Black Blind Eyes.

Chapter 2: Familiar Faces.

In the split second before what he presumed would be his gruesome death, Harry leapt over the newspaper stand and landed on the other side with a surprising grace. Now that there was an obstacle between him and the animal, Harry reached for his wand in his back pocket. It wasn't there, and he cursed when he remembered why.

'Why didn't I think to nick one from Ollivander's when I had the chance?' he muttered to himself under his breath.

Harry could see he the wolf was no ordinary animal. It was a werewolf. Its soulless white eyes glinted in the light of the full moon as it opened its enormous jaws to release an almighty roar. Harry dropped to the floor and scrunched up his eyes tightly, in the vain hope his death would be a quick one. Instead nothing happened.

Now he heard voices. Someone yelled 'Stupefy', and he heard a whimper, then a roar from the werewolf. Harry decided the wolf was probably preoccupied and so chanced a look over the stand. A short, fat man, dressed in a garish purple and white pinstriped suit seemed to be battling the werewolf to a standstill.

Harry watched, paralyzed with fear. Heart beating a mile a minute, sweat pouring off his face, he didn't know what to do. If he made a run for it now he could probably escape, but... he couldn't abandon the fat man who had effectively just saved his life. Then again, wandless and half blind as he was, he wasn't exactly capable of helping out either.

Harry winced as his saviour made a surprisingly nimble roll to avoid the beast's swiping claws, but landed hard on a piece of broken glass. The man seemed undeterred however, despite the fact that Harry could see a trail of blood running down his elbow, and cast off a nasty looking green curse at the wolf.

This seemed to make the animal even angrier as it lunged forward, jaws snapping at its foe. Harry could see the short man was about to die, but at the last possible moment he saw the man whisper something, and the wolf fell to its side, howling in pain.

Harry could see the creature's maw was bleeding profusely from a series of small cuts. It staggered backwards, giving the man a chance to glance around and spot Harry.

'You there, distract it for a bit!' he called out, turning to face him. Harry knew he recognised the man, but couldn't quite place his face. That said he did have other things on his mind right now.

Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, Harry felt he owed his new ally for saving his life, and so yelled out at the wolf, chucking a broken cobblestone as he hard as he could at it. The stone bounced harmlessly off its forehead, but at least it got the animal's attention. The werewolf seemed to instantly forget the fat man, and began to stalk over to Harry who crouched behind his barricade.

Harry spared a glance behind his back looking for a possible escape route, but he knew he would never make it to shelter before he was pounced on and ripped to bloody pieces. Grabbing a newspaper, Harry swung it ineffectually at the beast. It didn't even blink. Now it was just in front of the newspaper stand, with its front paws resting on top. For the second time in ten minutes Harry knew he was going to die.

The wolf reared up and... screamed. It sounded oddly human.

Twisting around the beast cantered off, but Harry could see something on its side glittering in the moonlight.

'Silver dart,' grunted the fat man as he walked over to Harry. 'I'm-'

Recognition dawned on Harry as he saw his saviour face to face. 'It's you,' he choked out. 'You betrayed my parents! I'll kill you, you basta-'

Harry was stopped mid-sentence as he lunged for the man's throat. But he was too quick, and had already stunned Harry before he could make impact.

Unconsciousness gripped Harry for the second time in a night, but his last thought was as to why Peter Pettigrew would want to save his life...

Harry awoke with a loud groan, and opened his eyes carefully to find that he couldn't see anything. He was in complete darkness. Attempting to rub his tired eyes, Harry now found that his hands had been tied with a rope – or at least it felt like rope – and without his wand he knew he didn't have any real chance of escaping his bonds. The stone floor he lay on was cold stone, colder even than the chilly air that made the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end. Harry had to assume Wormtail had tied him up, and it was now only a matter of minutes before more Death Eaters, or even Voldemort himself turned up. Harry doubted he would survive that encounter.

Tears were beginning to well in his eyes and Harry didn't think he had ever felt so hopeless. 'Oh God,' he muttered to himself. 'It can't end like this. Not now. Not here.'

Then Harry heard something in the darkness. The low wheezing laughter, of something that hadn't laughed in a long time. 'So you're awake then?' said the laughing voice. 'I was beginning to wonder if you'd died.'

'Who's there?' asked Harry startled, as he slowly shuffled his body away from the voice's source.

'Don't be scared,' the voice rasped. 'I'm all tied up too. Name's Griphook,' it added.

'The goblin?' asked Harry, slightly bewildered.

'Why yes. I suppose we've met before then stranger. And what's your name then?'

'Harry,' said Harry, and then cursed himself for using his real name. 'Harry Dursley. What is this place?' he asked the goblin carefully.

'I do believe we're in the cellar of the Leaky Cauldron, the entrance to Diagon Alley from the muggle world,' the goblin answered. Harry couldn't help but notice the goblin still talked as if it worked in a bank.

'So You-Know-Who owns the Cauldron then? How the hell did that happen?' he asked, genuinely surprised. 'There's no way Tom's gone over to the dark side!'

'Tom? The barkeep?' the goblin started to cackle softly. 'I haven't seen him since that insurance scam he tried to pull back in '86, but I presume he's probably set up shop on Fudge Lane by now. As for the two men who're holed up here at the moment I don't know. Two weeks back the Ministry started flooding the Alley, and left them behind, probably to keep watch on... something. Maybe me, maybe – say how did they get you?' The goblin sounded almost curious.

Harry paused for a moment, unsure of how much he should be telling a goblin he had only just met. From snide comments that had been made by Bill Weasley over the course of many family dinners at the Burrow, he knew that goblins had a mentality somewhat alien to wizards and witches. Not to mention the suspicious circumstances he had found himself in – and with the arrival of Wormtail on the scene this could all be one, admittedly elaborate, Death Eater plot.

But then... 'Fuck it,' Harry decided. If the Death Eaters already had him, Griphook might be his only chance of escape, so building up a degree of trust could be important. 'Would you believe me if I told you I fell through an archway, it spat me out in the Department of Mysteries, and then I was attacked by a bloody werewolf?'

'You don't say,' replied Griphook carefully. 'The two men staying here moved me upstairs for the night so the werewolf could transform in here, and then he escaped into the Alley. They weren't exactly quiet about it. As for the other things you mentioned – perhaps it was a portal of some sort.'

A sense of irrepressible curiosity began to grow in Harry. 'A portal?'

'Like a permanent portkey Mr Dursley. Except you don't have to say anything to activate it, you simply step through and – where was it you entered the portal?'

Harry ran an uncertain hand through his hair. 'I went through the portal in the Department of Mysteries, and came out in the same place, but Different...' Harry tailed off, unsure how to explain the peculiar situation.

''Different' can mean many things,' Griphook answered sagely. 'What was different about it?'

'Oh, you know, just everything,' said Harry. 'Blood everywhere, Diagon Alley abandoned, that statue in the Ministry... literally nothing is the same.' He was a little unsure how to get his point across, but the newspaper he had seen earlier suggested that the changes that had occurred must have happened within the last few years.

Griphook murmured something to himself, seemingly deep in contemplation. Suddenly he spoke up. 'What year was it when you came through the portal?'

'1996 – July, the 20th I think,' replied Harry, deciding it could only help to be give as much detail as possible.

It occurred to Harry that in the cloying darkness of the room he had not actually seen his newest friend. Or perhaps that should be only friend. In fact, Harry realised with a worried start, he had no idea what the goblin's intentions were. What if he was talking to a troll? After all, Griphook could be a troll name, and when Harry said he was a goblin, the creature had simply run with it in order to lull himself into a false sense of security to – what? Eat him? Harry realised that perhaps he was being foolish and paranoid, although at least any feeling of paranoia was slightly justified. And anyway, trolls were meant to stink, and the worst smell in the room was him, covered in dried vomit as he was.

'Then I don't know,' the goblin answered, interrupting Harry from his reverie. 'I thought perhaps you may have come forward in time from some point in the past, but if what you say is true, you entered the portal two weeks ago, which isn't long enough back that things could have changed so drastically.'

'What?' asked Harry, momentarily confused. 'Oh right, well there's another possibility,' he added helpfully, politely attempting to make it seem like he had been paying attention. 'I might be dead, and this is heaven. Or hell.'

Griphook started to make an alarming choking noise, and it was a moment before Harry realised he was laughing. Uproariously. As the 'laughter' subsided, the goblin spoke up once more. 'Hell, yes, that would explain a lot of things. But then what happens if you die here then Mr Dursley? Is there an afterlife for the denizens of hell?'

'I don't know,' said Harry, conceding the goblin's point. 'But I suppose I'll find out soon enough.'

'Oh really, and why is that?'

'The man who tied me up works for You-Know-Who. It's only a matter of time before he arrives.' Harry was unsure whether he should have told Griphook this – after all, he had no idea who the goblin was working for, but then he had been surprisingly informative and useful to Harry, and had thankfully believed – or at least seemed to believe – his frankly ludicrous claims. Personally, if their situations had been reversed, Harry may not have been so quick to accept such a claim.

Griphook clicked his teeth in a manner Harry assumed signalled a sense of surprised interest. 'Really, and I was certain they worked for the Ministry. I suppose we should make good our escape then, do you have a wand?'

'Unfortunately no.' Harry mentally berated himself for not having waited a little longer before he had gone exploring. After all it would have been in keeping with his recent run of luck that his wand would come out of the portal as soon as he has left the room.

'Well then how are you at wandless magic?'

'Well I once transfigured a Cleansweep 5 into a porcupine, but that may have been accidental,' Harry said, smiling fondly at the memory. Fred Weasley had needed 5 stitches.

'That's... actually quite impressive. From what little I know about broomsticks, they're meant to be very difficult to magically interfere with. Do you know any other wandless magic?' Griphook said, making Harry feel slightly chuffed with himself.

'Absolutely nothing,' Harry replied cheerfully, and he heard the goblin sigh with exasperation somewhere in the darkness.

'Well we're going to have some difficulty getting out of this room then aren't we? I tried barging it down with my shoulder a few times earlier, but had no luck. It's solid oak, and I'm a runt, even for a goblin'.

'Maybe we should concentrate on one problem at a time,' replied Harry, 'it might be best if we get out of these binds before we go for the door.'

'Don't worry about that, I chewed through my bonds hours ago,' he replied. 'First decent meal I've had in ages.' Harry heard his wheezy laughter in the darkness. 'Stay still and I'll get yours off.'

As the goblin shuffled over and began to chew through the ropes binding his hands, Harry had to wonder at how strange a sight they must have made but for the impenetrable darkness. Wearing glasses that lacked lenses, nose and chin caked in dried blood, and shirt soaked in vomit, Harry knew he must look dreadful. He smelt dreadful too, though to Griphook's credit he hadn't complained about the stench.

'You know I was attacked by a goblin in Diagon Alley, just before I was brought here,' said Harry as he flexed his newly freed arms.

'That will be old Spikkabrak; we've been watching him for awhile now. We were quite surprised that the Ministry didn't find him when they were searching the place a few weeks back, but us goblins do have a strong sense of self-preservation'.

'Why were you watching him?' Harry asked, rubbing gingerly at his sore wrists as they were released.

'Now that would be confidential information,' Griphook replied. Harry felt that if he could see it, the goblin would have winked at him. 'Now about this door, any ideas?'

'Have you searched the room for keys?' Harry felt it might be best to start with the obvious, but Griphook seemed a little offended.

'I was a Gringotts goblin you know,' it replied a little huffily. 'I searched for a key as soon as I gnawed my way through those bonds. Believe me when I say this room is devoid of keys.'

Harry decided it was best not to irritate the goblin any further, so decided to try and barge through the door instead. However, despite their combined efforts, he had to concede that a scrawny fifteen-year-old and a three-foot goblin were not going to be particularly capable of any task requiring brute strength.

Suddenly Harry was struck with a bolt of inspiration. 'Griphook,' he said, voice barely repressing a mixture of urgency and excitement. 'Do you know how to pick locks?'

'I do,' the goblin replied.

'So can you pick the lock?'

To Harry's surprise, he heard the creature make a strange hissing sound. 'Can I pick the lock? Me, a Gringott's goblin? We guard locks, we did not PICK THEM!'

Reeling back slightly, Harry was shocked by the sudden aggression emanating from his companion. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know you were so...' he struggled for the right word, but not finding it resorted to his first thought... 'anal, about picking locks.'

Griphook exhaled slowly in the darkness, before speaking, his voice calm, but imperceptibly higher than previously. 'You do not know much about goblins, do you? Well, I suppose you are a wizard and your folk have never really cared to learn from the greater races (here Harry had to bite back a scathing remark), but to goblins locks are sacred. They are not to be tampered with. That's why Gringott's employs wizards as curse breakers,' he said emphatically.

Harry was slightly impressed by this new insight into goblin culture, but pressed on regardless, pointing out that Griphook had been perfectly willing to barge down the door earlier.

'I admit that I'm not the most devout of Goblins, you could say I'm a lapsed Grode. But whilst breaking a lock is bad, to actually interfere with the mechanisms...' he tailed off, before spitting on the floor.

Harry wanted to ask what a Grode was, but didn't particularly fancy a long lecture on the socio-economic traditions of the goblin religion, or whatever it was Griphook felt like lecturing him on. They were in a hurry after all. 'But you wouldn't mind if I picked the lock?'

'If you don't mind being reincarnated as a flobber-worm, be my guest. But do you have the tools, and more to the point, do you even know how to pick this lock?'

'Well I have the tools,' Harry replied, slowly fishing his broken glasses from his pocket. 'My friend Ron told me you need to jam something thin in the lock and then use something else to rotate around it. We can use my broken glasses if I snap the arms off. I just don't how to actually pick the lock.'

'That might work,' Griphook conceded, sounding thoughtful. 'Yes, if you pick the lock, and I direct you how to do it – yes, that could well work'.

With a snap Harry broke the mangled remains of his trusty spectacles, and after a couple of tries, the bolt in the door softly clicked out of place. 'Bingo,' Harry whispered softly.

Harry stepped cautiously into the dark corridor, wincing as he scraped his head painfully on the low ceiling. Like the cellar there was absolutely no light, and Harry had to feel his way along, hands groping at the cold stone walls. He could hear Griphook's rattling breath as they moved along, but neither of them dared to speak. Too risky.

Finally they reached some small steps that lead up to a heavy wooden door. Harry slowly extended a hand, hoping that it wasn't locked or cursed, but it twisted open smoothly and without a squeak. He found himself in a familiar hallway, facing the painting of an elderly man, a scholar, which Harry vaguely remembered from his last stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He wondered if the portrait would give his position away, but found he needn't have worried. A large chunk of the scholar's face had been ripped off by what seemed to be a massive clawed swipe.

To the left of the portrait was the dining area and bar. Again Harry wished he still had his wand. He doubted he could ever become an auror with carelessness like that. Then again, he doubted he would ever live to even attempt the exams.

Harry curse his wandering thoughts as he moved down the hall, wincing with every creak of the ancient floorboards, and praying nobody was in the dining room to hear the noise. Eventually he made it to the end, followed by Griphook, and peered around the corner.

Past the chairs and tables, most of which were missing chunks and lying on their sides, Harry could see two men reclining by the bar. One was short and fat, wearing the same gaudy suit Harry had last seen him in. 'Pettigrew,' he spat the name in a contemptible whisper.

The other man was also wearing a suit, just as shabby as Pettigrew's, but of a dark brown colour. He also had short brown hair, but without his glasses Harry could make out very little else. Harry was vaguely reminded of Professor Lupin, making him wonder just how long it had been since his former teacher had attempted to stop him jumping into the Veil.

The man must have said something funny as Pettigrew let out a snort of laughter. Ignoring them, Harry cast his eyes around the room searching for the exit into the muggle side of London. He spotted it on the other side of the bay. Harry cursed softly; they would never make it across unseen.

Still, they would have to try, or be trapped with their captors for the foreseeable future. He and Griphook would simply have to hide behind the scattered furniture, hope neither Pettigrew nor his companion turn around, and be as silent as possible. A tall order, especially with a goblin in tow, but Harry couldn't see any other options.

Harry turned to Griphook and motioned towards the exit, and silently tried to signal the goblin to follow him. Quietly, Harry lowered himself to his hands and knees, before crawling out behind an upturned table roughly a metre away. The next table was reached with a similar process. Harry heard the unknown man bark out a laugh. Hopefully the two would keep each other occupied.

Making his way further across the room, Harry slipped behind a couple of broken chairs and a table that had been tipped on its side. Now he froze. Beyond his current hiding place, the only cover left was a single, miraculously unscathed, pot plant right next to the exit doorway.

In a second of pause Harry made up his mind to make a dash for freedom. He could easily make it to the doorway before his captors could apprehend him. As Griphook crawled up alongside him, Harry pointed at the exit, and began to count down from five with his fingers; five, four, three, two, one –

Adrenalin pumping in his veins, Harry sprinted across the room. Both the men turned around, yet did nothing to stop him. But just as Harry's hand grasped the metal of the doorknob, his leg brushed the pot plant...

Before he even realised anything was wrong, Harry found himself hanging upside down from the ceiling in a rope net. 'Bollocks,' he said loudly.

To add insult to injury Griphook seemed to have made it out unscathed, and into muggle London. 'Just my luck,' said Harry, shaking his head.

'Should I go after the goblin?' Pettigrew asked his companion, but the man shook his head.

'Eh, it's probably not worth it, no-one really cares about just another goblin grunt'. Despite hanging upside down, Harry could see the face of the man as he strode up to face him. He couldn't believe his eyes – it was none other than Remus Lupin.

Driven temporarily uncomprehending of his position by shock, Harry yelled out. 'Professor Lupin, what the hell are you doing with that bastard? He killed my parents; he's a bloody Death Eater! Kill the rat now you have the chance!'

'I told you,' said Pettigrew to Lupin in an almost resigned manner. 'He was spouting the same rubbish last night. He must be mental.'

'I see,' said Lupin scratching his chin. 'Bu it worries me more that he recognises both of us, yet I can't place his face anywhere.'

'And he called me a rat too,' Pettigrew added.

'Yes,' said Lupin, amber eyes boring into Harry's green. 'An interesting turn of phrase. Care to explain?'

'He's a rat animagus,' said Harry desperately trying to convey to Lupin the urgency of the situation. 'You and Wormtail, and Sirius and my dad were the Marauders! And then he killed my parents!'

Lupin and Pettigrew seemed to be taken aback. The expressions on their faces looked like they'd just been slapped. 'How do you know this?' asked Lupin after he'd regained his composure.

'About the Marauders,' Pettigrew qualified the question, 'I'm not sure I know anything about your parents or this Sirius'.

Harry couldn't quite comprehend what was going on as he stared wild-eyed through the ropes he was caught up in. 'You know – Sirius – my parents –'. He sucked at his bottom lip in frustration, bewildered by the blank looks of incomprehension he was receiving. 'James and Lily Potter? Godric's Hollow? Bloody Hogwarts? Please tell me you've heard of Hogwarts?'

What was Lupin doing with Wormtail of all people? Harry's mind raced through all the different possibilities, but could only draw a blank. If Lupin hated anyone more than Voldemort it had to be Wormtail – well maybe the werewolf Fenrir Greyback – no, he absolutely hated Wormtail more than any other. And here he was just having a casual chat?

Pettigrew seemed to growl, taking offence and ready to retort, but Lupin held up a hand. 'James Potter and Godric's Hollow I do know. Now maybe you can explain how you know so much about the Marauders, and why you're so interested in James Potter'.

'Oh I don't know really,' Harry replied airily. 'Maybe because James Potter is my father, Sirius is my godfather, you were their best friend, and you,' here he glared pointedly at Pettigrew, 'murdered my mum and dad!'

'You think I killed James Potter?' the rat animagus asked slowly, as if he were talking to a complete moron.

'Well as good as. The only thing you didn't do was cast the curse itself'.

Lupin was smiling now as he spoke. 'Well my friend, I can see a few miniscule flaws in this story of yours. Namely that James Potter is still, as far as I know, very much alive, and unless your name used to be Matilda and you've just had a sex change, you're not his son either'.

'What! With all due respect professor, have you gone completely off your rocker? Did someone spike your Wolfsbane with stupid juice?' He pointed to himself and spoke slowly, as if to a troll. 'Me Harry. Me son of James. You completely loopy'.

Lupin narrowed his eyebrows and scowled. 'Well perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining whatever the hell is going on here to James personally then. I'm sure he would find it very... interesting. And if you call me professor one more time I will get Peter here to hex your balls off. In fact, if you would kindly refrain from saying anything else for a while, it would be much appreciated'.

Harry felt like he should answer that, but seeing the mischievous glint in Pettigrew's eye he thought better of it. Whoever this imposter James Potter was, he would preferably like to meet him with intact testicles.

Lupin moved in front of the gently glowing fireplace and tossed a handful of what Harry presumed was floo powder into it, making it spark brightly.

'Yes Auror Shacklebolt,' the werewolf stated, staring intently into the growing flames. 'It's Lupin and Pettigrew. Fortuna Major' – Harry assumed this was a password – 'We've got someone who might be of interest to James. Sorry, Director Potter. No, we don't think he's listed – in fact he seemed a little bit... unhinged. Harmless enough. Ok we'll be right over.'

Finally Lupin turned to face Harry with a toothy grin. 'Time to meet your father. Hope you don't mind side-along apparition'.