8. Chapter Eight

Caw.

Harry stiffened and flashed a murderous glower at the crow perched on the building beside him. The sky was dim and cloudy, hardly the beautiful blue it had been the day before. The wind was a bit on the strong side and Harry had to tighten his cloak around his body in order to shield himself from the lingering winter chill. It didn't help matters that ever since he left the Phantomhive manor, he'd noticed the crows.

At first, he thought it was just a coincidence. They had been silent, the sound of their wings the only sign of their presence. However, when he began taking notice of the unusual amount of birds, they began cawing, laughing. It was extremely unsettling, especially because they were bloody big and not just the averaged size crow.

"That's good," Harry hissed under his breath. "Keep giving me clues to your true identity, Crow Man."

It had to be Sebastian summoning them. Doubtless of the culprit behind it, the crows' presence sent chills down his spine. Some of them were demonic. They had to be. A regular crow wouldn't ignite such vulnerable emotions inside Harry.

Caw.

As he stared at the single crow on the roof, a second joined it and then a third. They flapped their wings in agitation and cawed down at Harry. In response, the wizard threw up his hood and continued down the cobblestoned street.

Somehow, Sebastian was able to follow him into the Wizarding world, though the number of birds had lessened considerably. Harry wondered if the crows following him were the familiars Sebastian had mentioned yesterday. The demon said he had a few legions underneath him, surely he'd be able to conjure a few crow demons to follow Harry.

It was also a sign of Sebastian rebellion. Conjuring low-ranking demons to follow Harry was Sebastian's first step in finding a loophole in Ciel's orders.

Harry didn't want the other shoe to drop.

He strolled down the streets of Diagon Alley, casting a suspicious gaze around the marketplace. It was oddly empty, almost as empty as the streets had been during his original timeline back home during Voldemort's second rise. Store patrons gazed out the windows of their shops, their faces washed grey and grim. The few shoppers on the streets had hoods drawn and their wands positioned up their sleeves. Cautious looks were thrown over their shoulders, keeping watch just in case the Dark Lord chose to strike again.

Things were much worse in the Wizarding world than they were in the Muggle world. There had been yet another attack yesterday, this time the amount of casualties exceeding over fifty. And yet, the Ministry still hadn't captured a single follower of the Dark Lord. While there were some casualties from the Dark Lord's army, any chance at recovering their identities had been lost when the body had self-combusted.

This Dark Lord was eliminating any sort of connections, quite effortlessly too.

Minister Brown had owled Harry yesterday morning and had invited him to work with him directly. He commented that he still didn't have an answer from the Auror Department regarding the five wizard casualties in the Muggle world, but promised to get back to him as soon as he did. The Minister also mentioned wanting to discuss the fiasco from the other night, regarding the magic show and the casualties of so many Muggles.

Harry had owled him back and reassured him they would meet in the near future, conveniently leaving the time and date of his arrival a blank. He had other things to do today, things that he'd rather the Minister be in the dark about.

The immortal teen entered Ollivanders Wand Shop, lowering his hood when the clerk behind the counter eyed him warily. Once his adolescent features were revealed, the man relaxed.

"Can I help you, young man?"

"Yes." Emerald eyes roamed the shelves, his lips quirking at the familiar sight. It wasn't Ollivanders without his Ollivander running the shop, but the familiarity was enough to warm his soul. "I've recently taken a job at the Ministry in the Law Enforcement Department," he fibbed easily.

The Ollivander in this time was a brunette and a lot younger than Harry's Ollivander. "You look so young." He smiled patiently and stepped out from behind the counter. "I can't say that I remember selling your wand. You must have gone to some other—"

"I was tutored by my parents in France. I never got the chance to attend Hogwarts," Harry explained hastily. "But I heard about your shop's reputation once I took my position at the Ministry. It's actually the reason why I'm here." He dug in his cloak and pulled out the photograph of the young witch who had died in one of the Muggle attacks. "They say you remember every wand you've ever sold. I wanted to know if you could identify this woman."

He handed the photograph over to the wand maker, watching as the man paled and exhaled heavily.

"Rosa Quileute." He swallowed thickly. "I hadn't known she passed away. She was a very bright witch, a wand meant for Potions."

"I assume she's pureblood… or at least half-blood." Harry took the photograph back from Ollivander and stared down at the blonde witch and her serene features. She appeared pureblood and her surname sounded rather aristocratic, but that didn't mean anything. "Does she have family living in Britain?"

Ollivander frowned and shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't say. She never married, but her parents are still alive, I believe."

Tucking the photograph back into his cloak pocket, Harry offered the man a firm nod. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander." He raised his hood once more and swept from the shop before the man could stutter out an inquiry to his name.

On the stairs, he stopped briefly to look at the crow that was perched on the railing. The black bird cocked his head to the side and gave a hoarse caw. Harry stared into the eyes, feeling a small prick of fear that only a demon could ignite. "Tell your master to fuck off," Harry hissed in the bird's face.

Caw! The bird laughed wildly, flapping its wings in Harry's face and taking flight to circle the sky above him. A few others joined in on the fun and were currently drawing attention from the sparse spectators on the streets. The vendors hugged their merchandise closer and flashed Harry a few suspicious looks. The customers on the streets took one look at the crows and fled to safety, viewing them as omens. And rightfully so, Harry supposed.

"Odd creatures, albeit smart to a certain degree."

Harry turned his head quickly, spying a man in a pure white cloak and blond hair that could rival the sun's rays. The man, at least in his late thirties, looked from the crows to Harry. The younger wizard was taken aback at how pure and blue those eyes were as they gazed at Harry, through Harry. On edge, Harry slid his wand from his sleeve and gazed coolly back at the odd man.

It could be a demon, the high-ranking demon that Sebastian had hinted at yesterday. Demons tended to take on beautiful or handsome forms, at least alluring enough to bring a false sense of security to humans.

The man's eyes dropped automatically down to Harry's wand and smiled thinly. "My, a wand made of elder. Is that right?" His periwinkle blue eyes gazed at Ollivander's shop from over Harry's shoulder. "Mr. Ollivander would be tickled if he knew what kind of wand you wield. It is said that 'only a highly unusual person will find their perfect match with an elder wand. And on the rare occasion when such a pairing occurs, it may be taken as certain that the witch or wizard in question is marked out for a special destiny'."

Harry lifted his chin and smirked ironically. "Who are you?"

"You can call me Michael." The man smiled, showing off his brilliant white teeth. "A master of many things Muggle and magic."

If he didn't look so natural and handsome, Harry might have thought that he was a relative of Gilderoy Lockhart. Michael, though… it was a biblical name and one with all different sorts of underlying meanings. It could be the man's real name or one he had picked out himself. Either way, Harry didn't care.

"Well, Michael, thank you for that lesson in elder wandlore." Harry nodded to the man and began to descend the rest of the stairs.

Just as he made a move to escape to the Wizarding directory to track down Rosa's parents, a hand stopped him on the shoulder. He turned quickly, pointing his wand at the man. In response, Michael took a step backward, raising his hands in mock defense.

"I mean no harm." The man hadn't wiped off his smug grin. It only seemed to grow wider with Harry's bold hostility. "But you are destined for special things, you know. You have much power at your fingertips." He pointed at Harry's wand hand. "You need just ask."

Unsettled with the growing volume of the demon-crows and the man's behavior, Harry tossed his head in impatience. "What? You're not only a master at wandlore, but you can also see into the future?"

The man dressed in pristine white laughed merrily and gave a bow. "I can see into many pasts and many futures."

Immediately, Harry cast a privacy ward around them before his shock got the best of him. "Death."

Michael, or commonly known as Death, chuckled lowly and lowered further into his bow. "In one of my many forms, mind you." Through the fall of golden hair, his blue eyes pierced Harry. "Though, I do prefer my angelic, or rather humanoid form in public. I don't know if you know this, but humans don't take to walking skeletons."

"I had no idea," was all Harry could spit out, his fury too great.

Death laughed merrily and straightened from his bow. "My, cat got your tongue, Harry? I had come up with several comebacks to your furious and predicted insults. None of which are coming out of your mouth right now. Pity. It did take me awhile to formulate witty rebuttals. One hundred years, to be exact."

Harry had so much to say to Death, so much expectations, none of which included Death to have a personality like this. Death had caused him so much grief and suffering, Harry hated him with every fiber of his being. Yet, the man –creature—acted so inane. It shouldn't have surprised him, considering many of the shinigamis acted the same, Undertaker especially.

While his rebirth was always a murky fog, Harry did know that Death was never like this in their brief interactions. Death was far more solemn and serious. In Harry's memories, he faintly remembered pleading with Death to release him, but Death always responded with the same sorrow-filled answer. Though, Harry couldn't remember the exact words.

"What do you want?" Harry hissed darkly. Death had never approached him. Ever. He had questions, so many questions, but his stubbornness got in the way. He didn't want to acknowledge anything from Death, and that included answers.

"To remind you," Death replied, suddenly losing all mirth and cloaking himself with grim resolve. "To remind you that you are my master and all you need to do bend your neck and ask. I may not be able to grant you everything you wish, but I will try my best." He leaned closer to Harry. "This universe will bring you a different prospective of eternity and the power you truly wield. You will look into the eyes of humanity and wonder how you could ever be associated with such a devastating, sad race."

Harry bowed his head and exhaled lowly at the warning. Nonetheless, his mind quickly brought him back to the most important topic. "All I want is to be rid of the Hallows and be reunited with my family."

"That, I cannot grant you."

Green eyes lightened with rage. "Why not?" he demanded sharply. "You made them. You—"

"I did not create them," Death interrupted with dark humor. "That fairytale you heard is not true."

"Then who made them?"

"The three brothers." The angelic-looking man smiled grimly. "It is very similar to the story you've heard, only far uglier and haunting than three simple wizards cheating death. They all competed against each other, quite explicitly so. The three brothers all desired something different, yet in the end, their common goal was the same."

"Immortality," Harry supplied menacingly. He was reluctant to engage Death in a conversation longer than a few words, but this was something he had to know.

"You'd be surprised at how many humans desire immortality, or more specifically, fear mortality. The more power-hungry ones strive for eternal bliss their whole lives and never realize that the life they have been granted with has slipped through their fingers." Death held up his hand, for a moment the fleshy fingers turning into skeletal hands. "In the end, even you and I will walk hand-in-hand to the afterlife. Everything must die, Harry."

"You're referring to the Apocalypse."

"You and I will be the last ones standing," Death agreed.

Harry looked into those blue eyes, drowning in sudden realization. "There is an end."

Death reached out and touched Harry's chest, the fingers pressing against his ribcage solid bone. "No three wizards, no matter how powerful they are, can create three objects that will grant total immortality when joined together. They had help from an entity that had no right creating such powerful objects."

"A demon," Harry guessed in wary amusement.

"Yes. The demon wanted to devour the three brothers' souls. He made three objects that would grant immortality when combined properly. However, the three brothers could never stand accepting that only one of them would be the Master of Death. You are jumping different alternative universes, pasts and futures. Some deal with different outcomes of the brothers, most dealing with one killing the other or both. I cannot erase the Hallows from history, I cannot—"

"But the books and the tales… I can't find Beedle the Bard's books or any record of the Hallows anywhere—"

"Because you're in a different timeline," he replied patiently. "During your original timeline, the Tale of the Three Brothers was published into a fairytale for children. But who says that it was ever recorded in this alternative universe? Who says Beedle the Bard ever took the path in becoming an author? There are many different alternatives that you haven't yet considered."

Unsettled, Harry glanced around at Diagon Alley and toward the sparse shoppers. Above, the crows had settled on the rooftops, their numbers multiplied and oddly silent. Harry knew they couldn't hear because of the ward he had placed up, but they were watching intently.

"So there will always be Hallows." He turned back to Death, who had been watching the crows just as well. "No matter how buried they might be, they will always be in the timelines I travel to—"

"Not necessarily," Death smiled brightly, gaining a sliver of merriment back. "In some timelines, the three brothers may have never contracted with the devil. In that case, there would just be three remarkable items that possessed rare abilities. Or perhaps they were never capable of creating the ring, the cloak, or the wand."

Death threw up a hand and reached towards the heavens. "One single event can cause a ripple effect, Harry. There are thousands upon thousands of different alternative universes out there. You cannot rule out anything when you travel to a new time. It's what's so fun being me… and you."

Harry glowered at the figure before him. He didn't like the fact that nothing was set in stone, that things were so unexplainable. It was pure chance that he would be thrown into a time with or without the Hallows. "Then that means there can be another Master of Death out there."

Death's smile froze as he stared up at the sky, his whole being turning dim. "No. That title is reserved for you alone, no matter which dimension you travel to." He dropped his arm and took a step closer to Harry. "You see, the demon that contracted with the three brothers didn't have the power to grant total immortality. No one can grant such a thing. Instead, he did the only thing he could get away with."

Harry took a step back as Death took another forward.

"The Master of Death is tied to me." Death chuckled and grabbed Harry's shoulder. "Your soul is tied to mine. Your fate is directly tied to mine. We are two sides of the same coin, Harry. It's why you are unable to die, simply because I do not die."

The words were… unsettling to say the least. "There is no way around this? Contracting with another demon—"

"Will not work," Death declared. "What's done is done. You are the first and only one who has successfully mastered the Hallows." He reared away and gazed off into the distance with a wistful expression. "Many came close, but no one wanted to embrace me like you did. That is a rather sore subject for me, you know. Many see me and try to run the opposite direction. It's why I admire you so much, Harry. You looked me in the eye and smiled."

Harry stood there, finding no amusement in the raving. He wondered why he had to be a hero all the time. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn't sacrificed himself for the war with Voldemort. If he had been a bit more selfish, he wouldn't have been in this position.

Through lowered lashes, he gazed at Death, wondering about the man's—entity's—true feelings on the subject. There were still many questions, still so many unknowns, yet this conversation had given Harry many answers he'd been searching for. It also gave him a sense of emptiness to know that there really was nothing he could do to reverse this curse.

If his soul was tied to Death's, nothing could consume it or destroy it. Death held it in the palm of his hand, or rather, it was tied around his neck in a sort of binding manacle. As long as Death stood tall, Harry would stand tall. Apparently, even Death could not undo what had been done.

"You look so gloom. Imagine what I feel like having a miserable bastard as a master."

Harry flashed the entity a disgusted look. Finding out that Death hadn't been the one to create the Hallows did lighten Harry's dislike for the man, but it still made him exasperated. He didn't want to acknowledge this curse. He had inherited something from three, power-hungry wizards who had never been able to inherit it themselves.

"Don't worry. I have nothing to demand of you. You can go away now."

One blue eye closed and the other surveyed Harry in pleasure. "You will never take advantage of the power I can grant you, will you?"

"I have my own power." Nevertheless, he gradually acknowledged that if the time came and he did need Death's assistance, he wouldn't be completely against it.

"Stubborn," Death whispered softly before looking at the wand still clutched in Harry's hand. "Technically speaking, that wand was invented by a wizard and enchanted by a demon. It's not your own power."

"You can go now," Harry dismissed and turned his shoulder on Death.

He canceled the privacy ward and strode down the streets, feeling far more alive than he'd felt in ages. He felt reenergized. As much as he hated admitting it, the conversation with Death had given him a renowned outlook on his situation. Death's job was to collect and transport souls. If there was an Apocalypse, there really would be an end to Harry's repetitive and endless cycle.

But then he remembered what Sebastian had said the night before, of how there would be no adrenaline, no conflict to appease him in the afterlife. Harry wondered what would happen if Sebastian succeeded in turning him into a demon. Not that Harry would allow it, but he was curious to know if Sebastian would succeed, and if so, how would it affect Harry and Death?

It didn't matter. In the end, Harry saw a chance to be reunited with his family. How could he destroy that chance by being corrupted?

Though, wasn't he already damned? He had committed sins in his lifetime. He had stood back and watched others die when he could have tried to save them. He murdered his opponents without pity. Could he stand tall on judgment day and believe he had a right to be welcomed into His kingdom?

Or did Harry automatically go where Death went? There were so many unknowns. Harry refused to think on them, especially when he couldn't possibly know the answers.

A chuckle followed at his heels. "I hate demons," a voice commented toward the heavens, toward the birds. The shadow of a grim reaper walked alongside Harry. "Malphas was a pain in the arse. Still is."

At the demon's spoken name, the crows all started croaking hoarse, angry calls. Harry gazed up at them, his stride falling short. "Malphas?" He stared into the angry eyes of the crows. "Is that Sebastian's demon name?"

Turning, he got a face full of an angry crow and an absent Death. Trust Death to create a scene and slither away unharmed.

Harry held up his wand and Disapparated, leaving the lively and giddy crows behind. As much as he wanted to research Malphas, assuming such information was reliable, Harry had to follow his lead on Rosa Quileute. Scheming Dark Lords, Ministers, and Queens did not take a break just because Harry was handed useful information from Death.

Deliver Us

Rosa Quileute had lived with her parents until the age of twenty when she finished the training to become an Auror. According to public records, she was currently twenty-six, or, twenty-six when she passed away. The directory didn't say anything about her date of death, which only confirmed Harry's suspicions that her death had been covered up.

The next best thing was her parents' residence.

His feet landed firmly on the ground in front of a small cottage. Cold, green eyes studied his surroundings, taking note of the complete seclusion. The house was on a few acres, settled in the middle of a meadow. Further down the way, the start of a heavy tree line could be seen. The Quileute's home was isolated, cozy. For a long moment, he admired it from afar, a faint smile across his lips.

It was nightfall already and a few of the windows were highlighted by dim lanterns that omitted a golden hue. Outside, the early spring breeze had grown voracious, causing Harry's cloak to flap wildly around his feet as he approached the house. Despite the bitter wind and the eerie glow of the covered moon, the house remained solid, untouched by the night.

Harry considered the house as he stalked the perimeter, not sensing any particular wards up. The only ward he could find was one that would notify those inside of an approaching intruder. Nothing else seemed to be in place, allowing Harry easy access.

He would only ask a few questions about Rosa and her line of work or anything that had seemed important to her the last time they'd interacted with their daughter. If the Ministry were so tightlipped about Rosa, then Harry would go straight to the source.

As he took another step forward, a strong, constricting pressure erupted around his neck. Harry stopped short, gagging and wrapping a hand around his throat. It felt like someone had put a collar around his neck and was tugging him backward. Even his feet, which had turned motionless, was beginning to drag a few inches back without his consent.

Caw.

Harry dry heaved and clawed at his throat. There was no wizard around him, no immediate opponent that was causing this. If it weren't for the lone crow sitting in a tree branch, Harry would have been clueless as to the cause. But he wasn't. This was Sebastian's doing. The mark on the back of his neck seared and pulled. As Harry struggled against it, taking a few staggering steps toward the house, the pressure increased significantly.

The crow in the tree flapped its wings and gave a high-pitched screech, a sound that poured coldly down Harry's spine and raised the small hairs on his body. It was nails on a chalkboard, an unharmonized chord that could only be produced in the depths of damnation.

Everything went still in the night. The air grew suppressing and warm, the insects falling silent on instinct.

Moments later, the small cottage he hunted down was embraced in a brilliant white light. Harry raised his sleeve against his eyes, shielding himself from the flash. It was a silent explosion and one that didn't cause a huge backlash. Only a gust of dry, warm air picked up the corners of his cloak and played with the loose material. His deep hood inched backward, in danger of falling, but it fell back in place once the wave of turbulence ceased.

With his pulse high in both anger and adrenaline, Harry peeked over his forearm, staring at the demolished house. The small cottage was now a black smear on the earth's surface, nothing having survived but a few scraps. The once tall, grassy meadow was nothing more than a dirt landscape, stretching for miles and miles.

His gaze automatically landed on three figures that were running from the home, obviously the culprits. Their stances were bent, appearing as if they were ready to Disapparate without a moment's notice.

But Harry had more than just a moment to consider. As far as he was concerned, Rosa's parents had been innocent and they had also been his only lead in the Muggle nobility case. Their daughter had held the key to the Minister's and Queen's actions.

The trio wasn't getting away.

Harry threw his arms down at his sides, his wand pointed purposely to the ground. He conjured an Anti-Disapparation ward around the wide perimeter of the demolished property. The ward, a ring of fire, quickly snaked around and encircled the property, abruptly cutting off the wizards. One of them tried to Disapparate before it closed, but hadn't been quick enough. His body jerked into an invisible barrier and flipped him away like a mere ragdoll.

Even from Harry's distance, he could see the man had Splinched himself, now without a leg and arm. The man screamed and cried, flopping around like a fish out of water.

The other two wizards raced toward the fiery ward, hoping to run through it and into a safe haven. A vindictive smile curled Harry lips as he touched the ward with his wand. The flames turned a bright emerald and heightened in both illumination and size. If anyone, with the exception of the castor, tried to step through the flames, they would find themselves burned to a crisp in an instant.

More than eager to start, Harry calmly stepped through the wall of flames and began to make his way over to the remaining two wizards. They turned to him, taking a few steps backward in either fear or surprise. No sooner, the spells began flying, their actions similar to that of cornered animals. They were desperate, afraid, and Harry approached with an air of calm fury.

He batted away the spells and curses, their power level average at best. However, they really were putting up a valid effort. Considering there were no Unforgivable Curses or Avada Kedavra's being exchanged meant that Harry was dealing with Light Wizards. Ministry. Soon, they would slip, and Harry was ready for Darker, more difficult spells to bat away.

"Who sent you?" Harry demanded once in earshot. "Are you part of the Ministry?"

"Go screw yourself!" one of the men spat fiercely.

"Wrong answer," Harry chided.

He flicked his wand, his curse flying straight through the man's powerful shield. The gold energy hit the man's leg and shattered his kneecap. He watched with unbridled glee as the man went down crying. Thick saliva pooled in the corners of the man's mouth, sliding down his chin unchecked.

The last man standing disposed of his morals and finally began throwing the Killing Curse in Harry's direction. With cool ease, the immortal wizard summoned the Splinched man's dismembered arm and held it in front of him as a shield. Without wasting a moment's time, Harry sent the arm flying toward his opponent.

As soon as the man was distracted, Harry flicked his wand, using his magic to wrap around the man's middle. A simple wave of his wrist abruptly had the man flying through the flames. The emerald flames flashed brightly as the body went through, omitting a charred corpse on the other side. The smell of burned flesh stained the otherwise clear, invigorating night.

The wizard with the shattered kneecap roared fiercely and began throwing curse after curse at Harry. His anger got the best of him and it seemed to increase his speed and power. Nevertheless, Harry was just as furious, though he'd learn through the years how to cloak it. He met each attack with calm precision, his barrier catching each curse and rebounding it.

Unfortunately, the man who had Splinched himself hadn't died as Harry had believed. By the time Harry apprehended the attack at his back, he had no time to move the barrier in front of him to behind. Holding up his left palm, he figured he would wandlessly block it, but hesitated when he saw the color of the curse.

It was either a stunner or an Avada Kedavra.

A crow suddenly dived in between Harry and the curse, quickly engulfed in a green glow before falling motionlessly to the ground. Before the bird hit the ground, Harry already exploded the fallen wizard's skull, killing him instantly. Toes pivoting, he caught the other wizard's hex on the tip of his wand, allowing it to grow before throwing it back.

The man grunted, doubling over and holding his stomach. His wand was easily summoned by Harry.

"What are you?!" The sole survivor cried, his shattered kneecap preventing him from standing. For being disabled, he certainly had tried his damnest. He watched Harry approach through dilated but determined eyes. "The Dark Lord…"

"No," Harry scolded softly, grinning down at the man. "Just someone you ticked off. Who ordered you to kill them?" He pointed his wand at the man's forehead. "Have you been following me today?"

Perhaps the man hadn't followed him, but someone had. They had known Harry was looking into Rosa Quileute and her family. In order to prevent him from getting into contact with her parents, they had gone to the extreme and obliterated them. It was such a desperate measure, one that had Harry wondering if it was a desperate act of a Light wizard or an intentional act of a Dark wizard.

The man gazed back at Harry. "I'm not telling you anything."

Legilimency. Harry held his wand at the man's head and submerged himself into the other wizard's wide-open mind until he found what he was looking for. A redheaded wizard was speaking to him with muffled, but distinguishable words.

"Quileute. You know who they are, correct?" The redhead leaned closer. "Take two other men with you and destroy them and their home. This is an off-duty assignment, Greg."

Greg nodded solemnly, his expression stern but his eyes puzzled. "Do you mind if I ask what they've done? Who ordered the hit—"

"I do mind." The redhead, most likely a superior, clapped Greg on the shoulder. "You do good work. Keep it up."

Harry pulled out, immensely frustrated. Of course, they would send someone with no connections to the case. Whoever was behind this knew that there was a possibility that Harry could practice Legilimency, no matter how horrible he was at it.

"Greg, Greg, Auror Greg," Harry sang sweetly, tracing his wand against the other man's throat. "You're a dog. A spineless, obedient dog. I don't know whether to be amused or shocked that the Aurors deliver such degraded hits on innocent men and women. I suppose I'm even more amused that you follow such dishonest orders without questioning them further."

He forced the Elder Wand deeper into the fallen man's throat, taking special care to press on the voice box. The off-duty Auror gagged. "People like you don't deserve to live," Harry murmured softly, staring intently at the man at his feet.

There was something odd about looking a fallen Auror in the eye, forced to see the brave eyes staring back. They were hazel in color, the same color that once belonged to Harry's father. Briefly, Harry wondered if this was what his father looked like just before Voldemort killed him. It took a brave man to stare death in the eye without flinching. Unfortunately, Harry was one of those men who hadn't flinched.

Look at where that got him.

"Obliviate," Harry whispered.

Just before the spell took effect, the man's eyes widened comically. He hadn't expected to live, Harry knew.

After manipulating and erasing the memories, Harry knocked the man unconscious. He stepped over the body and approached the fallen crow. From beneath his hood, Harry gazed at the trees surrounding him, spying a few crows perched on the branches. They were silent, observant, waiting for Harry to make his next move.

Briefly, he wondered if demons could even die from an Avada Kedavra. He doubted it. Demons were technically already dead. They were undead, were they not? In all actuality, they were entities, just like angels and Death. However, they needed food to sustain themselves, or at least they needed food to keep their abilities up to speed.

Harry bent down and cupped the crow in his hands, peering down at the stiff, motionless form. The bird was lighter than he imagined, softer too. As much as it exasperated him that Sebastian had so many eyes on him, Harry couldn't leave the thing laying abandoned after it put itself in front of a curse for him.

"Enervate." A glow encircled the crow before the demon-bird twitched and fluttered. Its wings flapped in agitation before he found balance on his feet. Harry stared into its dark eyes, smirking when he saw his reflection mirrored back at him. "Foolish creature."

With its small talons wrapped around his fingers, Harry lifted his arm and released the crow into the air. The bird flapped its way into the sky, finally catching a current and riding it above Harry.

He made his way over to the burned house and stared jadedly into the rubble. Emerald eyes found and stared at the two charred corpses, barely recognizable amongst the black wreckage. A deep sense of disappointment washed through him. Going through the parents and friends of the victims was no longer an option. Harry would have to go into the lion's den to get his answers.

He needed to submerge himself within the Ministry, within the Wizarding community. Above all else, he needed to get his hands on the redheaded superior in Greg's mind.

Suddenly, the crows began crying and screeching, becoming louder and more animated than Harry had ever seen them. He whirled around, staring into the sky and watching as all the crows flocked near him and began diving and plunging toward a figure on the other side of the green flames.

Harry squinted, first identifying the huge, black dog on its haunches. It was the grim, Sirius. Next to the dog was a girl, a mere child with long, lanky hair. Her pale form was somehow clearly distinguishable through the flames. Harry could only stare. The more he stared back at her, the stronger the sense of dread grew in his stomach.

Sebastian's mark on the back of his neck began placing pressure on him, a warning.

The girl was frowning at him stoically, her eyes wide and unblinking. It was Harry who blinked first. When he refocused, he took a startled step back at the horror. Gaping black holes had replaced the girl's eyes and mouth, rivaling something that had stepped straight out of hell. Cold sweat broke out across Harry's body and he shuddered, staring into the face of an exposed demon.

He cancelled the anti-Disapparation ward and promptly Disapparated.


Yes, I revealed Sebastian as Malphas (a common consensus among a few fans of Kuroshitsuji). I was torn between Malphas and Mephistopheles (way too cliché for my tastes—and too long to yell in the throes of passion—ha). While I did base Sebastian off Malphas, I don't want all of you to Google him and think all the information applies to Sebastian, because it doesn't. Many of the things I found /do/ relate to my Sebastian, but some of it doesn't and I have also added a bit more. You'll learn more about him later, promise.