15th April 1995
Sirius bought some sweets that made you hiccough bubbles from Zonko's and some gloves from their 'Amber Accessories' range that made someone else's hair stand on end when you shook their hand. He also proudly admired the small display of 'Marvellous Marauder Mayhem' products that the shop was shocking.
"Such talented young men," he said approvingly. "Even Snape can't fault their brewing and has to resort to calling the twins' business 'A frivolous waste of talent by troll-brains who should concentrate on their studies'."
Harry sighed dispiritedly, and browsed the shop's range without enthusiasm, eventually selecting an enchanted condiment set; the pepper was transfigured to look like salt and vice versa, so that what you thought you were adding to a meal was actually the opposite in taste. Or perhaps it was a charm? Harry wasn't sure and was curious to investigate.
"They were thinking about leaving Hogwarts to work, since they have their OWLs, but Molly burst into tears at the very thought of them sacrificing their education and nagged me into talking them into staying put," Sirius chattered, with determined brightness. "Sure, they could leave now, but their products will be even better with another couple of years of Potions and Charms theory under their belts. They can still make a little money on the side while in school, after all."
As they left the store Sirius fumbled with paying for his purchases, having to juggle his goods and his purse with one hand, his right arm still being desiccated and unusable.
"Want to go to Honeyduke's next?" Sirius asked.
Harry put on a smile. "Sure, sounds fun."
He glanced at Sirius withered arm as they walked. "You ah… have you given any more thought to Bill Weasley's spell? I think you should cast it."
Sirius glanced around at the passing wizards and witches on the cobbled road.
"Muffliato," he intoned quietly. No-one seemed to be paying attention to them, but extra privacy for their conversation certainly wouldn't hurt, all things considered.
"I have found some notes in the family grimoire that might help, but there's no way around the blood sacrifice – scaling it down from an Egyptian ox to an ordinary black rooster is the best that can be managed, and then it would need yearly renewal. So unfortunately, it doesn't look like it is going to work," he said quietly. "To raise something from the dead – even a half-dead arm – needs a sacrifice. There's no way around it… and believe me we've all looked hard for an alternative; me, Remus, and Bill, that is."
"A rooster! Is that all?" Harry said, with relief. "Well, you should go for it, I reckon. Chicken for dinner and just tell everyone it was an Egyptian healing spell, they don't need to know the details."
"No, Harry! It's illegal for a reason. Don't worry, we're looking for alternatives. Nothing yet but we'll keep trying. The Chinese have some marvellous medicines, though they don't share them all, so we're asking around–"
"But this will work now!" Harry interrupted. "It's just a chicken, what's the big deal? Harbouring Lupin is illegal too, and that doesn't stop you. If you don't want to do it then I could do it for you – I wouldn't mind. I feed live animals to Storm all the time!"
"No, Harry!" Sirius said, grabbing Harry by the shoulder.
Harry instinctively froze still, but then his hand inched towards his pocket, close to his wand. He shouldn't need it, but… just in case…
"You don't understand. How addictive blood magic is, how easy it becomes to sacrifice yourself, or others! To turn to it more and more without hesitating to think of the price you're paying."
"But you used it, didn't you? You talked about how you added blood to your 'Marauder's Map'."
"Yes, well I was reckless once. I learnt better… so did James. My family used it and I… I was used to it. Like you said, no big deal, right? However, the thought patterns it establishes, that kind of thing, can in truth become a major problem. I almost got Remus – my friend – killed. Almost made him a murderer, and that would have earnt him the death penalty. I didn't even think about the risk to someone I didn't care about, didn't think of blood being spilled or a life lost as a big deal. It was just… funny, to think that um… someone," – Snape, thought Harry – "might be hurt or killed."
"I don't really see the connection though. There's a big difference between a chicken and a person. You eat meat all the time, this would be no different to that," Harry said defensively. He thought Sirius was really reaching hard for a justification for being such a massive bully in the past to the point he'd almost gotten someone killed. Two people, even.
"Killing a chicken doesn't make you want to kill people, Sirius."
Sirius scrubbed at his long hair with frustration, turning it into a tangled mess, then led Harry over to the side of the road, next to Honeyduke's. "Look, Harry. Look, that's… that's Muggle thinking. Wizards, we don't work like that. I've heard these arguments before, your mum… she didn't really get it either, I think. What you say, what you do, it shapes your soul, it shapes your magic. For good or ill. The spells we learn are patterns, they shape our magic, over and over. It's not magic that changes when you practice a charm – it's you. What we vow, it has meaning. Words aren't to be taken lightly, they have power to them, do you understand? To make a sacrifice, it makes you into the kind of person who makes sacrifices."
Harry nodded slowly. "I think I understand what you're trying to say."
"I hope so," Sirius said, dark eyes full of concern. "Look, just one spell, it would be so easy, right? But the price is never as easy as it seems, and that temptation is with you then, every day. Wouldn't it be easier to find Wormtail if I scried for him by looking at fresh entrails? Wouldn't it be faster to torture information out of a Death Eater, rather than hoping they'd talk? Don't they deserve it? No, it's the slow path, the hard path. As much as you can. That was your dad's choice, and he led me along with him."
"Yes, sir."
Sirius sighed, and looked at Harry's earnest face. He looked sincere. "Harry, the things Kreacher says, that he mutters sometimes… they're not true are they, Harry? You aren't practicing Dark magic, are you?"
"No, sir. Sirius. Of course not. I just sometimes tell Kreacher what he wants to hear."
It was just then, as Sirius gazed at him assessingly and Harry did his best to seem earnest and sincere (no matter the churning thoughts and guilt he was silently grappling with), that the noise of a loud clanging bell rang out across Hogsmeade and a couple of passers-by screamed in panic at the sound, rushing for the nearest buildings to get off the streets.
"The wards! Come on, tunnel to Hogwarts," Sirius said, and grabbed Harry to try and drag him inside Honeyduke's, the nearest shop, but they almost ran into the proprietor's wife, Mrs. Flume, who was coming out. She nudged the door open with her hip, her hands being occupied carrying a bucket of liquid.
"Out of the way!" she screeched, before tossing the bucket's contents on the door. Red liquid dripped over the lintel and the door; it looked like blood.
Sirius sniffed the air and looked closer at the liquid. "Raspberry syrup?"
Harry sniffed too – the scent of sugar and raspberry was obvious.
"'Twill serve," the woman said defensively.
There was a sound in the air now, like the honks of geese or the yelping of hounds.
"I thought the rumours were… Harry Potter!" she finished, with a startled yelp. "Get away from my shop! I have a family! They will see us dead to get to you!"
"I don't think–" Harry started, but the woman darted back inside Honeyduke's and slammed the door shut in their faces. A muffled cry of "Colloportus!" from the other side of the door hinted very subtly that they wouldn't be welcome inside, the door locked to bar them entry.
"Someone didn't Sort into Gryffindor," Sirius muttered darkly. "Come on, let's find you somewhere to shelter, and fast, so I can go fight. Preferably with a disguise for you; for 'tis true Wormtail wants you dead." Sirius' new wand was out, and his left hand clenched it tightly as his eyes darted around looking for opponents. None were in sight as yet.
A couple of other doors slammed shut as they scurried past. Harry spotted two other houses with a smear of red on their doorways. He doubted they'd all used raspberry syrup.
"You should hide too. Pettigrew wants you dead!" Harry said.
"Well, the feeling is mutual. What is left of him would probably even thank me. And do not say his name. I've heard there is a Taboo on it too, now."
Sirius fumbled in his bag. "I've got a hair-colour changing potion in here somewhere; I want you to drink it."
"Transvorto visagus," Harry intoned. With a swirl of his wand he changed his appearance to the glamoured visage of a curly-haired boy with blue eyes. "I don't need the potion."
"Finite," Sirius snapped out, with a very vague and imprecise wave of his new wand, his elbow trapping his shopping bag at his side. "Not enough, too easily countered and everyone uses Counter-Charms in a duel."
Madam Puddifoot's door was open, and the plump owner was in the doorway with an atypically sombre and fearful expression, but it wasn't stopping her from waving inside anyone who passed.
A block away there was a loud bang and some screams, and Sirius' bag slipped from his tenuous grasp as he whirled around to instinctively point his wand in the direction of the noise. There was the sharp sound of shattering glass as it hit the ground, and Sirius cursed.
"We're out of time. Go to the café, no arguing. We will have to hope she is willing to shelter you, Harry. Sanctuary might be too much to ask."
"Well, she'll shelter Antares Black," Harry said, concentrating fiercely on his Metamorphmagus abilities until his hair started changing, and hopefully his eyes did too. "How's that?"
"Finite." Sirius' eyebrows were up high with surprise as his counter-charm failed to have any effect. "That's not wordless magic… Is that… the family talent?! Merlin, Harry's that amazing! Look at you!"
Pride shone clear in his eyes as he reached out and gave Harry an awkward one-armed hug, which left Harry feeling warm and shyly embarrassed at his clear approval. "Yeah, I have the Metamorphmagus talent. Just a bit, not as good as Tonks," he explained.
"Any scrap of talent is a wonder. Alas, there is no time to celebrate it. We shall talk about this later. Now go! I have to hunt Death Eaters!"
"Colovaria. I have a Portkey–" Harry started, as tapped his glasses to put a Slytherin-green colour charm on the frames, but Sirius interrupted quickly.
"NO!" he yelled. "We talked about this last time; no Portkeys. Not with Hogsmeade's wards up, and whatever our enemy's put up! Last resort only! Your disguise is a wonder and should keep you safe, but I want you off the streets. GO!"
Harry went to the restaurant, with a worried backwards glance over his shoulder at Sirius, who'd abandoned his broken bag of shopping and was running in the direction of the loudest screams.
Madam Puddifoot was happy to shelter him – a boy with aqua eyes (not the pure blue he'd aimed for) and long sandy brown curls hiding his forehead and trailing across his shoulders. Antares Black, Slytherin, wasn't on anyone's list as someone to target, nor to show special protection to. He was shepherded inside then disregarded, and that was fine by him. Harry kept one hand on his wand, and clutched Snape's gifted Portkey with the other, fidgeting with the smooth tiny stone in his waistcoat pocket. The small disc of grey stone clinked against the rings and his Gringotts key. Sirius might not trust it – he didn't know much about the gift, after all – but Harry was moderately confident that if Snape had thought his gift would've gotten Harry away from the chaos as the Quidditch World Cup, it'd probably be able to get him through Hogsmeade's wards too. Still, he'd only use it if he really had to. Maybe there would be something he could do to help if he stayed put, and he was safe for now. He wished he'd sent some snakes after Sirius, but now he was inside the café and his cover would be blown if he started hissing instructions to summoned snakes.
Harry watched worriedly through a gap in the curtained windows as a pack of snow-white snarling dogs with blood-red ears pelted through the village, followed by a swift-moving dark-robed figure hunched over a flying broomstick, wearing a featureless white mask. Their black robes whipped about in the wind as they zoomed through the air, like a terrifying spectre, almost Dementor-like.
"Death Eaters. And those Welsh dogs – the fairy hounds. Cŵn Annwn," he said, remembering the name at last.
"Hunting Muggles," someone in the restaurant murmured fearfully. "They say they'll rip them apart limb from limb."
"Better than werewolves," someone else said. "At least you'd have a chance."
Madam Puddifoot and two of her customers kept a careful watch at the door, wands at the ready. When a wounded witch staggered past the shop, blood running down her side and whimpering in pain, she was quickly encouraged to shelter inside, and the door slammed and relocked behind her.
"We need a Healer!"
"Floo's down! We daren't Disapparate!"
Harry let go of his Portkey – but not his wand – and stepped forward. "I can help! I know some Healing charms, and I have some potions handy. Signum Asclepius," he finished, tapping his robe with his wand tip. The glowing lime-green symbol of Asclepius blossomed into life on his robes; a snake wound around a staff, the sign of an Apprentice Healer that he wasn't officially entitled to wear.
"Tch, Episkey's no good, the wound's too large for that," Harry said, gently but firmly pushing aside an adult wizard whose spellcasting clearly wasn't going to be sufficient.
The injured witch was very grateful for young Antares' assistance, an aspirant Apprentice Healer being better than nothing, after all. He was in fact even better with his Healing charms and potions than any of the adults present, so felt quite justified in taking over the witch's care.
It wasn't like the World Cup with people running everywhere like headless chickens; most people had bunkered down now, and some few like Sirius were off fighting.
The huddled mass of customers in the tea shop were muttering darkly about some people using 'blood magic' on their doors to ward off attacks and supporting Madam Puddifoot for not stooping to that level, not that she knew anything about it.
"If someone spread word of what to do, they didn't bother to tell me about it. Pure-blood I may be, but 'tis widely known I support Dumbledore and stand against those monsters," she averred. "Cowards, I call them."
"I agree," someone chimed in supportively. "They're either too cowardly to oppose the Death Eaters and their Lord, or halfway recruited already. Either way, safe for the Death Eaters to ignore. We'll show those skull-faced beasts what for if they try to come in here, won't we?!"
There was a murmur of support for the wizard's brave words. Some people looked scared, some looked determined, but people generally looked ready to fight.
In theory.
In practice they all stayed put inside, and when an unknown brown-robed Auror with short grey hair fought a running battle with a masked Death Eater in the street in front of the shop, no-one moved an inch, except to peer nervously through gaps in the curtains to watch the action.
Blasts of coloured light zipped back and forth as both combatants dodged and shot their barrages of spells. A flock of bats swooped on the Auror, while a choking orange mist shot in retaliation was swiftly dispelled by the Death Eater, who got hit with some nasty blue hex right afterwards that they weren't prepared to counter.
The pace of the spells was frantic, and Harry's eyes widened as he realised how unstoppably fast everything was. Some of those spells he knew, some he didn't. Some he couldn't even guess at; for portions of the duel were done in complete silence. He wasn't sure he could counter things as fast as either of the two wizards fighting could. Under controlled conditions with loud incantations, nice and slow? Sure. But not in a fight. He was glad he'd listened to Sirius and hid, and hoped that his would-be guardian was alright out there. He really wished Sirius was hiding too but understood that was a vain hope.
Far too loud and close to Harry's ear, a witch let out a strangled scream when the sickly green ray of the Killing Curse was dodged by the injured Auror, who dropped flat to the ground to avoid it. Still prone, the Auror yelled loudly and shot back what Harry instantly recognised as a nasty bone-breaking curse, and the Death Eater went down like a sack of potatoes. As the watchers in the tea shop whispered their excited approval at the Auror's triumph, the Auror hit the Death Eater with a vicious Cutting Curse to his arm, summoned the wizard's fallen wand, and ran off in search of new opponents. Blood spread out from the crumpled figure on the ground.
"Got him!" someone crowed.
"Tartarus for that one. Good riddance, I say. Shameful lot of bigots."
"Look!" someone called out from Harry's other side, pointing out the window at a thin plume of smoke in the distance. "Scribbulus' shop is on fire."
"He married a Muggle, didn't he? Poor man, they'll be after him. I hope his wife's safe."
Harry's attention, however, was on the twitching figure in black robes left lying in a heap in the street. Who was it? Was it someone he knew?
"They're dying," he said aloud.
"Mrs. Scribbulus? I hope not, lovely lady."
"The Death Eater. They're going to die. They don't have a wand, and no-one's helping him."
Could it be Mr. Malfoy? Snape? What if it was someone he knew? Someone forced into working for the Dark Lord, someone spying. Or just… someone. Someone with family who'd miss them. Didn't they deserve a proper trial?
"Good," a witch said harshly.
"We should help him. Not help, exactly, just… stop him dying. They can arrest him."
It was what my dad would have wanted. He didn't like killing people – not even Death Eaters. Not even by accident. Mum felt the same.
Harry remembered a story that Sirius had recently told him about her, that she'd read Sirius the riot act once for being too ruthless in battle. She'd said that if the Order acted just like the Death Eaters did it wouldn't matter who won the war, because evil would have triumphed either way. She'd said they had to be better.
"Who's the lad, exactly?" someone asked in a murmur, narrowing their eyes at Harry.
"Name of Black. A Slytherin I think he said," the wizard next to them replied, in disparaging tones. Quiet, but not so quiet that Harry couldn't overhear him. "The whole family's gone there for generations. Dark."
Harry wanted to argue in Sirius' defence, explain everything, but this wasn't the time for it. He took a deep breath. "I could summon him into the shop. Treat him in here, where it's safe. We could tie him up, afterwards. Keep him for the Aurors."
"You will not do any such thing," Madam Puddifoot said sternly. "Help those who deserve help, Master Black, and leave the rest to rot."
"Healers should be neutral in disputes," Harry insisted. "It's the right thing to do."
"Merlin! I have never heard of such a notion, and you will not bring him into my shop!"
Harry looked out the window again. The pool of blood was spreading from underneath the wizard's robes, trickling along the furrows in the cobblestones. The wizard's crumpled form twitched feebly. Everyone was against him… did that mean he was wrong? Helping the injured, free from prejudice, it was something he really believed in. He didn't think that people disagreeing with him meant that his morals were wrong here. Sometimes you had to simply do what you thought was right.
"If you won't bring him in here, then I'll have to go out there," he said. "I can't just stand here and watch someone die when I could help them. Even a criminal." He couldn't just summon the man over – his injuries looked too bad for him to be moved just yet, and the Summoning Charm wasn't known for its gentle landings.
No-one made a serious effort to stop him from leaving the store, though a couple of people tried to verbally dissuade him, and one fretful witch made a token effort to grab his arm as he left, which was easily dodged. She didn't try a second time. No-one cared that much about the wellbeing of 'Antares Black', the Slytherin Death Eater sympathiser.
But he wasn't, he was just neutral. He couldn't afford to waste time arguing about it with people. Healers were neutral, weren't they? He hadn't read anything about it… couldn't remember seeing it. But surely they were, like all good doctors should be?
"Celoro," he incanted, casting the Disillusionment Charm for a bit of concealment as he darted over to the fallen dark-robed wizard. It went up with an imperfect and perceptible shimmer in the air but should be better than nothing. No need to be a total Gryffindor about rushing out there. Or was it a Hufflepuff thing to do, helping someone no matter what? He liked to think it was.
"I'm here to help," Harry said nervously, crouching over the man's limp figure. "Don't attack me." The wizard wasn't conscious and didn't respond.
He fixed the man's arm first – his wand hand was almost completely severed, and he was bleeding out fast. He quietly thanked Merlin that he'd practiced his high-level healing charms, as he cleansed and reattached the hand at the wrist, magically holding it in place as he poured some Essence of Dittany over it to help the flesh knit back together. It might not be perfect, but at least he wouldn't bleed out now. An injured limb could be healed, but a severed one couldn't be fixed by magical means.
The broken ribs were next. "Costās Emendo."
The man's breathing steadied, and he started to stir.
"Blood-Replenishing Potion," Harry said, holding one out with his left hand, wand at the ready in his right.
He didn't know. He didn't really know if he was doing the right thing. He hoped he was. What if it was Master Snape? What if it was Rodolphus Lestrange? Neville would never forgive him. He wasn't sure he could forgive himself either. But maybe Neville would rather the man go to trial too? Life in Azkaban wasn't getting off easy, after all; it was non-stop torture, in fact.
Harry kept his wand levelled at the barely-stirring wizard while his left hand – potion still tucked into his palm – reached out to gingerly remove the man's mask. So he'd know who it was, and like Puddifoot had said, if the man deserved help. If it was Lestrange, could he walk away and leave him to die… even him?
No, I'll Stun him. Give him the potion, Stun him, truss him up, let people turn him over to the Aurors. Justice, thought Harry.
But… attacking him would break my truce with Voldemort, Harry fretted. For this guy hasn't attacked me, only an Auror, and they're legitimate targets. If it's Snape… or Lucius… Greg's dad… I could let them walk. But the Lestranges? Geez. What can I do? Damn that truce! Maybe if I'm lucky he'll attack me – hopefully really badly – since he won't recognise me as Harry Potter, and then I can legitimately retaliate. Or maybe someone else will help without me bloody having to yell at them to do so, instead of sitting safe inside on their backsides!
The mask wouldn't come off. It was fixed in place, smooth porcelain with no obvious means of attachment; probably a sticking charm or something similar. Maybe an enchantment built into the mask. Runes on the inside, perhaps. It made sense, now he thought about it, that it wouldn't be easy to remove. He'd hardly be the first person curious about who someone was behind their anonymous mask. The dark hood of the robe similarly seemed fixed in place, concealing the wizard's hair.
"Blood-Replenishing Potion," Harry repeated, as the man stirred a little more, and moaned in pain. "You should drink it."
He didn't think it was Snape, who was leaner in build. He pushed the potion vial into the man's left hand, which tightened around the fragile glass but didn't break it. His right hand twitched, which Harry was pleased to see – his healing had given the man at least some feeling in his hand, then.
Harry glanced over at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop and saw the curtains twitch. He gave a beckoning wave for someone to join him, but there was no response. Cowards!
"Finite Incantatem," Harry cast optimistically on the man's mask. "Accio."
No results for either spell; the mask stayed put. He might've reversed an undetected curse, though, for the man suddenly hacked a nasty cough, spitting up blood and making a mess of his mask.
"Anapneo," he cast reflexively, clearing the man's airway. Once the man wasn't choking to death and had drunk his potion, he'd tie him up. It wasn't technically an attack, he justified to himself.
"Black!" someone called out. "Black!"
After a moment's pause to remember that was him, Harry glanced over at the tea shop. Someone in the window was gesturing frantically, and Harry started to jog over to them. He noticed in passing that his Disillusionment Charm appeared to have worn off, which was odd. He would've sworn it should've stayed up longer than that. He quickened his steps.
He'd get the people in the shop to deal with the no-longer-dying Death Eater and would instead tend to whatever was presumably going wrong with his previous patient. He'd done his duty as a would-be Healer and saved the man's life – it was enough.
"No! Behind you!" A louder shout came from the tea shop, and Harry spun in a circle, wand at the ready… but too slow. It wasn't his former patient who was the threat, but someone new.
A black-robed Death Eater flying down the street on a broomstick hit Harry with a wordless spell, too fast for him to react properly. Harry was still halfway through the incantation for the Shield Charm when he got hit with a burst of white light that immobilised him. His arms and legs snapped to his sides, and he fell to the ground like a plank of wood, only his wild, panicked eyes attesting to his continued consciousness.
"Stupefy!" A red glint of a spell zipped through the air, darting above Harry's face, as a loud incantation was yelled by a witch from the direction of the café.
Harry couldn't see what happened, flat on his back on the stone road, but as the Death Eater retaliated almost instantly he guessed the spell had either been dodged or countered.
"Incendio." The new Death Eater shot a powerful Fire-Making Spell at Puddifoot's café with casual unconcern for the wizards and witches sheltering inside. They stopped their nascent attempts to rescue 'Black' and started yelling in panic as the jet of flames engulfed the front of the store, setting it ablaze and shattering the windows they were standing right behind.
"Got yourself into trouble, did you?" the Death Eater said to his injured but healing companion on the ground.
I sure did, Harry thought, regret growing into fear. He promised himself that the second he could get a hand to move he'd use that Portkey, possible Splinching be damned.
"'Twas Auror Dawlish, damn the man. I think the lad was trying to help. I know my ribs were broken before I went down, and I could've sworn my arm was practically off. Merlin – look at that scar on my wrist! I think he said something about a potion. Huh. Blood-Replenishing." The man's voice was the deeper of the two, a resonant bass as opposed to the other man's tenor, and obviously was that of the injured wizard Harry had – perhaps very foolishly, he admitted to himself – been trying to save. He should've been more careful; stopped his healing efforts earlier, or double-checked his Concealment Charm was still holding.
I should've floated the man inside the shop as soon as he was stable enough to move! Why didn't I do that?! Harry thought angrily at himself. I got too caught up in Healing, Merlin damn it.
Harry couldn't see what was going on with the two, flat on his back and staring uselessly up at the sky, but he heard the pop of the vial's seal being broken. Neither of them sounded like Snape, or Lucius Malfoy. He thought the second one – the new arrival – sounded a little familiar. Maybe they were one of the ones he'd fought in Gabon. Or someone's parent. Or maybe they were some usually-upstanding shopkeeper he'd done business with. That was the thing about terrorists in masks; they could be anyone.
"Smells right. Bottoms up."
"Idiot. Stupefy." Judging by the direction of the resultant screaming, that spell had been shot at someone other than his Death Eater companion.
There was a lip-smacking noise. "Tastes like salamander blood, so it is probably what the label said. Do you have a spare wand? Dragon heartstring?"
"Here."
"Hmm, 'twill serve. What shall we do with the boy?"
"Leave him, you know the rule," the tenor-voiced Death Eater said, to Harry's relief. "Besides, nice young wizard like that helping out a Death Eater in full regalia in trouble? He has a bright future ahead of him."
"I agree. Thanks for the assist, lad," said the wizard Harry had healed. "Get in touch when you are of age to join us. We need more patriots like you."
Harry felt relieved. Being left alone was the best he could hope for, really. He might not want to go back to Madam Puddifoot's though. It was a Portkey to safety as soon as he could!
"Hold a moment… do you owe him a Life Debt?" the new Death Eater asked.
"Hmm… bit young to be a real Healer's Apprentice, methinks. 'Tis true, I might. Do you know who he is?" the smooth bass voice asked.
A white-skull face was suddenly in his field of vision. The eye holes in the mask were charmed to look like bottomless pits of darkness with a hint of red glinting in their depths and gave no clue to the wearer's true eye colour or appearance. Harry concentrated hard on making sure his new curls stayed put in front of his scar.
"No, he does not look familiar… Wait, did I hear someone in the store call out to 'Black'?" the masked Death Eater mused, as he peered at Harry. "The Dark Lord has an order still active about that House."
Oh no!
"Well I was going to let him go – since I doth owe him for his healing efforts, it seems – but I think first we had best take him to the Dark Lord for questioning. He is in enough of a mood without being thwarted in one of his foremost commands. Both of them want the Black family targeted – one way or another."
Harpy dung!
lamperouge0 – Harry's ongoing use of the same fake identity has unexpected consequences!
Freetre – Brief moment of reflection for Harry about what his father would have wanted.
ReaderRabid2 and KaffyTaffy – Sirius finds out Harry is a Metamorphmagus! Alas, no time for a long chat about it.