When Harry fell into Mr.White's arms, Mr. White had never been so shocked. Well not shocked, not really because he knew something like this would happen eventually. Harry was a fucking assassin for goddam sakes, he would have to be topped someday. Some part of Mr. White was glad actually, the insecure part that felt Harry was outdoing him, but the other part of Mr. White, the very very small part, the part that had all the goodness and morality and ethics was scared. That part loved Harry Potter like a father would, and no father wants his son to die in his arms, right?
"Harry! What happened?"
Harry looked up, his face whitish, tinged with green, his eyes bloodshot red, "I-" He croaked out, and spurted out black blood on Mr. White's coat. "I failed, grandpa." He said, and his breath was a struggle. Every word had been a struggle, they striked right at Harry's heart and ego, cutting it away.
"Hush, hush, child. I'll get you better, don't worry." Mr. White said and carried Harry to the sofa. The profitable part of Mr. White was screaming inside his brain. "Get rid of the boy and run! You already have a few thousand galleons. And the aurors won't catch you if you scram." But Mr. White didn't run.
Instead he went to the fireplace, a horrendous green thing with gold streaks on the sides like one of Harry's masks. Instead of feeling the usual disgust pop up however, Mr. White felt… sad. Maybe a bit of nostalgia, but definitely not disgust. He sighed wearily, took the brown pot of flue powder from the upper cabinet above the fireplace and opened it. The pot was half full with white powder. Half empty, Mr. White instinctively thought.
"No… half full." He was in shock, he recognized the symptoms but he didn't know why. It was just the boy remember? His cash cow, his profit machine. Get rid of those sentimental thoughts, Mr. White commanded to himself. He grabbed a handful of the white flue powder and flung it into the fireplace.
The fire inside was orange and red, now it changed into green. Mr. White called out, "Vampire Manor." Not a very original name for the vampires considering they had eternity practically to think of a good name, but for each their own.
A head popped up, slowly and gracefully, the head of the Leader of the Vampires, who took all flue messages. Vampires could communicate on their own through the use of bats, very fast flying creatures, much better than owls or even hawks and so had no need of flue. They had patience and they could wait. Outsiders however, with their lives being blinks of the eye to the enormous lives of the vampires, could not. Thus it fell upon the leader of the vampires to take all outside flue calls.
"Hello?" The Leader said in a chipped and very business-like tone.
"Leader of the Vampires!" Mr. White said urgently. "I have a situation that has propped up, I need your help."
"In what matter?"
"My boy… Harry… is poisoned. Do you mind if I bring him over to your medics?"
"Our medics treat vampires only," The Leader said, not unkindly. He could see where this was going, and the place it was going was the place all deals with Mr. White went.
Gold.
"I have money, two thousand galleons if you can heal the boy!"
"Bring him in," The vampire said. His red eyes gleamed with cunningness, and his hooked, hawk like nose furthered that greedy look. Mr. White knew how to deal alright. He knew what worked around here, what motivated half-beasts. Vampires, werewolves, banshees, they were all the same. Since they couldn't get normal jobs, they had an enormous need for gold to fuel and fund their little cities and communities.
Mr. White nodded, and said, "Thank you. You will not regret it." He went back to the living room, picked up Harry who he saw with some uncomfortableness that he was moaning now, and sweat beads lined his forehead, face, and neck. His skin had taken on an unearthly green tinge, like a dead body. Mr. White almost ran to the fireplace, threw in some more flue and plunged in, with Harry and all.
They entered a small room that was empty. There was nothing in here except cobwebs, hard wood floors, and dusty white walls. At once, Mr. White hated the room, but he didn't know why. The door opened with the click of a latch on the outside. The crinkle and crackle of the fire behind him died away. The Leader of the Vampires entered, giving Mr. White a high honor. Personal acquaintance.
"Mr. White, pleasure to do business with you again. If you will leave Mr. Potter on the floor-"
"You know?" Mr. White asked, a bit shocked and worried.
"Of course we do, but don't fear. We won't tell… for a price."
Mr. White nodded his head, not liking the greedy vampires one bit. But business was business and the vampires had their own sense of honor. They would never go back on a business deal. Reputation was everything to half-beasts, because a bad reputation got you no business and that meant zero food. It made you starve.
"He has been attacked, there is a knife wound in the back. I think he's poisoned but…" He shrugged.
"Don't worry, I have three hundred years of medical experience. During that time, before I became a warrior for the rebellion, I studied hard in The Shack's old books section." The Leader said. "I know all about poisons."
The Shack was a local library available for wizards and witches, and all sorts of other creatures. A local philanthropist created the store about four hundred years ago, a rebel goblin who had stolen a fortune from Gringotts, then hid away in this part of France. So far, no half breed had tattled on the goblin because they all had their own honor. The goblin's name was Thrall. The goblin was well respected for his efforts to the half breed community.
"So you know what this is?"
"No. No I do not. This boy does not have much time to live. Twenty more minutes tops. Now, I have several antidotes but I will need to test them in muggle labs to see which poison is in Harry's bloodstream. It's a long process, so I suggest…. Well, its going to be very expensive to heal this boy. I suggest, as a business man to another business man, let go of this venture. I know what you have been doing-"
"You know?"
"Of course. Vampires know everything. That's our business, and we will keep our mouths shut… for a price."
"Yeah, a price. Look, how much is it going to cost you to fix this boy up. Make him live, and in top condition?"
"Fourteen thousand. Two thousand for the antidotes, four thousand for the muggle lab tests, six thousand for rent in the medic ward where Potter is going to be staying, and safety from the other vampires will be two thousand."
"That comes up to only ten thousand."
"Four thousand for profit."
"Oh you have got to be kidding me… You're running a fucking scam."
"You aren't in a position to bargain, Mr. White. Either you take the offer, or the boy dies."
"And if I give you the money the boy will live?"
"Certainly. I have a few ideas," The vampire said. "That I will be willing to use."
"Money first?"
"As usual," The vampire agreed. "Go back and get me the fee, and I'll make sure your boy will be healed.
"Okay, okay," Mr. White said at last. "I get you, I will do this."
"Good."
Mr. White turned backward, and saw the fireplace had already been started. "Flue powder?"
The vampire handed him an old shoebox, stuffed to the brim with white flue powder. "That will cost you a galleon extra."
Mr. White rolled his eyes. "Fourteen thousand and one then," He said. "The Compound." He called out as the fire turned green and then he jumped in.
He went back to the manor and knew he didn't have fourteen thousand galleons. Not on him certainly. But the manor was filled with valuables, being his family home and all that. He conjured a bottomless bag and filled it with old books, valuable dishware, jewelry, clothes, and everything he could get his hands on. Then finally he went to the safe vault where he took out the last of the ten thousand galleons him and Harry had spent so fast. Now he wished he hadn't.
There was only two thousand left. He stuffed that in his right coat pocket. Then he went back to the fireplace, threw in a handful of flue powder and jumped in.
Back in the room of the vampires.
Mr. White was seated in the corner. Two vampires stood guard on either side of the door, not letting Mr. White into the hallway, and not letting curious vampires in either. The old Leader of the Vampires was bent over Harry, who was strapped to a little metal platform. The old vampire had muggle equipment around him, test tubes, injections, pills, thermometers, stuff like that.
"I have given him a dose of the draught of living death. That should be enough to buy us some time to find out what poison he has been injected with."
"That's a smart idea, Leader." Mr. White admitted.
"Everything in your bag comes to thirteen thousand galleons, on modern scale prices. If you like you could check yourself."
"No, I trust your honor in business dealings."
"Good. You have one thousand galleons to pay us, on debit."
"With interest?"
"With ten percent interest rates, yes."
Mr. White nodded. "Just heal the boy," He said wearily. "And I'll find your money."
The vampire nodded.
For the next four days, the Leader of the Vampires spent it in testing Harry's blood to find out which poison was used on him. Mr. White didn't stay all day, he went back to his manor to brood and read, mostly about poisons and most of all think.
He had to get centered on his goals again, his ambitions. Thankfully this did not take long for Mr. White. He read a lot in those four days and visited Harry in the morning, just to see. It just felt right that he should do something like that.
"So how is Harry doing?" He said on the fourth day. Harry looked to be dead, but he was taking the draught of living death so the poison wouldn't spread around too much. And that would give the vampire enough time to make antidotes.
"I know the name of the poison, it's venom from the snake: African Boomslang. Now I need to find such a snake and take its venom."
"Snakes huh? I know a place to get an African Boomslang."
"I'm sure. If you would be so kind?"
"To do you job? No problem… for a price." Mr. White had a certain vindictive pleasure to look upon the old Leader of the Vampire's face.
"No, no need. Since there is no deadline attached, I am sure I could-"
"Oh bloody hell, I'll get you the damned snake for free." Mr. White said angrily as he exited Vampire Manor from the fireplace. "Damn greedy bastards," He muttered under his breath.
The vampire smirked.
Mr. White went to Westview Road. It was a wizarding town much like Diagon Alley but this place was a tad bit darker. At the back of the road there was a small and dark shop. There was an old yellow sign that said in emerald green letters, 'Ye Olde Snake Shop'
It was run by a banshee, Gleden the banshee to be exact. Gleden skinny and old but she looked young. The skin on her face glowed blue, very taut and youthful.She had a forked tongue. She was dressed in pale blue robes, tattered and torn robes that had no inch of dirt on them. The robes glowed mystically, her eyes also glowed mystically, and her silky hair had enchanted many young men who had a taste of the exotic. The forked tongue especially.
Mr. White being one of them when he was a young man, a death eater to be sure, but young nonetheless.
"Gleden, my lady," Mr. White simpered as he entered her shop. Around him there were stacks and stacks of cages, all over the place set about in a disorderly mess. Inside were snakes of every variety, purpletooth stranglers, to venomous half-spiders half-snakes. They all hissed at him when he entered the store.
"Georgey?"
Mr. White winced. He hated his first name.
"Yes Gleden, I came to visit you at last."
She came out from the back of her store, looking as she had when he was young. He felt his heart race a bit, a hint from his past.
"It's been a while." Her voice had a ghostly rattle that always sent shivers down 'Georgey' White's neck.
"Yes it has." Mr. White agreed. "Listen, I came to get a snake from you actually. "
"Oh I see," Gleden said coldly. "You don't love me anymore do you?"
"No, no I do. I do." Mr. White said.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Then kiss me."
To kiss a banshee was death. They would suck out your voice and turn you into a banshee just like themselves. Mr. White did not particularly want that. "Some other time, maybe."
The banshee sighed. "It's the same with every man, Georgey. That's why I don't date anymore."
"Err, of course." Mr. White said and cleared his throat. "Now I want an African Boomslang… if you will?"
"Oh yes, right." Gleden said. "Not many customers either. Now when you were not even born… oh snakes were the fad then. But I can't bear to leave because if I do, the snakes will die!"
"You have enough to err… pay for your… rent?" Banshees didn't need food.
"Nobody asks," Gleden said, shrugging.
"Okay then."
Gleden went to the back, "Be right back." She said and shuffled around. The hissing of the snakes all around him was making him uncomfortable. They were like a mob, hissing at him, "GET OUT GET OUT GET THE FUCK OUT!"
Mr. White was uncomfortable and was glad to pay the last of his galleons in his pockets for the snake.
Gleden looked at him wordlessly. "That's all you have isn't it?"
"Yes," Mr. White said.
"Listen carefully for I will give you some advice. This business venture might be successful now, for a bit but will bring you nothing but ruin later on."
"How do you know about that?" Mr. White said, color draining from his face. "How does everyone know."
"It's fate. Leave this-"
"No. No, I am leaving your store. That's what I am leaving." He grabbed the snake from her pale hands and ran out without a second glance.
No he did take a tiny peak, and saw a sad tear drop from the banshees face.
He remembered in Drumstrang, in his Magical Creatures class, how the old instructor had said many times….
"A banshee's word always comes true."
Mr. White gulped with an audible click as he apparrated back to his manor, from there to the vampires, and gave the Leader the snake.
"So you got the snake?" The Leader said as he took the cage. The African boomslang was completely black with yellow spots all around him. Her eyes were golden. She hissed angrily as the vampire opened the cage without a flinch.
The snake struck the vampire on the thumb as the leader reached out into the cage. Mr. White watched with horror.
The Leader did nothing, stopped everything for a second, then smiled and waited. The snake let go and slithered to the back of the cage. The bars were thin boxes, so as hard as the snake tried, she couldn't get out.
The vampire closed the cage and put the bitten thumb on the platform next to Harry. He took out a chopping knife from his tools under the platform, inside the open cupboards, and chopped off his thumb. Then he took an injection, and put the needle in his thumb, right into one of the fang marks the snake had created, and pulled the needle out.
There was a greenish sort of liquid inside the bar of the needle, which the vampire squirted into a test tube.
"I shall have the antidote prepared for the boy in three days tops. I must confess I have never prepared antidotes before. But I have read about them."
Mr. White nodded. "Your thumb?"
"It will grow back, never fear. As long as there are muggles around, the vampires will thrive."
"Err… right." Mr. White said. "I'll be going now. I have some business to attend to."
"You do that," The vampire said, agreeing. "You do that."
Mr. White went back to the mansion, pulled the door of his liquor cabinet in the downstairs cellar – the place he had not entered since his death eater days, and pulled out a nice fresh bottle of Guinnes Red. He set it to frost with a simple charm, conjured a bubble glass, and poured. One after the other.
He turned on the black and white television, pulled out a vcr from the closet, and drunk himself silly to an old porn video.
When he woke up with a hangover the next morning, he went on his first 'odd job.'
He went to the ministry building, sneaked inside, invisible, into the Minister of Magic's office. He had read the newspapers, how every known and accused death eater had been found dead in the mansion, and had celebrated. In fear. Harry was growing powerful, but could he still control him?
That was a question best left unanswered. But Mr. Fudge now… he could pay up. Thirty thousand was just the bottom of the barrel for a man in his position. Mr. White knew he could squeeze in at least two fifty grand. Maybe.
"Mr. Fudge." Mr. White said coldly as he stepped out of the shadows of the office. He removed his invisibility charm as he did so.
Mr. Fudge was all alone in the office. Or so he had thought. He jumped up, looking surprise.
"We had a deal, do you remember?"
"Oh its you! The assassin who-"
"Shh, whisper you buffoon. You want the aurors to barge in here?"
"Err, of course not," Fudge said. "Of course not."
"Good. Now, tell me, what was the price we agreed upon."
"Thirty thousand galleons for Lucius Malfoy's death. I have it too under my-"
"No!" Mr. White said and drew his wand with lightning speed. He pointed it directly into Fudge's eye. "We did more than that. We killed his entire meeting. We had to and now we need more."
"How much more?" Fudge stammered, eyes wide with fright.
"Three hundred thousand galleons. Ten times more."
"What?" Fudge said outraged. "That's ridiculous. Why I don't have-"
"You have three days to get it. If not you will be our next target. Oh, and the thirty thousand is extra." Mr. White pulled out the drawer and took out a hefty bag filled with galleons. "Bye."
Fudge squealed as Mr. White turned himself invisible and walked out. The door swung back. Fudge put his hands to his head as he leant on the desk, stressed out. "I need a drink," He muttered.
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Spent two hours on this chapter. Hope I get some reviews. 73 more chapters to go for this epic fic.
