If there was one key to a guerrilla campaign, it was proper planning. Rushing in head long without a strategy, contingencies or adequate supplies was at best reckless and at worst suicidal. Harry's old impulsivity had been cured by walking into one too many ambushes, and he would be leaving nothing to chance this time. He had to get it right the first time.
Mentally, he laid out all the things he would need,first and most important as much intelligence as he could lay his hands on. Not just on the Blood Purists, but on this world in general. It's politics, cultural and magical difference, and the major players. Not to mention this universes counterparts to his old friends, and any alternate version of himself. He could take nothing for granted, and assumptions could prove fatal.
Additionally, he had to restock his supplies, find and secure a suitable hideout, acquire a fake identity, fully heal and recover from his recent injuries and so on. All of it would require money, likely a small fortune, and somewhere secure. But before all that, he needed to take stock of what he already had.
Harry stood from the park bench, and apparated back to his bunker. He regarded the small concrete cell: 10 by 8 feet, furnished with nothing but a rickety old cot and a small metal box in the corner. It was secure, and would be near impossible to find unless one knew exactly what they looking for, but it had drawbacks. Firstly, it was tiny, and he couldn't risk magically expanding it or it would be easier to detect. So, that restricted what he could do, and certain operations, like runes, required a larger space.
Secondly, the ventilation system consisted of a series of worn out filters, which meant he couldn't brew several of his more volatile potions.
Thirdly, if he was detected there were no good escape routes. Under assault, his only option would be to fight. Limiting yourself to a single option was almost never the optimal play.
No, this place was good as a fall back, but it wouldn't do for his main base.
Seating himself on the floor, he pulled off his bottomless thigh bag, and quickly emptied it. First up, potion vials: 9 in total, 3 of which were empty. There were two more healing potions, two Devils Blood, Petrove's Decoction and a small vial of poison, in case he ever wanted to painlessly end his life. Hermione had gone off on him when she'd found it years ago. Harry didn't care. If it was a choice between suicide and being captured by the Death Eaters, he'd take the less painful way out. There was also a specially strengthened vial containing a few precious drops of basilisk venom.
He had three glamour rings, including the one he had used earlier, and another black robe. It was frayed by so many powerful cleaning charms it was practically see-through.
There was a small pouch of what appeared to be smooth, matte metal discs. They were surveillance devices, short range devices that transmitted images to an enchanted hand mirror. Hermione had been inspired by the mirror communicators the Marauders used, and had refined it into these. They had no sound, but were very hard to detect. Harry hadn't used them in a while, been too busy on the run.
For the same purpose he had a worn pair of omnioculars. He also had a bottomless satchel for when the opening on his thigh bag wasn't wide enough.
Next, his remaining money. He had a muggle wallet, with IDs for all three of his glamors, and one with a light compulsion spell that charmed muggles into doing what he told them too, within reason. Unfortunately all of them were dated past 1996, but he could quickly alter them if he needed to. He also had 615 pounds in hard cash. Harry leafed through, and pulled any of the bills that had yet to be printed, which was most of them. One 100 pound and a tenner where all the money he could directly spend.
Than his coin purse. It contained only a measly 2 galleons and 6 knuts.
The Death Eaters had set up checkpoints in every major wizarding settlement in an attempt to catch him, and when Harry switched to illegal vendors, Rookwood brutally cracked down on the underworld. He hadn't been able to replenish his supplies, and he had quickly burned through his alchemical weapons and potions, resorting to stealing what he needed. All combined, he'd had little need for wizard money.
All in all, it was near useless. He would need to entirely rebuild his reserves on top of getting warding material to secure a new base. Not to mention he would have to buy from the black market, or he would attract unwanted official attention. He had no desire to explain to the Ministry or Albus how he had arrived from an alternate reality, or end up in one of the specimen jars in the Department of Mysteries.
Harry wasn't up to date on current prices, but he could hazard a rough guess. He needed potion ingredients, some of which were exotic or rare, including a few that were on the ministries 'Controlled Substances' list, and he needed the equipment to brew the potions, easily 1000 galleons, maybe more if the market was in a bad place. Ward material that got around the goblins monopoly on the industry, another 400. A full set of high quality forged magical papers, anywhere from 600-1000, depending on the forger.
And he needed to buy books on recent history, new robes and a new set of unbreakable vials, and whatever else might come up, so he added 200 on to be safe.
So, worst case scenario he was looking at about 2500. He doubted he could get into the Potter or Black vaults undetected, and even if he could he had no desire to steal from people who might need it. His armour could be sold for at least 4,000, but giving up such a powerful and significant article was a bad trade at any price. The basilisk venom was similarly more valuable than the gold he could get for it. The remaining potions could be sold as well as the recipes he had gathered over the years, but they were all designed for heavy combat, and would only be of use to violent criminals or the Blood Purists. He doubted the Aurors would be willing to use an unknown potion with such extreme effects. He could try for gainful employment, but all of the fields he was skilled in, like curse-breaking or Hit-wizard work, required certifications and identity papers and recommendations from others in the industry. The only people who would hire him without question were, again, criminals.
There was a potential solution, but it would require some continuity with his own timeline. Confirming his theory would require access to the Registry.
Of all the snobby Pureblood systems, the Registry was perhaps the least surprising. It was a record of all the all the recognized pureblood families in Britain, Scotland and Wales (Most of the Irish Purebloods were seen as lesser than the families of Great Britain). It also showed all of the links between family trees, such as marriages or heirships. But they were outdated, as the modern Pureblood population was much smaller than it had been in the past, so navigating a vast interconnected forest of separate family trees was unnecessary. Though some of the ancient families, like the Blacks, had copied their own trees for themselves.
But, that didn't stop the Ministry from dutifully keeping it up to date with every new birth, marriage or death, magically linked to the other records. They took the form of massive murals, that could be changed like muggle computer screens.
There were three concurrent copies; one in the Ministry, and surrounded by other record machines and noisy employees, so that was out. Next, one was held at Hogwarts, hidden away along with the schools registry. He could break in, but Albus Dumbledore was probably there, and coming face to face with another version of his old mentor was not something Harry welcomed.
He'd loved the old man like a grandfather, but he was one of the most manipulative bastards he had ever met. Besides, what he was planning was unlikely to be in line with Dumbledores more gentle philosophy, and he had no interest in battling the man for control of the Light. He didn't have the heart for it.
The final version was the original, located in the original wizengamot meeting place at Loc Muinne, an ancient and abandoned wizarding city where the wizards of the isle had first come together as one people. It was mostly kept as a historical site, with minimal security.
According to the theories he had read, there had to some sort of diverging event when a single reality split, and that changes from that decision compounded over time until the two realities were extremely different. The Registry wouldn't tell him everything, but it was a starting point to see exactly what changed. Of course, that theory could be wrong, but he was sure there was at least some connection between the two realities.
Firstly, the Prophet was the same, with the same typeface and format. Secondly, the Dancing Dragon was exactly the same as he remembered. The paper had mention Kingsley being an Auror, and he knew James Potter had been one in his reality before he died. The diverging event was probably sometime after Kingsley and his father had been born, because the odds of the same person being born at the same time were hilariously small. Or were they?
Damn it, he had to purchase books on interdimensional theory and genetic probability as well. He added another 5 galleons to his mental tally.
Harry gathered his equipment back together and reached for his second glamor ring. Putting it on, he transformed into a tall, thin man with combed back blond hair and aristocratic features. Only Purebloods knew the location of Loc Muinne, and if he discovered it would help to look the part. With a whisper of a pop, he was on his way.
oooOOOooo
The area he landed was a small field, layered with a multitude of muggle repelling charms and concealments to prevent them from stumbling on the ruins of dark stone jutting out of the landscape. Harry glanced around, and found no one. His magical senses detected no mages within few hundred yards.
Loc Muinne had been the largest settlement of magicals in the country until the mid 15th century, when the government had relocated to its current location under London. Ministry jobs where, by that point, the only reason anyone remained. So, the cities population packed up and left nearly as one, with the last resident dying in 1601, leaving the place a ruin.
Harry strolled through the slightly overgrown grass, looking at the remains of foundations and walls, held this long by ancient enchantment. After only a couple of minutes, he arrived at the old Roman inspired forum. It stood three stories tall, with a sweeping dome and grand pillars. But the stone was worn down, the edges sanded off by the relentless wind, and it lay open to the elements, its huge wooden doors long rotted away. Harry strolled into the building, taking in the ancient stone benches.
He wondered what Hermione would have thought of it. She'd wanted to visit, to take in the wizarding history and study it, but she'd never gotten the chance. Harry reached a small staircase tucked in the back of the room, and made his way into the catacombs beneath the old city.
There was enough ambient light that Harry could get away with a spell that increased his eyes sensitivity. "Specta Omnis" he whispered, and instantly the dark corridor brightened considerable, enough that he could make out the cracks in the ceiling. Over the centuries many cave in had occurred, but the path to the Registry should be clear.
Left, right, left, down another flight of stairs, left twice, the third door on the right.
Harry pushed through the unsecured door, and there it was. A massive expanse of grey stone, it appeared blank from distance. But it was in it's full state, and was coated with thousands of microscopic cravings of every pureblood born in the last 1000 years.
The reason it was so poorly guarded was two fold, firstly almost no one knew about it, and second you couldn't do anything malicious, like add a new name to the family tree, unless you added it to the other two as well, and to the other lists, which would be nearly impossible.
The only reason Harry knew about was because Rabastan had stupidly hidden here in an attempt to stop Harry from assassinating him. It hadn't worked, but now Harry was grateful to the hateful necromancer.
He raised his wand up to the stone mural, and tapped in once. "The Noble House of Potter." he declared, rolling his eyes at the ceremony the Purebloods demanded.
Instantly, the mural blurred, and it expanded in on a long, thin family tree, stretching back 11 generations, from when Thomas Potter was anointed as Lord Potter all the way to the modern age. Harry found his parents easily enough.
Lord James Potter, born 27th of March, 1960. He married Lily Potter Nee Evans, who wasn't important enough to have a birthday inscribed with her betters. Two dots where above her name, indicating her status as a muggleborn witch.
Harry was most interested to see three lines snaking down from the two. The first was familiar, Harry James Potter, born 31 of June, 1980. What was new was the inscription underneath.
Died October 31, 1981.
Interesting. Harry thought. So it appeared he wouldn't have to worry about a younger version on him running around, and wasn't that a scary thought.
I think one of me is all the world can bear.
Perhaps it wasn't surprising that this Harry hadn't become the boy-who-lived, after all the magic that saved him had been his mothers, not his own. Without her death, he was doomed.
He made a mental note not to mention that the this Lily Potter if he spoke with her. He could only imagine the trauma at losing a child, and he wouldn't want to add on any more guilt.
However, this version of the family continued with a set of twins.
Rose and Alexander Potter, born December 3, 1982.
Harry smiled, imagining the terror that two marauder raised children could wreak on Hogwarts. They probably gave the Weasley twins a run for their money.
He wondered what had happened to his adoptive family, and tapped the stone. "House of Weasley."
The stone blurred as it shot over, and the Weasley family tree was just as wide and sprawling as the Potter one was narrow and linear. It seemed having many children was a family tradition.
But the marriage between Arthur Weasley and Molly Weasley nee Prewett had produced the same family he was familiar with.
All seven siblings were in their proper places, though his heart clenched just reading Ginny's name. He had failed every member of the redhead clan, but he had failed her the worst. She had been his on again, off again girlfriend, and a part of Harry assumed they'd be together after the War.
But instead, she had been captured by Lord Malfoy Ⅰ, and it had taken her days to die. The state her body was in when he and Ron had finally found marked the only time he'd ever been sick looking at a corpse.
Harry shook his head, trying to shake the ill thoughts away.
They were just a distraction.
Instead he checked on his other friends. Neville was in the same place, though he was sorry to note both Frank and Alice Longbottom had died. On October 31st, 1981. Curious. Luna Lovegood and Susan Bones, as well as Hannah Abbott were there. And so was Cedric Diggory, mercifully still alive, rather than his life cut before he was even out of school.
"The Ancient and Noble House of Black" Harry uttered, only slightly dreading what he would find.
It appeared similar to his own world, with Sirius and Regulus as the only male heirs of the house. Regulus died in '82, and it appeared Orion Black was still alive as Lord of his house.
Technically, Harry held that title as well as the lordship of the Potters. He had no idea if it was magically bound, and he was in no hurry to figure it out. It would just raise uncomfortable questions. The positions were mostly ceremonial in modern times anyway.
To his pleasant surprise, Sirius was not dead, instead it appeared he had married a woman named Chloe Arseneau. No markings, so she was a pureblood, but had no lines connecting her elsewhere. Probably French, given the last name.
They also had a child, Orion Regulus Black. Harry cocked an eyebrow at the name choice.
Either he patched things up with his family, or he never needed too. I really hope he's still the black sheep of the family.
The female line from Cyrus had three branches, two shooting off to other trees as wives, but Andromeda's name was sitting off to one side, attached to Theodore Tonks with a null sign indicating disinheritance from her family bisecting the line.
Harry smirked. That meant Tonks was likely alive in this universe.
But this was enough fun and games, he had a reason for being here after all.
"The Noble House of Caldwell." Harry stated, and the stone showed him. This particular was going strong from the 16th century until it abruptly tapered off in the mid 40s, with 6 members dying on the same day on January 9th, 1945. After that, nothing. Harry smiled slightly. Perfect.
During the war started by Grindelwald, The Caldwells had sided with the Dark Lord. They were one of the richest pureblood families, and their gold fueled Grindelwald's army. But the Caldwells bet wrong, and in the ensuing war the family had been one of many wiped out by conflict. This included their ancestral home, but their summer home, located on a small, isolated island East of Scotland, had remained untouched in Harry's world. At least until it had been spotted during a mounted battle over the sea by Mad-Eye. And if Harry was lucky, it would be still be sitting there, full of goods fit to pawn, and a small safe with the families emergency fund.
Just than, a sound floated down the hallway, just a whisper, but Harry noticed it. He snapped his wand around and turned towards the door, straining his ears and stretching out his magical senses. After a moment, he detected another footfall, setting down just hard enough to echo. But only a small magical signature just on the edge of his perception.
30 feet, echo coming from the second stairwell. Weak ministry employee? Did I trip a ward rune?
Harry quickly disillusioned himself, silenced his footfalls and crept out of the room. He jogged up, focusing on the magic as it grew steadily stronger. Before too long, he spotted magical light filtering down the hall, and soft footfalls.
Harry cancelled the spell increasing his eyesight, and the hall fell into deep shadow, with the pale white light creeping forward. Harry pressed himself into a small alcove cut out of the stone, and stilled.
A robed figure was advancing, but Harry realised they were very short, and thin. Far too short. He could make out a slim, pale hand holding the wand aloft. The head moved about, looking around. He could sense magic, but it was different, too small and yet untamed.
They were a child. Likely a Hogwarts student.
He relaxed, but only partially. Even a young wizard or more likely witch could be still be dangerous if underestimated. He could have left them to their devices, but at the same time this place was hazardous, with cave ins and long forgotten booby traps. If he left them here, and they were hurt, it would be on him. Best if he convinced her to go.
Not that he could tell her who he was. He was still a terrible liar, but he had learned how to twist the truth to fit his narrative.
oooOOOooo
Dorea tried to remain as silent as she could. Sneaking around Hogwarts was one thing, but sneaking out of school and across the country was a whole other matter.
If Mother finds me I'll be in detention for a month, and more once we get home.
But exams were nearly on, and most of Slytherin had their heads buried in books. Dorea was confident she could ace all of her exams, and the accumulated stress was giving her a headache. On the plus side, most of the teachers, including her Mother, were busy helping students review and revise. She had learned of Loc Muinne after reading about it in Grandfathers study, and she had instantly desired to see it.
But no one was ever available to take her, always saying "Maybe later Dorea, ask in a few months" over and over and over. She had even been tempted to talk to her uncle, but she wasn't that desperate. She was capable of doing it herself.
The two way portkey from Hogsmeade to Loc Muinne and back had cost most of her allowance, but it was worth it to really see her heritage. To touch the birthplace of her government and society. Now, she was sneaking through the darkened tunnels underneath the old forum, searching for any secrets.
In truth, the thrill and danger of getting caught only added to the experience. Mother was always so hovering, so overprotective, it was smothering.
As she was lost in thought, a spell shot out of the darkness and struck her square in the chest. Dorea was thrown backwards, and her wand was ripped from her hand. She let out an undignified squeak as conjuried ropes shot around her, tightening down and restraining her.
She wriggled around for a moment, panicking in the darkness, before a strong light flashed blindingly. Dorea blinked the tears away from her eyes, and only just noticed that her hood was thrown back. She blinked painfully, and saw a robed wizard standing in front of her.
He had slicked back blond hair and an unimpressed expression on his face. She also saw her wand, held loosely in his left hand. He raised a single sculpted eyebrow at her.
"Young lady, this is a class 2 protected site. What exactly do you think you're doing here?" he said in an icy voice, and Dorea felt a smidgen cowed. Not that she showed it.
She lifted her chin and sneered "I would take care how you speak to me. I am no common criminal, now release me this instant!" She commanded, hoping he recognized her. He was clearly a ministry employee, he might have the authority to arrest her or call Aurors who could.
Damn it, I thought this place was empty!
But the man just stared at her, expression unchanged. His eyes held no mercy, and Dorea began to shift uncomfortably. She broke eye contact, and looked at the floor.
It appeared he was waiting for her to answer. Might as well get this over with. I can already imagine Mothers lecture.
"I wanted to see Loc Muinne, so naturally here I am." she said as grandly as she could.
The man shook his head. "So you decided the law didn't apply to you?" Dorea blinked at his impudence. Didn't he know who she was!
"How dare you!" she said "This place is my birthright, if anyone has the right to enter it's me! Now let me go, or I'll make sure you can't get a job cleaning toilets!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the hallway.
Rather than being put in his place, the wizard chuckled softly, and Dorea was officially enraged. When she got out of here, she was heading straight to her grandfather.
"Well, I don't need to see your tie to figure out what house you're in." he said with a faint echo of humor, and Dorea stopped. Wait, he really doesn't know who I am. Her tie was Slytherin green, so that was all he knew. Maybe I can get out of this without Mother getting involved. The man flicked his wand at her, and the ropes vanished. Dorea rubbed her arms, and took a step back from the man.
"You're what, a third year?" he asked, looking her over. "Yes… I'm… Alice. Alice Hornbrook." she made up the name on the spot. The man stood a few feet away, and it didn't seem he was going to give her wand back.
"Whatever you say Alice." he said, his eyes glittering with humor, giving Dorea the distinct feeling he could see straight through her deceit
She gulped, but went along with the plan. "I'm, uhh, very sorry for the way I spoke. I was just surprised, and under a great deal of stress." the apology burned her throat a little, but it was for a good cause.
The man was unmoved. He just kept staring at her, and it rather reminded her of Professor McGonagall.
Still, she pressed on, and put on her best innocent doe eyes "I learned my lesson, I promise I'll leave right away. I have a portkey, and-" He held up a hand, cutting her off. "Come on, I'll escort you back to school." he said briskly and brushed past her, the burning light following. Dorea snarled at his back, how dare he treat her this way! Honestly, she was practically royalty!
Grudgingly, she ran after him. "Soooo, I'm not in trouble?" she asked slyly, having to step quicker to keep up with his long, louping gait. "Not from me. Just that these tunnels have not been maintained in a long time. I can't let anyone get buried alive, can I?" he said calmly, almost bored. Dorea suppressed a victorious smile. She might just skate out of here safely.
"I can't believe that the Ministry just left this place a crumbling ruin! It's an important part of our history, but does anyone care?" she ranted animatedly. The man shot her a wry grin "History doesn't pay, and the ministry is far more concerned with pinching knuts than history. Besides, there are other reasons no one talks about this place."
Dorea cocked her head at him curiously. In all honesty, she had tried to research this place, but apart from a few scattered references it was largely excluded from the Hogwarts library. But, if he worked here, he might know more.
"Like what?" she asked lightly as he glided swiftly through the tunnels.
"Oh, just that the elites of the time wanted to move under Diagon alley, because London was the economic capital of the country. But, it doesn't look good abandoning the old capital for economic reasons." the man said smoothly, and Dorea snorted. She was normally so uptight, with so many people watching her constantly. But here, with a man who's name she didn't even know, she felt strangely comfortable.
"Well, it seems those spineless paper pushers haven't changed over the centuries." she groused. Public servants though they may be called, most politicians she'd had run into over the years only served themselves.
The man chuckled "You have no idea. Wizarding history is long and messy, but do they teach it? Try to stop new generations from making the same mistakes? No. I bet all you learned was the goblin rebellions." the man said, a hint of bitterness seeping out on the word 'mistakes'.
Dorea nodded. "Once, I asked Binns about the war with Grindelwald, and he just blankly looked at me for a second before going back into the Giant War of 1886." she overextravigated the old ghosts perplexed expression, staring at the man seriously before they both broke down in laughter.
In a moment both had compoused themselves. The man's laugh reminded Dorea of her father, and the typical ache that came from thinking of him. He had died when she was only six, so most of her memories of him where blurry and fragmented, but she remembered his smile, the way he could cheer her up no matter what. He could do the same to her mother, but after he died it was a wound festering between the two women, occasionally exploding out into a raw pain, screaming and crying.
Dorea's face fell and she hunched her shoulders and speed up. Best to get back to school as soon as she could. The man apparently hadn't been around many teenagers, as he decided to ask a dangerous question:
"What's wrong?"
Dorea rolled her eyes and huffed. He may reminder her vaguely of her father, but he was still a stranger. And he still had her wand.
Despite the silence, the man chuckled lightly. Apparently he found her endlessly amusing. Still, they were nearly back at the surface, and all she had to do was keep it together enough for him to let her off scott free, and this day would be an interesting story to tell in a few years.
A hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Dorea opened her mouth to ask what the hell he was doing, than she heard. The heavy thunk of boots at a run, and getting closer.
Before Dorea could say a word, the man pulled her down another tunnel at a hurried clip.
The sound of men running behind them increased, and Dorea craned her head back to get a look at their pursuers, and she caught a glimpse of crimson robes in the darkness
Blood Purists.
Cold fear dripped down her back. Her Grandfather was one of the fiercest opponents to them politically, and they had attempted to blackmail him into supporting them.
Kidnapping her seemed a natural escalation, though it wouldn't do them any good. Grandfather would slaughter them all in retaliation.
The man sprinted into a large chamber at the end of the hall. It was a dead end, and the sound was getting closer.
Dorea was breathing fast, but her occlumency training served her well. They couldn't risk harming her, but some random ministry employee? They would probably kill him. And she couldn't let that happen.
So, she grabbed the man's shoulder "Listen to me, you need to hide. They won't hurt me, but they'll kill you. After they take me, find my Grandfather, he'll know what-" "I don't hide. And I don't run." the man interrupted cooly, and Dorea wanted to pull her hair out at his macho posturing.
"Damnit, I don't want you to die for me!" she yelled through clenched teeth. The man spun around, and Dorea gulped at his expression. Or lack of one.
It was as though all the emotion had been stripped away, and the features had been painted back on inexpertly. The only exception were the eyes. They blazed with a utter readiness, no fear or panic.
Without looking at her, than man flicked his wrist at her and Dorea stilled as the magic tightened in on her. Another flick and she was slammed into the ceiling, where she stuck.
Than, a feeling like a cold egg cracked onto her head came over her. Disillusionment. But the man had made no wand movements.
Silent, motionless casting!? I've only seen Headmaster Dumbledore and Grandfather do that! Who is this guy? Why is such a powerful wizard guarding a forgotten ruin?
Questions were mounting, but they were put aside when red robed figures burst into the chamber, wands outstrechted. Their red robes where unadorned, and the hoods had a spell on them that made it look like their faces were swirling shadows. The lead figure took a menacing step forward, and orbs of light hovered around, bathing the scene in white.
"Where's the girl?" the leader growled roughly as his men took up a rough semi-circle, wand aimed at the man.
The man was unphased.
"Gentlemen, this is a class 2 protected site. Without proper permits, I'm afraid you'll need to leave immediately." he said in the same bored tone he'd addressed Dorea with.
Dorea stared at him like he'd just grown a second head, and she was sure the Purists shared the expression as they shifted and looked around, confused.
The leader tilted his head, likely questioning if this man was sane. Dorea definitely was.
The leader stepped forward, and pointed his wand menacingly at the man.
"Listen here, you're going to tell us where the girl is or I'll have to get... unpleasant, if you understand." he growled, anger seeping out.
The man raised his eyebrows "And here I was thinking you didn't have a pleasant side, Yaxley." he said conversationally.
That caused all the Purists to still.
Dorea's confusion was growing, did this man know the Purist? 'Yaxley' had a similar reactions, stiling and lowering his wand slightly. "How-"
Without warning, the man blurred into motion, dodging to the left, spells flinging from his wand so fast Dorea could barely follow. One of the purists was hurled back into the wall with a sickening crunch. Another was hit with a dirty grey spell and his head spun around and popped off like a champagne cork.
Yaxley and the last one spread out to either side of the man, and in unison the two yelled "Avada Kedavra!"
Two sickly green orbs streaked towards the man. He dropped to the ground, letting both curses pass harmlessly overhead. Before the Purists could change targets, he tapped the ground, and it rippled, before sending huge spikes of rock shooting out of the floor to impaling both Purists. The nameless one was pinned the wall, with two spikes impaling his torso with a spray of blood.
Yaxley wasn't so lucky, screaming in agony as one spike pinned his leg to the wall, and another speared through his wand hand, with the wand mixed in. The man strolled forward, silencing the Purist with a perfunctory stunning spell.
It was over in less than 15 seconds.
Dorea's occlumency failed her. She was officially panicking. She was at the mercy of a vicious killer with no one knowing where she was, and he still had her wand.
She was going to die.
Before she could hyperventilate, the man waved his wand, and Dorea was deposited on the floor in front of him. She stood, frozen in fear. The man ignored her, erasing all the evidence of the brief but bloody battle. He also removed the spikes from Yaxley, transfigured his robes into restraints and sealed his wounds. She looked away, and saw a red mound of fabric a few inches away.
It was a severed head.
Dorea turned away as the contents of her breakfast came rushing back up her throat, and she bent, vomiting on the stone floor.
The man cast his eyes up at Dorea, and she instinctively stepped back, holding her hands up, not caring a bit of sick was dripping down her chin. She could run, but he was between her and the door, and she doubted she was faster than him. The man sighed tiredly.
"I'm not going to hurt you Alice." he said in a calm voice, looking over at her.
"Wh-who are you? You said you worked for the ministry!?" her voice came out embarrassingly high.
The man shrugged "Well, technically, I never claimed that. Just didn't correct your assumption." he explained almost sheepishly.
Dorea backed up until her back hit the stone, muttering to herself "Oh merlin I really don't want to die here, I really really don't wanna die."
The man rolled his eyes "I told you I'm not going to hurt you. I think that covers not killing you as well." he said sarcastically, and for the third time in as many minutes, Dorea was shocked into stillness by him answering her hisses. And so was the man, clenching his jaw and looking to the side.
"You speak parseltongue." she whispered, and the man visibly winced. He put his head in his hands and she could just barely make out "Great fucking work. If Mad-Eye could see me now... Wait."
His eyes snapped up to hers, and his face had gone expressionless again. "How do you speak parseltongue?" he asked icily, his eyes drilling into hers.
"I, I, I'm Dorea, Dorea Slytherin." she stammered, and he blinked, clearly stunned.
"What?! But the Family of Slytherin was dissolved centuries ago!" he said, looking at her like she had just declared she was from space.
Dorea drew back fully against the wall, stuttering "Well, well, it, uhh, it was. But My Grandfather, he lobbied the Wizengamot in, uhh, 1949 to restore the family!" she explained in a hurry, tripping over the words.
The man looked like he could be knocked over by a stiff breeze. "Your grandfather is Tom Riddle?"
Dorea nodded. Silence stretched out between them, and the man stared off into space.
"You're mother is a Black, isn't she? 'Dorea' is a Black name." he asked in a soft voice, as though he was far away.
"Yes. Bellatrix." she said, now very concerned.
He knew her Grandfather's birth name, knew Black family names, could recognize a Blood Purist by voice, was a parseltongue and yet he was blown away by the existence of one of the most famous families in the country?
"Who are you?" she repeated, and finally he came back to reality. He looked at her oddly for a moment, than pinched his brow.
"That is a far more complex question than you realize. All you need to know is that I'm an enemy of the blood Purists. However, I've given far too much away. Can't have you telling Albus or Tommy-boy about me. Not yet, anyway." he muttered the last part to himself.
Dorea did not like the sound of that, and she bolted for the door. She made it a whole two yards before his paralyzing spell hit her, and she floated into the air.
She spun lazily over to the man, and looked in his eyes. "Don't fret, this will leave no lasting damage." He reassured in a soft voice, which didn't comfort her as she tracked the wand coming up, pointing straight between her eyes. "Obliviate"
oooOOOooo
Dorea blinked her eyes open, and realized she was lying on the ground, and feeling rather dizzy.
She sat up, and yawned. It was mid afternoon, and she could just see the roofs of Hogsmeade in the distance.
Her head felt muddled, like someone had filled her skull with loose cotton. Why was she out here?
Blearily, she cast her eyes down to a small rock in her hand, and she knew it was important.
Than, it came back to her. It was the portkey she had bought after flooing to Knockturn alley last month, the one to Loc Muinne.
She remembered wandering the ruins, admiring the stonework, standing in awe of the ancient forum, than going into the tunnels. Than… Oh right, she'd explored around, but found nothing of interest, than had gone back up to portkey back to school.
But...she remembered being afraid in the tunnels. Why? Nothing should have caused that, they were empty.
Maybe it was the dark? No, I haven't been afraid of the dark since I was 5. Somehow, the whole experience in the tunnels seemed distant, like she was watching herself from a distance rather than experiencing it for real.
Before she could ponder the mystery any further, a voice rang out over the still summer air
"DOREA!" her mother's voice pierced her skull and instantly summoned a pounding headache.
The teenager quickly clambered to her feet, and saw her mother running up, her large black robes fluttering behind her, and a look of panic on her face. She closed the distance in an instant, and grabbed Dorea, sweeping her wand along her torso to check for any wounds.
Dorea rolled her eyes at her mother's overzealous concern over her health.
"I'm fine professor." she said, biting the title off. Her mother had taken the post as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher the same year Dorea started school, and the timing wasn't lost on anyone. People still ribbed her about it.
Bellatrix pulled back, the look of panic gone, replaced by fury.
"Dorea, how could you just run off? You scared me nearly to death! And where were you, and why were you lying in the dirt?! What..." Dorea tuned out the rest of the scolding/interrogation, waiting for her mother to take a breath so she could respond.
It took 5 minutes.
"... and it's disgraceful! Now, what do you have to say for yourself young lady?" her mother finished, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Dorea.
"I went to Loc Muinne." she said in a tired voice. She was hungry, and just hoped her mother's lecture didn't go past dinner.
"Dorea, I told you that your grandfather and I would take you there when the time was right! It is a crime to go their without permits, and it could be dangerous."
That last part made her roll her eyes. Everything was dangerous in her mother's mind.
Her mother's eyes narrowed dangerously "Do not roll your eyes at me young lady. You are in enough trouble as it stands! Honestly, how did you get so disrespectful?"
"Oh, I'm soooo sorry Professor! It's just I've heard dangerous so many times its lost its meaning! Going to a quidditch game, staying out past curfew, sticking a toe in the lake, it's just so much to remember!" Dorea started with a mocking sickly sweet voice, before she wiped the fake smile off her face to yell at her mother.
Her mother pursed her lips, like she'd just sucked on a lemon.
"Don't take that tone with me. My concern is solely for your own good." she said, and if that excuse wasn't worn thin, Dorea was the King of Atlantis.
"Stop that! Stop saying that! This is not for my own good! It is not about my safety, it's about control!" she screamed at her mother, stomping her foot on the ground. Her mother drew back sharply. Dorea wasn't usually so vehement, but for whatever reason she was strained to breaking point.
"You hover around, watching me all the time! You never let me breath, let me be my own person. You control who I'm friends with, where I go, all my classwork!" She was red in the face, and tears were pricking at her eyes.
"I know you scared off that ravenclaw boy, and you have all the other teachers reporting on me! I even found that journal where you record what I eat!" she accused, and her mother winced minutely, proving Dorea's suspicions.
Her mother looked off to the side "I just worry-" she said weakly, but Dorea wasn't having any of it. Not today.
"Oh, please! The only thing you care about is if I'm living up to your impossible standards as a pureblood princess! Little things like my happiness are just inconvenient obstacles!" Dorea screamed at her mother, rage and pain spilling out.
Her mother's gaze hardened, her brief uncertainty vanishing "Maybe when you grow up you'll understand that your responsibilities outweigh your personal desires, but until then we are going back to Hogwarts." her mother said acidly.
Oh, she wanted to play that? Well, if they wanted to just try and hurt each other, Dorea could do that.
"Sounds like you're speaking from personal experience Professor. I bet I can guess what." Dorea's voice dropped low, readying the verbal knife.
Her mother's eyes widened, clearly seeing the opening she had made. Dorea struck before she could back up.
"You never wanted me. I exist just to fulfill your 'responsibility' as a wife" Dorea stabbed the knife in.
All the blood drained from her mother's face.
Dorea had been raised by her father during the early years of her life, and by house elves and nursemaids when he had to work. Her mother had only shown up to hold her or play with her when guests where over, than she was passed back to an actual caretaker and her mother vanished again.
Until her father had died, and suddenly her Mother never gave her space to breath, even following her to Hogwarts.
Hot tears were threatening to spill out. She had to wrap this up to go sob away from her mother. Just one last twist of the knife.
"You're a terrible mother, and the worst part is the only real parent I had died for you!" Now, rip the knife out and let it bleed. "I HATE YOU!" Dorea screamed bitterly, and her mother looked like she'd slapped her, physically drawing back, with a wet sheen on her eyes.
Dorea spun on her heel and sprinted in the direction of Hogwarts, leaving her stunned mother standing in the field. She let the tears flow free down her face, not bothering to look back.
oooOOOooo
Damn. That girl does not pull her punches. Harry thought to himself as he listened to the exchange with a listening spell and watched with his omocculars as Dorea stormed away, leaving her mother standing still.
Harry was hidden in the trees 34 yards away, under multiple charms. He did feel a little guilty listening in, but it was overshadowed by slacked jaw shock at this version of Bellatrix.
After oblivating Dorea, he had portkeyed her to the origin destination, and left her confused on the ground. He figured one of the teachers would sweep in, as this wasn't a designated portkey site and the faculty would be alerted. Especially given her connection to Volde-, no, Lord Slytherin. He'd half expected Snape to come up the hill. If it had been Albus, Harry would have to book it, and the old man would certainly detect the spells Harry had cast on the girl, revealing him long before he was ready.
But instead a woman had come, and only after a minute of looking at her face did he see the similarities to his cruellest foe.
He had spent far more time than he liked thinking about Bellatrix Lestrange, enough for a lifetime.
When he had first learned she had taken the mantle of Dark Lady following Voldemort's death, he had been exasperated, but nothing more. She was a powerful witch, but not to the same level of Harry. She just didn't know when to quit.
Harry had forgotten the most important rule of war: the most dangerous person is the one with nothing to lose. And Bellatrix capitalized on that, exploding outwards with vicious and violent attacks that filled the streets with corpses.
But even before that, Harry only knew the post-Azkaban witch: stick thin in tattered robes, features far too sharp to be healthy, and at best a loose grip on her sanity. But she was one of the deadly duelists of her generation, and wickedly intelligent.
She had been a being of extremes, hot or cold with no lukewarm options. He recalled during the Battle of Newberry Ron had slain her husband not ten feet from her, and she'd barely reacted. The two simply didn't care about each other.
At the same time, she was desperately in love with Voldemort, to the point of obsession. Privately, Harry suspected that Voldemort never reciprocated her feelings. He only ever cared about himself. And maybe she knew that too. Harry hated the bitch with a passion that even some of the other Order fighters found disturbing, but even he could see she was damaged, broken in some fundamental way.
But this one was different. She still dressed in black, but she wasn't starved. Her curves were obvious even from distance. Her face was fuller, and only after a moment did Harry fully appreciate her beauty. He had heard tales of her looks from the older fighters and Sirius, but he'd never imagined the full extent.
Her cheek bones were still sharp, as was her jaw, but with the glow of healthy skin, and her smokey eyes not boggling around, she was very fetching.
But he had mentally prepared for that, when Dorea revealed her parentage. Looking back, he could see the resemblance, the same sort of speech cadence, the same cut of her jaw. What had blown him away was how much emotion this Bellatrix displayed. He could read true fear on her face, and relief when she had held her daughter. He'd seen the guilt when Dorea accused her, and the hurt when the tennager had laid into her.
Now, as the girl ran away, Bellatrix stood motionless in the center of the field. She wasn't just hurt by her daughters words. She was guilty, and she looked so lost and hopeless Harry felt genuine sympathy for the woman. The idea of a nurturing or motherly Bellatrix seemed to go against the very fabric of reality, and Harry wasn't surprised Dorea had a difficult relationship with her mother. She seemed to hold her father in high regard, and the man had in someway died for Bellatrix.
Now, it appeared Bellatrix had taken a teaching position (and there was an image. The idea of being taught by Lestrange sent shivers down his spine) to be closer to her daughter.
It was clearly going swimmingly.
Still, given the abortive kidnapping Harry had stopped, perhaps her concern was justified. Not that her daughter knew that, given her reaction.
Harry felt a pang as a few tears slipped down the witches face, and she just looked so defeated. Than, all the emotion was swept from her features, and she appeared perfectly composed as she spun to follow her daughter.
And there was another thing. Her daughter. When he had run into her underneath Loc Muinne, she had been a typical snobby pureblood, all poustring and threats. But, she'd realized that by being nice, she could slip out without any trouble, and he had been surprised by her humor. She was witty and sarcastic, and seemed fairly down to earth. It had hurt unexpectedly when she'd seen the monster that lurked beneath his facade, and looked at him in horror.
He had eliminated the brief trauma from her memory, but that was temporary.
Mind charms were delicate and difficult spells, with even a single seam in the memory a possible point of failure. Harry simply did not have the talent. It was probably at least partly his fault that she'd blown up at her mother. He wasn't skilled enough to remove the psychological stress, and the emotions behind it. She was unstable, and had blown up at the first person she'd seen.
But that emotion would remain, and even with her minor occlumency training, she'd realise something was off about her memories. Once the manipulation was discovered, it was only a matter of time before it was undone.
Even though he would never admit it outloud, he had considered just killing the girl. She was a direct descendant of two of his greatest enemies.
But she was also 13 years old and had done nothing to deserve death. Besides, this was a new world, and it would be unfair of him to condemn them based on crimes his versions had committed.
Harry had been inexcusably sloppy. He should have felt the anti-apparition and portkey wards long before the Blood Purists got so close. He also gave away just how little he knew about the world, handing Tom or Albus (or both, and just the idea of those two working together genuinely gave him anxiety). But the worst blunder was showing he was a parseltongue.
It was an extremely rare ability that would cause no end of questions. He might be able to play himself off as another descendant of Salazar, but even so it wasn't an association he wanted. Tom thinking he was a rival for the mantle of lordship was bad, but the worst case was him seeing him as a potential successor.
Of course, it was possible that this version of Riddle wasn't an evil bastard. His granddaughter was targeted by the Purists, which could mean he isn't associated with them.
Not that he'd bet any money on that. It could be a power play within the ranks, or maybe he'd ordered it for political reasons.
It was simply too soon to say. Harry stood up from his prone position, and looked over his shoulder. Yaxley was bound and stunned, and Harry sighed.
He hadn't intended to encounter them so soon. Now, he had a potential wealth of information, but couldn't access it.
He needed more information to figure out what questions to ask, and he would need veritaserum. He could use mind arts to extract things but he could only pull out a few moments, some brief specific information, before the subject died of a cerebral hemorrhage.
So, he needed somewhere to stash Yaxley until he could get his hands on some truth serum, or at worst brew a dose. The only secure area he had at the moment was the bunker, but he hardly had a choice. The reason he had killed the other three was specifically because he knew he had no where to keep them. He had transfigured the corpses into simple rocks, than tossed them around the site.
Additionally, Yaxley lacked any version of the Dark Mark, which hopefully meant the other Purists have no way to track their missing members.
Still, holding him for a long period of time was not something Harry had any practice in. Mostly, he would interrogate any captured Death Eater immediately, followed by a swift execution. But when they did need to keep prisoners, the Order developed a stasis rune to keep prisoners locked away without needed to devote more time to guarding and feeding them.
Harry popped away from Hogsmeade, feeling a pang of sadness at the sight of his boyhood haunts. It was lucky he couldn't see Hogwarts from here, or he doubted he would be able to hold it together.
He arrived back at his bunker with his prisoner, and he felt exhausted. It was maybe 2 o'clock, and his body was crying out for rest. His ribs and shoulder ached from his brief duel, and he was feeling drained. But there was too much to do.
"But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."
Ginny had said that to him once, a lifetime ago, saying that the poem captured his endless drive. Although she hadn't phrased it in a positive way. Still, it was a constant refrain for Harry over the years.
Harry levitated Yaxley over onto the cot, and settled onto the floor. He carved a trinity rune on the ground with the tip of his wand, moving quickly but carefully. These runes originally needed an outside powersource, but these would run off the prisoners own magic. Depending on the wizard, it would could run anywhere from a couple weeks to a year.
Yaxley wasn't weak, so he could probably live for a month, maybe up to 9 weeks, but anything after that was pushing it.
It took 45 minutes to finish the rune, and then he laid Yaxley out, carefully linking his magic to the rune, and watching as the lines lit with white energy.
Now that all the complications had been at least somewhat managed, it was time to head to the Caldwells private island.
Authors Notes
Alright, this expanded a lot more than I thought it would. All reviews are welcomed, but if you flame me I reserve the right to add more of the thing you complain about just out of pure spite. And if you're offended by that statement than it's working as intended.
