A/N:
Once again with the odd stuff in this chapter. It actually (in theory) directly contradicts information given in a prior chapter. Deal. ;-) In case you don't catch it, the man LIES.
Author of the Chapter: robst
If robst wrote it, you can bet it is one of the best stories you'll read for a LONG time. I honestly couldn't even begin to tell you which of his stories is my favorite. Each of them are so unique and contain H/Hr, which is my favorite pairing when done right.
Many (and I do mean MMMMMAAAAANNNNYYYYY) authors for HP tend to take ideas that originally showed up in one of robst's stories to adapt them to their own works. The story 'Can't Have It Both Ways' is an excellent example of this.
Wow. Chapter 7 hit like 17k words before I started dicing it up. I certainly didn't mean to do THAT. Dang. Oop. Nevermind. Sliced it in half! LIKE A HOUSE! hehe. (That'll make more sense soon...) Anywho... Interesting fact, the idea for this chapter (which was written in rough-draft format back in August) came from a story I'd long forgotten. Random chance that I found and started reading said story TODAY.
Author: kb0. I'll make an A/N note on how awesome he is later. (And he IS awesome. Truly.)
Final side-note just because: I did the title of this Chapter with ' it's ' instead of ' its '. It makes me shudder to think how often I might have done that throughout the story.
- A/N -
- Chapter 7 - Its a bird! Its a plane!
The barkeeper kept quiet when the well dressed wizard stepped gracefully from the Floo, completely unperturbed by the journey. The usual crowd raised eyebrows (and beers) in welcome of the newcomer, but none spoke.
Embossed robes of the finest quality adorned his frame like a glove, neither ostentatious nor gaudy. If asked, the barkeep would probably note that the clothes were less impressive than the man who wore them.
He appeared to be middle-age at oldest, but with a bar full of wizards all knew the deceptive nature of aging magicals. Only once a man (or woman) passes their hundredth year do they truly begin to look their respective ages and only after a decade or more. The aristocratic man's nose flared in a silent sneer as he surveyed the occupants around him, his steely gaze assessing and dismissing all present in half a glance. They were beneath him and it showed.
No-one spoke as the steady tapping of his cane announced his departure for the door. Whether by intention or enchantment not even the most hardened of those few criminals enjoying the heady warmth that surrounded the bar gave even a passing thought to tracking down the clearly dangerous wizard.
On his back a family emblem known, and feared, far and wide the world over could barely be seen in a gentle shimmer amongst the torchlight. So fine were the platinum stitchings on his cloak that the barkeep only managed to read a single line of the gaellic and latin text written amongst the Coat of Arms before the fierce eyed aristocrat became subsumed by the shadows outside the bar.
Twenty glasses were raised in a mournful salute to those soon to be fallen.
- 7 - 7 - 7 -
When the young blonde who offered Harry the name Ana awoke, tears rolled down freely down her face as she contemplated her new miserable lot in life.
For millennium generation after generation of her ancestors were bred, raised, tortured, and slaughtered like cattle on a farm for who and what they were. Concubines, Slaves, Potion Ingredients, Armor, Wand Cores and other more nefarious uses were her abused and enslaved ancestors made to suffer through. Her grandmother only escaped through sheer chance, breaking free and fleeing before the wizard-born Speaker could bind her during her coming of age.
Yet... she could still feel her magic. It thrummed and beat in time with her heartbeat like it always did. Her mother had been very clear of what it felt like to be so bound and how her very magic would be quickly bound by any Speaker who realized what she was.
Sitting up cautiously, a bright smile blossomed on her face when she realized she COULD sit up. She didn't need permission to do it. But it didn't make any sense. Everything her mother, and at times her rather... dotty... grandmother, told her indicated that she would loose all but her most animalistic form should she ever cross paths with a Speaker. Instead, she could feel her smooth HUMAN skin everywhere she touched.
Looking around, she gasped. Dudley's pale and sweat-soaked form leaned up against the dust covered fireplace whereas the boy had laid her out carefully on the couch and covered her with what she recognized as one if his own cloaks. Her eyes trailed around the room and she gasped a second time as she realized just where they were. Many times throughout the last decade the young girl visited the home of the Potters, and though she never managed to actually enter the house, she knew from her memories a good part of what the interior of the living room looked like thanks to the blown off door.
The reason she gasped a second time was because only a Potter or a very powerful wizard - such as Voldemort sadly - could breech the strong protections Lily Potter had woven into the very foundations of the home during her time under the Fidelius Charm and that didn't take into account the ancient Black and Potter family enchantments used in prior generations.
Dudley James. James Dudley. She knew that name was a lie the moment he spoke it, thanks in no small part to her heritage, but now the question in her mind settled on who exactly might the young Potter sleeping a few feet away actually be. Everything she knew about the Potter Heir said the boy in front of her couldn't possibly be him.
Harry Potter should be twelve this year, and the boy she spent the afternoon with couldn't be older than ten, if that. Definitely strong for a ten year old (as she can attest having not managed to break his hand the night before), but nothing like the descriptions coming out of Hogwarts last year of a conceited, self-centered, and self-absorbed prat that couldn't be bothered to even talk to more than a couple of the year mates in his own House. Though he did say he recently found out about magic, so the child must be at least eleven. Certainly small for his age, but definitely at least eleven.
She slowly stood to approach the sleeping boy, unsure of what to do in relation to the enigma and threat his very existence presented. By all rights she should kill him here and now. Such a human, in grandmother's words (during her more sane moments), should not be allowed to live. Curiosity however tends to have a rather upsetting effects on plans Elders set out for their children. The young looking blonde felt completely and utterly curious about the strange human child.
She knew what his fear tasted like. She tasted it for a few seconds the day before when he first surprised her. Instead of anger, continued fear, or fleeing the presence of her full aura, the boy's only response was complete annoyance and a hint of anger at her for daring to threaten him.
Such an interesting response from one so young. A Warrior's response. A Predator even.
Yet when she lost track of time and transformed his fear tasted completely different. Through the entire (rather painful) process of her transformation he practically radiated fear. For her. Such a strange human to be afraid FOR her instead of being afraid OF her.
The girl currently using the name Anabeth never met anyone who reacted in such a way.
She frowned at his sweat-soaked form, the debate of whether to kill him now raging on within her.
"HOOT!"
Ana dew her eyes to the source of the hoot. An exhausted yet majestic white owl landed on the mantle above James' and sent a stern admonishing emerald eyed glare at the girl. Words weren't even needed for the intelligent owl to convey her contempt for Ana, as if the young owl read her very thoughts.
Considering this must be Harry's familiar if the taste of her magic is anything to go by, Ana couldn't say for certain that the owl did not.
Ana's eyes drew away from the reprimand being doled out to the sound of an anguished groan from the sleeping Potter. His eyes flickered widely behind his eyelids indicating both R.E.M. sleep and a nightmare plagued her new... whatever the Speaker might be to her. "No... no... let me go... let go..."
The reproachful owl proved her intelligence and affection for the boy when she fluttered down and started cooing and chirruping in his ear, a plethora of barks, snuffles, and chirrups soothing the boy back to a more restful sleep.
"Hm..." A sneer-filled and aristocratic, but clearly unused voice called from inside the doorway just as Ana lowered herself over Dudley to shake him awake. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?" He asked, an amused and slightly snobbish voice clear in his tone.
Ana turned to look over the new arrival, shocked because she neither felt nor smelled his approach. Even as distracted as she might have been the young half-breed witch hadn't survived the trials of living amongst wizarding kind as long as she did without impeccable situational awareness and a sixth-sense on approaching danger. This man positively reeked of danger and to go against him would surely lead her to a swift death.
At least, that IS what his aura seemed to indicate.
Ana didn't really feel very threatened at all.
Bright blue eyes met stormy grey as the two predators evaluated each other in silence. With only a passing glance she knew the man had to be some sort of influential Pureblood. Only the pompous Ministry-type nobles carried themselves with such a haughty demeanor. The fact that she knew his robes would probably cost five years of a Head Auror's salary only confirmed the fact.
Her tongue darted out to taste the air surreptitiously while her eyes remained locked on his own. Powerful. At least twice as powerful as the man-child behind her, but only due to his age and experience. Dark. Definitely not one of the Chief Warlock's crew. The only people Ana could think of that even approached the level of darkness this man held at bay would be amongst Voldemort's Death Eaters. Yet even the self-important Lord Malfoy didn't hold so many dark stains on his soul, nor hide it as well.
The tension in the air thickened considerably. Behind her lay an unconscious wizard that only moments before she debated slaughtering, but her innate sense of morals refused to let the her abandon the sleeping boy under her feet.
"Hmm... So, is this time inconvenient then?" he asked quietly, a sense of hidden mirth twinkling behind the hardness in his eyes. The darkness she sensed as he crossed the threshold faded considerably as he reined in his magic.
Her eyes narrowed.
Not a true Dark Wizard then, which made him an even more dangerous opponent. Few practitioners of the dark arts could wield them to such a degree without succumbing to the addictive hunger derived from the very nature of such spells. A Grey wizard at best, which Ana honestly preferred instead of the other possibility. At worst, an evil wizard so far gone that the dark arts held no further addiction for the simple fact that such base human desires were long forgotten in the expanse of their tainted and broken souls.
So a questionably moral wizard or a sociopath.
Wonderful.
The wizard lowered his cowl an took another step forward, the mirth in his eyes now that of an indulgent parent amused by the actions of a child. Ana considered herself the better fighter if push came to shove and knew the older wizard underestimated her only to his sorrow. Even if his magical skills far surpassed her own power isn't everything. Ana's venom remained deadly to any that felt the misfortune of her bite.
His eyes dismissed her as unimportant and lit up greedily upon sighting the unconscious boy at her feet. So, the man obviously knows the young Potter or at least knows of him.
Ana blinked as she abruptly realized who now stood only a few feet away. The polished and nearly bald head threw of her memory momentarily, but his age and the coat of arms carved delicately with inlaid gold filigree on his staff told the even more wary girl exactly who stood before her.
"Lord Arcturus Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Earl of Blackwood and Count of Blackmorne milady," he said with a slight nod of his head that couldn't possibly be mistaken for a bow, "May I ask who you are to be standing so close to my Heir?"
Blink.
Say what now?
7 - 7 - 7 -
The four Heads of House gathered quietly around the conference table, each trading glances and subtle shakes of their heads to determine if anyone knew the reason the Headmaster called for an emergency meeting in the middle of the night.
As the Headmaster never bothered to share with any of his staff just HOW he knew Harry Potter still lived (like MANY other things they probably should have been made aware of over the years), they couldn't possibly know the importance and import of the small formally red-tinted steel ball that sat now in his hand a dull black.
With normal meetings, even those few called by emergency such as now, the four would take the rare moment to indulge in subtle barbs over their most promising students, thoughts on different teams Quidditch chances, and even (politely of course) take the chance freely to snipe at one another over imagined failings where the other professors and students weren't in attendance. Filius and the Herbology Professor, Pamona Sprout, tended to learn towards subtle barbs at both Severus and Minerva while the other two dukes it out verbally over their House's chances of winning the House Cup and/or Quidditch Cup at years end.
The difference in this meeting as opposed to normal (outside of being woken up by House Elves at one in the bloody morning) were threefold. First, glaringly, was the presence of the Headmaster himself already being present. An oddity for sure as the eccentric man seemed to take a perverse pleasure in making his Heads of House wait random amounts of time before arriving in all his splendor. The second difference had to do with said splendor or rather the noticeable lack thereof. Normally, regardless of the time or circumstance the illustrious Headmaster always wore impeccably perfect and horrendously eye-searingly outlandish clothes. Instead he sat in his pajamas, not even having one of the house elves toss a switching and freshening charm on him. Finally, for the first time in years Albus Dumbledore looked every one of his more than 150 years.
Sadness and regret hung over the silent room like a fog, silencing the normally talkative four professors as they waited for the pensive Headmaster to deliver whatever news he might have.
"We are all here." He started without his normal welcome of twinkling blur eyes and genial smile for those gathered. In fact he never moved his blue orbs from the blackened steel ball in his hand.
They waited for a bit longer until he finally spoke again. "I... I... I believe that... Mr. Potter... Harry... may have moved on to the next Great Adventure." His voice remained quiet and shame-filled as he dumped the news on his colleagues with the gentle and loving touch of a tasmanian devil dropped in a rabbit pen.
Professor McGonagall, Harry's Head of House and long-time friends with both the Potter family and Lily Potter nee Evans, gasped and blinked her eyes to clear the onset of tears. Severus Snape, the one man who refused to even act professional in the face of the hatred he held for the boy, gasped likewise as both his love for Lily Evans and the life-debt he still owed to the House of Potter flared his magic and all he could see was Lily's accusing and disappointed eyes over the man's treatment of her only son.
Both turned worried and horrified eyes to one another filled with anguish and disbelief (a VERY rare occurrence of visible emotion from Severus), connecting in a way no one could possibly comprehend as only the pair actually knew the vital role Harry had been foretold to portray thirteen years prior. Severus own horror grew exponentially when he realized that it was thirteen years to the DAY that Sybil Trawley gave the only recorded True Prophecy of her life.
Filius and Pamona were... amiable, though sad, to learn the fate of Lily Potter's child. Lily certainly was a favorite of Filius when the excitable Charms Professor had been blessed with the genius child as a student years before. As a half-goblin though, Filius actually held many of the tenants of the Goblin Nation in relation to death. Celebrate the life. Celebrate the death. Pamona on the other hand never really connected to any of the Potters or even the charming and charismatic Lily Evans during her time as a student. The news certainly saddened her, but only in relation to how tragic it is for such a promising child to have his life taken before he could actually live it.
"May I ask how you came about this knowledge Headmaster?" Severus asked after having recovered from his momentary loss of composure.
"Yes..." the Headmaster began, still seemingly lost in his memories and regrets, only partially present within the room. "Harry's..."
BOOM.
The door to the Headmaster's Office banged open with a thud, a clearly distraught Gilderoy Lockhart stumbling into the room with a clearly unconscious, filthy, and disheveled first year clasped to his chest.
"Headmaster!" The pompous man screamed out before realizing he had an audience and visibly bringing back his charm and composer to the fore. With barely a breech to his impeccable reputation of the perfect and amazing Order of Merlin Third Class winner and Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor (in his own mind at least) Lockhart granted his unexpected audience with a blazing (and visibly painful) smile.
The four Heads of House sneered in eery unison at the pompous windbag, trying (and failing), to hide their obvious disgust and annoyance his very presence seemed to generate in everyone but mothers and female teens. His lessons, if they could be called such, seemed to be more a mix between teaching the students the under-appreciated art of being a thespian, a massive propaganda campaign on his own brilliance, a giant sales pitch on his horrible books, and (probably the worst of all) the art of combat cosmetics.
The pompous flaming idiot probably didn't even know the only reason the Headmaster hired him had to due with the thirty percent cut the school received on the sale of the trashy, worthless driven that wasted the very ink and paper they were printed on. Even after the Scion of House Longbottom suffered what could have easily been a fatal accident due to the horrible state of the ancient school brooms the year before, numerous potions based accidents that could have easily been prevented with better facilities, and the near death of three students due to the dangerously waning charms on the moving staircases the Board of Directors (in all their wisdom) still refused to increase either the tuition or the school budget. Why should they? After all, either solution only decreased their galleons, whether by loss through the increased tuition or the lack of gain from their pay as members of the Board.
Thus arrives Gilderoy Lockhart months before the release of his most worthless pile of drivel aptly named 'Magical Me'. The Headmaster and the four Heads quickly agreed on a plan that would solve some of the dire financial straights of the school Emergency Fund while at the same time providing the needed galleons to repair some of the safety issues throughout the school.
"I heard a scream outside my office and found Ms. Weasley unconscious. As this office had the closest Floo to the Hospital Wing, I decided to bring her here." He blessed (cursed) them with another dazzling smile so painful that not one of the four could actually piece together the words to point out the fact that the moron came from three floors below if he really found the girl in the hall outside his office. Three floors below and right past the Medical Wing that the man probably never learned the location of.
Minerva and Pamona tsk'ed in unison and descended on the man with sure strides. After casting a quick diagnostic charm, Minerva found substantial burns up the girl's right arm and...
She gasped and slowly moved Ginerva Molly Weasley's bright red head away from where it covered the worst of the burns on the young girl's wrist.
"HH-Headmaster... Y-You need to see this..." She stated almost professionally, cementing in her mind the death of young Harry Potter. (Yes, we know. People in the magical world have NO common sense.)
Bright glowing red in a manner almost identical to the same mark emblazoned on the fifteen month old forehead of an infant Minerva bore witness just shy of eleven years prior.
A lightning bolt scar.
- 7 - 7 - 7 -
'REALLY don't need this right now.' The young girl thought with unfeigned annoyance.
Here she sat trying to figure out whether to kill boy, then trying to help him with a nightmare, and now trying to decide whether she could even remotely trust the Head of the darkest family in the wizarding world with the polite young boy she'd met only hours prior.
"Charmed." Ana said with no small amount of sarcasm. It worked when dealing with her mother after all.
He blinked.
In a blaze she could taste fear, longing, hope, anger, rage, and probably dozens of other emotions erupt from the man before he took a calming breath and his emotions vanished entirely. She could taste nothing from him but his presence. Even that remained... diluted.
"Yes. Well... Who wouldn't be when meeting one such as myself, however my presence here has nothing to do with you child." The man stated while huffing on his nails and polishing them on his broad chest. Apparently Ana isn't the only one to fall back on habitual attitudes in an uncomfortable situation though the well-trained Pureblood certainly managed to hide any sort of discomfort well.
Ana held the perfect sarcastic response to such bravado however and she didn't even have to speak to do it. The blonde appraised the aristocratic old man up an down before cocking a mocking eyebrow, clearly stating that whatever charm he thought he had clearly didn't measure up.
His response caused Ana to blink.
It isn't very often a person manages to see one of the most feared wizards in the entirety of the European area of the Wizarding World visibly pout. All in all the last five minutes, hell the last twelve hours, for Ana culminated the most surreal time in her entire life.
Considering her age, this actually IS quite a feat.
"Ooohhh..." And now Harry decided to wake up. Bloody brilliant.
"H-Harry...?" The man asked, the longing once again bleeding through whatever control of his emotions he held.
Her companion, the mysterious Potter, groaned and blinked while stretching his back against whatever discomfort sleeping while sitting up on the floor and leaning against a brick fireplace might bring. "A..Ana?"
His concern flitted across her tongue again, surprising the girl once more. What human EVER showed this much concern for one of her race?
"Harry?" The man called again softly, a small smile growing on his wizened face.
James looked up at the man suspiciously, neither confirming nor drying the man's question. "Who are you?"
The Lord of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black raised a delicate and perfectly manicured eyebrow before letting out a hearty guffaw. "Charmed!" He answered with a snort before erupting once more into barking laughs that Harry's father would recognize anywhere or any-when, getting only a frown from the still somewhat seated boy.
There's that lovable Black Family Insanity.
"My apologies young master..." Arcturus trailed off for a moment, a strange haunted look leaking into his eyes before ruthlessly being suppressed by sheer force of will. Ana admitted to being more than a little impressed. After blinking a few times, he smiled thinly and sarcastically while giving an extravagant bow. "As I told you lady friend a few minutes ago, I am Lord Arcturus Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Earl of Blackwood and Count of Blackmorne. Coincidentally, I also happen to be your great-uncle on your grandmother's side."
James' face darkened considerably, the errant Potter definitely knew who this man was. Or rather, his family at least. "BLACK?! THE Black?!"
Arcturus gave a thin-lipped smile and nodded politely in greeting. "No... if you ask my DEAR Daughter then THE Black would be my dear perfect bigoted Death Muncher of a grandson Regulus..."
"And I'm just supposed to believe that?" James asked sarcastically. Ana frowned a little. She understood that James would be upset on behalf of James, Lily, and Harry, but his anger seemed more... personal.
In response, Arcturus slowly drew a wand while grasping it with only two fingers a pointing it straight into the air. "I swear on my life, my magic, and my soul that I do not, have not, and will not support the rampant blood purity idiocy so spouted by that ridiculous idiot, the self proclaimed Lord Voldemort. SO MOTE IT BE!"
His body flashed white and he still stood. Alive. While Harry and Ana gaped for a second at the implications of the black-haired man's vow the man himself flickered through a half dozen spells. The door quickly repaired itself in the door-frame, the furniture lost a decade of disuse, and the window Hedwig shattered during her timely entrance quickly repaired itself.
Once James regained his composure... somewhat... he nodded slowly, apparently accepting the other man at his word. For now. Something about the phrasing of his Vow made what little hair graced the back of Ana's neck to stand on end however.
"I am gladdened to see that news of your demise was premature my young Heir." The man whispered solemnly, a proud though subdued smile on his face. "We have much to discuss young Harry."
Harry. That's the second time the man referred to James as...
On bloody hell. "Harry?" Ana had to ask the boy sitting behind her, "As in NOT James?" Her raised eyebrow, though she didn't know it, prompted his answer only by habit after dealing with Professor Snape's... ire... for a full year.
"Um... James IS my middle name." HARRY stated some-what nervously, his ears turning slightly pink.
"Ugh. Could this GET any..."
"DON'T FINISH THAT SENTENCE!" Arcturus screamed out, causing the pair of teens to jump as the prim and proper noble flailed his arms wildly in a gesture that did not match to his demeanor. When he finally noticed their wide eyes he coughed into his hand and blushed slightly. "Err... My sincerest apologies young madam, but you're sitting in a Potter home with the last Potter. If you are aware of the Muggle philosophy of 'Murphy's Law', then you should be aware that this 'Murphy' Law rather adores each and every member of the Potter Family, if you my drift."
Jam...HARRY nodded solemnly, understanding in his eyes as he stared at Arcturus. Ana's sense of taste practically died with the amount of hope and longing leaking from the boy.
"Sssoooo..." Harry started, blushing slightly before looking up at the older wizard. "Um... Why are you here?"
Arcturus beamed. "My wards notified me that a Potter entered the family home and as my only OTHER Heir is currently locked up in Azkaban pending trial these last ten years I decided perhaps it was time to begin grooming my youngest replacement." He stated proudly, thumping his chest lightly with his cane. "Not to mention." The man added with a much warmer smile on his face which managed to banish much of the haughty demeanor from his features. "I really wanted to see my nephew again."
The warmth in his smile, the feelings of warmth and fondness emanating from the man, and the earnestness in his tone drew Harry's attention completely.
"Oh." Harry stated nonplussed. "That's nice."
Ana just rolled her eyes at her new young friend.
Naiveté like that will just get the boy killed.
- 7 - 7 - 7 -
The man chuckled as he floated far, far above the house under a disillusionment charm.
He really wondered sometimes where his mentor came up with these things. The plans he'd been drawing up over the last few months were nothing short of amazing. Best of all, his mentor FULLY intended to let him take ALL the credit. If he was the type to actually feel such a... touchy-feely emotion, he actually might be humbled.
To set out so many things for the good of the world and not desiring a single ounce of recognition. Amazing. Weird and ... well... DUMB, but amazing nonetheless.
'Focus.'
"Right." He whispered. He need not have bothered, he knew, being so high up, but it was the principle of the thing. Here he was being a practical James Bond with the covert stuff. Too bad he had to borrow so much magic from his mentor, but his own reserves were actually growing. Who knew the trick was to actually USE magic constantly?
What a novel idea.
He pulled the blackened and charred diary from his robe pocket, or rather from the bag inside his robe pocket. No need to soil his OWN belongings after all.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" He whispered, swishing and flicking the... borrowed wand he... acquired. "Engorgio... Engorgio... Engorgio... Engorgio..."
Ten minutes later the diary topped an airplane for size, only being as thick as his hand yet longer and wider than all four of the tables in the Great Hall slammed together.
He started spinning his... err... THE wand quickly, nearly toppling the massive book clearly visible to anyone that might look up in the night sky.
'Slowly. SLOWLY build up momentum.'
"Right."
He slowed down a little and stabilized the book until he could start spinning it faster and faster. 'NOW!'
He nodded, banishing it at an angle towards the house nearly a half mile below him and another half mile to the side. Sure enough, the book cut through downwards through the house like a knife through butter. The entire top half of the massive manor creaked for a minute before the top half of the manor slid right off, taking the top third of the floor around the second floor drawing room with it and collapsing the centuries-old wards that supposedly protected the massive manor home all in one go.
He flew swiftly over the center of the home after making sure his disillusionment remained in place before tapping his wand against his palm three times and whispering "Emergency."
That done he had one final task...
A certain bug-eyed woman woke up to a rather insistent owl banging on her front window.
Gilderoy Lockhart giggled in glee almost the entire trip back to Hogwarts, courtesy of the house-elf express.
His giggling went on through his entire adrenaline high when his mentor decided to enlighten him on the original plan and the sense of mischief accompanying his mentor's voice.
'The trick was done originally with a few pebbles, but I thought a return care package just seemed so much more... appropriate.'
Gilderoy kept giggling even into his sleep.
He did it!
He was a Hero!
- 7 - 7 - 7 -
Amelia Bones knew it was bad when her mentor woke her up at four o'clock in the morning with a Code Dead.
There IS no code dead.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to force away her fatigue again. She just gave up and summoned a Pepper-Up Potion from the Auror stores via house-elf. They could take it from her pay for all she cared. Once the steam stopped whistling and pouring from her ears she fixed her mentor and friend with a glare.
"Again Al. From the top."
The much older wizard nodded, pointing with his wand straight up. "The E.R.T. got a coded emergency call from about a half mile up round thirty minutes ago." His wand point shifted to indicate the semi-collapsed house around them. "It was like this when they arrived. They knew somebody more senior was needed and sent for me."
"Lord and Lady Malfoy?" She interrupted, not having heard there location the first time around.
"Visiting with the Crabbes and Goyles apparently. We've got them all in holding cells now."
Amelia thought she would need a headache relief potion next. "ALL?! You have ALL of the Minister's top advisors in lockup?"
He nodded grimly before motioning with head for her to follow, his wand at the ready position.
She gasped.
The top half of the recently promoted Administrative Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (a brown-noser named Yaxley if memory serves) lay sprawled out (clearly very dead) in a hidden safe-room below the drawing room. He pointed to the slightly damp red walls.
"Blood Wards. The nasty kind."
Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose again. "Remind me... The 'nasty kind' are those used as a prison and require reapplication every Equinox?"
"Aye. And death."
The paperwork for this is going to kill her.
"It gets worse."
"By Morgana's tit how exactly can it get worse?!"
He raised one of his disfigured eyebrows at her, gaining a slight blush from the Department Head. Amelia Bones might be known for her temper, but not her language.
He steered her through an unending hoard of contraband dark artifacts and towards what she finally recognized as a portal.
He flinched a little. "Might want a calming draught 'melia." He somber tone indicated that it is about to definitely get worse.
She drew her wand and followed him through the portal after casting the charm.
She took a careful look around before growling angrily. "Please explain to me why the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister is bound and even present in this... this... THIS!" She couldn't even put it into words. The state of the area, the barely clothed state of the girls that ranges at a glance from age six to twenty-five, and the half-dozen Healers from St. Mungo's tending to them.
He growled. "She was here when we arrived. Edwards put 'er clothes back on 'er. She was preppin' 'erself."
The clearly silenced woman, Delores Umbridge by name and wearing a bright hideous pink cardigan as always, had begun trying to shout at Amelia when she arrived, but paled and scooted away when she focused on the hateful bigoted woman with a glare.
"With 'er." The butt of the more senior auror's wand directed Amelia's attention to a six year old girl huddled in the corner of the room wrapped in a blanket and trying to hide herself from everyone in the room.
Amelia's eyes went red with fury and magic supercharged the room. The toad-like woman started scooting away faster. "I want her leaking Veritaserum within the hour. I want to know what in Merlin's name went on in here!"
"Aye." He pointed to a couple of the still unconscious girls with the healers. "I can tell you most of them are squibs."
"And?" She asked with a hint of warning in her tone.
"One of them went missing from my training class last 'ear."
"Merlin!"
"Aye. They were drained."
- 7 - 7 - 7 -
"Malicious Malfoys! Minister Mad!"
By: Rita Skeeter
The headline was accompanied by a picture of the room inside the Portal where nearly a dozen unidentifiable girls and women were chained to the walls in various states of undress, their eyes clearly glazed over from enchantments though the rest of their faces remained shrouded in fog.
Dear readers, it is with a solemn heart in which I report on one of the most horrendous acts this author has ever borne witness to. The Malfoy Family, formerly one of the most respected leaders in the Wizarding World, spent many hears preaching of the threat muggleborns posed to the Magical Community by stealing the magic of good and honest witches and wizards.
But where did the Malfoy Family discover the idea that the Muggles might be capable of stealing our magic?
The answer, dear readers, is they were already doing it...
Albus sighed as he tossed the morning edition of the Daily Prophet on his desk and just held his face in his hands. Even the news that the Malfoy Family would be finally paying their debt to society couldn't improve his dark thoughts.
Miss Weasley, when she finally awoke, was unable to shed any light on how she ended up in the corridor. The last thing she remembered was commiserating with her friend 'Tom' in her Diary. More confusing, the same Diary ended up being the weapon of choice some vigilante used to destroy the Malfoy Family.
Yet of Harry Potter, she knew nothing. Based on his conversation with her (and some subtle legillimency) he knew the girl had a bit of a crush on the young Potter, but the only time she ever met him in person was before Harry boarded the train in his first year.
The staff agreed to withhold any comments on the status of young Harry, all hoping for some miracle, but even the ever-stoic Severus left the meeting reeling. Especially considering news of the Malfoy Family's actions were announced by Moody to the four Heads of House.
On top of all of that remained the mystery around Hogwarts herself that Albus focused his efforts on when not searching for the missing Harry. The... evil that walked the halls this last week vanished along with the Diary that the Unspeakables secured from the Malfoy residence, but the other... presence yet remained.
The other presence stalking the halls of Hogwarts left Albus extremely wary. Peeves verified that Hogwarts isn't playing host to a new poltergeist, but refused to investigate the matter further. That in itself remained very telling considering exactly what and who Peeves actually is.
Albus wanted to think the new presence wasn't Voldemort making another push, but the time of its arrival remained around when young Harry banished Tom's spirit from poor Professor Quirrell.
"Chief Warlock."
Albus froze and turned slowly in his throne-like well-cushioned chair. In all his years within the school, the voice speaking never used any of his titles but those directly related to the school. "Yes Tiberius?"
"He lives."
Albus felt hope roaring through his veins, but two wars and the near-constant battlefield (and oft-times more dangerous) of politics left him no less wary than before the hat spoke. "And who would that be Tiberius?" His thoughts and feelings remained firmly clasped behind his Occlumency shields as he continued to project his normal placid and friendly demeanor.
"You know of who I speak old man." The Sorting Hat stated in annoyance. 'Old man'. Tom's favorite nickname for him. This is not good. "That is not however why I decided to reveal myself to you."
"Oh?"
"One of the girls they rescued. You need to interview her yourself."
"I should?" Albus asked casually, as casual as discussing the weather.
"Yes. You should." Ah. A player. More clues as to the possible identity of the mysterious presence.
"Hmm... I shall certainly take your advice under consideration." 'I'll think about it, but you should give me a better reason.'
"It involves your wards. Those Past, Present, and Future." 'This is important. Look for yourself.'
"I see. And which of the poor girls in particular should I see out?" 'I'm intrigued. Which girl?'
"I believe you already are acquainted with her older sister, but do not approach her."
"Oh?" 'You have my attention.'
"Her name is Miranda."
Albus's mind already started mentally cataloguing and discarding hundreds of names of young witches who passed through these hallowed halls. Within less than ten seconds he identified at least three dozen Mirandas. "Oh?" 'Is that all you'll give me?'
The Sorting Hat smirked, definitely an odd look on a thousand year old battered and busted up old hat. Not that Albus would ever dream of voicing his thoughts on Tiberius aloud. "She will prove to be quite... illuminating." 'I've got you hooked and you know it.'
Albus sensed the presence withdraw from the Sorting Hat, leaving him almost on the verge of a pout. It had been so long since he had such an intriguing and entertaining conversation. A decade at least.
With a start, he realized that the presence completely directed him away from the news it first delivered. Harry Potter yet lived!
Albus chuckled aloud, ten times more intrigued by the new presence living now within his school. It had been many, many years since Dumbledore found himself on the loosing side of such a battle of wits.
- 7 - 7 - 7 -
No single witch or wizard was affected more by the currently unknown status of the Potter Heir (other than himself of course) than one muggleborn witch currently attending her second year.
Irregardless of how the rest of the school viewed the 'Golden Trio' as the year progressed through the spring semester after Easter Hols during the previous school year, Hermione Granger was not the fulcrum point of the three preteens.
Ron, Harry, and Hermione might have been drawn together as the best of friends via troll snot and a perfectly executed levitation charm just a few weeks shy of a year prior on Halloween, but it was Harry that remained the glue that held the three friends together.
Whether by intent or simple ill-temperament, Ron seemed incapable of going more that a few days without erupting into an all out fit over something or anything Hermione might, or might not, have done. One of the key points that allowed for the creation of the now school-wide moniker 'Golden Trio' actually came less from their behavior, or the professors blatant interest in the three, but from dozens of students from all Houses at all times watching in fascination as rambunctiously loud arguments blossomed between two of the three before being settled by the patient words of the third.
Now, without the foundation of patience and earnest hopefulness displayed so often by the youngest of the three friends, Hermione found herself at odds once again with one of her supposed best friends.
Over Harry's all time favorite dessert in the world of all things.
And THIS time, Ron wasn't the one to blow up first.
Go figure.
For a full week following the cessation of the disastrous search for her best (and possibly only) friend, Hermione kept only one constant reminder of Harry's missing presence in the Halls of Hogwarts because nobody else seemed to have any desire do so.
The gossip network of the school kept a near constant stream of questions flowing Hermione's way on the newer and more demonic seeming idea the Daily Prophet came up with on what Dark Ritual Harry was most likely performing in his absence. Ron started playing more chess and helping in the search less. Harry's spot on the Quidditch team got shifted to a sixth year friend of the current Captain. Hermione found herself paired with Neville in Potions instead of Harry (for safety reasons at least).
In other words, everyone just went back to normal.
Life goes on.
Hermione tried to move on as well. She really did try. Finding out that not only did she HAVE a sister, but that the spritely six year old loved Hermione in a way no one (at least that she could remember) had ever done before. Miranda filled a gap that Hermione had been feeling since before school even began. A gap that Harry only partially filled.
To remind herself of just who remained missing from her life, Hermione only really had time each day for a single symbol to represent her sense of deep seated loss she felt. Not even her precious books could successfully distract her from her missing best friend. Only the strange partnership struck up with the Greengrass Heir even kept her grades within the acceptable range of O's instead of Hermione's preferred O+'s.
A singular vital token that represented everything one Hermione Granger could bring herself to perform each day to acknowledge her missing friend.
Every dinner Hermione kept a small space near the Entrance Hall at the end of the table. Every dinner she filled a small plate of Harry's favorite foods. Every dinner ended with a tiny single-serve plate with a treacle tart set aside just for Harry.
For three full weeks the small treacle sat uneaten. For a week after everyone else had given up the search for her friend, the small treacle tart sat uneaten.
"Hey, you gonna eat that?"
"No Ron, its there for Harry."
Her red-headed friend blinked and finished swallowing the entire piece of pie he somehow managed to each in a single bite. Well. Not eat per say, since he still chewed (with his mouth WIDE open), but the piece fit into his mouth whole.
From a male point of view, it probably would have been an achievement. From Hermione's point of view it was rather disgusting.
"Um Hermione," Ron started in a condescending tone, "You DO know that Harry ain't here dont'cha?"
The bushy-haired brunette just huffed and rolled her eyes. "I am WELL aware of that Ronald."
Helpful hint for the new readers? When she uses Ron's full name? Already headed towards 'don't go there' waters.
"Oh. Thanks!"
Without any further discussion or questions, the taller Gryffindor reached all the way across Hermione's plate - dumping some mashed potatoes off of his robes on to her pudding - and snatched up the small slice of treacle tart Hermione kept specifically set aside in hopes of Harry's return.
Mount Saint Granger exploded.
In the words of the Weasley Twins when Hermione finally managed to speak an hour later back in the Gryffindor Common Room:
"Bloody..."
"Buggering..."
"BRILLIANT!"
- 7 - 7 - 7 -
The pair of glowing gemstone eyes slowly drifted over the blackened skeletal hand opening and closing slowly before them. Dark motes of the blackest magic swirled and pulsed in time with the movement as the arcane energies powering the slow transformation continued uninterrupted.
Days later a scorched and charred skull so dark it remained almost indecipherable from the endless expanse of void surrounding the glowing gemstones began forming from the dark nexus that continually swirled with motes of magic.
Two weeks passed in the same vein until the powerful revenant finally managed to create at least a semblance of functionality within the completely destroyed body it now inhabited.
The skull smiled in an entirely too animalistic manner as the essence powering the entirely too slow transformation realized the significance of the date.
Fitting that the rebirth and creation of new life should occur on the Equinox.
An idle thought crossed the being's mind as it wondered about what color its hair will be and where the room it stood in might be located.
What then happens at Solstice?
- 7 - 7 - 7 -
A/N:
SORRRYYYYY for the long wait between Chapters. There is, to put it lightly, a LOT going on in the story and the direction Chapters 10 through 12 were going pretty much threw everything out the window I wanted to do with the story.
For those of you who 'stream of consciousness' write, you understand why I needed to start around Chapter 8 and begin the 'correction' process. That meant a few dozen revisions to Chapter 7 which took it upwards of 16k as mentioned before.
Se la vi, no?
For those people who actually READ A/N's, the reference point of what is WRONG with this chapter would be the beginning of Chapter 5. No other hints.
