone through. If only he'd been this strong before, then Dudley never would have been able too- he cut the thought off and focused his attention on the last man. His mask had fallen off to reveal a plain, non-descript face twisted into a fearful expression.
"N-no human should be able to move that fast. What-what the hell are you?"
Something cackled madly in the back of Harry's mind, filling him with a deep, malicious pleasure at the sight of the raw fear in the other man's eyes. He could feel the grin spreading across his lips.
"Where would be the fun in telling you?"
The man's terrified brain seemed to get through to the rest of his body that this was a fight he could not win and he turned to run, letting his wand drop to the street in his haste. He wasn't fast enough. His shriek was cut off as Harry's hands closed around his throat from behind and was dragged kicking and squirming into the air.
"Wouldn't the world be so much of a better place without you in it?"
The man choked and gargled, ripping at the unflinching hands with his nails, becoming increasingly desperate as his body was starved of air.
Harry watched in a detached fashion as the struggles intensified, reached fever pitch then started to die. He could feel the man's pulse under his fingers; could feel how it went from a mad pounding then started to slow and slow and slow. He wondered if the last one would feel different in any way.
"Drop him and turn around, Potter," a shaky voice ordered from behind him.
Harry turned, still more focused on the dwindling heartbeat then the source of the voice, but then his eyes landed on something that made his hands reflexively jerk and the Death Eater dropped like a stone.
He knew he'd forgotten something.
Peter Pettigrew stood in the middle of the street, one hand pulling Lily's arm behind her back, the other holding his wand to her throat.
"You make one move and I kill her."
Harry ignored the snivelling man and focused instead on Lily: she was still scared, but she seemed calmer somehow than before, as if the mere sight of him was enough to reassure her; for her to know that she'd make it out of this alright. He didn't know what he could have possibly done to earn that level of trust from her and he was at a loss. Even with his new-found speed it was possible he wouldn't get to her in time for Wormtail to shout off a quick severing charm, slitting her throat, or something similar. The rat of a man, however cowardly, was unfortunately not stupid and knew that he wouldn't have time to say the whole of the killing curse before Harry reached him.
"Fine, what do you want me to do then?"
Pettigrew gave a slightly hysterical giggle, the fear rolling off him in almost visible waves.
"You're just going to stay right there and not move an inch while the child and I walk away."
Harry tilted his head to the side quizzically.
"Really? You think you'll be able to get very far without taking your eyes off me, because if you do for even a moment, well there's no knowing what I might do."
Sweat beaded on Pettigrew's face and he was visibly trembling as he dug his wand into the fragile skin of Lily's neck. For a split second his eyes darted to the ominously still figures of the Death Eaters lying behind Harry before fixing themselves back on him. Harry didn't dare take that chance to move. He needed to think and just buy a little more time. But what could he do?
Calming the roar in the back of his mind that was braying for Pettigrew's blood he ran back over all his other dealings with the man. What did he know that the rat could be relied on for, more than anything else? The answer came to him almost immediately: cowardice. If he could make Wormtail perceive him as a big enough threat, then he'd throw Lily away to save his own hide, just like the stories of adults throwing their children at the feet of wolves so that they may escape. It was not an ideal plan, but it was the best he could come up with right now.
"-and my master must know about the changes in you, this cannot go unreported. I dare say that his punishment on failing to capture you might be lessened if I bring him the child. He does so love breaking pretty things." Pettigrew was babbling, dragging Lily backwards with him as he slowly edged away.
The mere thought of Voldemort getting his claws on Lily was enough to bring the red fog and the murderous presence back with a vengeance and a growl left Harry's throat that would have cowed even Fenrir Greyback. Pettigrew froze.
Harry indulged in every bloodthirsty thought; gloried in the idea of ripping the rat's throat open and letting him bleed out, on shredding the man's skin while he was still conscious, on finally delivering the revenge Sirius had so desperately wanted to deliver that he, Harry, had denied him.
He could feel the change overcome himself, almost as if he were behind Pettigrew and watching it happen. There was that strange ache in him teeth as his fangs grew out, but there were new sensations too: such as a horrible pushing feeling under his fingernails and he caught a quick glimpse of what looked like claws in their place. There was a slight but persistent burn behind his eyes, and a tingling in his ears. The worst thing though was his back: it ached fiercely, and the skin felt like it was being pushed out and out and something squirmed underneath. Finally his skin could stretch no further and with a detached ripping feeling his skin split and suddenly there was black feathers and blood everywhere.
From his disconnected standpoint Harry could just make out two huge appendages, covered in wet black feathers surrounding him. He distantly noticed that they were very heavy and seemed to be connected to his back, although he couldn't really move them. Were they some sort of wings? He'd never heard of a vampire having wings though.
Whatever they were they seemed to have the desired effect as Wormtail looked as though the devil himself had appeared before him. Unfortunately Harry's plan had backfired in that it had been too effective: Pettigrew was so terrified he had frozen to the spot, his wand now hovering harmless in the air instead of pointing dangerously at Lily's throat.
The girl herself seemed more surprised than afraid.
This might be the only chance he would get.
"Lily."
Lily eyes dropped from the new appendages and fixed on his face.
"Close your eyes."
She did so.
X
Kingsley Shacklebolt tried not to yawn as he made his way down the street, the auror just in front of him talking a mile a minute. He wished he's had time to finish his coffee.
He'd been pulled away from his desk on receiving news that an attack had taken place at Diagon Alley, and as the lead officer in charge of the day shift patrols for the street he had to see the scene of the crime for himself. So far all he could make out from the information he had been given was that there was something unusual about this one.
"It's just around the next corner, sir," the young auror announced and he hummed in response, still a little despondent over his unfinished drink.
He turned the corner and immediately his eyebrows rose as he took in the scene before him. Then he turned back to the auror.
"Who was it who reported this, Yeets?"
Yeets quickly scuffled through his notes.
"A Mr Portingham, sir. He owns a café a couple of streets over and heard screams and the sound of fighting."
"But he didn't see anything?"
"No sir, no one did. As far as we can ascertain, all those who heard the fight were too wary to go near it and focused instead on getting to safety."
"I see," was all Shacklebolt's response, and he really could understand with the sight in front of him.
Four Death Eaters were scattered along the street, all unconscious and showing serious injuries. Parts of the road had been decimated by spells designed to inflict horrendous results and the ground was littered with bits of rubble and streaks of soot. An area already being sectioned off by the forensic team was splattered with a long swath of blood and, somewhat bizarrely, what appeared to be feathers.
Shacklebolt took it all in with a practiced eye and made his way to the first Death Eater, who had two medics crouching over him.
"What's his status?"
One medic looked up while the other continued their work.
"Not good but he'll live; he might lose his leg though, or at least some of the use of it. The bone was shattered and it severed several nerves. Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen quite so nasty a break. Whoever did it put a hell of a lot of strength behind it."
"Tell me," Shacklebolt asked while staring at the ruined leg. "How much strength do you think it would take to do that?"
The medic thought it over for a moment.
"It might sound a little far-fetched but as we can trace no magic in the cause of this wound it would mean it'd have to have been done physically, but the knee was broken in a direction no human would have had the strength to have done without the assistance of, say, a sledgehammer."
"And there's nothing to suggest that an instrument like that has been used or transfigured?"
The medic shook his head.
"No, it's the first thing we look for: there's not the slightest magical residue which a transfigured object would leave, but there's no traces of metal or anything else either. All we can find are minute samples of dirt that we have determined is from the area and…" he trailed off and Shacklebolt fixed him with a stern glare, not in the mood for anything that might slow him down.
"'And' what, medic?"
The medic saw his expression and flinched before rushing on with his explanation.
"Some pieces of rubber, the type that would come from the sole of a shoe or boot. As far as we can tell, someone kicked him and that's it. Maybe this man had a previous injury weakening the area, but we can't be sure until we do further tests."
"That's all you can tell me right now?"
The medic nodded; relieved that Shackelbolt's attention was already drifting to the next prone figure.
"Yes sir."
"Very well, I expect a full report on my desk by three."
He didn't hear the medic's reply as he was already striding over the ruined cobbles to the next downed man. A crumpled Death Eater mask lay next to the man's head and his face was simply a mass of swelling and blood, the features completely indecipherable.
The medic's tending him were definitely more frantic and Shacklebolt didn't disturb them and merely watched for a while.
"His pulse is slowing again."
"Damn it, we have to reduce the swelling more, I can't clear his airway properly."
"We can't risk touching his nose here though, one of the shards could fatally slip."
"But it's almost impossible to open his mouth. His front teeth have been knocked into his lips and tongue, and we need the swelling reducer potion. Maybe Gaz has brought it with him."
"If this continues then the only option left is to open an airway in his throat."
"That might be our best bet. Hang on, hang on, I'll give this one last shot, you check with Gaz, and if neither of those work then we'll have to do that."
Kingsley, having heard all he needed to, drifted away and over to another prone figure where the medics were encountering a similar problem in the airway being restricted, only by way of an almost crushed neck.
Shacklebolt could see from where he was standing the bruises forming on the unconscious man's neck. They were quite clearly in the shape of two hands, wrapping around the neck from behind, the bruises darkest where the tips of the fingers had dug in to the windpipe.
Finally he made his way towards the last figure that was quiet a way further along the street, slumped against a wall. The first thing that caught his eye about the man was his gleaming silver hand and he felt one corner of his lips momentarily jerk up a little in satisfaction.
"So tell me," he began, attracting the attention of those working on the fallen man. "Is this who I think it is?"
A woman stood to answer his question with a grim yet satisfied look on her face.
"From the preliminary tests we can say that, so far, there has been no indication that he is not who he appears to be."
The thrill that ran through Shacklebolt at those words more than made up for cutting in on his coffee time.
"To think we might finally have the man to blame for resurrecting the dark lord. This could boost public moral through the roof."
The woman grimaced.
"Well yes, sir. If it is him and if he lives."
Kingsley studied the man appearing to be Peter Pettigrew and took in the collection of injuries, the most obvious of which was the hole in his chest.
"Any traces of magic found to suggest them as the cause of the injuries?"
He wasn't surprised when she shook her head.
"No magical residue found at all, sir, just a few nail and skin cells."
"Have they matched anyone in our database?"
"Nothing so far, sir."
"Be sure to inform me immediately if there's a match."
She saluted and he turned away. It would be a shame if Pettigrew, because somehow he had no doubt whatsoever that it was him, were to die as he wouldn't be able to stand trial, but honestly it wouldn't be too great a loss and the public would still be relieved in the removal of a danger to them.
Still, it irritated him that there didn't seem to be any clear answers on who the Death Eater's engaged in the fight with. It wasn't even clear cut if whoever they had antagonized had been anthropological as so far nothing indicated that the mysterious party had used magic at all, merely physical strength that seemed to go far beyond what was humanly possible.
Shacklebolt reached his last point of interest and looked over the impressive spray of blood and feathers that spread over the street and extending high up the walls on either side.
"What can you tell me?"
A young man who didn't really look old enough for the job hurried over to him and began to rattle off a report filled with words and phrases such as 'non-Newtonian fluid dynamics' and 'thrombocytes'. Kingsley found himself hard pressed not to pinch his brow where he could feel the start of a headache forming and wished all the more for his coffee.
"Stop, stop, stop. None of that forensic jibber-jabber, just simple English, please."
The boy (because the idiot clearly wasn't a man) blushed and tried again. Kingsley got the gist before barking out an order for a full, understandable report to be on his desk soon before he turned and started making his way back to the floo point. He'd seen all he needed to and he trusted his officers to do everything to the best of their abilities.
Once back in his office Kingsley moved over to the small alcove half-hidden behind a bookcase and looked over his wide selection of roasted coffee beans with an experienced eye. He wanted something rich, but mellow. Finally selecting an Italian brand he set about the calming process of grinding the beans and preparing a double shot before picking a much favoured mug.
Once he had what he would with no small amount of pride call a 'damn fine cup of coffee' he made his way back to his desk and settled carefully into his chair while taking his fist sip. Feeling the rich taste spread throughout his mouth he knew he'd made the right decision and took a moment to simply savour the flavour before swallowing and focusing on his work again.
This current case was unique enough to be brought to the attention of the Order, but how to explain it to them?
As far as he could gather from the basic information he had received the four Death Eaters stalked then attacked a person (or thing) unknown. Said unknown fought back and managed to subdue their attackers without firing a single spell. Three of the four Death Eaters, while not particularly high in the ranks, were known for their aggression and were often used as bodyguards for Voldemort's more favoured followers. The fourth, being Pettigrew, was recognized as part of Voldemort's Inner Circle, and while not particularly strong and a coward he was known for his propensity of making people underestimate him and then stabbing them when their back was turned as well as being fairly devious all around. Why they attacked this mysterious person, or how this person managed to turn the tables on them in such a spectacular manner was as yet undetermined. All he could say was that the forensic team analysing the blood and feathers had ascertained that it was some sort of hybrid of human and something else.
A report materialized in his 'in' tray with a small pop and as he picked it up his eyes caught the other report underneath on Harry Potter being sighted in Gringottes and vanishing in a rather impressive fashion that seemed to upset the goblins quite a bit.
For a moment Kingsley looked from one report to the other, trying to work out if there was any way the two might be connected. Trouble always seemed to find Potter wherever he went and the Order had yet to be informed of the changes his Inheritance had caused. While very rare it wasn't completely unknown for magical creatures that had been bound to the family bloodline by an ancestor to appear once a person turned sixteen as their familiar. Rarer still was for a genetic trait that had been inherited through an ancestor mating with a magical creature to come through with the Inheritance. Both were highly unlikely, but with Potter sometimes it seemed the more unlikely something was the more likely it was to happen to him.
Kingsley wondered if there was any point in bringing up the two reports possibly being linked with Dumbledore. So far there was no actual proof, just a hunch he had.
As more reports began to appear in his 'in' tray Kingsley knew he was in for a long afternoon and wanted to gather as many facts as possible before he presented his findings to his superiors, both at work and in the Order.
Realizing that he'd been sipping on his coffee while he thought and that his cup was now almost empty, Kingsley pushed his chair back to go and choose another blend. He had a feeling he'd need something a little stronger this time.
TBC
