The Slush File

by Jeffrey Vasquez

A collection of ideas that wouldn't leave me alone. I seriously doubt I'll flesh them out any more than they are, until after I finish my current projects.

4. Heir of Avalon 01

Author's Notes: This is my stab at Harry is Lord of..i (insert magical island/kingdom here). Kudos to Rorsch, who I blame wholeheartedly and with absolute admiration, for inspiring this idea. It's his fault tht I'm not finishing any of my other stuff...yeah.

Heir of Avalon 01

Augustine Bartholomew Antolios, the Lord Regent of Azkaban, strode through the massive gold doors of Gringotts London Branch early in the morning on the Tuesday, July thirtieth, unimpeded and unchallenged. Had the handful of Ministry employees he encountered on the way in, known who he was and just whom he happened to represent – even if that person had yet to be crowned, there was little doubt in his mind he would have quietly disappeared before crossing half the lobby.

Luckily, the Ministry was in an uproar at the moment. The current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was under direct fire from his constituents and his peers. There was talk of impeachment and even worse…criminal charges for his negligence and willful endangerment of the public.

As if that wasn't enough, the papers were in an uproar over the sightings of Dementors on the prowl and the general panic that was fallout from Voldemort breaching the holiest of holies of the Ministry of Magic. Had it not been for some timely photos, Augustine knew that Fudge would have had the whole event swept under the carpet. The subsequent article in the Quibbler pegged the whole thing as an "I-told-you-so" and dared the current administration to try and cover it up. Had he the time, Augustine would have giggled like a schoolgirl – sadly, he only managed a slight chuckle as he made his way up to an unoccupied teller.

As Lord Regent, his power and authority were, at best, ceremonial as far as his people were concerned. He was a member of the Council of Nine, with only the power to break ties in their debates and in passing new legislation for the few Azkabanni that remained tied to the islands of Caer Azkaban. He was saddened by this, yet had very little to say on the matter. The Council of Nine had capitulated to Cromwell's little revolution, during Charles the First's stupidity, after the Rump Parliament had the last Lord of Azkaban and the majority of his family assassinated.

Augustine's grandfather, the named Regent of the time, smuggled the last surviving daughter of the royal line out of the islands in the hands of a cook and footman loyal to the Throne. The pair disappeared into the Muggle world, leaving behind their families and friends. The youngest daughter of a scullery maid donned the appearance of the Princess and gave her life, as well as the life of her mother, to throw off pursuit.

Augustine's grandfather subsequently died under mysterious circumstances and the Regency fell to Augustine's father, who lived to the ripe old age of two hundred before passing the reigns of authority into Augustine's capable hands with but one command: find the lost bloodline and restore the People to their birthright.

Over the course of time, the Council of Nine stripped Augustine of his political power and sold themselves as whores to the various magical ministries throughout the world that bordered their territories. They allowed their people to be driven from the lands of their inheritance, scattered to the four winds, and loathed as thieves and oath-breakers throughout the world. In order to protect themselves the Azkabanni forsook their name and heritage, calling themselves the Rom. The Muggles developed many names for the wandering souls, but the most prevalent was gypsy.

Augustine was over one hundred and ninety four years old this year, but thanks to a Life Debt owed him by Nicholas Flamel and a judicious supply of the Elixir of Life, he didn't look a day over fifty. He had spent over one hundred and fifty years tracing the path of those brave servants, in an attempt to find the heir of Azkaban's throne. Two years ago, he verified the last surviving children of Azkaban's blood. Sadly, both seemed beyond his reach. One was a fugitive from the law, while the other was the wizarding world's youngest hero. Finding their whereabouts had been all but impossible; doing so without anyone knowing you were searching was nothing short of miraculous. Now, after years of searching, he had finally gotten a lead and he was going to milk it for all it was worth.

"May Jotumn favor your family and friends with good fortunes, profitable guardian." He bowed deeply at the waist, but did not lower his eyes. The goblin seemed unnerved that a wizard would invoke the name of a goblin deity, let alone use a formal greeting. Shocked or no, the teller quickly stood and returned the bow.

"May Gobbstank ward your dealings, noble Lord."

"Thank you. That is my hope as well." The Lord Regent smiled genuinely. "If it pleases you, I have an appointment with High Warden Nabbak and stand in need of a guide through the warrens to guard my path."

Augustine chose his words carefully, automatically deferring to the goblin rather than demanding his cooperation.

"It will be my honor to escort you, noble Lord."

The exchange ended there and the rest of the trip into the bowels of the bank was traveled in an economical silence. Goblins hated idle chit-chat. To them it was little more than frivolous and idiotic babbling, and felt that there were only certain venues where it was polite to discuss personal topics such as family and health. Most wizards could care less about goblin politics and even fewer had any real concept or understanding of their religion. Thus there really was no need for the usual banter that went along with the trip.

By the time Augustine had arrived at the High Warden's den, his escort was looking at him with something akin to awe…well as much as it was goblinly possible to show awe to a human. The Lord Regent furthered this impression by invoking a polite, if totally archaic, demonstration of gratitude to his escort.

"You do realize of course that the entire warren will be gossiping about you for the next fiscal quarter, don't you?" The High Warden Nabbak didn't look up from the ancient ledger he was studying. It was a large tome, literally the size of a man and as thick as a fat goblin.

"Of course." Augustine smiled impishly. "I'm laying seeds to germinate in my absence."

"For your King or for yourself?" Nabbak asked shrewdly as he pulled a large magnifying glass from thin air. The Lord Regent snorted as the goblin began to examine the tiny text of the book through the enchanted aid.

"You above all others should understand the symbiotic nature of my station. My popularity reflects on his Majesty's influence and vice versa."

Nabbak nodded.

"True. True. But I must know, are your intentions really that altruistic…or simply a means to an end?" Augustine looked slightly affronted. "Do not misunderstand my curiosity for a judgment, Lord Regent. Wizarding politics is often detrimental to good business."

The Lord Regent snorted again.

"So, in the asking you are looking out for the interests of your bank?"

"Quite the contrary, Augustine Antolios." The wizened goblin shook his head. "While your fledgling king has much to offer the Goblin Nation, it is not our investment that holds my interest at the moment. It is the welfare of an old friend."

"And what has you so concerned for my well being?"

Nabbak carefully marked his place in the ledger and stood from his desk. He slowly rounded and settled himself on a fat, black silk pillow that began to lift from the floor and float at eye level for Nabbak's guest. The goblin summoned a tea set of fine Chinese porcelain and began to pour.

"This wizardling that you have discovered is more than he appears. You know this and I know this." Nabbak passed a cup to the Azkabanni without looking up. "Many, with far more influence and practical experience than you and I, have tried to control him and failed. Their manipulations, subtle and overt, have been met with an unyielding determination. And their desired goals are always lost to them."

"I take it you speak of Voldemort?" Augustine asked seriously.

"Not only he, but Dumbledore, and the Ministry of Magic, and various other parties that skirt the major players in young Potter's life." Nabbak sighed. "When the Heritage Ritual is administered to him, I expect to see a strong noble bloodline backing him."

"But?" Augustine urged. He hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Nabbak at length about what the goblin had learned of Harry's ancestors.

"If what you have uncovered in his lineage is true, then you would be a fool to cross him, Augustine Antolios." The rebuke was blunt and to the point, true to goblin decorum. "The boy is Greatness. The signs are there, for those who wish to see, and I can guarantee you that the ritual will name him many things…things that are both surprising and fearful to everyone."

"What kinds of things?" The Lord Regent set his tea down with trembling hands.

The goblin glared at him.

"I skirt the line of propriety by simply having this discussion with you, Lord Regent. I cannot and will not betray my station any further. We will present him with the Black and Potter inheritances through Black's solicitor this afternoon. Should he desire to partake of our hospitality, we shall all know for certain one way or another, tomorrow afternoon."

"Surely, at the very least, you can give me some hint of what I am dealing with."

"The laws are plain, Lord Regent." Nabbak shook his head. "I cannot disclose any information protected by the client privilege treaty. I will not cross the Taakekaach. Not for you, or anyone else in this world…goblin or otherwise."

"The Taakekaach…." Augustine's whole body shivered visibly. "You are certain?"

There was a desperate quality to his whisper.

"I will say nothing more on the subject Lord Regent." The goblin said with finality. The High Warden lifted his cup and sipped his tea.

"The Taakekaach!" The Lord Regent slumped into the chair and stole a look at the goblin, but found nothing but stoic silence.

Prophesy, regardless of the race giving it, was a tricky thing. More often than not, it was self-fulfilling, but there were times, when the predictions were so vague and symbolic that their fulfillment could come and go without notice. Some prophetic myths had risen after the fall of Atlantis and continued to thrive in the various magical communities. Each race had their own magical savior, buried in their annuals or revered openly in their everyday religious ceremonies. The Taakekaach was the goblin harbinger of chaos, the catalyst for change and rebirth. The warrior figure was at best the reason for the multitude of rebellions the goblins undertook; a being that would shake the foundations of the world and usher in an age of unequalled prosperity for the Golden Folk.

Goblin history was filled with a number of false prophets claiming to be this feared and revered figure, but none had the true power and scope to fulfill the prophesies of the Taakekaach. The significance of Nabbak naming a non-goblin as the fabled harbinger was not lost on Augustine.

"Myrddinson for true." Augustine shook his head in disbelief.

"I beseech you as a friend. Do not toy with the Lord-Baron when he comes into his power tomorrow, Augustine." Nabbak's voice was heavy with caution. "It will be the end of you if you do."

"Had it come from anyone but you, Nabbak Platinumfingers, I would have scoffed and been on my way." The Azkabanni stared at the goblin for a very long time before shaking his head with dark mirth. "I will heed your counsel."

The goblin nodded and summoned a plate of chocolate truffles. He offered Augustine first pick but was declined.

"Tell me, High Warden. Do you think he will be able to unlock the Nine Gates?"

Nabbak swallowed his truffle with a mouthful of tea before answering.

"I feel it terribly foolish to underestimate the boy. Both Voldemort and Dumbledore have, and the child has surprised them at every turn." He snatched up another truffle and popped in his mouth. "In the end, it would be one way to fulfill his role as Taakekaach. Truly, there is only one way to find out."

Augustine nodded thoughtfully.

"At the very least you have the Extremus Parvulus as a starting point." Nabbak smiled lecherously.

"That accounts only for two wives, my dear Goblin; and current trends in both wizarding and muggle Britain being what they are, I sincerely doubt his morality will allow for seven more."

"What is morality in the face of tradition?" Nabbak shrugged. "According to all texts, both Lord Emrys and Lord Ambrosius had quite the harems."

"True, but those were different times, weren't they? The only way to marry him to seven more women would be to manipulate him into it – and you just counseled me against toying with his Majesty."

"That I did. That I did." Nabbak plucked up another truffle. "But I am not telling you to manipulate him as Dumbledore does. The Taakekaach is no one's puppet."

"Then what would you have me do?"

"Follow the Goblin Way, Lord Antolios. Be brutally honest while playing off of his desires." Nabbak grinned toothily. "What is it Lord Potter-Black needs most in his life right now?"

"Control. Freedom. Without meeting him face to face, I am uncertain really."

"From whom and from what does he seek these things?" Nabbak urged.

"Dumbledore, the Ministry, Voldemort, and if the rumors from the Department of Mysteries are true…apparently a prophesy."

"The first two are easily addressed. Sirius Black's last wishes will free him of one and his newfound titles and political power will give him the means to be done with the other." The High Warden poured Augustine a fresh cup of tea as he continued. "The prophesy, whatever it says, will care for itself; leaving only Voldemort."

"And the means to deal with him, no doubt hides behind the Nine Gates." Augustine concluded with a sigh. "Somehow, I am feeling less in control of my life than when I woke this morning."

"Agents of Prophesy are ever shadowed by doubt, old friend. Do not think about it overmuch. Ask yourself if this course feels right. It is all that you can do."

"And if it is?"

"Accept that your choice to follow this path will usher in a new age of enlightenment and prosperity."

"And what of my agency?" The Lord Regent snarled in frustration.

"It is a gift that you give to your progeny, Augustine." Nabbak set his teacup down. "There are no guarantees that Harry Potter-Black will be the one to open the Nine Gates. There is nothing to say that he is the true Taakekaach either. In the end, we must all walk by faith and conviction…regardless of what signs and portents we see in the stars."

"In youth, hope springs eternal." Augustine lifted his cup in toast to his goblin friend.

"Then may we be forever young." Nabbak touched his cup to the man's with a light clink, before draining his tea. He lifted the plate of sweets with another toothy grin. "Truffle?"

The Lord Regent allowed a carefree smile to split his face as he accepted.

"Think you're so damn smart, do you?"

Harry Potter had weathered the tempest known as Vernon Dursley for as long as he could remember. He was a blustery and loud sort, but had only occasionally resorted to violence. There had been a few incidents, most during the summer months where the results of his rage wouldn't be too obvious. Today though, Harry knew that his uncle was building up a major squall.

The thing that made this encounter different from past experiences was the cold and calculating manner in which the man was speaking. Vernon's temper had been on a slow build since the day Harry had gotten off the train and Harry was certain that it wasn't going to blow over easily. There was none of the accustomed yelling or frothing at the mouth – there was just a great deal of mumbling and the occasional clear phrase or epitaph.

Harry, who had faced down a twenty four meter basilisk at the age of twelve, was starting to feel a clenching in his gut that he'd only associated with life or death situations. It was definitely not the type of excitement that one would enjoy on the day before their sixteenth birthday.

Things might not have been so bad, had the well meaning members of the Order left well enough alone. Sadly for Harry, they continued to leave small reminders for the Dursleys in odd and unobtrusive places…places that Harry's relatives were sure to see them. It had begun with a small note appearing before Petunia at the kitchen table, politely suggesting that she add a little more meatloaf to his plate. Other notes had been found charmed to mirrors, nestled in Petunia's knickers or tucked in Vernon's socks. Harry had almost busted a gut when all of the pictures in one of Dudley's porn rags had suddenly been replaced with "Be nice to Harry" notices. The Boy-Who-Lived didn't really know who to blame these reminders on, but he knew that the twins had to have a hand in it. Still, it didn't really help the tension in the house at all.

There was murder in Vernon's eyes every morning at breakfast, and the man's face had adopted a consistent, nasty shade of purple when dinner arrived. The constant anger couldn't be good for the man's health, and Harry had made certain to write the Order to tell them to back off…for all the good that it did. The notes had slowed significantly from daily occurrences to one every three days, but their placement began to get more and more creative. For example, today's notice had been a reminder that Harry's birthday was tomorrow. The fact that it was printed on every roll of toilet paper in the house didn't go over too well. Harry could tell that simply enough from the way the steering wheel groaned every time Vernon made a turn or adjusted his drift. Still, being frog marched out of the house and into a store for new clothes hadn't been so bad. That was, until they returned to the car and found that Petunia's skirt had been charmed to have little floating cakes and dancing house elves that serenaded the family with a screeching rendition of the happy birthday song. Petunia promptly fainted and the purple on Vernon's face was getting darker and darker.

Harry's instincts were screaming that this was not a safe place to be. Regardless of the danger in the air, and in spite of the fact that his intuition was demanding for him to escape, Harry knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to avoid what was coming. Even if he wanted to dodge the man's rage, where on Earth could he possibly escape to? He was trapped at Privet Drive until Dumbledore and the Order felt it safe enough to move him. Harry wondered if he would ever feel truly safe again.

A seed of mistrust, long ago planted in his mind, sunk another root. Dumbledore could supposedly protect him from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but he did nothing to protect Harry from the wrath of his own family. In truth, it seemed to the young Gryffindor that Dumbledore's Order, for all of their good intentions, was doing more to place his life in danger than the Death Eaters. No, these people…and most especially Albus Dumbledore…were doing nothing to bolster Harry's confidence in their ability to protect him and save the wizarding world. There were so many little things which, when added up, made Harry wonder if Dumbledore really wanted him to survive his eventual encounter with Voldemort.

During the quiet moments he'd managed to steal from Umbridge and the rest of the madness, Harry had silently wondered just how effective the wards were supposed to be now that Voldemort had his blood. It was one of many puzzle pieces in Harry's life that weren't fitting together very well, and it had lead him to examine the many other inconsistencies in Dumbledore's story.

Unfortunately, from the way Vernon's teeth were now grinding, he doubted that he was going to survive long enough to solve this new puzzle.

"Couldn't keep your mouth shut could you? You had to open your mouth and start spouting lies about us!"

The car screeched to a halt in the drive of number four and Vernon wasted no time in setting the emergency brake so that he could backhand Harry into Dudley. The obese whale took the opportunity afforded him and used what leverage he could to launch a punch that sent Harry's head into the passenger window. Dudley wasted no time in falling on Harry again and wrapped his meaty hands around his cousin's throat. A violent cadence built between Harry's head bouncing off the window and the counter beat of Vernon's fist slamming into the side of the young wizard's face.

Through the haze of pain and the blood pounding in his ears, Harry could hear his aunt screaming at the pair to stop. It was a useless gesture really; there was blood in the water and now that Vernon and Dudley had a way to vent years of frustrations, they weren't going to stop until Harry was a smear on the upholstery.

Harry refused to go down without a fight and managed to put his weight behind a wicked kick that would end the Dursley line for good. It cost him a terrible hit to the head that shattered the already bloody window, but it gave him enough of a reprieve to fumble blindly for the door handle. Sadly, the pain and his concussion made it nearly impossible to open the door fast enough. While Dudley squealed and whimpered in his agony, Vernon leapt from the driver's seat and ran around the back of the car. Petunia tried to head him off, but was shoved to the ground for her troubles.

The door was ripped open and Harry was dragged from the back seat by his bloody hair. He hit the ground at a drag and was tugged and yanked out into the grass. Vernon displayed that he was wearing steel-toed shoes today and wondered if all of this hadn't been planned from the beginning. Vernon certainly parted with his money easily enough – there had been only a token grumble here and there now that Harry thought about it.

He could hear Petunia's voice calling out again as if from a great distance, this time it sound like something between a hissed whisper and a scream. Even now, here in the fading light of the evening and on the front lawn in full view of the neighbors, she was trying her damnedest to put on airs for the other busybodies of Privet Drive.

The woman made him sick. All of this made him sick. He was tired of not fighting back, so he did the only thing that he could think of in the hazy fog his mind had become. He went limp.

He allowed his body to become dead weight in order to counter his attacker's momentum; even though it caused his head to scream as his hair came out at the root in his uncle's fist. Still, it had the desired effect of slowing the brute down and making him turn his attention back to Harry. That in and of itself gave the young wizard all the leverage he needed. As Vernon turned to gather another handful of hair, or quite possibly kick his nephew in the ribs, Harry twisted into the grip and planted his feet underneath him. He immediately pushed off the ground and into Vernon's knees, causing a sickly "Pop!" that made Petunia squeak and cover her mouth.

At the least it shut her up. Harry thought an expression of relief passed over his uncle's face for an instant, but the pasty color he had turned might have made him see things. That or maybe it was the blood in his eyes. Either way, he was really impressed that the bloated walrus wasn't on the ground screaming. He was just rolling on the ground cursing violently at Harry, regaling the poor boy's concussed mind with all the physically impossible tortures he had in store for him once he was on his feet again. Not for the first time, Harry wondered where his Order guard was.

Harry would have laughed if his head didn't ache so. Never had he felt an epiphany hit him as hard as it did in that moment. Then again, it just as well might have been Dudley's right hook to the side of his head that caused everything to fall into stark focus.

The Order wasn't coming, and they never would. He was on his own, just as he had been since Dumbledore left Harry on this very doorstep fourteen plus years ago. Sure he had reliable people in his camp: Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, the Twins, and Remus. Tonks seemed pretty cool last he'd seen of her, and maybe Moody – he could never be too sure around the old Auror, which was probably exactly what the grizzled old codger wanted. Arthur and Molly were also a possibility, but they were more like surrogate parents which generally had them falling on the wrong side of things in Harry's book.

Anyone else…well, they were just a happy bonus weren't they?

As Dudley began to pound Harry's face to mush, the young wizard wondered at the fact that well over half of the people he could count on were minors. Minors that had certainly survived last month at the Ministry, but how much of that was actually luck and how much of it was due to the fact that Voldemort's moron's hadn't been actively trying to kill them outright?

Harry ignored the pain his face was in and grabbed Dudley's ears. Yanking down as hard as he could, Harry crushed Duddikin's nose with his forehead then kneed the blubbering whale in the groin again with as much force as he could muster. If the first shot hadn't cured the world of the Dursley plague, the second surely did. Harry's cousin went limp, groaning and coughing as he rolled weakly to the side, allowing Harry the opportunity to free himself and stagger to his feet. That was when Petunia threw pretenses to the four winds and started clawing his face and smacking and kicking him towards Vernon.

Weak and foggy, Harry didn't realize his dire predicament until it was too late. One moment he was standing and the next he was on his back with Vernon's hands squeezing at his throat. Harry did his best to claw, kick, punch, and strike at what vulnerable areas were available, but Vernon just ignored him and applied more pressure. Harry thought he saw flashing lights and possibly heard a siren through the rushing blood in his ears, but he couldn't be sure. All that he knew for certain was that the world was graying around him and he felt really, really light for some reason.

Nymphadora Tonks, though only a two year rookie on the force, had become something of a force of nature amongst the ranks of the British Ministry of Magic's Auror Corps. Most wouldn't remember her sorting at Hogwarts, but those few that did could tell you that she had taken just as much time to sort as Harry Potter. She was ambitious and cunning, but frightfully intelligent and observant as well. She had a thirst for adventure that wouldn't quit, but would die for those few friends she allowed herself to have.

When she came under the Hat's judgment, she had taken a lesson from her mother's stories of cousin Sirius and asked to be placed in a house where she could have fun and find life-long friends. Surprisingly enough, she was placed in Hufflepuff, where she met Hestia Jones and Emmaline Vance. They were the Golden Trio of her graduating class, making almost as much mischief as Harry, Ron, and Hermione did…only with fewer lives hanging in the balance.

When the three graduated, they remained close, and it was on Tonks' recommendation that they joined the Order of the Phoenix when Dumbledore approached her for membership. They had each taken their turns in guarding Harry Potter after the Tri-Wizard Tounrament but, ever since Mundungus Fletcher's idiocy last summer, Tonks had been paired with the drunken thief as a babysitter of sorts. Considering the events of June, she was somewhat glad to have a partner – even one as worthless as Dung. Knowing that she wasn't alone out here made the pain and emptiness she was feeling easier to bear.

She felt like such a failure. Between the failed duel with her psycho aunt and Sirius' death at Bellatrix' wand, she was truly wondering if she had what it took to be an Auror. It was truly a surprise that Remus had demanded that Dumbledore pair her up for this shift to guard Harry, considering all that the man had lost because of her. Still it was nice to know that someone still had faith in her.

The sound of raised voices in the front yard drew her attention, but it was the sound of Vernon Dursley's roar of pain that made her jump to her feet and run to the front. What she came upon made her blood boil.

The chaos that Privet Drive had become was something that seemed to have come directly from "Monty Python's Flying Circus" or perhaps a tame version of "The Benny Hill Show" – both had multitudes of people engaged in all types of stupidity and frequent displays of violence. Toss in a flash of knickers or a grope or two from perverted old men and you had the fall out from Harry's beating.

Many of the neighbors would look back on that day with wonder, blathering about the black limousine, the mysterious SUVs, helicopters, strange cultists, and the ambulance that came and whisked Privet Drive's scapegoat away. The rather vicious beating the boy had received on the front lawn would be whispered about with concern and shame, but even so nothing beyond generalities would be remembered or spoken of. They wouldn't remember that magic had been involved, or the fact that Dudley Dursley had been turned into a rather large hog. They wouldn't remember the strange young woman with multicolored hair cursing as she and a black lump of old cloth rags were dumped none too gently into the back of the SUVs.

No, in the days ahead the gossip would focus on the mystery of Harry Potter and his connection to the expensive limousine with the odd crest on it. Speculation would run rampant for weeks and weeks until, at last, the urban legend of Harry Potter, the bastard Prince of Whales was born in the parlor of number seven.

His infamy, much to his mortification, would eventually be just as widespread in the Muggle world, as it was in the Magical.

Harry woke to throbbing pain. His body was sore, he had a massive migraine, and he felt incredibly weak. Opening his eyes wasn't even an option at the moment, so he contented himself with using his other senses to feed him the information he needed. The sound of a heart monitor's beeping, the muffled sound of a voice paging a Dr. Ghanji, and the acrid smell of disinfectant told him enough to determine he was in a hospital.

The antiseptic scent and the frigid cold brought back memories of his last visit to a Muggle hospital; strangely enough, it was one of his brighter memories. He had been a six year old bundle of nerves, sporting a broken forearm, and doing his best to hide his anxiety from everyone present as he explained the circumstances of his break to the ER nurse. He distinctly remembered the giant shadow of Uncle Vernon looming over her shoulder, mouthing the prepared lie in time with Harry to make certain he got it right.

Looking back on the event, Harry knew that the woman hadn't believed a word of his tale. He wasn't sure who would believe a story that had a kid as scrawny as Harry trying to push someone of Dudley's stature out of the second story window, only to miss and fall out himself. If Vernon had been just a bit more intelligent, he would have come up with something more plausible, like the stairs or something. Claiming that the Dursley's were intelligent was something of a stretch though, which of course explained the presence of the police detective, and the lady with the candy and the camera that came in later with the doctor.

She had been really nice and given Harry a stuffed dog with black fur after their long talks about his rough nights in the cupboard and life in general with the Dursley's. They named him Lancelot, and she promised that he would guard Harry from the nightmares and the thunder. Lancelot…wow. He hadn't thought of Lancelot in years. The poor toy hadn't even survived the first weekend back – Dudley saw to that. The little tub of lard whined and threw a tantrum until Aunt Petunia simply yanked Lancelot from Harry's good arm and gave it to her son. When Harry protested, she spanked him and made him stand in a corner for the rest of the afternoon.

Dudley made certain that he was in a spot that Harry could see easily enough, and then he proceeded to dismember Lancelot stitch by stitch as Harry looked on. When Petunia passed by her beastly son, she simply asked what he was doing as Dudley went about yanking out Lancelot's stuffing. Dudley had mumbled something about being a "dog doctor" and earned himself a pat on the head for being so clever. Once Dudley lost interest in his "patient" Lancelot was little more than fluff and material. Petunia came into the room an hour later and forced Harry to clean everything up. Lancelot's coffin was the kitchen trash bin. His funeral service was had as Harry carried the trash out to the curb two days later.

Merlin! Harry hated the Dursleys!

As the memories of that time washed over him, Harry was left wondering why the Dursley's hadn't been punished. It didn't make sense that they had gotten off. The more he thought about the last visit, the more he remembered. The police officer taking pictures of his arm and back, had asked a lot of questions about how he'd gotten that little scar on his left shoulder. The fact that it looked distinctly like a belt buckle didn't fit with the story that Harry made up, and with that type of evidence Harry was certain that the Dursley's should have been arrested.

The sound of muted voices caused him to still, in the hopes of gathering some much needed information.

"…worse. As his godfather's solicitor, you are of course within your rights to get a second diagnosis."

The man's voice was a rich baritone, and filled with the authority that seemed to come with being a doctor. Harry felt a bit on edge with the idea that someone claiming to be Sirius' solicitor was in the same room with him. Witch or wizard, he had no real way to protect himself against an attack if these people were Riddle's people. He calmed himself as best he could and contented himself to listen to the conversation. He would worry about defending himself if the situation presented itself.

"Have you already taken pictures?" Harry was a bit taken back to hear a woman's voice, but the calm professionalism she spoke with told him that this was not a person to cross.

"Yes." The doctor paused and Harry could almost see him nodding. "When we found a series of old scars that suggested a long history of abuse, we began documenting everything we could find – from the scar on his forehead to the imprint of the belt buckle on his right buttock."

Harry cringed and blushed a bit at that.

"It is in our final report and once we have Doctor Webber's input, we'll be filing with the CPS rep."

"I hope I didn't offend Doctor Smythe." The woman's voice held a bit of a smile to it. "I don't mean to tell you how to do your job. I just want to make this stick. The poor young man has had to suffer enough at the hands of these people; I just want to see justice done."

"You and me both, Ms. Thornburrow. You and me both." Doctor Smythe paused and Harry felt the hair on his good arm and the back of his neck tingle, and knew that they were looking at him. He lay as still as he could and regulated his breathing to remain relaxed. "Will you need me to stay Doctor Webber?"

"No. But thank you for the offer Doctor Smythe."

The third voice reminded Harry of Dumbledore. It was aged and cultured, with a hint of warmth and openness that invited a smile in those listening to him. That alone put Harry more on edge than before.

"Will there be a problem with me staying, Doctor?" The solicitor had crossed the room and was now at Harry's bedside. "I'd like to take my own notes."

"Considering the circumstances, I don't see why not. But in the interest of patient privacy, I'll have to ask your assistant to step outside."

"That's fine. Rebecca, please accompany Doctor Smythe and see about getting copies of the photos for our records."

"Yes, Ms. Thornburrow." At the sound of the young and decidedly…chocolaty voice, Harry felt tempted to open his eyes. Thankfully the young woman left with Doctor Smythe quickly and soon enough, the sound of the heavy door to the room clicked shut, leaving him alone with Doctor Webber and Ms. Thornburrow. Harry tensed reflexively as a soft hand brushed the bangs of his hair free from his eyes.

"It's okay Mr. Potter, you're among friends." Harry snorted, but refrained from speaking. "For what it's worth, Snuffles told me to thank you for 'turning back time' for him."

Harry couldn't help but open his eyes at that, but immediately cursed and started blinking at the sudden brightness.

"Easy now." The woman's hands brushed across his face lightly relaxing him a bit, and the light in the room dimmed noticeably. "There's no need to push too hard just yet. Right now, all I need you to do is relax and let Healer Webber get his diagnosis out of the way."

"How…" Harry croaked. His throat was raw, making it difficult to speak. "How can I trust you?"

"Moody would be very proud of your 'vigilance' were he here." Healer Webber chuckled.

"So you're with Dumbledore?" Harry growled. He opened his eyes and was finally able to put faces with the voices he'd been hearing.

Ms. Thornburrow was a petite, yet generously proportioned woman. Her curves, as dangerous as they were, weren't half as striking as her sky blue eyes. Her shoulder length black hair framed her gently smiling face perfectly, and something in him told Harry that Sirius had cared deeply for this woman.

Healer Webber, in contrast, was as tall as Dumbledore, but much broader in the shoulder. His head was balding, and what little hair he had left was peppered – mostly white, but with a few dark brown streaks here and there. His eyes had permanent laugh lines and his mouth was pushed up in a perpetual smile.

"No, Mr. Potter. We are agents unto ourselves." Healer Webber stepped up on the other side of the bed and motioned to his companion. "Go on and give him his wand Gillian. We don't have a great deal of time before the interested parties find out which hospital Mr. Potter was taken to. And I don't know about you, but I would rather be somewhere else should Mr. Moldyshorts and the Headpester decide to raid the hospital."

He grinned and winked at Harry, who couldn't help but smile a bit in return. To Harry's relief, the healer didn't start his scan until the young man had firm grip on his wand and gave him permission to begin. As Webber cast his spell, a quill and scroll appeared in front of the healer and began scribbling notes, presumably on everything that was wrong with him. Harry watched with interest as the healer's head bobbed thoughtfully, but when Webber's eyes bulged he couldn't help but feel a little worried. For his part, Healer Webber finished the scan without any further signs of distress.

"Mr. Potter…" The healer dismissed the quill and sealed the scroll with a tap before handing it to Ms. Thornburrow, with instructions to read it later. When he turned his full attention back to Harry, his face was an emotionless mask of professionalism. This sudden shift worried Harry even more.

"Yes?"

"Can you please tell me how it is that you are still alive?"

"Uhm…just lucky I guess?"

"Lucky my arse!" Healer Webber snorted and shook his head. "My good man, you are a walking impossibility."

"What's wrong with me?"

"What's wrong, he says." Webber summoned a chair and sat down next to the bed. "To begin with, you have enough basilisk venom in your system to kill a hundred men."

"Oh. That." Harry smiled at the flummoxed expression on the healer's face. Something told him that it was a rare experience that should be cherished. Sirius' solicitor simply collapsed to the floor with a thud. To her credit she didn't faint, but her eyes were decidedly glazed.

"'Oh, that?' How can you be so cavalier about something so…so…severe?" Ms. Thornburrow squawked from the floor.

"Well, I am a little surprised." Harry motioned to the pitcher of water near his bed, and Healer Webber poured him a small cup before he and Ms. Thornburrow helped him to sit up. Harry drank it carefully, relishing in the soothing coolness.

"Why are you surprised?" Webber asked.

"I thought for sure that the phoenix tears that Fawkes cried into the wound would have dealt with the poison."

"Fawkes?" Thornburrow raised an eyebrow.

"Dumbledore's phoenix." Harry took another sip and winced as his head began pounding again. "So, is that all that's wrong with me?"

"Beyond your infamous scar and your oddly toxic blood, I'm confident that we can fix the rest of you up in a couple of minutes." Webber rolled his neck and shook his head. "It might make you more than a little tired, but in the end you will be back up and marauding about in no time."

Harry winced and tried to suppress the emptiness the healer's words called up in him.

"Before we go forward with anything else, I have some important business to address with you Mr. Potter."

The solicitor conjured her own chair and cast a locking charm on the door. Harry watched nervously as she tapped the right pocket of her suit jacket and reached inside after it stopped glowing. The small briefcase she pulled out was enlarged and set to floating before her like a desk.

"Your godfather came to me in secret at the beginning of your fourth year, and drew up a number of contingency plans to care for you in the event of his capture or death." She gripped his shoulder lightly and Harry made it a point to push his grief away. This was neither the time, nor the place to break down. He nodded for her to continue. "After determining his innocence through various methods, we came up with a way to track his status. Upon learning of his death, a number of those plans were immediately set in motion. One of these plans was to be your formal adoption as Sirius' son and heir. He originally meant to present this to you last Christmas, but he chickened out."

Harry looked stricken, but still managed a weak smile.

"Sirius wanted to be certain that you knew first and foremost that you were the son he'd always wished for, however there were other reasons for him to perform the adoption."

"What reasons?" Harry asked thickly.

"Forgive me if this sounds crass, but it would protect the Black Estate from falling in the hands of people Sirius felt were unworthy of it." She shifted uncomfortably.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Among others. The Lestranges couldn't inherit, but the Carrows could make a grab."

"I assume the Carrows aren't on Santa's nice list."

"You would assume correctly." The solicitor smiled. "They aren't quite as well off as the Malfoy family, but they have enough to cause trouble."

"Something they excel at." Webber shook his head sadly.

Harry nodded. It figured that the rest of Sirius's family would be nasty bastards. The only good ones of the bunch were Sirius and the Tonks family, and since they had been disinherited they weren't eligible for an inheritance. Harry frowned and shook his head. There was no way that he was going to let those vultures get their hands on Sirius' stuff.

"I would be stupid not to accept. Let's do this." Harry smiled sadly as the solicitor nodded. "So, how does the adoption work?"

"Blood adoption is pretty archaic, but it is one of the only blood rituals that still remain legal in Wizarding Britain. It's a fairly simple rite to perform…"

She pulled a jade bowl inlaid with runes made from pearls and opals, and a bone syringe covered in more strange symbols that Harry didn't recognize, from her briefcase and laid it on the tray that Webber had wheeled in front of Harry. Ms. Thornburrow followed these items with a silver vial capped with a copper stopper.

"We draw blood from you and mix it with blood that Sirius donated to the cause." She tapped the vial with her finger. "His blood has a number of spells on it that will bind it to your blood. And if the ritual is successful, you will become his son in both blood and magic."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"Will this have any other effects, and will the poison in my blood cause any problems?"

"Over all," Webber interjected. "…I have no clue how your blood will react. It's a highly charged magical substance now. But, if I were to guess, I would suspect that the phoenix tears are canceling the poison out. There shouldn't be any problems with the ritual, but who can say?"

"Great." Harry moaned. "And the other effects?"

"Generally speaking, there have been instances in the past, where the adopted person will take on some of the genetic dispositions of the adoptive parent. Genetically it could be something as drastic as a change in eye color, or something as benign as adding a bit of color to the hair. Magically speaking, depending on the person donating their blood, the recipient will inherit gifts that run in the family."

"Increase in magic?" Harry asked.

"Not unheard of, but incredibly remote." Harry nodded. "Overall, the changes tend to follow the dominant traits. Physically, I can see you growing an inch or two and maybe gain some control over that unruly mop on your head. Being as strong magically as you are, you will probably not gain much. The only way to be certain would be to check with a Genopath."

"Genopath?" Harry asked. The solicitor smiled and waved.

"I can answer that one. A Genopath is someone who deals with magically tracing bloodlines and the blood gifts that follow those lines." Ms. Thornburrow closed the briefcase and set it beside her on the floor. "I am a licensed Genopath, and if you're open to it, once we're done with the adoption we'll head over to Gringott's."

"Why there?" Harry asked.

"Its where pretty much all of the heritage rituals are held for Great Britain, and they already have all of the facilities and necessary components on hand." She proceeded to roll up his sleeve and, after putting on a handy pair of surgical gloves, picked up the bone syringe. "Considering how close we are to your birthday, the results of the ritual should be impressive. Are you ready for this?"

Harry nodded and winced as she touched the tip of the syringe to his skin. Amazingly, there was no pain…just a tugging sensation. He opened an eye and watched as blood seemed to flow out of his arm and fountain into the bowl. The whole procedure was over in a blink of an eye. He watched avidly as she popped the stopper on the vial and poured Sirius' blood into the bowl. The mixture bubbled violently for a moment, and to the amazement of those watching something unusual happened. A phoenix, composed entirely of blood, flew out of the bowl as the head of an equally crimson basilisk surged upward after it.

Ms. Thornburrow shrieked and jumped out of her chair, while Healer Webber cursed and took to his feet brandishing his wand at the bowl. They all watched in wonder as the shape of a very familiar dog leapt from the blood and onto the head of the King of Serpents and began helping the phoenix. Harry couldn't keep the tears at bay as a stag and a tiger joined the dog in the battle. The contents of the bowl began to glow as another creature surged out of the liquid to join the fight. Harry wasn't certain who the griffin represented, but he had an idea…one that left him feeling warm and comforted.

In no time at all, the basilisk was defeated, the blood stilled, and the ceremonial bowl began to glow with a soft golden light. Ms. Thornburrow sighed with no little relief and settled back into her chair. She carefully picked up the syringe and tapped it against the side of the bowl. Harry watched uncertainly as she pressed it against his arm again. The blood arched from the bowl and back into his veins. It was one of the strangest feelings he'd ever experienced, but it was over soon enough.

"Well, that was certainly eventful." Webber grinned as he ran another diagnosis on Harry's blood. He double checked the results and shook his head. "Interesting."

"What?" Harry demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Webber paused and cocked his head. "Nothing is wrong per say. The venom is still there but it, along with the phoenix tears, has bonded completely with your blood."

"What does that mean?"

"You want the truth?" Harry nodded urgently. "I have absolutely no idea."

Harry growled and fingered his wand. The healer held up his hands in surrender.

"Bear with me, Mr. Potter."

"Lord-Baron." Ms. Thornburrow corrected. Harry's attention shifted to her, making the solicitor fidget nervously.

"Call me Harry. Both of you." The young man countered. His patience was becoming more and more frayed the longer this drug out. He was getting hit by too many things at once, and it was starting to show. "Harry or Mr. Potter, nothing else."

"Yes, er…well Harry, you have to understand that this is a unique event. I have no precedent to work from." The healer sighed and cast another diagnostic spell. "Without more time to study this, I can't say for certain what the outcome will be."

"Best guess then."

"I have no way of knowing where to start. It's hard enough to get an accurate diagnosis on your core as it is, add this into the mix and there's just no way to predict the potential effects without more time and study. Besides, blood disorders have never been my specialty."

"Why?" Harry asked distractedly.

"It's never really interested me…."

"Not the blood!" Harry barked. "My core! Why can't you get a good reading on my core?"

Ms. Thornburrow carefully gathered up her bowl and syringe and replaced them in her briefcase as the mobile table began to rattle. Webber sighed and cast a silencing charm over the door and walls of the room, then folded his hands in his lap before answering.

"There are a series of wards and locks around your core, binding the flows of magic."

"WHAT!" The room itself began to quake and furniture began to dance in tune with Harry's anger. Webber stood quickly and cast a sedation charm on Harry. It didn't put him to sleep as it should, but it calmed him considerably.

"Please let me explain this in full, Harry, before letting yourself get too angry." Harry nodded, but the muscles in his jaw were knotted and his teeth were grinding audibly. "The initial binding is old, probably put in place by your mother or father when you were a baby. It happens and is perfectly legal. Some children are exceptionally strong magically, and parents have to take precautions against accidental magic. Can you see the benefit of doing this?"

Harry nodded again. Accidental magic was sometimes as dangerous to the child as it was to those around him. Binding the power until the magic could be controlled seemed the responsible thing to do.

"Good. Now then, from what I can see, your core has many wards and bindings layered one atop the other. The spell work is exceptional, but…well it would be best to show you a visualization. There's just no way to describe it well enough to do the topic justice."

With a wave of his wand, Webber created a three dimensional representation of Harry's core. On the one hand, it was a beautiful thing to behold. The colors were gorgeous and the way ribbons of magic seemed to pulse and fly free of the main core reminded Harry of pictures he'd seen of the sun when it flared. On the other hand, there were thick bands of blue-gray magic wrapped around the core, containing the growth and freedom of his magic. Seeing it represented in this manner gave clarity to a sensation…a pressure that he'd never really acknowledged before.

There were more than a dozen bands, and even more runic chains, but he could see that they weren't as strong as they looked. They weren't holding back the growth as well as he knew they should. More and more ribbons were slipping free even as he watched the visualization.

"Take them off." His voice was cold, a testament to his emotional control.

"If I could Harry, I would. However, the complexity of these spells is beyond my ability." He smiled apologetically. "I could take a few off to lessen the pressure, but I doubt that you would want them to come off all at the same time anyway."

"Why is that?" Harry was surprised at how detached he suddenly felt.

"The best way to think about it…" Webber waved his wand again, bringing up an image of a dam, complete with spillway. "…to relieve pressure on a dam, you open the flood gates and ease the strain little by little. If you do it all at once…"

"It floods the surrounding area beyond its capacity to handle." Harry finished with a nod.

"Exactly. Your magic, if suddenly freed from the bindings would rush out in a deluge of wild, uncontrollable power." The dam illusion broke flooding the area of the spillway in a violent torrent of water. "At best, you damage the area around you with accidental magic. At worst, your magic burns out, killing yourself and anyone near you."

"Can you tell who did this to me?" Harry gripped the sheets, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from someone else.

"Albus Dumbledore. These spells have his signature all over them." Harry nodded and slumped against his pillow. Ms. Thornburrow took his good hand into her own and squeezed it comfortingly.

"I want you to understand something, Harry." Webber's ever present smile vanished from his face. "Binding of a magical core beyond the seventh year of a child is a criminal offense for anyone except certified Healers, and even then they are only administered by a triad under the most dire of circumstances."

"What happens to someone caught doing this?" Harry couldn't help but be curious. It wasn't that he wanted revenge, but understanding the big picture seemed to be helping him deal with things. Ms. Thornburrow stroked the back of his hand with her fingers, drawing his attention to her.

"If this is an accurate representation of what was done to you…" Webber nodded. "…then the minimum a convicted party could expect would be to spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban. The maximum penalty is the Dementor's kiss. Willfully stunting a child's magical growth would be like cutting a baby's legs off. It is the grossest abuse a magical child can suffer."

Harry suddenly felt even more numb and disconnected than before. A part of him raged in the background, while another piece of him wept. He was somewhat surprised when he felt Ms. Thornburrow wipe a tear away with her thumb. Without thinking or hesitating, he pushed himself into her arms and broke down. It felt good to cry, but he was still acutely aware of the vulnerability he was presenting to the world. It took quite some effort, but he managed to get himself under control again.

"Well, on the plus side you haven't sprouted wings or grown scales yet." Webber quipped, obviously hoping to lift Harry's spirits some. Too late he realized his faux pas as Harry's face paled. Even as the vision of Voldemort's grotesque, serpentine face loomed in the forefront of his mind, Harry heard the healer stumble over his apologies.

"What were you thinking?!" Ms. Thornburrow chided hotly. She wasted no time in grabbing Harry's face in her hands and forcing his eyes to focus on her. "Harry, love, listen to me."

He heard her, but couldn't escape the hideous laughter echoing in his mind.

"Are you listening?"

He thought he nodded, but Voldemort's voice was so distracting to his mind that he couldn't be one hundred percent certain.

"Let's get you healed up and out of here. We'll go to Gringotts and perform the Heritage Ritual, get you something solid to eat, and then Healer Webber can look into what options we have as far as fixing your core go. How does that sound?"

Harry just stared beyond her, unable to cleanse himself of Voldemort's taint. His scar began to throb and with it, the image of the monster began to morph and change. The red eyes of his adversary slowly became green, and the bald, scaly head began to grow locks of thick, wild, black hair.

"Harry! Come back to us!"

He wanted to throw up.

"Damn it Webber! Do something!"

He wanted to scream.

"His magic is starting to spike! Anything that I do now could very well kill him!"

He wanted to tear the thing's face off.

"We don't have time for this! If they didn't know where he was before, they certainly do now!"

He settled for laughing. It was pretty funny after all…him turning into Voldemort. He looked absolutely butt-monkey ugly, not to mention down right stupid. Scales? Green eyes? It was absolutely repulsive!

"Do you have the homunculus?"

Better to go with the wings.

"You can't be thinking about moving him in this condition?"

Yeah, wings. They were cooler in the long run. Maybe they would tag him as an angel for once, instead of a devil. Then again, knowing his luck, some Jimmy Whacko would see him and name him the Angel of Death. If it was Riddle, that wouldn't be so bad – but there was no way he'd be that fortunate.

"We don't exactly have a choice now do we? Besides, if you'd been watching his wounds, you'd notice that he's been healing them!"

The more he thought about it though, being an Angel of Death did sound pretty cool. People wouldn't print stupid lies about him…well, the Sun would…but they were just plain silly to begin with.

"He can't be moved while his magic is so volatile!"

It wasn't like anyone took that rag seriously.

"Why not?"

It was all, "Page 3 this" and "Page 3 that."

"Do you really think the Muggles will not notice the arching energy? Maybe they'll just be polite and ignore the pulsing light radiating off his body?"

Harry didn't understand the fascination.

"Well, what should we do then?"

The fact that Dudley read the thing, miraculous as that was, was enough to turn Harry off of it from the start.

"We need to bring him out of whatever negative memories or emotions he's experiencing! Reinforce something positive!"

No. It was best to steer clear of anything Dudley enjoyed.

"Isn't that what we're trying to do?"

He'd lived by that rule all of his life, and it hadn't failed him yet.

"It has to be more! Something deeper…more primal! He's too far gone for anything else!"

Harry's mind and body was suddenly assaulted by a warm pressure, particularly around his mouth. In analyzing the sensation more, he knew that it felt familiar…but still foreign. The fact that it was a bit damp brought up a picture of Cho Chang for some reason, but that image fled as a new sensation filled his body. He felt light and hungry at the same time. His stomach muscles tightened and his blood began to pound in his veins, pushing the warmth from his face, down his neck, and into the pit of his stomach. He felt all of his muscles tighten, and the nerves in his fingers and hands suddenly began cataloging something wonderfully soft.

It took his mind a few heartbeats to reconnect enough to realize that he was being kissed by someone, and that he was giving as good as he got. He opened his eyes tentatively, not sure who he should be expecting to greet him. The silky black hair and amazingly light, jade colored eyes were something of a surprise. He chanced a glance at Ms. Thornburrow and Healer Webber, and noted with some amusement that they were wringing their hands – each other's hands, mind you – while clinging to one another.

Harry closed his eyes again and lost himself in the wondrous sensation of his first, really real, passionate kiss. The fact that the girl he was kissing reciprocated was a bonus. He would have liked to go on for eternity and a little longer, but Ms. Thornburrow seemed to feel that things had gone far enough.

"Okay Rebecca, I believe that the danger has passed, you can let him breath now."

Harry was more than happy to note that Rebecca seemed just as reluctant to see things end as he did, and when they parted it was with a definite lack of enthusiasm. Still, this kiss, though wet, was no where near as creepy and uncomfortable as his last one. In fact, if he were asked to rate it on a scale of one to ten, he was certain to give it a twelve…quite possibly a fifteen. Then again, maybe not. More research was definitely required before he could accurately measure something like this.

Practice makes perfect and all that….

Webber helped the young woman off the bed, and Harry found himself already missing the warmth Rebecca's body had offered him. He watched attentively as she self-consciously righted her clothing and noted that she kept touching her lips unconsciously. He supposed that meant he'd done something right. Well, she wasn't crying at all. That in and of itself was a marked improvement. Ms. Thornburrow stomped by and shoved something in his lap, muttering about teenagers and their hormones, before marching over to Webber to help him with a large…mannequin?

Harry decided that he was better off not knowing and looked to his the bundle in his lap. The familiar silken fabric of his father's invisibility cloak flowed off his legs to pool in the crook of the bedside. Underneath it were a set of his school robes.

"We really need to go Harry." Ms. Thornburrow urged. "Can you walk?"

Harry shrugged and nodded.

She waved him out of the bed as Rebecca set about repairing the room. Webber was floating the life-sized mannequin on the other side of his bed, and Harry was more than a little shocked to see that it looked just like him…cast, bruises, and all. Ms. Thornburrow grew impatient and gently tugged Harry from the bed. In one swift motion she threw the invisibility cloak over his head and shoved his school robes into his arms.

"Get changed on the way, we need to leave." She gripped his shoulders and steered him towards the door. "Is he calm enough to side-along?"

The healer passed his wand in Harry's general direction and just stared as the results came in.

"Amazing." Webber mumbled. "Simply amazing."

"Well? Can he?" Ms. Thornburrow demanded. This was enough to shake Webber free from whatever trance he'd found himself in.

"Huh? Oh, yes." The healer shook his head in disbelief. "He's completely healed himself of his most recent injuries."

"Well done, Harry." Ms. Thornburrow nodded distractedly as she turned to the lovely young woman fidgeting by the door. "Rebecca, please contact the High Warden and tell him to expect us in thirty minutes. Tell him that Harry has consented to the Heritage Ritual…"

She paused and looked back to Harry, which in and of itself was a nice gesture. He nodded and she rolled onward like a stone falling down a mountain.

"…and that we will also need to have both Lord Black's will and Baron Potter's will on hand." Harry's confusion must have been apparent, because the solicitor simply smiled as Rebecca spoke into something small on her wrist. "Sirius made it very clear that should you accept the adoption, and if he wasn't here to care for you, he wanted you emancipated. Since your official time of birth is in…."

She waved her wand and two separate times and dates appeared in the air between them.

"…thirteen hours and twenty seven minutes, both Wizarding and Muggle laws will be met when I file the paper work tomorrow afternoon."

"The High Warden anxiously awaits our arrival, Ms. Thornburrow." Rebecca stole another glance at Harry and blushed demurely. "I was instructed to tell you that his Lordship, the Regent, was already in attendance."

"Good to know." The solicitor nodded and gave the room one last once over before moving to the door. "Stick close to Rebecca, Harry. We need to finish a little bit of paperwork and make certain that everything is in order before we leave. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes at best. I'll be sending you on to Gringotts with Rebecca, while we tie up the loose ends."

She paused and looked unerringly at Harry's face.

"Under no circumstances are you to leave her side Harry. Regardless of what might happen, Dumbledore or Death Eaters, stay with Rebecca." Her attention shifted to the dark haired girl beside him. "At the first sign of trouble, you port-key to the safe-house, summon assistance and then apparate directly to Gringotts. It will take them time to track you, which will give you more time to escape."

"And you?" Harry's disembodied voice asked.

"We have our own keys, Harry. At the first sign of trouble we will scatter, and draw whoever it might be as far away from you as we can. With any luck, we won't need the precautions, but one way or another we'll meet up with you at Gringotts."

"Okay." Harry nodded. The fact that they had a means of escape gave him some peace of mind. He didn't think his luck would hold, at least not after that mind-blowing kiss…his lips were still tingly! But if the Universe was at all just, he would be able to walk out of here tonight without any hassles.

He would be happy to note that the Universe was in a generous mood, and the Death Eaters didn't arrive for a good twenty minutes after he left. The Order took another fifteen to show and by that time, the poor lifeless homunculus of Harry Potter had slipped into a coma and was summarily assassinated by terrorists. The Universe tossed Harry a bonus for all of the positive Karma he'd built up, and one of the brave nurses that survived the assault just managed to tear the Death Eater mask off Severus Snape's face right as a young photographer snapped a career building photo.

By morning every news media outlet in England and throughout most of Europe were running the image, and Dumbledore's Potions Master had become public enemy number one. Harry would be heard to comment at a later date that the greasy git had finally achieved the notoriety he'd always hungered for. It was just too bad that it wasn't for his prowess in potions or for his abilities as a wizard.

Oh, well. One can't have everything in life, now can they?

Albus Dumbledore and a number of other members of the Order of the Phoenix arrived at the Dursley's less than two minutes after Harry had been taken away by the Muggle ambulance. The neighbors were out in force, chattering like squirrels behind their hedges and covertly spying through their curtains as Vernon and Dudley Dursley were being restrained by the police. The guards that Albus had set on the house were missing, but thankfully there was no apparent damage that would indicate a magical attack, so Albus was hoping that young Nymphadora and Mundungus Fletcher were executing their duties to guard Harry.

As distressing as these signs were, more upsetting still was the cold and violent reception he received from the Dursleys. When the Order arrived on the scene, Vernon went frothing mad and, after breaking free of his imprisonment at the hands of the police, he came at Albus swinging for all he was worth. The poor headmaster was whacked a goodly number of times, with both fist and metal handcuff, before he was rescued by Kingsley Shacklebolt. He still had the bruises and bumps to show for it. Dudley, seeing his father winning ground against the "Freaks" stepped in and added his boxing talents to the mix against Arthur Weasley. None of them, much to their shame, even thought to cast a spell during their initial rout. It was a forgivable lapse all things considered - especially when Mad-Eye Moody confirmed their fears…

…Harry Potter, along with all of his personal belongings, was missing.

The Order of the Phoenix was in a state of panic. Albus' alarms had alerted him that Harry's life was in danger, and that had drawn them to Privet Drive where they were met with excessive violence from Harry's relations. Vernon refused to speak with them, and had gone so far as to pull a policeman's gun on Remus Lupin with the intent to kill. Remus, while not overly knowledgeable with many Muggle customs and their eccentric devices, was very familiar with the purpose and intent of a firearm. A shot was fired and subsequently deflected by a hastily erected shield charm. The bullet ricocheted into the air, killing a rather large crow.

This of course set the whole situation aflame.

Paul Polkiss, passing the Dursley home on his way to work, saw the police cars and, upon seeing Vernon shooting at a number of abnormal people, drove to the rescue. His mad dash onto the perfectly manicured lawn had him running over Mad-Eye Moody's wooden leg as the retired Auror dove out of the way. This of course led to many a curse being fired at the man's rather expensive automobile – leaving it a battered, purple, oozing mess. Once he abandoned the safety of his car, Mr. Polkiss was transfigured into so many different animals that it was going to take the Healers of St. Mungos a very long time to sort him all out.

Dudley, seeing magic being employed dove behind his mother to avoid justice, but Molly Weasley retaliated before he could escape – finishing the transfiguration that Hagrid had begun five years before. Petunia, seeing her son become a hog, snapped and took up arms against Molly. She did fairly well, up until Hestia Jones hexed her legs backwards and vanished her mouth completely. Retribution, for years of Harry's mistreatment, was dealt with a vengeance the headmaster hadn't expected.

Vernon, by some miracle, avoided being cursed too badly…at least up until he tackled Emmaline Vance and Tuli Fenmore. During the scuffle, he managed to grope both young women quite a bit, and they responded with such fury that it took Arnold Peasegood's Accidental Magic Reversal Squad over three hours to sort him out.

The Muggle authorities on hand were out of their element, and by the time a hysterical Mrs. Number Seven's caterwauling about terrorists finally spurred them into action, much of the conflict had already been resolved in the Order's favor. With guns drawn and another volatile situation brewing, Albus tried to take control. He was doing a pretty good job up until the point that Cornelius Fudge and a squadron of Aurors flooded Little Whinging looking to arrest Harry Potter once and for all. Fudge knew he was going out, and it was obvious that he was intent to see Harry's wand snapped before he was ousted from the Ministry. It would of course be his last official act as Minister, and he would be dodging allegations of being a Death Eater sympathizer for a very long time to come.

The police officers, seeing more people popping out of thin air, started shooting. The local media was called in as the battle escalated, and the Statute of Secrecy was hanging by a thread. All in all, it was a catastrophe of nightmarish proportions – which was why the Ministry Obliviators from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes were called in soon after. If this wasn't a catastrophe, then no one was sure what really was.

The fact that Rita Skeeter and Bozo made an appearance on the scene only rubbed salt in an old man's wounds. It was safe to say that Albus Dumbledore had quite a few wounds to choose from too.

Harry had been taken away in an ambulance and his guards were missing, a legal battle with the Ministry was eminent over the actions at Privet Drive, his reputation was at an all time low, and for the first time in one hundred and thirty years Albus found himself needing to post bail. It was, at the very least, terribly embarrassing and troublesome. The only balm for his injured pride was that Vernon Dursley had been set to rights and was currently sharing a cell with Remus and Alastor. It was the headmaster's fervent hope that Alastor showed some wisdom and restrained Remus from doing anything foolish to Harry's uncle. The last thing they needed was to have Lupin tagged as a menace to society.

Harry would never forgive him if that happened.

Albus was brought out of his thoughts as the door to his holding cell opened, revealing an extremely agitated Minerva McGonagall. His guard smiled and gestured to the hall.

"You're free to go Professor."

"That you, Matthew." He smiled cordially in turn and stood with what little dignity he had left. "Please give my best to Anne."

"Will do, Professor." The guard smiled sympathetically.

The moment he had received his wand and they were free from their guard, the Deputy Headmistress rounded on him intent on giving him the third degree. He held up his hand to forestall her questions.

"Later Minerva. We have other more pressing matters to deal with right now. Have the others been released?" He asked evenly.

"Not yet. I thought it best to handle you first."

The aged professor nodded and greeted many of the Duty Aurors with a warm smile as he passed.

"If I may impose upon you yet again Minerva, please see to it that they return to Headquarters once they are released. Have them maintain the story we provided the Ministry should they run into any reporters. We will debrief as soon as I arrive."

"What will you be doing?" Minerva asked hesitantly.

"Harry Potter is hospitalized somewhere, the wards on Privet Drive have fallen, and we have two Order members missing as well." He sighed and unconsciously smoothed his beard. "I must see if I can make up for the time our beloved Minister has cost us."

"Ex-Minister." Minerva smiled grimly.

"Another complication to worry over." Albus sighed and wondered what he had done wrong to earn such a day. "Please carry on Minerva, time is of the essence."

She started to turn away but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"It might be prudent to see about Alastor and Remus next, Minerva. Vernon Dursley was placed in a cell with them."

"I understand." Her face was fighting a dark smirk, but one look at Albus' weary face replaced her mirth with deep concern. "Please be careful."

Albus nodded as they parted and moved out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, on towards the lifts. Before he could reach the elevator, he found his way blocked by a very ill-tempered Amelia Bones.

"Good evening Amelia."

"Oh shut up and follow me, you bloody great twonk!"

She didn't wait for his compliance; she simply stormed off towards her office. The headmaster sighed and did as she commanded. It had been a very long time since someone had been as…colorful in their demands; but rather than say anything, Albus let it slide. The last thing he needed right now was the head of the DMLE more upset than she obviously was.

Could this day really get any worse?

He groaned and shook his head. The simple fact that he had even asked the question ensured that it would.

As he passed the threshold of her office, Madame Bones slammed her door with enough force to cause a number of pictures and plaques to fall and shatter. With a wave of his wand everything was whole and in place again. She seemed not to notice or care as she rounded on him.

"Just who in the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm Albus…." He started pleasantly.

"DAMN IT! DON'T PLAY WITH ME ALBUS!" She roared.

"I assure you Amelia that is the least of my intentions." His smiling face became serious and professional. "Please tell me what has happened to upset you so, and then we can see what can be done to rectify the situation."

"Do you realize what your little stunt in Surrey has accomplished?"

"While I do not know all of the specifics, I can surely guess." The headmaster sighed and deflated a bit. "What is the damage of this disaster?"

"Timothy Alda is happy to finally be able to use his 'War of the Worlds' scenario, so the images the Muggles broadcast on the telly are dealt with. The entire neighborhood had to be obliviated by squads under invisibility cloaks in order to avoid a panic and, after my initial investigation, the sitting Wizengamot have decided to let the Dursley's take the heat from the Muggles."

Albus paled.

"Is that wise?"

"You are the last person to be questioning someone's wisdom today, Albus." Amelia growled. "The Dursley's were all too willing to tell us how you forced them to take in Harry Potter against their will. After hearing them rant about Harry for the better part of the afternoon, it was decided to explore their treatment of Mr. Potter. It only took a little encouragement via veritaserum and a memory enhancing charm for them to give us a detailed account of their many abuses of the Boy-Who-Lived."

Albus paled even more.

"How bad was it?"

"You should know, Albus. You helped hide the evidence of their abuse from time to time didn't you?"

"It was for the best Amelia." He was proud that his voice didn't shake. The rest of him wanted to tremble and quake.

"How in Hecate's name could you deem shoving a little boy into a cupboard under the stairs for the best? How can you possibly justify the hell that Harry Potter suffered at their hands, for the best?"

"I am not at liberty to explain my reasons, Amelia." This was apparently not the thing to say, as the head of the DMLE rounded her desk.

"Then can you please explain to me why and how two of my best Aurors have come to belong to your little group of vigilantes?"

"Which Aurors are we talking about Amelia?"

"Fine! If that's the way you want to do this, then that is the way we'll do this." She stood and pointed her wand at the old wizard. "Albus Dumbledore, you are under arrest for misappropriation of Ministry personnel, obstruction of justice, child endangerment, and a lengthy number of other charges that have absolutely nothing to do with your earlier arrest of trespassing, Muggle baiting, and endangerment of the Statute of Secrecy. Will you come quietly, or am I going to have to add resisting arrest to the list?"

Albus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then handed her his wand.

"That won't be necessary Amelia. Please sit down and I will tell you what I can."

"That's not going to be near good enough Albus. With Fudge ousted, and Umbridge still recovering in St. Mungos, my name has been put forward for Interim Minister. You're going to tell me everything you know so that I can pull this government out of the crapper Fudge put us in, or so help me I'm going to haul your arse back to that holding cell. Are we CLEAR?"

"Indubitably." He sighed. "Can you guarantee the security of this office, or would it be possible to go some place that you know to be safe?"

The formidable woman nodded and waved her wand in a number of complex motions for over five minutes.

"There. That's as secure as I can make it."

"May I?" He nodded to his wand. She shook her head.

"After all that I've heard about your exploits today? I think not. I feel safer letting your wand sit right where it is, thank you very much."

Albus settled back into his chair and folded his hands in his lap.

"Then I am afraid that I must insist that you return me to my cell."

This change in attitude seemed to unsettle her.

"It's that delicate?" She asked.

"More than you can readily know. Do you think that I would gamble everything that I have achieved on anything less than the stability and future of the entire wizarding world, Amelia? Our entire way of life is in the balance here."

She looked thoughtful for a moment before motioning for him to stand.

"Fine. We'll go someplace safe." She relented. "But your wand stays with me until I am satisfied."

"That seems fair." Albus stood and moved towards her floo. "Where shall we retire to?"

"Malcolm's Den."

Albus gathered a pinch of floo powder and in a flash of green flames appeared in a tastefully decorated study. Amelia appeared right behind him with her wand still bared and motioned for him to sit. He complied immediately and watched as she rounded her desk to sit in a plush leather chair. With a flick of her wand the floo connection was disabled and secure.

"Now what is so damned important?"

"Where shall I begin?" Albus sighed and folded his hands in his lap. "It is my belief that the Ministry has been compromised by Voldemort's followers. He has had a year to recruit under Cornelius' nose or, if my suspicions are correct, with the Minister's active participation."

If Amelia were shocked by the revelation, then she showed no sign of it beyond motioning him to continue.

"Rumors of collusion and having Death Eater sympathies are already making the rounds. Tell me something about your organization."

Albus sighed and nodded.

"Last year was a slanderous campaign to deny the existence of a very real threat, and due to that fact I had to take steps to ensure that I had people within the Ministry to gather intelligence."

"Why you?"

"Because it was a mantle passed to me by my predecessor after the defeat of Grindelwald." At her look of confusion he clarified. "The Order of the Phoenix has existed since just after the founding of Camelot. It is the check and balance against a corrupt government and the forces of darkness. It was this group that removed Cornwall from power and defeated Magnus the Malignant during the Black Plague. I have been a member for over one hundred years, and am now the leader of said organization. I took binding oaths to ensure the safety of our community, and I must see that those oaths are honored at whatever cost to myself and others."

Amelia looked disgusted for a moment. Her disgust turned ponderous, as she settled herself back into her chair and steepled her fingers.

"So, Kingsley and Tonks have joined your little group to fight the good fight." She shook her head. "Are they bound by the same oaths?"

"Kingsley is, but young Nymphadora has yet to bind herself." Albus conceded.

Ameila growled and slammed her fist on the desktop.

"Damn you Albus! Do you realize the position you've put me in?" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Kingsley's one of the best men on the force; a senior Auror with a good chance to be Head of the Auror Corps, now that everyone's pushing me to be the Interim Minister. He is an invaluable resource that I cannot afford to lose. But with your little stunt Surrey, he's going to be on suspension until an internal investigation has been completed. That means that he's off the rotation for at least two weeks and, considering the fact that Rufus Scrimgeour will be heading up the Internal Affairs Board, Shack will be lucky to keep his job! As it is, Kingsley will be desk bound and on probation for the rest of the year."

Albus closed his own eyes and took a deep breath.

"And young Nymphadora?" Dumbledore shifted nervously when Amelia started growling. "What happened?"

Amelia shot from her seat in a rage.

"THAT'S WHAT I'D LIKE TO KNOW YOU BARMY OLD TWIT!" Albus weathered her anger with a forced calm. "That girl is like a daughter to me. I recruited her straight out of Hogwarts! I convinced her not to go into modeling or some other mindless hack job that would have wasted her talents, and now you've got her sneaking around my back! Not only is she one of my most brilliant up and coming, she's a resource that is just as, if not more, valuable than Shacklebolt. Now, I want to know what the hell she was doing for you, on her day off, that has her MIA!"

"MIA?" Albus truly started to tremble then.

"Yes! As in: Missing In Action!" She fell back into her seat heavily. "From what I understand, she was supposed to have been watching Potter's house. And since he was sent to East Surrey Hospital, just south of Redhill – I can only assume the worst, since Death Eaters attacked a room there and pretty much blew up half the hospital! Now stop wasting my time and tell me what I want to know damn it! What was Nymphadora Tonks doing for you that involved Harry Potter?"

Albus felt his stomach bottom out.

"She was guarding Harry Potter."

Amelia's eyes narrowed.

"And why in the world was she doing that?"

"Come now Amelia, after the events in June it should be fairly clear why." Albus absently chided. His blood pressure began to rise as a number of possibilities began to fall into place.

Amelia chose to restructure her questions.

"How long has she been guarding him? And since you've broached the subject, will you please explain to me your insight into the events that transpired in the DoM?"

Albus began smoothing his beard as he collected his thoughts. It was all he could do not to summon his wand to him and head out in search of Harry.

"May I ask if Harry was in the room that was attacked?"

"He was." Amelia said gravely.

"And his disposition?" The headmaster's voice caught in his throat as Amelia closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath.

"The room, everyone in it, and everything three floors above and below, were obliterated by Fyrghul's Firestorm. The Muggles are running with the IRA as their main suspects."

It was here that Albus finally broke. The future was lost to them, Tom Riddle had won. One of Riddle's "hands" had killed Harry. The spell unleashed a flare of concentrated heat so powerful; it was like dropping a miniature sun in the room. He let the tears flow freely and felt his heart break. It was hard to focus on Amelia's words as she continued, but he forced himself to listen. It was the only way to survive the crushing despair he was fighting against.

"We are uncertain who cast the spell, but there is a rumor that a Muggle got a picture of one of the Death Eaters. We're waiting for our counterparts to track down the photographer. Once the film's been developed and we have a positive match, we'll be hunting the bastard down." Amelia stepped around from behind her desk and laid a hand on the headmaster's shoulder in a weak gesture of comfort. "We'll get him Albus, and when we do he'll get the Veil for sure."

The old wizard shook his head weakly, unable to form a reply.

"Let's get back on track." Amelia rounded her desk again and settled herself in her chair again. "Tell me about Tonks."

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"She, along with a select few, has been watching young Harry since his return from school. She was assigned to sit her watch with Mundungus Fletcher due to a mishap in the past. Fletcher is the Order's eyes and ears among the less savory elements of our society. They were paired on the rotation as a check and balance, in order to make certain that Mr. Fletcher didn't get up to any mischief."

He paused and tilted his head slightly.

"As for the events of June, do you have any specific questions for me?"

"Hundreds." She sighed.

"I am afraid that I don't have the time to answer hundreds of questions at the moment Amelia." He said apologetically.

"And why is that Albus? Do you have a pressing engagement with the Board of Governors?" It was a cheap shot, full of scorn; Albus did his best not to answer in kind.

"Because, Madame Bones, Harry Potter is dead. He was the child of prophesy, and subsequently the one person in the entirety of our world that had a chance of defeating Lord Voldemort." It was evident that Albus was starting to get agitated, enough so that his patience was becoming frayed. "With Harry gone, there is no one to stop the Dark Lord. That does not however mean that I will not stand in his way for as long as this old body holds breath."

Amelia leaned back into her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Merlin love a duck, Albus! What have you done? If Harry Potter was our one true hope against Voldemort, then what are we supposed to do now?" She shook her head and clutched her trembling hands together, obviously trying to refrain from cursing the Headmaster of Hogwarts on the spot.

"This is not a time for recriminations, Amelia!" Dumbledore bristled. "There are plans and decisions to be made if we are to save what we can from Voldemort."

"Save what we can?" Amelia growled. "Save what we can! Mister Dumbledore, I will be completely honest with you. This whole sordid mess stinks worse than Knockturn Alley in August. As it stands, I should toss you into a cell and throw away the key. Your manipulative hands are so bloody…Circe's Girdle! I know that you're still hiding a coven's worth of secrets from me, in spite of the danger we're facing!"

"I will not sit here and endure your badgering!" Albus' hand swept out to summon his wand, but found himself suddenly bound by magic chains. A single breath later his whole body was being shocked with a mild pain curse.

"You will sit and endure everything I throw at you, you scheming old bastard!" Amelia seethed. "Let me be completely clear on this one point, Headmaster: I will not let anyone else die for your bloody hubris! Potter was the last! Do you hear me? THE LAST!"

Dumbledore had no choice but to nod. It was the only part of his body that had the freedom to move at the moment.

"I cannot and will not roll over and accept defeat. Voldemort has taken too much from me to fall to pieces, and I will not have you becoming the voice of Doom that sends the wizarding world spinning into the toilet screaming in panic. Unless you cooperate with me fully, I will be forced to open an investigation in order to get the answers to all my questions. It will be invasive, very thorough, and most likely have a great deal of media coverage. And I can guarantee that it will not just affect your life and reputation. I'll have everyone in your little Order brought up on charges and sitting in a Ministry holding cell until the Queen herself makes me release them. Answer my questions or don't – I could honestly care less. In the end I'll get what I want, Dumbledore, and the most it will cost me is some overtime pay for my best and brightest. The choice is yours."

She moved her wand towards a small picture of her niece. Albus wondered over the gesture but decided to focus his attention back on her instead. He was between a rock and a hard place, with only one real avenue open to him. Full disclosure was not an option. Interim Minister or not, putting all of the information at his disposal into her hands was just borrowing more trouble. Perhaps he could give her enough to run with and he could discreetly guide her from the wings.

"At this point I'm willing to be polite and open about things, Albus; if only to honor Mr. Potter's memory. He became somewhat important to my niece after the debacle of Umbridge's interference last year. But know up front, this window of courtesy is rapidly closing on you. When it does, I will have you in a cell faster than you can fart. Do you understand me?"

"Where shall we begin?" He asked heavily.

"Let's start with the contents of the prophesy."