Title: Ink
Chapter 4: A Wicked Death
Story warnings: Swearing, some violence, major character death, other death, and torture.
Chapter warnings: Swearing.
Disclaimer: I do not consider myself the owner of these characters. They belong to J. K. Rowling.
Note: I'm sorry this chapter took a while to be uploaded; I've been busy and did not get around to finishing the chapter until recently. I hope you like it.
Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate any and all feedback from the readers of this story. It helps me know that, first of all, people are reading this story (not just clicking the link and leaving) and secondly, people are either liking or not liking the story. Though I write for myself, it makes me more motivated to write when people give me positive (and negative) feedback.
Harry has a rather tough time acting the mature hero in the beginning of this chapter, but I suppose I can give him a break. He is, after all, rather out of his element when bombarded with an adversary.
Previously on Ink:
There was a man sitting across from him.
It was blue eyes, from graduation.
His scar twinged.
The only thing Harry could think was, Oh, shit.
Harry Potter was fucked.
The fact that he was stupid enough to be in public alone was shameful. The fact that there was a negative consequence today was unlucky. The fact that he was doing nothing but inwardly panicking was idiotic.
And yet, that was what he was doing.
Harry was sitting across from a man who could kill him. He did not know who he was, though he had his suspicions. One look into those clear, blue eyes told the brunet that he was a bad, bad man.
"Potter."
Harry visibly jumped, abruptly ending his panic and throwing him into an adrenaline-laced, over-confident anger.
"Who're you?" Harry asked threateningly, raising his wand.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Are you seriously asking that question?"
Harry glared at the other man, though his mind was whirling with possible answers to who exactly was staring at him from across his table. The obvious came to mind, but he did not wish for it to be the answer and, therefore, discarded it.
The voice, however, was hard to misplace. He had heard it more than once.
The man smirked at him. "Give up?"
Harry snarled under his breath, sick of the man's smooth and arrogant manner.
Cerulean eyes were replaced with a vibrant, unmistakable ruby, drawing a soft groan of panic from Harry. In a flash, they were again blue as the ocean, with no trace of the foreboding red it once showed. Both colors seemed to pierce into his soul, stripping away any protective essence-and yet this did not scare the young man. It only angered him further.
"Voldemort," Harry hissed.
The man chuckled darkly. "Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Though I understand you are not really affiliated with the lions anymore, correct? I did see you receive your diploma."
"What do you want?" The teen demanded, not in a gaming mood.
Voldemort glared at his adversary. "Well, aren't you the social ignoramus. If you had not noticed, I have yet to commit terrible acts of evil in your presence."
Harry was not impressed. "Why have you been following me?"
"I hardly think a chance encounter at Diagon Alley is an act one would consider 'following.' Are you so lonely for my attention that you make up silly excuses as to why I may be in your general area of Britain?" Voldemort had a face of dark amusement.
"You were at my graduation. You had no reason to ruin something like that," Harry told him with narrowed eyes.
The dark lord leaned back, eyebrows raised. "I did not know that sitting in the audience was considered ruining things these days," he commented.
"You know what I mean. What right do you have to be at Hogwarts? Nobody wants you there."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the young man. "Now you listen here, boy," he hissed. "I did not come here for you to insult your betters. I came here to do you a favor. And you shall listen to me, if you know what is good for you."
Harry said nothing. He doubted his enemy had anything important to say, but figured he would listen anyway.
"Dumbledore is looking for something," Voldemort said quietly, cutting to the chase. "Something that has been long forgotten by most. He knows where to look for it, but he cannot obtain it now. Not without assistance."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't understand what you're getting at," he said coldly to the older man, "other than the fact that you have spies."
Voldemort sighed. "Just do me a favor, Potter, and listen to someone older and wiser than you for once." He paused. "Do not let Dumbledore enter your vaults."
Harry blinked. He was not expecting that. "Why?" He questioned.
"Because if he lays his dirty, power hungry fingers on some of the effects in those chambers, things will go very sour, very quickly."
"Dirty? Power hungry?" Harry laughed mirthlessly. "I think you're confusing Dumbledore with yourself."
Voldemort rose from his seat, glaring at Harry angrily. "Just listen to me on this, and you will not regret it," he spat. "Unless you'd prefer the destruction of wizardkind as we know it."
Harry grimaced. He really did not understand why the dark lord would feel the need to tell him something like that, when he knew Harry would never listen to him. But when things like "destruction of wizardkind" popped up in conversation, it was harder to ignore the warning. Nevertheless, the strong urge to throttle the blue-eyed man sitting before him was stronger than the urge to listen.
"I doubt Dumbledore would-"
"I am leaving now," Voldemort interrupted. He looked behind him. "Your friends are returning. I will be seeing you, Potter."
And then he was gone.
Harry shook his head, body tense. "What just happened?" He asked himself. Voldemort giving him a warning was something not even his wildest dreams would make up.
Voldemort wanted Dumbledore out of the Potter vaults. What would the man gain from this? What would Harry gain from this? Hell, what would wizardkind gain from this? Riddle had been rather vague on that part.
A thought struck him. How had Voldemort known about what was in his vaults- or about his vaults at all? Harry had only learned about their existence the day before.
Besides that, why had no one in the surrounding tables noticed the peculiar conversation the wizards had been having? After all, the word Voldemort was a word more taboo than any four-letter word in these crowds.
I can't believe I didn't realize who he was, Harry thought to himself in disbelief. It was like I didn't even think of it before. Maybe he had a notice-me-not charm on him? That was the only thing that would make sense that did not involve Harry being a forgetful fool.
Although, he was not expecting the man to be, well, human looking. He looked somewhat similar to the Tom Riddle memory that Harry had encountered in his second year; however, some features were changed, possibly with a glamour spell of some sort. Or maybe it was just age that created the difference. Either way, the boy-who-lived was sure that Voldemort was much more aesthetically appealing compared to their last encounter.
And his last statement: I will be seeing you, Potter. Did he mean that in the near-future sense, or a more figurative way?
"Harry!" The voice of his female best friend brought him out of his befuddled thoughts. "Look what we bought! Twelve books! Have you ordered anything yet?" Hermione asked him as she plunked down a tall stack of books. Ron stood behind her, eyes wide and weary.
Harry glanced at the many tomes in front of him. "Looks great, Hermione," he told her with a small smile. "And, er, no I haven't; I kind of forgot." He looked at her sheepishly.
"You alright, mate?" Ron asked him, a weird look on his face. Harry debated whether to tell the two about his strange meeting with Tom Marvolo Riddle. After an internal argument with the more reasonable side of his mind, he decided against it; the two would overreact to the spotting of the dark lord. He did not want the worry of anyone on his shoulders. Plus, if the Order found out, he would most likely be locked up for the next twenty years of his life in protection.
No, he thought to himself, for now I'll keep it to myself. If anything happens, they'll be the first to know.
"Yeah," he answered his friend. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Just then, a waiter came to their table and everything seemed to go back to normal.
Harry bid Hermione and Ron goodbye and apparated to the step of Number 12, Grimmauld place, but not before Ron invited him for dinner. Opening the door in front of him, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The sight of the hallway alone brought back painful memories of his godfather, Sirius Black, stumbling into the mysterious veil in the Department of Mysteries.
The musty smell was not as strong as he once remembered, but the surroundings were not at all pleasant to any part of his senses. Harry stepped quietly through the entryway area, while trying to clear his mind of any unpleasant thoughts. It was difficult, but he got it under control. There was no need to succumb to his overwhelmed emotions at this time.
A movement in the corner of his eye brought Harry out of his internal deliberation and face to face with a wand. Harry tried to follow the wand to its owner but did not have to when he heard the rough voice of Alastor Moody growl softly, "What are you doing, boy?"
"Er…" Harry stammered. "I'm-"
"Potter, you should know that unplanned visits are… frowned upon." Moody grimaced. "That's a good way to let impostors in by accident. For all I know, you're not Potter."
"Well," Harry said quietly, "I am." He pushed his dark bangs back from his forehead and showed the man his lightning bolt scar.
Moody kept his wand pointed at the wizard. "You'll need to give me more evidence than that, boy."
Harry thought for a moment. "Erm… Sirius Black is-was, he was my godfather… and he was the owner of this house before he died."
Moody nodded. "That'll do. Let the Order know before you drop by their headquarters next time, Potter, or you might find yourself on the wrong side of a wand again. The next person might not be so patient." With that, he limped away.
Harry shook his head. It was his property, so he could drop by whenever he felt like it. Just because the Order resided there did not make them the boss of his dwelling.
Plus, how would anyone know the address to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix if Dumbledore was the secret keeper?
Harry did not have much reason to be at Number 12, but he figured he would take a look at his own property anyway. He quietly climbed the stairs and walked down the halls of the large house.
The house was very dingy and full of dust; the heads of the house elves on the walls had been collecting particles for years and were very thick with grime. Harry wondered why Kreacher could not clean it.
Thinking of the rude house elf made him remember to talk to Kreacher. Harry walked into his old room before calling Kreacher, so that the portrait of Lady Black would not begin to wail.
The house elf appeared with a loud crack and a large scowl.
"Kreacher," Harry began without preamble, "you're going to listen to me. I want you to take orders from any member of the Order of the Phoenix without question while you are in this house."
Kreacher visibly shivered, obviously disgusted in his master's words. "As master commands, I shall do so," he grimly answered.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "And you shall stay in Grimmauld Place unless I call for you and tell you otherwise. Understand?" The house elf sneered, but did not comment, other than a "yes."
The teen nodded in satisfaction. "That's all. You can go somewhere else now."
With that, Kreacher exited the room with another crack.
Harry sighed. He wished he could get rid of the elf, but Kreacher knew too much about the Order; if Kreacher gave that information to their adversaries, it could end up very poorly.
Exiting his room, Harry crept silently though the halls and staircases once more, and headed to the fireplace. He had spent enough time at the depressing house for the time being. He flooed over to the Weasley household and met Ron upstairs.
"That was quick," the redhead commented as Harry walked into his room.
"Yeah, well, I didn't want to be there long."
Ron nodded. "Makes sense. Dinner's ready in an hour."
Harry and Ron spent the next while chatting and discussing the vaults. Hermione had said she was going to be doing some research over the next few days, so they doubted they would see her until she was done; when the witch started something, she did not stop until she finished.
"Hermione will be busy for a while," Ron told him. "She seems really interested in all of those books. And that writing on the vaults."
Harry nodded in agreement. "It's like a puzzle for her, translating things."
Ron was silent for a while before changing the subject. "Are you going to apply for the Auror position, mate?"
Harry grinned. "Yeah," he answered. "Really soon. I'm glad I got all the requirements taken care of at Hogwarts."
"Me too, mate. Want to get the applications together?" Ron asked.
"Yeah, that sounds great. We can do it tomorrow, if you're not busy."
Ron laughed a little. "Busy? Who do you think I am, Hermione? I'm never busy!" Harry chuckled at that.
The next day, Harry and Ron went to the Ministry of Magic to pick up the applications for Auror positions. The application process was pretty straightforward: if a person wished to get the job as an Auror, they would first fill out the application on parchment; then, if the department found them satisfactory, they would be called in for an interview. If the Head Auror liked what he saw, the person would be hired.
The two boys filled out their applications together, both excited at the prospect of starting the job they would have for the rest of their lives. Harry had known he would be an Auror for years; the job was a perfect fit for him. He liked to use magic, and he liked saving people.
A few days passed, and Harry found himself moved into Grimmauld Place. He resided in his usual room, not wishing to explore the house for other options. He would rather stay out of the building as much as possible. Because of that, he was spending most of his time out and about. Hermione had sent him an address of a possible flat, and he had visited it and loved it; he planned on moving into the apartment within the next ten days. It both felt quick and too far away.
Hermione had told him and Ron that she had been hard at work on translating Harry's books. "It's really quite fascinating," she told him in a floo chat. "A lot of the books are about ancient philosophers' findings and archeology. Your ancestors must have been interested in exploring."
Harry drank in all of her information, happy to know more about his family. No one had really told him anything about the Potters before; only that he looked exactly like his father, except for his eyes. He did not know really what his family was like, besides his parents; even then, not much was known about them. It gave him happiness to be able to think about his ancestors more than just what their last name was.
The three decided to meet up in Diagon Alley at the end of the next week to talk about the vaults. Hermione told the two boys that she had learned a lot and could not wait to tell them all about it. Ron and Harry were anxious for the information, and thus felt the time before Friday was slower than ever.
Sooner than Harry had expected, though, Friday came. The teen met up with Ron at the Leaky Cauldron; Hermione would be a little late, as she had a muggle doctor's appointment. She did not take too long, though. Hermione had brought her purple beaded bag; seeing it made the brunet laugh, because even though it looked small, he had found out it could fit pretty much anything.
"Is there anything you can't fit in there?" Harry asked the witch, nodding towards the container.
Hermione thought for a moment. "I suppose there is a weight limit on the featherlight charm, though it's quite strong…and I suppose things bigger than can fit in the bag could not physically get in there. That's why things need to be shrunk sometimes," she told him.
"It's brilliant," Ron told her. Hermione beamed at him.
"So," Harry started excitedly. "What have you found?"
"Well, I translated the markings on the vaults, for one. It was in Old English, and it's really rather foreboding." She pulled out a piece of paper and showed it to the two boys opposite from her. "Here it is. It's a rough translation, but it's fairly straightforward."
On the paper were the words: 'Hīe sceoldon nā forð tō þās duru cōmon, būton hīe sint blōd; hīe sceoldon þās arleasra forðfērdon.' (1)
Below it, in the same handwriting, said: he shall not come to this door, unless he is of blood; he shall die this wicked death.
Harry read the line a few times. "Spooky," he said to her. Ron nodded beside him.
"But Harry," the redhead said to him, "Hermione and I have been in the vaults before. We didn't die a wicked death!"
Hermione answered that. "I think it is referring to trying to open the vaults. I researched Gringotts vaults, and apparently it is common amongst rich pureblood families to have protective enchantments against intruders. But, if a person wants to let someone into his or her vault, he or she must give permission before letting them in; otherwise, they can be injured or killed."
Harry's eyebrows rose. "I guess it's good thing I said you guys could go, then, yeah?"
Hermione and Ron chuckled a little, nodding.
"So, what else did you find?" Harry asked the witch.
"I translated all of the books but I haven't had the chance to look through all of them properly yet," Hermione said. "I've gone through many of them though, to see what they're about. As I said before, your family seemed to have been quite interested in exploring and excavating. I think that's where a lot of the relics are from: adventuring and such."
Harry nodded. "Well, we could look at my copy of transactions and see when each book and relic was placed in there," he said. "That could tell us more about when they were found by my family and stuff."
Ron said, "I bet most of those things are really old."
Harry nodded. Thinking of how old the artifacts were brought a thought to him. "Hey, Hermione," Harry said. "Do you know where I could find a Potter family tree?"
"I'm sure there is one in your vaults, Harry," she told him. "The vault we visited had a lot of scrolls; maybe one is a family tree. We can check the next time we go to the vaults."
Harry thought that was a good idea.
The next day, the three visited the vault they had been to before. They looked through the many scrolls in the chamber and, sure enough, there was a large piece of parchment with the Potter family tree on it.
It was a large, older looking parchment that was very thick; it looked like it would be very expensive if bought new. The tree was rather large, and it had details such as birthdates and death dates, along with spouses and children of each person.
Hermione moved the other scrolls so they could lay the parchment on the large table and examine it. "Let's start at the bottom," she suggested. And they did.
Harry studied every detail on the tree, eager to learn more about his family. He found out his grandfather was named Andrew Potter (2), and he had lived until he was sixty. He noticed an increasing number of years lived before death as he read further up the tree. Some of his ancestors had lived to be in their hundreds.
"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, "look at this." She pointed to a name more toward the top of the tree. Harry looked at it and blinked, puzzled.
"I don't understand," he said.
The parchment showed an abrupt change between this name and the names below it. This man was the first Potter, though it did not say why. It was the only name written this way:
Ignotus Peverell:Ignotus Potter (3)
"He must have changed his name," Ron said. "I wonder why."
Harry looked to Hermione. "Have you ever head of this guy? Ignotus Potter? Or Peverell?"
Hermione thought for a moment before shaking her head. "I don't think so, Harry, but I can do some research tomorrow on it. I wonder why it happened," she said. "And look at this- he lived to be 376 years old. That's old, even for wizards."
Harry nodded, his mind whirling with questions that no one could yet answer.
Notes:
(1)- I used a list of Old English words to construct this sentence; I tried to use the correct forms of nouns and verbs, but it was hard because I am not too familiar with the way Old English is written. I tried to model it after a simple German sentence.
(2)- It has not been said what James Potter's father was named, so I decided his name was Andrew. It isn't too important for this story.
Update: From the Harry Potter Lexicon: "It is doubtful that Charlus is Harry's grandfather because Jo has told us that "James's parents were elderly, were getting on a little when he was born, which explains the only child, very pampered, had-him-late-in-life-so-he's-an-extra-treasure, as often happens, I think. They were old in wizarding terms, and they died." Dorea was only 57 when she died."
(3)- Ignotus Peverell is distantly related to Harry, according to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows; I have expanded on this in my story. The next few chapters will give more information on that. Also, I know that in the movies it showed Ignotus dying at age seventy-six, but I decided he would live longer.
I hope you liked the chapter; please tell me what you liked and didn't like in a review!
