Ascension: Rogues of the Fallen Sun

by Define Anachronistic

(AU) After the traumatic end to his first year, Harry Potter is a man on the run, pursued by friends, foes, and forces unknown. But that's only the most immediate of his problems. Ancient monsters, Rogues, escaped convicts, and Witch-Hunters are all waiting for him over the horizon. His second year is shaping up to be even crazier than his first.

17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER NINE

A Faustian Bargain

Harry had never disappointed anyone before, so he had no idea how he was supposed to deal with it now.

As a child, the Dursleys had cared little for whatever he got up to, be it good or bad, so they turned a blind eye to his behaviour if it didn't reflect onto them. Lupin had been a little different, as he had made a show of being stern whenever Harry crossed a line, but it was just a thin facade, as he had always looked at Harry as though he would forgive any kind misbehaviour from him without condition.

Flamel had a very different response when it came to Harry's suspension.

When he had emerged from the fireplace in a swirl of green flames, Flamel had been clearly startled, hurrying into the room to see just who had invaded his home, before coming to a stop when he saw that it was only Harry. "What are you doing back so soon? I thought school finished on the eighteenth?"

Harry scoured the ash from his clothes with his wand as he responded. "You won't have to worry about term dates anymore, Flamel." Harry kept his voice light. "I've just dropped out of school."

Flamel narrowed his eyes. "Explain." Harry did so with apprehension, not seeing what the problem was, but it was clear from Flamel's attitude that there was one. When he finished retelling all the events that had taken place at Hogwarts since he had seen him last, Flamel moved for the fireplace. "Wait here." He told Harry.

"Why? What are you going to do?" Flamel didn't answer, as he was quickly swept away by the emerald flames. Harry stood around awkwardly for a minute before sitting down, too nervous to disobey a direct instruction and go to his room like he wanted to.

A few minutes later, Flamel emerged from the fireplace with Harry's packed trunk, and said shortly, "You will be returning to school on the fourth of January." Harry made to protest, to explain that he didn't want to go back to a school where they would take his attackers' side, but Flamel raised a hand and he fell silent. "You will be returning to school on the fourth of January." He firmly repeated, and after a tense moment, Harry nodded.

The next few days at Brightstone House were awkward. Flamel came and went frequently, eating breakfast before Harry rose and skipping dinner entirely. It was clear that he was so disappointed in Harry that he couldn't even bring himself to be in the same room as him.

Harry wasn't a fan of the new status quo, and he would have happily left, but the world had already proven itself to be very dangerous for him on his own.

Like it or not, he was stuck here for the foreseeable future.

One bright point in being back at Brightstone was that he was sleeping properly for the first time in months. Eos had taken up residence in his room, not that Harry or even Argos minded, and she kept watch over him while he slept, chasing away his nightmares before they could take root in the forefront of his dreaming mind.

Even with his sleep deprivation no longer being an issue, Harry was still unable to look back at the previous term with nothing but a sense of rage and failure, especially when it came to his suspension. It wasn't a fair punishment, just like his expulsion from St. Gregg's, and now he had been removed from schools in both the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds.

I must be the only person to fail in both worlds, was a thought that came to his mind more than once.

The days after his expulsion were uneventful, as Harry was not motivated to train or study. All he did from bedrise to bedrest was lie across the sofa directly in front of the Odeon in his pyjamas, while asking the Automaton to bring him a never-ending supply of snacks and drinks.

Over the last three days, he had slowly become addicted to The Witches' Brew, a situational comedy about a group of friends that used potions to make life easier for themselves, only to have it all go horribly wrong. Their mistakes were always fixed before the half-hour runtime was up, and they never seemed to learn any lessons episode to episode, but Harry was glued to the screen anyway.

He must have been a sorry sight to see.

"Well, aren't you a sorry sight to see." Flamel said, as he popped his head into the sitting room. When Harry didn't respond, he walked into the room until he was standing directly in front of the Odeon.

Harry immediately began to protest. "Hey! Move! You're blocking the screen!" He was tempted to get up and move around him in order to find out if Joanna's Wit-Sharpening Potion was going to help her pass her exam or not, but Flamel turned the Odeon off. "I was watching that!"

"Joanna gets caught and makes up for it with a fragile apology that no one in real life would accept." Flamel spoiled.

Harry sighed and slumped back against the cushions. "You've already seen it then?"

"No, of course not." Flamel scoffed. "But every episode ends the same way."

"What do you want?" Harry grumbled, annoyed that his show had been ruined.

"I want you to pack your things, little Henry!" Flamel said, excitedly.

Harry's stomach clenched. "You finally kicking me out then?"

Flamel's smile dropped. "What? No, I would never kick you out!" Harry wiggled deeper into his cushions, hoping the movement would obscure his smile. "I need you to pack your things because I have businesses to conduct across the sea."

"Is that your weird way of telling me that we're going on holiday?" Harry hoped so, as he had never left the country before. "Where are we going?"

Flamel had already started to leave the room, so he called back over his shoulder. "New York City."

Harry sat up so quickly that he almost fell off the sofa. "New York?!" He yelped. "Are you crazy?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?" Harry could hear his master wonder in the distance. "Anyway, you better pack your things and make yourself presentable. We leave in an hour!"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry's reaction to finding out their holiday destination would not have been unusual one, at least for his fellow witches and wizards.

Even before he had set foot in Hogwarts, Harry knew that New York City was a place that he needed to avoid as A Journey Through the Wizarding World made it clear to all Muggle-borns that they should avoid travelling to the city wherever possible and to never venture into Manhattan alone.

The reasons for this were three in total.

The first, was that the lack of burials in Manhattan, coupled with its dense living population, made it an ideal practice ground for trainee or experimenting Necromancers. Aside from Hong Kong, it was the only place in the world where an apprentice Necromancer could practice his craft in relative safety. Should the worse happen and they lose control, there was not enough resting places on the island to cause a catastrophe.

The second reason was the decades long four-way turf war that was going on to this day. Rogues, Vampires, Goblins and Werewolves each exploited Muggles in their own way, for either money or sustenance, and out of pride no group was willing to give an inch of territory to the others, no matter how many oblivious Muggles lost their lives in the process.

There was so much death and carnage that some of it had even slipped into the Muggle population's awareness. It was common knowledge that New York was a dangerous town, but not all of it was due to the Muggles themselves.

The third reason was Confederation's part in maintaining this status quo. The Auror's Enchiridion discussed how Manhattan was used to keep tabs on any major threats to the Confederacy, as all Dark Wizards seemed to step onto the island at one point or another. Many organisations and uprisings were quashed because they had conducted business, recruitment, or training in Manhattan. As such, the International Confederation of Wizards officially asked its citizens to avoid the place all together, while quietly moving the American Ministry Headquarters to Washington D.C.

New York was the only city in the world that had two Citadels guarding it, one in Manhattan itself and another across the East River in Brooklyn. Harry had read that this was because the work was enough to stretch even their immense Auror force thin, but what he didn't realise was how seriously they took security.

When their Portkey dropped them off in Prospect Park, they were immediately met with a four-man squad who escorted them to the Brooklyn Citadel. Harry kept himself under control, even though all he wanted to do was ask Flamel to change the temperature of the freezing waiting room. He had thought that his usual winter cloak would be enough, but winter winds were more biting here than they were back home.

Finally, an Auror Sentry stepped into the room and said, "You are free to go." He gestured to the door after returning their wand licences to them.

Harry blinked. "Aren't you going to question us?"

The Sentry glanced at Flamel before responding. "What would be the point? He's a regular here." He gestured again to the door. "Your things will be waiting for you at the gate."

Before Harry could ask anything else, Flamel made for the door, pulling him along behind him. "I don't understand. I thought you had our things." He was certain that Flamel had their trunks when they landed, but he had been a little distracted by the rapid change in temperature.

"I did, but I gave them over for inspection." Flamel spoke over Harry's indignant spluttering. "This is the most guarded city in the Confederacy, what did you expect? Besides, do really have anything to hide?"

Harry thought about the risqué magazine Eddie had given him last year, the one he had stored at the bottom of his things but decided not to mention it. He did his best to avoid the Auror Sentries' knowing eyes when he collected his trunk from them.

"Where are we headed?" Harry asked as they walked away from the Citadel. He kept his eyes focused on the snow, both to avoid slipping on a patch of ice and to hide his still blushing face.

"Albrecht Inn. An old favourite of mine." Flamel pointed to the park's exit to the city beyond. "It's only two miles away."

Harry snorted. "You say that like we'll be walking." When Flamel said nothing, Harry looked at him accusingly. "We're actually walking? You could Apparate us there in an instant!"

"It been a little while since I've been to this city, let me enjoy it."

"While you'll be busy enjoying your sightseeing, I'll be quietly freezing to death." Harry complained, as another gust of wind made his cloak fly back, only held to him by the clasp.

"I can teach you a charm for that."

"I'd prefer it if you simply cast it on me yourself."

Flamel ignored him. "The incantation is Focillo!" He demonstrated a complicated little wave of the wand, and made sure Harry was mimicking both before he went back to his sightseeing.

It always took a while for Harry to get the grip on a new charm but, perhaps because he was feeling incredibly motivated, he had the Warming Charm down by the twenty-minute mark. His mind was aware that his body was cold, but he could not feel it. It was as though he was watching someone else battle the elements through a window while he was wrapped up warm inside.

Harry bundled his cloak tighter around himself, not because he felt the chill, but because he didn't want to accidentally give himself frostbite because of his lack of temperature awareness. As they approached the brown bricked hotel that had Albrecht Inn written above the entrance in gold lettering, Harry began to suspect that Flamel had wanted him to learn the charm for himself so that he wouldn't bother him with requests during their time here.

When they reached the doors, Flamel removed his golden Ouroboros and silently indicated that Harry should do the same. The doorman blinked at their sudden appearance but didn't mention it nor their strange garb. They walked through the door he opened and made their way to the check-in counter. The man standing there seemed to recognise Flamel on sight.

"Ah, Mr. Flamel! You haven't aged a day." Harry looked up at him, panicked, but the man in question ignored him. "I have prepared your usual suite as per your instructions." He smiled before turning to Harry. "And this must be your nephew!"

Harry, confused as to what was going on, simply gave a strained smile and said, "Hello."

The man smiled back, unaffected by Harry's lack of enthusiasm. He offered to have someone take care of their bags, but Flamel told him that wasn't necessary. When they were in the elevator after being given their key, Harry turned on him. "You called ahead? To a Muggle hotel?"

Flamel sighed as he put their key in a slot near the buttons. "Would it have killed you to act at least a little happy to be here. Poor Timothy must think that I've kidnapped you."

"Well, technically you did." Harry ignored his frown. "Seriously why aren't we staying at a Wizarding hotel?"

"Because there aren't any in New York." Flamel informed him. "Albus really wanted to clamp down on all the pointless deaths and kidnappings that took place when he was Magister. Didn't work." He shrugged. "Besides, most wizards get by with inns above taverns and accommodations that they bring along with them. That's even if they need to stay anywhere at all. Magical forms of travel have really streamlined our tourism industry, so Wizarding hotels are the playgrounds of the wealthy." He sniffed disdainfully, as though he were above such things.

The elevator doors opened directly into a gorgeous penthouse suite, that had floor to ceiling windows that gave a magnificent view for miles around.

Harry glanced up at Flamel. "I think you and I have different standards when it comes to wealth."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

For the next two days after their arrival in New York City, Flamel seemed determined to show Harry every bit of the good life that he enjoyed. From swimming in the hotel's massive pool, relaxing in the hot tub, or sweating out his worries in the steam room, they took advantage of every luxury the Albrecht Inn had to offer, and Harry had begun to regret not utilising the same services when he was staying at the Hotel Babylon.

"I thought it was weird at first, but it was actually quite refreshing," Harry admitted as they departed the steam room and strolled through the hotel's spa in their comfy robes and slippers.

"Didn't I tell you?" Flamel looked triumphant, as though Harry was vindicating his way of life. "Just wait until we get pampered. The Muggle process is longer, but it is so much more soothing." He led Harry towards a pair of women who were wearing neat white uniforms and polite smiles.

"If you ever tell anyone about this..." Harry trailed off, as not even the massage he had just got done with was enough to curb his embarrassment at getting his nails done.

"Who am I going tell?" It was difficult to tell if he was taking him seriously through voice alone, as Harry's eyes were obscured by slices of cucumber.

"Are you still having nightmares?" Flamel asked over breakfast the next day. Harry paused, before taking a deliberate sip of his orange juice before answering.

"Not nearly as bad as it was when I was back in school." Harry didn't want to admit to him, or anyone, just how affected he was by all the terrible things that kept happening to him. "How can you tell?"

"Eos has made a habit of sticking around whenever you are here." Flamel explained, toying with the eggs on his plate, as though this topic of Harry's nightmares made him uncomfortable. "Typically, she comes and goes for months or even years at a time, but she has chosen to watch over you for as long as you are with me. It is unusual for her."

Privately, Harry thought it was rather strange that the two would go for such long periods apart, but he supposed that time must have been perceived differently by immortals. "Trust me. It's not great but it's a lot better than it was back in Hogwarts." Harry was starting to think this little spa break was less about Flamel's ephemeral pleasures and more about finding a way to get him to let go of his stressors. "Eos drives out my nightmares before they can even take root."

Flamel still looked concerned, but Harry quickly moved the conversation to something he was more comfortable with. "What are we even doing here, anyway?" He gestured to the hotel around them. "We could have done all this without crossing an ocean."

"An old friend has come across a lead in a very old project of mine." Flamel was being deliberately vague, which let Harry know that this was a serious matter, even by his standards. "She is a very busy woman, so she can only make time for me tomorrow evening."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "She must be formidable if she can make the great Nicolas Flamel wait around."

"Extremely so." Flamel smiled in a way that made Harry want gag. He was eating breakfast. "Be sure to mind your manners when we meet her, as she is far less forgiving of impertinence than I am."

Harry's eyebrows didn't come down. "You're bringing me along? Are you sure? This meeting sounds important."

"Extremely so." He repeated himself. "But you are of some importance to the wider magical community, so I intended to teach you how to conduct yourself during meetings eventually. I may as well get an early start on it."

Harry wasn't quite sure if he liked the sound of that, but he had other concerns right now. "If we're not doing anything until tomorrow night, can I choose what we do next?" Flamel didn't seem to have any issues with that, at least until Harry told him what he wanted to do.

"Really? This is so...touristy." Flamel said as their boat approached the Statue of Liberty. "There are other places I could show you-"

"No thanks!" Harry was grinning. "I've always wanted to go to the places I saw on television growing up." He couldn't believe that he was seeing it all now, and not as a struggling young adult like he had envisioned. "Besides, I want to go to all the tourist traps, so you'd better get your complaining out of the way now."

Many of those tourist traps turned out to be in Manhattan itself, but as the day went on, Harry was starting to think all the stories about the island were made up, as he didn't see anything out of the ordinary during the day. However, all throughout the day, when they went ice-skating at Rockefeller Centre or up the Empire State Building, Harry didn't miss the way Flamel kept his head on a swivel.

"Is everything okay?" Harry asked, as they returned their rented bikes after riding around Central Park. "You seem on guard and it's making me worried."

"Worried?" Flamel looked down at him with a reassuring smile. "There is nothing to worry about when you are with me, little Henry."

Even though he suspected that he was lying, Harry smiled back at him. He was starting to believe that things between them were getting back to the way they were during the summer holidays, as though the last term had never even happened.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The next morning, Harry learned why they had squeezed all their sightseeing into a single day, and he wasn't pleased.

"You never said this was a Muggle event." Harry looked at the fancy invitation that had been delivered directly to him during breakfast, his name written in flowing cursive. "A black-tie charity ball. Kids don't belong there."

"Of course, you belong there. You belong wherever I go." Flamel sounded distant, as though he were only half-listening to Harry complain while he examined his own invitation curiously.

Harry didn't let his distraction stop him. "I don't own anything formal that's also appropriate for Muggles, and even if I did, I'd just end up looking like a child playing dress up."

Flamel sighed as he put his invitation down, having gleaned whatever information he was searching for. "Do not worry about how you will look. By the time my tailor is done you will be unable to recognise yourself."

Harry frowned. "I don't know if I should be offended or not." Flamel went back to his sausages, ignoring him.

Not long after lunch, Timothy escorted an elderly man wearing a three-piece suit into their penthouse at Flamel's request, and Harry was introduced to his master's oldest living friend. He was a small man, with a hunched back, a shiny bald head, and the pointiest nose Harry had ever seen. His appearance made Harry think of a cartoon villain, but his smile was too open to be anything but a sweet old man.

"Bellamy! It has been an age, my boy." Flamel was beaming and speaking in his natural French. "Is that a new liver spot I see?"

"We can't all masquerade as young men." The old man, Bellamy, grumbled good naturedly. "Although, considering whose company you intend to keep tonight, I believe I am the lucky one." They both laughed at a joke that went completely over Harry's head, before embracing one another.

"It is good to see you, my friend." Flamel said with startling sincerity.

"And you as well, Nic." Bellamy's eyes landed on Harry for the first time, taking in both his Muggle wear and the bronze Ouroboros that was peeking out from under his sleeve. "Who is your young friend?"

"This is my ward, Harry Potter." At the word "ward", Bellamy's bushy white eyebrows rose, but he still approached Harry with a smile and offered his gnarled hand for a shake. Harry noticed the silver Ouroboros that glimmered underneath his cuffs.

"It is a pleasure, Mr. Potter. I am Bellamy Cartier." He shook Harry's hand with surprising firmness.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Cartier." Harry said, politely. He responded in French as that was how Bellamy had spoken to him, and not everyone went to a school that offered Translation Charm language courses. "I have to ask; does he call everyone "my boy"?" Harry jerked his head at Flamel.

Bellamy laughed easily. "Yes, he never lets anyone forget just how much older and wiser he is than them." He elbowed Flamel, teasingly. "He doesn't seem to understand how childish it makes him look."

Flamel looked between them, apprehensively. "I don't like this at all." He muttered, before speaking clearly. "Shouldn't we be getting on with things? The ball is in but a few hours."

Harry would have asked what he suggested they do before the tailor could even arrive, before it finally clicked that Bellamy was the tailor. It made sense that someone as concerned with their day-to-day appearance would consider the maker of their clothes to be their oldest friend.

Harry was momentarily concerned about how Bellamy would even begin to make clothes for them with hands that were so gnarled, but he wanted to slap his own forehead when he simply drew his wand and got to work.

The process was far longer than what he was used to from Madam Malkin's or Gladrags, but it was also far more comfortable, as Bellamy seemed to sense his uneasiness and kept him distracted with stories, like how he had first met Nicolas as a young man ("It was in a gambling den" he said covertly, as though afraid someone was listening in, "Don't tell my wife.") or why he left his career as an Ingenieur to become a tailor, ("I did it for the gossip!" Bellamy chuckled. "The shocking things I overhear will make your hair fall out like it did mine!"). By the end of it, Harry was disappointed when he had to leave Bellamy to his work, as he was having such a good time.

"He's quite the character, isn't he?" Flamel sounded fond, as he watched Bellamy work across the room, while Harry worked on his hair the way Anthony had taught him last year. "Can you believe that we have known each other for almost a hundred and twenty years?" He sounded rather sad, and it wasn't hard for Harry to guess why.

"If you like having him around so much, why don't you just give him some Elixir of Life?" Harry wondered. "I'm sure his kids and grandkids wouldn't mind keeping him alive and kicking." He had thought it was an innocent question, but Flamel flinched as though Harry had slapped him. Before he could ask what was wrong, Bellamy called his name.

"Little Henry!" The ancient tailor called. "I need you to try this on!"

With one last glance at Flamel, Harry made his way over to him, grumbling all the while. "This whole "little Henry" thing had better not stick." He told the tailor. "It's bad enough when he calls me that." Bellamy only chuckled as he put a bundle of dark clothes in Harry's arms and ushered him into his bedroom.

It took a little longer than he was proud of to get dressed, as he had never actually worn a Muggle suit before, but when he emerged Flamel patted Bellamy gently on the shoulder. "You have somehow made him look presentable, you old miracle worker."

Harry was too distracted by his own reflection to be offended. Instead of looking like the awkward child he really was, the suit's slim fit and his neat hair made him both look taller and older, as though Bellamy had worked some kind of illusion into the fabric. "If James Bond had a son, I'd be looking right at him." Harry said, as he admired his reflection from different angles.

Flamel laughed as he stepped up to fix Harry's crooked bowtie. "The clothes play their part in making the man. You feel confident now, do you not? Confident enough to go the ball you believed you had no place at?"

Harry hated it when he was right.

After they had thanked and seen Bellamy off, the two departed the hotel after lounging in front of the television for a couple of hours. "We don't want to be the first ones there." Flamel explained as they made their way through the lobby. "Especially after she kept me waiting for days on end."

The doorman opened the doors for them, making Harry feel important, which he supposed was the entire point. The brisk air hit him immediately, and the long coat Bellamy had made for him did little to keep the chill out. "Are we Apparating?" He asked, as he applied a Warming Charm to himself.

"To Manhattan? I should think not." Flamel gestured to the fancy black car waiting at the bottom of the steps with the driver standing by its side. "Our host has provided us with transportation."

"That's nice of her." Harry said, before what Flamel had said finally registered. "Wait. Manhattan? At night?" The driver held open the back door for them, and Harry slipped in first. "Is that safe?"

"Not in the slightest." Flamel said airily. "But no one in their right mind will attack you while you are in possession of that invitation." The car began to drive heading towards the massive bridge that connected Brooklyn to Manhattan.

"Your friend is that powerful?"

"Yes, so I must reiterate. Please mind your manners this evening. While I can protect you from harm, I have put in a lot of time and effort into cultivating this relationship, both for myself and the Confederacy." Harry blinked, having never heard Flamel speak about his service for the ICW.

Harry leaned against the door, eyes fixed out the window as they crossed the bridge and entered the island proper. New York was a sight to see during the day, but it carried a different allure at night, one he wanted to come back and experience when he was older.

The thought made his hand tighten around the door handle. He had been avoiding looking too far in the future ever since the night he killed Quirrell, as he didn't see a world in where killed Voldemort and succeeded in freeing his parents before his time limit was up. It was hard to picture himself as an adult, enjoying a holiday in a foreign land while also shouldering the burden of the worst kind of failure he could imagine.

Flamel seemed to sense Harry's sudden distress, and abruptly asked, "Are you hungry? I should have told you earlier, but there is no food at the party we are attending. We could stop to eat if you like?"

Harry, both embarrassed and mortified that even the most innocent train of thoughts could trigger such a dark downward spiral, simply nodded as he kept his eyes fixed on the tallest skyscraper he could see. He was afraid that if he looked down that tears of frustration might follow.

Flamel lowered the blacked-out partition that separated them from the driver and gave him an address. It took a minute to arrive at a small pizza place, and Harry felt his stomach rumble as lunch seemed so long ago. Flamel held him back from leaving, and instead gave the driver a thin bundle of green banknotes and their food order.

"We're not eating inside?"

Flamel shook his head. "It's Werewolf run. In this city, we would not be welcome there." Harry quietly marvelled at how close the two worlds were, as their Muggle driver ducked inside and ordered pizza from a magical being without either one blinking an eye.

"Why isn't there any food at the party?" Harry asked through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. "That's a bit weird, isn't it?" He only had the Boot's Christmas Eve party to compare it to, but there had been an entire dinner during that festivity.

"There will be food," Flamel said, as he took another bite of his blasphemous pineapple pizza, "Just not the kind of food that you would want to eat."

Harry frowned suspiciously. "That's not as reassuring as you seem to believe."

Flamel shrugged.

The car stopped in front of a house, but to call it such would be to demean every abode Harry had ever resided in. It was a glorious five story building, so white that it seemed to gleam even under the orange glow of the city lights. There was a red carpet from where their car door opened, and despite the long queue of glamorous people that were waiting to get inside, both Harry and Flamel were ushered inside by the guards with nary a glance at their offered invitations.

Stepping inside the building, their coats were taken by the waiting attendants as they were ushered into the party proper. The room was dark, but it was illuminated in part by bright blue beams of light that crisscrossed at random points in the air. The entirety of the ground floor was one open room, with stairs that led upwards, but were ignored by the inhabitants, as everything they could want was provided for them down here.

The centre of the room was a dance floor, which had at least a hundred people in clothes as fancy as Harry's moving to the beat of the music. The wall opposite the double doors they had just entered through had a fully stocked bar, and despite the uniformed staff that were waiting on the booths that lined the walls, a small crowd were clamouring for the attention of the bartenders.

"Are you sure it's alright for me to be here?" Harry asked, loudly so Flamel could hear him over the music, while he stared at a couple that were dancing rather inappropriately. "I don't see anyone else my age."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Flamel responded as he led them around the dance floor towards the bar. "No one is going to look at you twice while you have that invitation."

"What's the point of the invitation? If I wanted to go unnoticed around Muggles, then I would have just worn my Ouroboros." Annoyed, he reached into his pocket and made to slip it back on, and Flamel didn't even make a noise of protest.

"Not everyone here is a Muggle." Flamel nodded at the upper level, and glancing up, he spotted a familiar black and silver lined uniform.

"Aurors?" Harry was aghast. "I thought this was a Muggle charity ball?"

"It is what I use to lure in New York's wealthy and elite." A voice said from behind him. "Nothing attracts them faster than obnoxious displays of philanthropy." Harry turned to look at the person who had answered him, only to be met with the most beautiful sight that he had ever seen.

She was a delicate little woman, all elegance and grace, with clear olive skin and a luxurious mane of dark hair. As she approached in her beautiful black gown, Harry had to check her high-heeled feet in order to make sure she was actually walking; her movements were so smooth that it seemed as though she were gliding through the air.

The woman approached them with a coy smile, extending her hand for Nicolas to kiss, which he immediately did, while she regarded Harry with thinly veiled curiosity. "Who is your young and uninformed companion, Nicolas?"

Flamel, who had been staring at the woman as though she were a wonder, started, and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder slightly rougher than necessary. "This is Henry Potter, my ward. Henry, this is my oldest friend, Illyana."

"I prefer to be called Harry." He corrected, withholding a frown. He could have sworn that Bellamy had been his oldest living friend. "Just Illyana?" He asked as he shook her hand, refusing to kiss it on principle. He was not a gentleman, and he would never pretend to be. "No surname?"

"My kind has little use for a legacy that would live beyond us." Illyana replied with a tinge of amusement, before turning to Flamel with a raised eyebrow. "You never told me he was a child. I'm not sure I feel comfortable-"

Flamel cut her off. "Perhaps we should have this discussion in private?" He sounded terribly annoyed, but not nearly as much as Harry was.

"If it concerns me-" Harry began.

"It doesn't." Flamel slipped his hand into Illyana's, and he began to drag her off.

"You are correct that he is not involved-" Illyana's protest was the last thing he heard before the sound of the music drowned out their voices. He stood there, feeling like a plum, as his questions went unanswered.

Surrounded by strangers that he did not wish to converse with, Harry joined the queue for the bar, hoping that a quest for a beverage would limit the odds in him being forced to make awkward small talk. Unfortunately, the party had excellent service, and Harry quickly found himself pressed against the bar by the crowd behind him while a bartender waited on his order.

"I'll have a martini, dirty as you can make it." Harry had thought the picture of a twelve-year-old ordering an alcoholic drink would at least make her laugh and help him feel less awkward. It did not. The only reason he was even aware of dirty martinis was because it was what Petunia made for Vernon at their dinner parties.

The bartender's eyes flickered to the Ouroboros that he still held in his hand. "I think you'll have a butterbeer." She reached under the counter and filled a mug for him, not seeming to notice the startled look that came upon Harry's face.

He had thought the Aurors were here because they were doing reconnaissance on a suspect, but the fact that the bartender was serving Wizarding drinks and she had noticed his Ouroboros meant that this was not a Muggle event, but not a single person in his eyeline was wearing a bracelet like his.

Taking his butterbeer, Harry walked around the room for a few minutes, hoping that if he looked like he was moving with purpose, then no one would bother him. It only took a few minutes for that illusion to fall as someone stopped his circuit on the third lap.

"You look lost little wizard." The girl who had spoken looked as ordinary as any Hogwarts student but there was an indefinable quality to her, the same quality that Illyana had, which left Harry staring. The girl seemed to mistake his hesitation for wariness, as she was quick to reassure him. "You don't have to worry," she glanced up at the surveying Aurors with a smile, "It's all above board. Otherwise, they'd have burned us already."

Harry's curiosity quickly overcame his awe for her beauty. "What does that mean?"

The girl raised her eyebrows. "All right, you're a little more lost than I expected." She waved to an empty booth. "Join me and I'll explain." Her voice was so melodic, her beauty so magnetic, that Harry doubted he would have been able to refuse her even if he didn't require answers. When he sat down he expected her to sit across the table, but she slid in right next to him and pressed in close. Harry was glad that the lighting was so bad, as he could feel himself blushing.

"My name is Erica." The brown-haired girl, Erica, introduced herself before waiting for Harry to do the same.

"Harry."

"Why are you here, little wizard?" Harry narrowed his eyes, annoyed that someone only a couple years older than him kept calling him "little". "Not many of your kind get invited to one of Illyana's parties."

"What do you mean "my kind"? As opposed to what?"

Erica smiled in a way that told him that she was on the brink of laughter. "As opposed to Vampires, of course." Shocked, Harry tried to leap up, but the girl put a hand on his thigh and held him down in his seat. She was surprisingly strong for her size, but it shouldn't have been a surprise to him. The clues had been there all along, but he had refused to see them, refused to believe that even Flamel would be blasé enough to walk right into a Vampire nest for a party of all things.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." She gestured again to the Aurors. "Even if they weren't holding an immediate and very painful death over my head. I prefer my blood to come from willing donors."

Harry found that hard to believe, as she had guided him to a booth that was in the most shadowy corner of the room and had pressed against him so tightly that he could not draw his wand from his hip holster without her knowing. If he tried, then she could simply tear his arm right out of its socket.

He was at her mercy.

"Everyone here is a Vampire?" Harry asked, swallowing his nerves as he looked past her and at the wider room. There had to be at least three hundred people here, and from this distance they all looked so normal.

Erica laughed softly, her chestnut curls brushing against his cheek as she did so. It made him uncomfortable for reasons that he was not exactly sure of. "Bedlam, no. The Aurors wouldn't give us any rest if our numbers grew to this level. No, most of what you see are our Muggle donors."

Harry remembered Illyana's comment about New York's wealthy and elite. "When you say donors-"

"I mean Muggles who provide us with both blood and money for the chance to be even considered to join our ranks."

"Why would anyone go to such lengths to become-" He cut himself off that time, remembering who he was talking to.

"-become monsters?" Erica finished. Fortunately, she didn't seem to take offence. "Eternal youth, strength, speed and the ability to charm anyone we come across? Most Muggles would kill for the chance, these are just the ones who are able to see the world for what it really is."

Harry couldn't understand her. "You were a witch once." She looked surprised, so he explained. "The way you swore. "Bedlam, no". That's a wizard expression."

"You're an observant one. I can already tell I'm going to have to be careful with you." She traced her finger down his arm, and despite his desire to jerk away from her touch, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Everything about her was so alluring, from her clear skin and shiny hair to her mischievous smile and gleaming eyes. It was as though she radiated with life, and something in Harry wanted to be near her, so that he too could experience the same.

"You're a Hogwarts student, aren't you?" Harry nodded easily, far too taken with the swirling designs that she was tracing on his arm. "I attended Ilvermorny when I transitioned, at least before I got kicked out, so I know exactly what they taught you about us." Erica glanced up at him knowingly through her lashes as she peeked up from her tracing, making him feel even more confused. "Let me educate you on the truth." She removed her finger from his arm, and Harry had to stop the protest that welled up in his throat.

Erica jerked her head at the Aurors. "They need us. We help them keep control of our own population by making it something desirable, something only the most special of Muggles can obtain. We police our own because they don't have the manpower to do it properly, but they can and will kill us all if our numbers grow out of control." She grimaced, and even that was beautiful. "I've seen it happen before."

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked her, and it was only when she smiled amusedly at him that he recognised how eager he sounded. "What I meant to ask is, why are you helping me?" He lied. "You didn't owe me any kind of explanation."

"I was just curious." She shrugged. "It's not every day that you meet a human child that's shed another's life blood."

Harry refused to give anything away. "What do you mean?"

"Was my statement too subtle?" Erica asked innocently. "I know that you've taken another person's life. I could practically smell the blood on your hands as you walked past me earlier." She turned to face him full on for the first time. "Tell me the truth."

Harry wanted to lie, or to simply brush her off, but her bright brown eyes coaxed the truth out of him against his will. "Yes."

"You didn't mean to do it, did you?" She continued, ignoring his horror at having his darkest secret ripped out of him. "I can understand that." Erica leaned towards his ear, as though she were whispering a secret. "I have a bit of a history when it comes to going overboard."

Harry swallowed. "I could tell the Aurors you told me that. Or you can attack me right here and they'll just kill you anyway."

Erica shook her head, smiling as though she were watching a puppy yapping threateningly at her. "You can do whatever you want, but none of my donors are unaccounted for."

"You just admitted to going overboard."

"You say that as though death is irreversible."

"What?" Harry gasped. "What did you just say?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't like to repeat myself." Bored with him now that her curiosity had been satisfied, Erica began to rise, but Harry clamped a hand on her arm.

"Please." He pleaded. "I don't understand. What do you mean death isn't irreversible?"

She turned back towards him with an annoyed expression that quickly faded when she saw how desperate he was, and she sat back down in order to explain. "Manhattan is the Necromancy capital of the western hemisphere. If there is someone you want to bring back, you can just pay to have it done."

The natural order of the world was a law that was constantly reiterated to the students of Hogwarts, but Harry didn't even hesitate to break it. "Do you know who I need to contact-"

"There you are!" Flamel had appeared, and he did not look happy. "Come along now, little Henry. We are leaving."

Harry wanted to shout at him, their last few days of bonding quickly coming undone, but he knew that he had no choice. Erica left the booth first, allowing him to slide out after her, but she clasped his hand before he could leave.

"It was really nice meeting you, Harry." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek, his face burning in the spot where she had touched it. "Don't be a stranger now!" She sauntered off, leaving both Harry and Flamel staring after.

"She seemed friendly." Despite his overall annoyed demeanour, his words sounded teasing as he led the way to their car. "Should we have a discussion about girls?"

"Not on your immortal life." Harry sighed as he put the card Erica had slipped him in his pocket. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that this was a Vampire party?" He noticed that the Vampire bouncers frowned at him when he said that, even though they were well out of earshot. Vampires have heightened senses, he reminded himself, which meant that Erica had known how his heart had raced in her presence.

Flamel blinked at him. "I thought it was obvious." He ignored Harry's disapproving tut. "Be careful around Vampires, little Henry." He warned ominously. "There is no predator more adapted to luring in its prey."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry didn't even hesitate.

The moment Flamel had informed him that he would be returning to see Illyana for a lengthier, private second meeting the next evening, he called Erica on the card she had given him to arrange his meeting with her favourite Necromancer.

"Meet me at my place." Erica gave him the address and he committed it to memory. "Come over around seven tomorrow. I'll make sure to wake up bright and early, just for you." It took a second to realise she meant seven in the evening rather than the morning. That would have been an embarrassing mix-up.

At six the next day, Harry was lounging in front of the penthouse's wide screen television as Flamel came into the room dressed far more casually than the night before, but still much neater than his usual scruff.

"Are you putting in an effort for Illyana?" Harry wondered. He was bored with the endless channels that the television provided, so he was looking for his own entertainment before his departure. "Do you fancy her?"

"Yes." Flamel said, bluntly as he fixed his collared shirt. "If things go well, you will not see me until tomorrow morning." Harry made a noise of disgust. "Oh, is that one of the things I'm not supposed to discuss with you? Shall I add it to the list?"

"The list is only one item long! It's not that hard to remember!" Harry complained.

"But sex covers such a wide range of topics-" Flamel's voiced was drowned out by Harry's loud humming, and he chuckled as he left the suite.

The moment he was gone, Harry leapt up and hurried into his room, changing out of his pyjamas and dressing in what he thought was appropriate wear for when you went to meet a Necromancer; Black cords and a charcoal grey cardigan, the darkest non-magical clothes he owned.

Lastly, he fixed a black knit cap that he had asked Timothy to procure for him. It was an innocent enough purchase so Harry knew Flamel would never ask about it, but it was immensely important for him. While he wasn't quite as famous as his parents, the description of his scar was in every historical text that covered the Sixth Great Wizarding War. He needed to cover it.

Leaving the hotel after he ensured he was protected by the Mana-Dampening Charm, Harry politely asked the doorman to hail him a taxi as they had ignored him for the last five minutes. Harry gave the driver the address Erica provided and anxiously checked his watch. It was already half past six and he still hadn't even gotten to the island yet.

"You're late." Was the first thing Erica said to him as she climbed inside the taxi. "Most of my dates don't keep me waiting around for them."

"I'm only ten minutes late," Harry pointed out, "and going to see a Dark Wizard so he can raise the dead for me doesn't make this a date." The driver glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, but he didn't seem all that bothered with what had just come out of Harry's mouth.

"Ah, so you have something more romantic in mind for the two of us?" Harry glared at her, and she finally seemed to realise how serious this was for him. "Don't worry, Malcom is the best at what he does. He wouldn't be so pricey otherwise." Harry said nothing.

The two remained in a tense silence as the taxi drove downtown from where the Vampire nest was, and Erica seemed to try to make up for her earlier callousness by paying the driver for him, which was good as Harry had forgotten to even bring American money with him.

The two stood in front of a large red brick building that looked perfectly ordinary in how rundown it was. It looked just like the building next to it, and to the one across the street, and he looked at Erica doubtfully.

"A Necromancer lives here? In an apartment?"

"What were you expecting? A mansion built from bones?" Harry said nothing, as that wasn't too far off from what he had been picturing.

Erica led the way up the steps and pressed the button on the intercom that had the label Malcom Blake plastered over it. It made an obnoxious ringing sound, and it took a few moments for someone to answer.

"What do you want?" The belonged to a woman, and like Erica, her accent was incongruous to the city they were standing in. Harry didn't think that she was Malcom.

"We're Malcom's eight o'clock." Erica sounded self-assured, and it was only now that he realised how lost he would have been without her. Not only had she paid for their transport, but she had even booked an appointment when the thought had not even crossed his mind. He didn't know what he would have done without her, but he was glad that he didn't have to find out.

"Well, this is where I leave you." Erica said, startling Harry. "Malcom hates having too many people in his home."

Harry stared at her for a moment, before nodding. "Bye then, and thanks for your help." He pushed open the door when it buzzed and let himself inside, not looking back. As desperate as he was for help and guidance, he wasn't about to beg for it.

Climbing to the first floor, Harry glanced around in order to make sure he was alone, before removing the compact communication mirror from his pocket and pointing his wand at his head. "Colovaria!" Underneath the knit cap, his black curls turned tawny brown, reminiscent of Lupin's own hair, and he repeated the Colour-Changing Charm on his eyes, turning his bright green irises into dark brown, like Hagrid's.

The Colour-Changing Charm was easier when you had a clear picture of the colour you were trying to create, and now that it was nearing Christmas and he was away from the stressors of Hogwarts, he had been thinking of Hagrid and Lupin a lot.

Shaking the regrets out of his head, Harry stored the mirror away and continued climbing up the stairs until he reached the correct floor before knocking on the door that had the same number as the Necromancer's name plastered over it on the intercom. The door abruptly opened before his fist could touch the wood a second time, and he was greeted by the sight of a gorgeous young woman who was familiar to him in a way that he wasn't quite sure of.

"My lord and master will see you in the drawing room." The woman said with a long-suffering sigh. Confused for a multitude of reasons, Harry cautiously stepped into the apartment.

Unlike the cramped apartment that he had been expecting, Harry walked right into the archaic foyer of a manor home, the décor of which, the wood panels over stone walls and animated suits of armour, would not have looked out of place at Hogwarts, and it had all been superimposed over the fourth floor of an apartment building in Lower Manhattan without anyone realising.

This alone told Harry he would be dealing with an immensely powerful sorcerer.

When they reached a pair of polished wooden sliding doors, the woman indicated for Harry to wait before knocking politely and ducking inside before he could get a glimpse at the drawing room beyond. He nervously waited there in the foyer for a few minutes before the woman opened the doors and gave Harry a grand introduction to her master.

"Honoured client, you are now in the presence of the great and powerful Malcolm Blake." Without a hint of irony, she gave a sweeping bow, which both ushered Harry into the room and gave her master his cue to enter from the other door in a dashing fashion.

He was nothing like Harry had expected.

While he knew that an outward appearance meant little when it came to sorcerers, especially those who lived outside the Confederacy's protection and laws, the man that entered the room was far from the wizened mage he had expected.

He was a portly man of average height, around thirty years old, with wiry black hair and pale complexion. His facial hair was short and scruffy, not from lack of care, but because it was patchy in places and he seemed unable to decide if he wanted to risk growing it at all. The only thing about him that seemed accurate to the Necromancer that he had pictured was the long black robe that he wore, which had swirling designs of lost and tormented souls.

Harry eyes flickered to his right wrist, spotting his silver Ouroboros that he displayed proudly with a shortened sleeve. He's left-handed and a Master of an Esoteric Art, most likely the Dark Arts, Harry thought as he pretended not to see the woman indicate which seat he should sit in. He sat himself down in the seat nearest to the windows instead, which was to the left of the other leather armchair. If this goes wrong, I can kick the coffee table into his left side, stopping him from drawing his wand and jump out the window.

He was on the fourth floor, but he would figure out how to safely land on the way down.

"So, what's your name, kid?" Malcolm asked, as he sat in the seat Harry had left for him. "Erica didn't mention it when she was booking this appointment."

Harry looked into his face as though he was seemingly unafraid of Legilimency whereas, in reality, he was simply focusing on the spot between his eyes. "My name is Michael Goldstein." He had thought about refusing to give any kind of name, but that would only make the Necromancer think that he was withholding key information. Then he realised that no one went to go see a Necromancer unless they had dirty secrets. Finally, before his thoughts could take him on a never-ending loop, he had decided to simply give him a fake name.

Malcolm smiled. "I would introduce myself, but my girl already beat me to the punch." He smiled at the woman, who in turn simply stared into the giant fireplace as though she wished to throw herself into its roaring flames. Harry glanced at her, unsure of what it was about her that he found so familiar.

Malcolm seemed to notice his state of confusion. "You want a drink, kid?" He didn't wait for Harry to answer before he snapped at "his girl." "What the hell you waiting for, Jean? Get the kid a drink!"

Jean bowed. "Right away, master." She hurried out of the room, as though she relished the opportunity to get away from the Necromancer.

Malcom smirked at Harry while jerking his head out the doorway that Jean had left through. "You a fan of her work, kid? I didn't think someone your age would recognise her, but then again," he chuckled, "you're here of all places. Your parents must suck."

It was only then that Harry realised where he had seen her before. She had been the centre fold model in the magazine that Eddie had given to him.

Malcolm saw the comprehension light up Harry's eyes, and he smiled proudly as Jean entered the room, carrying the drinks rather than levitating them. "Jean, honey, get over here." After she handed Harry the shot of Lobe-Blaster that he refused to drink, she stood in front of Malcolm obediently. "You have a fan! Our new friend here has seen your pictures."

Jean stiffened and her eyes returned to the fireplace, as though by removing her focus from the room she was escaping the conversation. Harry wished he could do the same. While he had been embarrassed by the moving pictures when he first saw them, it compared little to the different kind of shame he felt now. It was plain to see that she had not posed for those pictures of her own free will.

With the air of a child showing off his toys, Malcolm quickly explained, "Business has been slow since the war ended, so every now and again I resurrect a few girls like this one to make some money for me." He gave Jean a slap on the bottom, and she took that as a signal to return to her position at the door in case she was needed for anything else.

"Those fucking Potters man," Malcolm made a noise of disgust, oblivious to Harry's sudden stillness at the sound of his own name, "they ruined the sweet gig I had going. Every few weeks, someone with too much money would walk through those doors and ask me to bring back their boyfriend, sister or kid and I'd make a killing. Then the Dark Lord had to go die and now I'm stuck relying on Muggles like her for Galleons."

Malcom had the pouty demeanour of a child who had been denied something that he felt entitled to, and just wanted to have a sympathetic ear to voice his complaints, but that still didn't explain why he was telling Harry about his financial troubles. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Why? Because this is going to cost you an arm and a leg, and I want you to know exactly why so you don't complain." He drank his shot in a single go and slumped into his armchair. "I mostly serve Vampires that go overboard these days, but even that has slowed to a crawl. Aurors have a lot more time to clamp down on illegal blood draining when they're not busy fighting their own kind."

"How much is it going to cost?"

"At least five thousand Galleons. For the use of my materials." When Harry didn't flinch, Malcom chuckled. "You see? It's that desperation that I've missed. You've already come halfway around the world for this, so you'll pay me anything won't you?" Harry narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He was right. If his own vault wouldn't cover it, he would just use the Gringotts' key that Flamel had given him and deal with the consequences later.

"Now, who do you want to bring back, kid?"

Harry hadn't missed what he had said about the price. "Why at least five thousand Galleons? What would make the price increase?"

Malcolm sighed. "It depends on any number of factors; how long the person has been deceased, whether the body is still intact, if any treasured possessions of theirs could be used to draw their soul back to the land of the living, it all matters." He asked Harry curiously, "You got any of those?"

Losing hope, Harry shook his head. "He's been dead since June, and I haven't got a clue what happened to his body or his possessions."

Malcolm whistled. "I'm going to break the bank with you, aren't I?" As though inspired by the big payday that was headed his way, Malcolm leapt out of his seat and indicated for Harry to follow him. Reluctantly, he did so, not missing how Jean brought up the rear.

Malcolm led them into the foyer and towards a door that was hidden underneath the imperial staircase. The door led to a windowless room with stone walls, empty except for the seven lit torches and an obsidian orb that rested on a pedestal in the centre of the room. It was the size of a Quaffle and had a thousand miniscule white Runes orbiting its surface in a Complex that Harry had little hope in deciphering.

"Give me the name of the person you wish to bring back." Malcolm's attitude had shifted when they had entered the stone room, as he seemed nothing but professional now.

"Quirinus Quirrell." Harry wished that he could say he wanted Quirrell to live again in order to right a wrong, but the truth was that he only wished for his nightmares to stop. He wanted to stop feeling guilty for killing an innocent man.

"Stupid name, but it'll make things easier," Malcolm muttered as he began to wave his wand at the obsidian orb and murmured an incantation that he didn't recognise repeatedly.

Harry had never expected this to be an easy process, but it was taking much longer than he thought so he had sat cross legged on the ground a while ago. He glanced at his watch when he was certain that an hour had passed, but as it was too dark to see, he reached for his wand to a cast a Wand-Lightning Charm. A hand clamped around his wrist.

"Don't!" Jean warned in a whisper. "Any magic you cast here will affect the soul summoning." Harry didn't like the sound of that, so he simply moved closer to the torches in order to check his watch, only to see that ninety minutes had gone by since he had first arrived at the building.

Glancing surreptitiously at Jean, Harry was hit with another wave of guilt. When Malcolm had first told him that he had her here against her will, he had briefly considered and then discarded the idea of saving her. While he felt bad for her circumstances, he was here for his own purposes, and he hadn't survived this long by helping others by sacrificing his own goals.

Maybe he would leave the Manhattan Citadel an anonymous tip after he got what he wanted.

There was a sudden screeching sound coming from the orb, and Malcolm quickly called him over. "Kid! Get over here! Look into the orb!" Warily, Harry did so, and was shocked to see Quirrell's distorted, screaming face rising to the orb's surface. "Well? Do you recognise him? Is it the right soul?" Harry quickly nodded, and Malcolm lowered his wand with a relieved sigh and Quirrell disappeared.

"Wait! Where did he go?" Harry stared into the orb as though Quirrell would emerge from it. "He was right there!"

"His soul was right there." Malcolm corrected. "He'll be needing a body." When Harry stared at him blankly, he sighed. "You came here unprepared, didn't you?" He continued without waiting for Harry's response. "You ever hear of the Law of Equal Exchange? You can't have something for nothing kid. Even when I put a soul back in its original body," he gestured to Jean, "it still comes at the cost of another's life."

"I don't understand. You're going to kill someone?" Harry slowly shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. Erica said- you said that you help Vampires cover up their kills by bringing their victims back before Aurors can figure out that there's been a murder. What's the point if you're going to just kill someone else to do it?"

Malcolm shrugged. "There are different ways to fool the Aurors. Temporary resurrections are easiest, as I can just return their souls to their bodies after I've healed them from the Vampire attack that killed them and then arrange for them to die in a more mundane fashion before their corpse starts to decompose." That sounded beyond horrifying to Harry's ears, but what Malcolm said next was somehow worse.

"Of course, some Vamps, like your buddy Erica, prefer to sacrifice the terminally ill in order to resurrect their victims." Malcolm smiled, as though he enjoyed revealing the monster that lay beneath Erica's beautiful exterior. "That way, the Aurors don't even know that there has been an unusal death. They just think the "natural order" is running its course, if they notice at all."

"You're asking me to kill someone in order to bring Quirrell back?" Harry was staring at the obsidian orb as he silently added, do you have any idea how redundant that is?

Malcolm nodded. "I'd hurry if I were you. I pulled your buddy's soul from the lands beyond death, and he's contained in the space between worlds." When Harry looked at him blankly, he explained, "Souls aren't meant to be contained in the Hollow. If left too long they tend to go mad." He chuckled.

"You're in a race against time now, kid."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Nicolas was sat in his favourite position in the world; underneath Illyana.

She had forgiven him for his plan for Henry when he revealed that it was in the boy's own best interest. He really should have known to forewarn her of Henry's age, but even after centuries of their back and forth, she still managed to keep him on his toes. He had known that she had little interest in raising a child herself, so he never would have guessed that she was so fond of them, going as far as to threaten him in order to protect the innocence of a boy she had only just met.

It was all water under the bridge now, and even though the lead to Ekrizidis' Vestigial Malspore had proven to be a waste of time he was here now, in Illyana's bedroom, with the woman herself in his lap. This alone was worth crossing an ocean for.

As though sensing his thoughts, Illyana pulled her face back from his, and regarded him with a teasing expression. "Shouldn't you be leaving soon?" When he looked at her, confused, she clarified. "Your ward shouldn't spend the night all alone. Not in an unfamiliar city. You have to go and take care of him."

"Henry is more than capable of taking care of himself," Nicolas grunted. "Besides, I already warned him that I might be out all night."

Illyana looked at him, aghast. "I was only joking. Please say that you did not tell a child you would be out all night for sex." When he said nothing, she slapped him on the shoulder. "This is a horrible idea. You should not be raising a child. You should not even be alone with a child."

Nicolas found it galling to have a Vampire try to claim the moral high ground, but in the interest of salvaging their night, he didn't point out her hypocrisy. "I was merely jesting-" he was cut off by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Illyana called as she climbed off his lap, telling Nicolas without words that they would not be spending the night together. He supposed he'll have to try again in another decade.

The door opened and one of Illyana's donors, the one who doubled as her assistant, stuck his head in. "Erica is here ma'am, like you requested."

Nicolas felt his blood run cold.

"Thank you. Send her in." Illyana did not look at him, but Nicolas knew that he was in trouble. When the girl walked in, she looked down at her feet, as though she were a child about to be berated by her mother and not an eighty-year-old serial killer.

"Where is the boy?" Illyana asked with the long-suffering sigh of a disciplinarian. "Didn't your little scheme call for him to be with you at all times?" Later Nicolas would make note to never make plans within the hearing of Vampires. It seemed that even in the thumping music of last night's party, someone had still been able to hear him speak to the girl. Either that or they had read his lips.

"I do not know." Erica said, refusing to meet her leader's eyes. "He said that he wished to be alone."

"What?" Faster than most humans could blink, Nicolas had pointed his wand at the girl, freezing her from the neck down and lifting her inches above the ground. "What did you say?"

"Nicolas!" Illyana snapped, and her two bodyguards ran into the room with speed only Vampires could possess. "You are in my home! You do not assault a member of my clan within-!"

She stopped speaking as Nicolas turned to his head to face her. The guards who had been approaching stopped dead as they stared at the blazing white Mana that leaking from Nicolas' body.

"I'll warn you once for the sake of our friendship." He said, a quiet danger reverberating in his voice. "Do not ever come between me and my ward."

Almost unconsciously, Illyana and the bodyguards took a simultaneous step back.

Nicolas narrowed his eyes as he turned back to Erica. "Where did you last see him?" When she began to stutter out her answer, he snapped, "Look me in the eye, girl!" The second she did so, she was met with the tip of his wand. "Legilimens!"

Vampires had natural mental defences that humans did not, but it was not enough to stop the full-on assault of a Sage. Within seconds, he understood the full picture, as he saw the face of a young woman of East Asian descent, one he had glimpsed in Henry's eyes when he grew too distracted to control his train of thought, and she was handing Erica a sack filled with Galleons in exchange for her abandoning the boy.

Ignoring Illyana's calls, Nicolas dashed out of the room and headed for the nearest door so that he could Apparate to Henry's last known location, praying that he wasn't too late, that he wasn't about to lose another student due to his own folly.

In his desire to cleanse his apprentice's soul, he might have just damned him to an early funeral pyre.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

After leaving the Necromancer's apartment manor, Harry made his way outside and, despite the late hour, decided to go for a walk.

It would be all too easy to simply to confound a taxi driver into believing that he had already paid or slip his Ouroboros back on and take a risk on the unfamiliar subway, but he needed to clear his head first. This visit had unsettled him in ways that he hadn't even expected.

However, he didn't even get the chance to start walking, as he was stopped just as his feet touched the pavement at the bottom of the apartment building's steps.

"Hey kid!" An unfamiliar voice called, and on instinct, he stopped and looked up. He immediately realised his mistake, as a tall, broad shouldered police officer was quickly approaching him.

Harry didn't even hesitate. "Stupefy!" The officer dropped to the ground, stunned, and the gun that he had been drawing from his holster clattered nosily onto the pavement. He stared at it, having never seen a gun in real life before, before he realised that the pedestrians of the fairly populated street were all focusing on him. Even through the Veil, they had witnessed a child attack a police officer.

That alone would have been enough to make him run, but he noticed that other people were running fearlessly in his direction. Just as they had in the shopping centre back in London.

Harry took off down the street, running faster than he ever had in his life. If it really was the same witch attacking him, then he couldn't expect to be saved by an Animagus this time around, nor could he rely on knowing his enemy. She had already got a police officer to come after him, so any of the people he was running past, Muggle, sorcerer, or anything else, might be after him too.

Rounding the first corner, Harry ran to the next block as he clasped his Ouroboros around his wrist, hopefully limiting the number of pursuers that he had. Up ahead, in front of a familiar pizza place, he saw a delivery guy mounting his scooter, and it gave Harry an idea.

"Confundo!" The man, Ralph, according to his embroidered coat, froze, shuddered and then glanced back with a smile as Harry climbed aboard behind him.

"Hey cuz! You ready for that scooter ride I promised you?"

"Yeah, yeah, just drive!" Harry's fingers tightened around the back of the Ralph's thick jacket, noticing two men run out of the restaurant and onto the street, shouting profanities at him. He was confused as to how they could even see him, before remembering why the restaurant had been so familiar. It was the one he and Flamel had eaten from yesterday.

The one that was run by a Werewolf pack.

When it rains it pours, Harry thought and as they zipped between cars he wondered if this night could get any worse. So of course, that's when it immediately did.

As they slowed down to make the next turn, the witch he had seen at the shopping centre, the one who had fired spells at him when he had been flying over London, Apparated into the road directly in front of them, pointing her wand at the incoming scooter. Even confounded, the driver was still able to react instinctively, swearing as he tried to swerve, but it was already too late.

The witch shot an Exploding Curse at them, and Harry reacted as quickly as he could, hanging onto the driver with one hand and using his other to point his wand ahead of them. "Protego!"

The spell slammed into the Shield Charm, and for the briefest of moments, Harry felt triumphant as the orange jet of light had been countered, but he had overlooked something crucial; The Shield Charm can also be used to stop physical attacks from both sides, and he had cast one in front of a scooter that was travelling at over thirty miles an hour.

It was only luck that saved them.

While the Exploding Curse had destroyed Harry's shield as it had been blocked, it was still in the process of vanishing when they hit it, so it was only the front wheel of the scooter that came to a sudden stop. Unfortunately, this meant that both Harry and Ralph were flung forward at over thirty miles an hour. While the driver was wearing both thick, padded riding gear and a helmet, Harry very much was not.

"Ascendio!" He shouted desperately. He had never cast the spell on anything animate before, much less himself but, much to his eternal relief and temporary pain, his trajectory immediately changed from flying forwards to flying upwards. It was a far sharper turn than any he had ever attempted on a broomstick, and due to the sudden but very brief blackout that he experienced, he knew it couldn't have been good for him.

Harry only came to when he started to drop back down to the street, but considering that he was several stories high, he had time to work. "Accio! Locomotor!" A sewer cover probably wasn't the best thing to summon towards you at high speeds, but in his groggy state, it was the first thing to come to mind. It slammed into him, knee first, and flew him towards the nearest building's fire escape.

Harry allowed himself to crash against the metal construct, but even though his instincts were telling him to fling the sewer cover at the witch who was hunting him, his body was in too much agony to operate. The effects of the last five seconds were starting to catch up to him, and he felt certain that he would die from the pain alone.

Fortunately, the witch was occupied.

The Werewolves had given chase on foot, determined to catch up to their confounded driver, and to their credit, they weren't far behind. They had made the turn just in time to see the witch attack their driver and send him flying, and with howls of rage they attacked her for it.

The witch, who had begun to make her way to the fire escape, let out a scoff of annoyance, and she immediately tore both men to shreds as they leapt at her. As their bodies hit the ground, splattering the slush on the streets in their blood, she looked upwards, only to be met with the sight of an empty fire escape.

Looking around, she saw no sign of her quarry, and when her Human-Presence-Revealing spell didn't indicate his presence, she let out her own howl of rage. "Months!" She screamed at the dead Werewolves at her feet. "Months I've waited, but he's never alone!" There were tears in her eyes, the kind born from desperate fear. Covering her face, she turned on the spot and Disapparated from the street.

From the fire escape, Harry had seen it all from underneath his Invisibility Cloak, but even when she left, he still gave it a minute before making to climb down the ladder. Even though he had healed his knee as he had waited for the witch to leave, it still gave him a twinge of pain as he climbed back down to the street.

When his feet made contact with the pavement, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. This entire street was deserted, so when he saw Ralph weakly move Harry knew that death would soon be coming for him as help was not. He had crashed headfirst into a stationary car, and if he didn't receive medical help soon, preferably from a Healer rather than a doctor, then he would die.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

It would be a mercy to end him here. As the one who had put him in this predicament in the first place, it was Harry's responsibility to put him out of his misery. Why should he have to suffer a long, painful death, just because Harry lacked the nerve to finish the job? And even if he wasn't dying, even if he could be saved, there's no way in knowing just what kind of permanent damage had been inflicted here. He wasn't a wizard, so Harry would simply be damning a Muggle Werewolf to a hard life.

The weight of the kindjal felt heavy in his Mokeskin pouch.

Harry hobbled towards the downed driver, taking note of the harsh angle his neck was at. It was far beyond his capabilities to fix anything like that. There was really only one way he could help. One thing that he could do to make amends.

Harry's fingers twitched for his blade.

The driver didn't make a noise, but through his cracked visor, Harry could see his mouth open ever so slightly, asking for help.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Instead of going for his Mokeskin pouch, Harry instead drew his wand. "Anemoi!" A ball of white light shot out the end of his wand before launching into the sky, streaking towards the nearest Citadel. Underneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry stood there beside the injured driver until the first Aurors arrived with the familiar cracks of Apparition.

Harry didn't linger, not having the stomach to find out whether or not he was responsible for another death. Like the coward he truly was, he fled into the night.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Nicolas had arrived in time to see Henry being flung into the air from his stolen scooter.

Drawing his wand, he prepared himself to soften the boy's landing, but Henry lived up to his expectations, and managed to save himself. Not gracefully, but he still managed the job.

From his rooftop vantage, he watched as the boy, hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak, briefly deliberate on whether he could use the Werewolf for the Necromantic ritual. This was not how he imagined the boy's defining moment to come, but he was willing to go along with it, as this was a far more visceral test than what he had planned.

After a moment of tension in which Nicolas was beginning to feel that Albus had been right, and that he was about to lose another student to selfishness and cruelty, Henry cast the Anemoi spell in order to get the injured man help.

Nicolas let out a breathy chuckle of relief.

As Henry hobbled off, Nicolas repressed the urge to immediately go to him. He had something he needed to take care of first.

The Necromancer's abode was a secure one, but there was no building in the world that was closed to the great Nicolas Flamel. Finding his ritual room was a little harder, but he eventually found it hidden underneath the imperial stairs, and there, in the centre of the room, was the Soul Catcher.

Like a net, Soul Catchers were used to sweep through the lands of the dead, catching all those fell into its range. If the owner was searching for someone specific and was willing to do regular ritual upkeep, they could use the Soul Catcher to keep them prisoner in the Hollow indefinitely. However, for such powerful items, they were very fragile.

Without hesitating, Nicolas nudged the orb from its pedestal and watched as it shattered against the stone floor. He didn't think Henry would appreciate having a man's soul being tormented for all of time due to his own actions.

There was a sound from the door, and the arrogant boy who believed he could command the dead appeared. He made to speak, but Nicolas had silenced him the second he had entered the room. "Malcolm Blake, thank you for your services this evening. Unfortunately, the Aurors can never know that my ward was ever here."

Like all pawns, Blake was confused when his purpose in life was finally revealed to him, but he quickly found that he had other problems, as Nicolas swiftly wiped his memory of ever meeting Henry or himself.

As he left the apartment, Nicolas felt the evening had been a productive one, even if it hadn't gone exactly as he had planned. Besides, a young woman will soon find her freedom when the Aurors storm Blake's home in two minutes, so he counted it as a victory in his favour.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry heard the penthouse elevators open but couldn't bring himself to face them. In the dark room, he sat in the chair that overlooked the city from the floor to ceiling window, unmoving.

"Henry?" Flamel came into view, looking concerned. "What are you doing up at this hour? And why are you sitting in the dark?" He made to wave his wand, but Harry lifted his hand, silently indicating for him to stop.

"Teach me Occlumency." Harry requested, hoarsely. "I need to control my mind."

Flamel's expression was difficult to make out in the dark, but his voice sounded concerned. "What's wrong with your mind?"

"I don't know." His voice was emotionless, because after the night he had, he was afraid that he might shatter if he expressed any kind of emotion at all. "But I can't keep living like this."

"I can't help you unless you tell me the truth of the matter." Flamel stated calmly. "Let's start with why you're dressed at this hour. Did you go out?"

Harry didn't care to keep this a secret anymore, so while Flamel began to heal his injures, he told him every sordid detail, from his nightmares, all the way to his deliberation over the Werewolf's life, and when he had told him everything, hardly feeling any better at all, Flamel didn't express any kind of anger or disappointment like he had expected.

In fact, he didn't seem very surprised at all.

"Supressing your emotions with Occlumency never works out in the long run, just as you found out by relying on potions and Phoenix song for sleep." There was no judgement in his voice, but Harry still flinched. "I think I know of a more permanent solution, but I'll have to enlist the help of an old apprentice. Would that be all right with you?" Harry nodded, slowly. "Good, then we leave for New Orleans in the morning."

Harry remained in his seat as Flamel headed for bed. He knew that despite whatever promises Flamel made, there was no way he could ever return to sleep now. Eos came to find him when he never went to bed, and she watched the city with him until the sun began to rise over the skyline.

Like London before it, Harry would be happy to leave New York behind him.