I do not own Harry Potter, but one day I will have that meddlesome brat in my grasp! MUAHAHA

The response to the first chapter made me a happy author, thanks for the advice and compliments.

By the way, after reading something that made sense to me on the subreddit, I will be making this an AU in order to change the defences and locations for the Horcruxes. Having to read the same thing in every fanfic for where the Horcruxes are always made me skip paragraphs. So, don't expect everything to be canon. I want a unique setting and I love making OC characters.

This chapter is a lot longer, almost 10k words, enjoy!

Chapter 2: Attis

Harry got the brief impression of amusement from an incomprehensibly massive being shrouded in darkness.

Apparently, Death found his demise amusing. He definitely didn't feel like he was greeting Death as an old friend. Probably still held a grudge against grandad Ignotus for outsmarting him.

Bastard.

He hung in a space that both did and did not exist, and time stretched. His time there was infinitely yet also passed in the blink of an eye before he felt his soul fall from him, and away from him.

There was no sound, or sign of what was to come, the void he was suspended in just winked away without warning, and he was dragged away.

-oOo-

5th August, 1995, 02:37am

St Mungo's, London, England

Healer Mary Owen, head of the emergency ward in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, looked on in resignation as the man in the bed in front of her started to weakly heave out his last breaths. In a hospital it wasn't exactly a rare sight, especially a magical one. But it never got easier for her to see someone she tried to save pass away before her eyes. She didn't even know his name. Whoever had raided where the mystery man had lived had gone on to destroy his wand and burn down his house along with all his possessions, at least that's what the aurors that had brought him in had told her. And she didn't want to look through what he had left (which seemed to be the clothes on his back) to find out his name, it had always seemed like a violation of privacy to her.

He was around 6ft, with short brown hair matted with dried blood. His face was lean and sculpted with hollowed cheeks and high cheekbones, but it didn't make him seem aristocratic, it made him look a bit alien and exotic. His entire build seemed almost frail, but Mary knew from when she had healed cuts on his torso that he had some muscle to him and looked like one of the 'deceptively strong' types.

He had been brought in from a raid on a muggle town. To her dismay these types of raids had been increasing in frequency ever since the Triwizard Tournament, not that the public knew that. She only knew because she had to deal with the aftermath, which were mostly injured muggles that had to be patched up then obliviated.

But this man had fought back. In the town of muggles he had been the only wizard, probably the most unlucky one could get given how few wizards there were that lived in the muggle world. For daring to fight back he had been hit with a curse that nobody at St Mungo's could understand nor fix, soul magic was a tricky thing after all, and this curse was slowly eating away at the very soul of the man. He had had many other injuries, such as cuts and broken bones, but they were fixed quickly, it was the curse that was killing him. It seemed to be some kind of variation of the killing curse, but with a prolonged effect to slowly tear the soul from the target. Mary felt sick that someone would even consider creating such a thing.

Mary watched on as the man took one more breath and lay still. Mary had seen what happened to those who lost their souls, having seen the aftermath of a dementor attack recently and recipients of the killing curse more than she would like.

She glanced at her diagnostic charm to confirm confirmed that he had passed and lowered her quill to the parchment to mark down time of death, only to start as the bar on the diagnostic chart that measured the presence of a soul suddenly jumped up, as if the man had somehow sucked his own soul back inside himself like some sort of reverse dementor.

Forgotten, her quill trailed a black gash down the time of death certificate as she gazed wide eyed as the man began to breathe again, his chest impossibly starting to rise and fall once again.

Professionalism taking precedence over her astonishment once more, Mary turned and shouted down the ward for some assistance.

"Jenkins, Warren! Get your hides down here! Patient 14 is regaining consciousness!"

-oOo-

6th August, 1995, 10:03am

St Mungo's, London, England

Harry opened his eyes and immediately took note of the fact that he was still alive. He then felt the absence of his fake eye in place of what felt like a real one, as well as the odd feeling of having his right leg back. He wasn't sure how that was possible, considering that nobody had been able to heal him, he then processed that he wasn't in his own body, hardly revolutionary for him considering his metamorph abilities, but right now he was in base form, and from what he could tell, and it was still unfamiliar.

'Oh god oh fuck, what the fuck did that crazy bitch do?' He thought, slight panic colouring his thoughts.

Harry took in the sterile white walls and monitoring charms surrounding him and realised that he was in the emergency ward of St. Mungo's, somewhere he had been more times than he would care to admit.

'How the fuck did I end up here from Algeria…?' Harry was getting a bad feeling about this. His bad feelings were not normally unfounded.

Harry raised his hand up to his eyes and almost fainted. Unfamiliar bones moved across unfamiliar muscles, and it took all he had not to gasp at the wrongness that he felt. He gazed uncomprehendingly at the hand that didn't belong to him as he flexed it and curled his fingers.

"Mr. Slate?" an unfamiliar, female voice called.

Harry continued staring at his hand, tracing the veins across the top of it before he realised that he was the only one in the vicinity, which meant that she was talking to him. But who the fuck was Slate? Harry felt his 6th sense of danger start to murmur in increased agitation.

Harry snapped his head towards the sound of the voice to see a matronly, middle aged, curly haired blonde woman was looking at him curiously, as if she was confused as to how he was alive. Harry found that he didn't like that look. He looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment before he replied.

"Yes?" he croaked. He barely held back a wince at the unfamiliarity of the voice that came from him.

"I'm head healer Mary Owens, you were brought here after an attack on your home and have been here overnight. Are you aware of what happened to you?" the woman asked, quill poised over a parchment next to her as she started running scans over Harry. Ok, apparently that meant he was 'Slate', was that some kind of codename or something?

Harry took the opportunity to look into the state of his mind. As soon as he entered his mindscape he found that his barriers were all sound and up, but there was a presence outside of them. It reminded him of when he had a bit of Voldy in his head, which he really didn't like. Harry temporarily lowered them cautiously and gasped as the memories of another person rushed in and took a space for themselves amongst his own memories inside his own mindscape. It was a completely alien feeling.

It was while he was intaking the man's whole life story that Harry learnt the name and age of the man whose body he was apparently now inhabiting, and how the poor guy had eventually met his end.

Harrison Slate, 25 years old. Born on the 3rd March 1970 in Lewes. Home-schooled by his parents until they died when he was 20, the mother to cancer, the father to suicide shortly afterwards. To deal with the grief he travelled the world until he was 25, when he eventually settled in the sleepy little town of Digby in Lincolnshire, where he lived for 4 months before he was killed in a death eater raid.

"Death eaters," he rasped, his voice was back to what it had sounded before now. Morphing his voice box had always been tricky, but there was no way he was sounding like someone else; it was far too disturbing.

Another thing that Harry gained from Harrison's memories was the current date. Harry felt a little bit of his sanity crack and his grip on reality slip slightly as he locked away thoughts of having going through his whole life all over again, having to see people he had killed and failed to save again, away deep into a deep, dark pit in his mind where he could process it later.

'At least I get to kill Bellatrix this time around.' A voice in his head told him consolingly, still holding a grudge from the fight he had just… departed from. Great, voices in his head. Just what he needed.

The mediwitch's breath hitched for a moment before she nodded and continued, "yes, you were hit by a curse that attacked and ate at your soul, however you appear to have made a full recovery," she looked up from her diagnostic table into his eyes, "you are very lucky to be alive, Mr Slate." she finished solemnly.

'Yeah…about that…'

Harry hid his thoughts, which were ranging from amusement to guilt to all-encompassing hopelessness, behind a thankful nod. He looked around the ward then back to her, "thank you...so, I can leave this place now?" He asked.

She nodded, "you're welcome and you may, the diagnostic scans have all come back positive and you don't seem to have anything else wrong with you so you really have no obligation to stay, the clothes that you were wearing are to your left, they have been mended and cleaned. Have a good day Mr Slate." And at that she promptly turned and left, only moments later helping two other workers bring in a man who appeared to be missing both of his hands.

Harry shook his head and roughly suppressed rising dark thoughts of his current situation with occlumency. He refused to spiral into panic now. Suppressing emotions with occlumency was dangerous, with a real risk of him losing his ability to feel certain emotions if he suppressed them too often, he would have to pull them back up and process them before it damaged his mental state… well, damaged it even more. He had always wondered if that was why Snape had ended up being such a bastard by his time, surely that level of misery and vindictiveness couldn't be natural. Maybe he had suppressed all of his memories of happy times with his mum and had ended up destroying his ability to feel positive emotions… Nah, he was just a cunt.

Anyway, he had survived and still had his mind, even if it might be a little unstable right now. He had lived like he always did, and now he would deal with it like he always had. With that in mind, Harry stood and looked for his clothes.

-oOo-

His clothes consisted of a white shirt and a pair of blue jeans, not exactly the best outfit for anytime in the year in the UK, where the weather always had a high chance of being dismal. As soon as he exited the hospital, he apparated to where Harrison remembered his house to be, just to be sure that nothing survived.

Nothing had survived. He had at least expected some coins or other metal objects to survive, but from the heaps of slag piled around the burnt out husk of what used to be his house whoever burnt it down had used some dark variant of a fire spell. He could tell they didn't use fiendfyre however, because almost everything else within a 10 mile radius hadn't been reduced to ash.

And so, like he had done so many times before in his life, he paused and thought out his situation, then set out a plan of action.

From what he could glean from his new memories on the way to Diagon Alley the Slate family was a pureblood family, but without any political presence. Similar to the Weasley's, but they didn't breed like fucking rabbits and were richer, more around the middle class. His father, Adrastus Slate, married another pureblood called Anna Mills who was from a family of similar standing. This meant that, like any self-respecting pureblood family, they had a long-standing Gringotts vault. And, to his delight, the Slate vault key was one of the few things that he had remaining after his nice house in Digby was burnt down by the raiders, having had it on a cord around his neck like so many tended to do. He chose to ignore that taking gold from the vault could be construed as robbery, dismissing the idea as inconsequential and more importantly not any fun.

After withdrawing some galleons from Gringotts to get some supplies (and most importantly a new wand, as Harry was getting jumpy without one), meeting with his account manager to manage his finances, ("say, Bloodripper, have you ever heard of 'Apple' or 'Microsoft?'") and making some more choice purchases, Harry trotted out of Gringotts and wandered along the alley for a bit.

The business in Gringotts had taken a while, and by the time he had escaped the clutches of the greedy fuckers it was past lunch time. He stopped at his favourite food place in Diagon which he used to stop at every time his work brought him back to the UK, a cute little patisserie stuffed in a corner between a place that sold clothes for children and a room expansion charm specialist. He sat and enjoyed a couple of apricot tarts and a coffee as he people watched from his seat, idly attempting to chat up the cute curvy brunette witch who served him to try and bring some normality into his current situation. She gave him a disdainful look that screamed 'I know your trouble, and I intend to stay the hell away', Harry couldn't really blame her or bring himself to care, and continued to watch people walk past and munched on the delicious food.

After he finished and paid, leaving with a teasing wink at the waitress – who gave him a dirty look – Harry headed straight for Ollivander's, feeling the absence of a wand keenly and starting to get antsy due to it, like an addict without his fix. He had never liked to be parted from either of his wands for any amount of time, and that hadn't changed after whatever the fuck had just happened to him. He could just about manage without a wand enough to defend himself in a fight, but wandless magic was still limited and he had always found the feeling of a wand on his arm comforting.

He ducked as he entered the shop, almost splitting his forehead open on the low doorway. He wasn't quite used to his new height yet, being a few inches taller than he was before. With that the thoughts of what he had left behind started to rise once more before he suppressed them again. He would deal with those later.

The old wand shop was just as he remembered it. Apart from when it was forcefully closed during the war, Harry didn't think that it had ever changed, and for that matter neither had the wand maker. Maybe it was because Harry lived longer than most, but he was the only one that ever seemed to notice that the old man seemed to be just as ageless as Harry was.

Harry approached the counter, and as he came forwards Ollivander walked from behind the shelves at the back of the shop and started to walk languidly towards Harry. Sure enough, he looked exactly the same as he had 6 years ago when Harry had seem him last. Steel grey eyes with white hair standing up on end like a crazy scientist and a wizened look.

The wand crafter peered at him with those creepy mirror-like eyes, "Harrison Slate, Ash and Unicorn hair, 12 inches and unyielding, a wand of a wizard with strong beliefs, good for charm work," Ollivander peered at him, an accusatory look in his steely eyes, "and pray tell where is your wand, Mr Slate?"

Harry got the odd feeling of being scolded by a teacher and looked down to play the part, even going as far as to shuffle his feet like he was being scolded by old McGonagall, "got caught up in a raid, they snapped then burnt it, I need a new one… please?" Harry said sadly with a questioning lilt at the end, he didn't have to try much to get the tone right, the loss of a wand always made him feel sad. Sensing the magic around him had the downside of feeling the backlash of a broken wand, and it held a hint of sadness and lost potential each and every time.

Ollivander hummed and stared at him just long enough for it to be uncomfortable, "I suppose that is an adequate reason, very well, let's start by get you measured then." Harry let out a sigh of relief, although he knew that Ollivander couldn't really refuse him a new wand.

While the tape-measure danced around Harry and measured parts of him that he didn't really feel needed to be measured Ollivander rummaged around in the back of the shop, apparently looking for his first wand. As he returned, the intrusive tape-measure finished measuring from his left shoulder to his left little toe, snapped up into a ball and scurried away into a cubbyhole behind Ollivander's desk.

"Ash and Unicorn hair, 11 ½ inches, springy, similar to your first. Give it a go." He encouraged. Harry grabbed the wand and immediately shook his head and put it back.

"No, this one doesn't like me" he said confidently.

Ollivander rose an eyebrow but nodded and turned away without question, already reaching for another.

"Black Walnut and Griffin feather, 13 inches, give it a wave..."

It took him 15 tries before he got his new wand.

"Red Oak and Dragon Heartstring from a Ukrainian Ironbelly, 14 inches exactly, give it a try Mr Slate" Ollivander said, reaching over the piles of dismissed wands to offer Harry a well polished, rich brown wand hilt first. It was a long prismatic shape, with the edges of the prism softening and narrowing until it was rounded at the tip of the wand. On all 3 sides of the wand runes were carved in intricate patterns up the side of the wand, coloured black. It reminded Harry of Sirius' wand, although his was cuboid instead. The grip was attached to the wand with two rings of silver, made from midnight black dragon hide, presumably from the underneath of the dragon from the size of the scales. When Harry picked up the wand he immediately felt the link with it form, and immediately felt it was definitely stronger than the one from his first, presumably due to the lack of a sadistic maniac in his forehead this time around to influence the decision. Silver sparks erupted from the wand in a fountain and Harry felt a harsh warm wind, reminiscent of the intense heat when the Horntail in the first task spewed fire at him, sweep through the shop. It was as if an Ironbelly had stuck its head through the shop door and breathed on him.

Ollivander had a huge grin splitting his wrinkled face, practically vibrating with glee. Harry found that he had a large smile on his face as well. "Bravo! Bravo, Harrison!" he exclaimed, "a brilliant match I daresay, that wand will do you well," he paused before continuing in a lecturing tone, "red oak is the wood of a warrior with quick reactions and decisive thinking with a penchant for battle magic, and the dragon heartstring will give the wand the power to back it up. I daresay, with how unyielding the wood is, you've got the wand of a fighter Mr Slate," The old crafter said, all the while getting the box and a holster that Harry had pointed at while they were trying out wands, "I hope to see you put it to good use, that will be 36 galleons for the wand and the holster."

Harry thanked him and paid for both, fixing the wand to his arm without hesitation. He let out a breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding, feeling much safer with a wand at his side again. He felt the loss of his old wands keenly, but couldn't help but be pleased with his new one. It felt right from the moment he held it. Ollivander, clearly aware of what he was thinking, gave him a knowing smile before he turned back into the darkness of the back of his shop, and Harry turned and left.

The next 3 hours were pure fucking torture. Harry had never been one for clothes shopping, and had always avoided it at all costs, he had been wearing clothing he bought 50 years ago when he eventually snuffed it and got sent to wherever the fuck he was now.

Alas, it could not be avoided and so, with great reluctance, he went clothes shopping in both the muggle and wizarding world to get some semblance of a wardrobe back. By the end he was using occlumency again to prevent himself from running away from the next store as fast as he could.

After picking up some more supplies from various wizarding shops and stopping off at the co-op on the way home for some dinner, Harry collapsed into his new sofa in the flat he had bought in Brixton and sighed in exhaustion.

It was when he went to the bathroom for a piss that Harry caught the first glimpse of himself in the mirror out of the corner of his eye and, quick as a bullet, span and cast a stunner to catch the intruder off guard before he realised that it was him in the mirror.

'You fucking... idiot,' drawled a Snape-esque voice in his head.

Harry sheepishly repaired the wall behind him before getting a good look at what appeared to be his new body for the first time. He was somewhere around 6ft. His hair was as black as his used to be before, and was even more messy, but thicker and curlier. His face was sharp and angular, the cheekbones, delicate jawline and slightly upturned nose giving him an almost impish or elven look that to him screamed trouble, Harry fucked with it and sharpened his features even further, making himself look almost alien. Harry grinned widely, if he saw himself on the street he would run in the opposite direction without hesitation, clutching his money pouch the whole time. He looked like the type to set things on fire without provocation. Now he thought about it, he actually did like to do that.

His body was willowy but lithe, evidently Harrison had obviously kept himself in decent shape, something which mages often underestimated. Harry built a bit more muscle onto himself to give himself the strength he was used to. His eyes were a light grey, like steel.

Harry decided that he wanted to mess with the mages a little, so made them even brighter until they became almost white in appearance, like two cracked mirrors.

He always liked watching the mages squirm when they were met with something different.

Harry finished up fiddling with some more body parts, like making his ears stick out a little more to enforce the devil-may-care look he was aiming for, before finally pissing then cooking up some pasta with tomato sauce and chicken. He ate the bowl cheerfully on his balcony while watching some kid pick up drugs from a man below him. Hmm, does the wizarding world know what weed is?

After purchasing a 3.5g from his new friend on the corner, Harry sat cross-legged on his bed with a spliff in his mouth and carefully brought back up all of his emotions and feelings on what had just happened to him. The effects of the weed helped him to dull them enough to not spiral into a complete mental breakdown, but it was still a close thing.

It was a long time before he was stable enough to fall into a resemblance of sleep, his emotions roiling. Even then, his dreams were vivid and dark.

-oOo-

7th August, 1995, 01:38am

Flat 14, Fyfield Road, Brixton, London, England

Harry jerked awake and looked around him warily, sitting up stock still to see what had woken him. After a moment his unspoken question was answered as he felt a pull on his magic that alerted him that his alert ward had been set off. The wards were set up so it could only be set off by a mage, so Harry was immediately on guard.

He slowly slid out from under his covers as quietly as possible, sliding his new wand into his hand from his ever-present holster as he took a couple of long, silent strides to the wall to the left of the open doorway of his room and flattened his back against it. Harry silently cast a quick illusion at his bed to make it seem like he was still sleeping. He wanted to see what this person wanted with him. He then disillusioned himself then stood perfectly still.

'Must have stuck a tracker on me when I was out, very sloppy, Potter' Said a voice that sounded like his instructor from the ICW in his head.

Two long, tense seconds later Harry heard a whisper and the sound of a lock sliding open, then the sound of the entrance to his flat being opened. He stood, still as a statue, as he listened to the footfall of someone come ever closer. Harry mentally sighed, not even a silencing charm for the footsteps? Not even a check for wards? He almost felt insulted. The idiot probably just assumed he was a muggleborn and therefore incompetent.

'Fucking moron' Harry mentally snorted.

A black, cloaked figure with a familiar mask entered his room, walking past him, focused entirely on the rising and falling figure of the sleeping man in the bed. Harry rolled his eyes. He could actually hear Moody mocking and berating the idiot, he was doing the same.

'CHECK YOUR CORNERS WHEN YE ENTER ANY ROOM LAD, OR YOU'LL BE PASTE ON THE FECKIN WALLS BEFORE YE CAN SAY EXPELLIARMUS!' This was said before said ex-auror started cackling madly and casting borderline illegal curses at him without restraint. Ahh… good old Moody. Fucking insane, but a good mentor.

The mage was crouched low, placing his feet carefully as he carefully drew his wand (looked like a cedar wand to Harry, good for perceptive people, this guy seemed to be the exception) at the illusion. He probably thought he was being sneaky and clever. In reality he just looked like a fucking idiot.

The mage drew level with 'Harry's' head and pointed his wand at him point blank before snarling, "Avada Kedavra!" and jabbing it at the illusion.

'Fucking hell, straight to the killing curse? Guess they didn't want a wizard witness to snitch on their raid. Must have pissed Tom right off when he learnt a wizard survived.' Harry almost felt sorry for the poor sod that had to tell him that a mage survived the raid and saw their dressup.

The sickly green curse passed straight through the illusion and dispelled it with a crackle and a pop, all the mage had time to do was freeze in shock before he was hit with a stupefy to the side of the head and fell stiffly to the floor. Harry would have cast a blasting curse at the stupid little shits temple and danced on his remains (Harry really didn't like people using that curse) but knowing his luck he was probably some puffed up pricks heir so he would inevitably end up in Azkaban for the trouble. Gone were the days where he could just say 'I'm Harry Potter' and everyone would just go, 'oh right, as you were then'.

Didn't make it any less tempting.

Harry sighed, plucking the would-be murderers wand out of their stiff hand and ripping the tacky mask off, "so, who do we have here, hmm?" Harry said in a singsong voice.

The mask was taken off to reveal the ugly mug of Elias Burke, one of the mid-level death eaters who got into the DE's due to Tommy's friendship with the co-owner of Borgin and Burkes, this dudes father or uncle or some shit, probably. Tom was hired there right out of Hogwarts, and acquired one of his horcruxes through it, he owed the guy. Burke also had a seat on the Wizengamot as a Noble house, so it was probably good that Elias' Noble cunt face didn't get painted on the walls of Harry's flat.

"Ooo, ickle Elias, eh? My my, Daddy is going to be very disappointed, Elly boy." Harry said mockingly, very aware of the fact that he couldn't hear him and also not really caring. While he waited for the aurors to arrive, (who would have picked up the AK magical signature by now), Harry took off his Pjs and dragged on some green camo trousers and a dark purple t-shirt that said 'I dare you, I double dare you motherfucker!' with a picture of Samuel L Jackson aiming a pistol through the 'o' in 'you'. Amazing fucking movie. On top of the t-shirt Harry pulled on a very comfortable black dragon hide combat jacket that he bought the day before, open at the front. He finished it off with some black combat boots and lit a spliff. He was determined to piss as many people off as possible.

Harry made his way to his mirror, kicking Burke in the stomach as he went, and straightened himself out and messed up his hair more. Nodding in satisfaction, he walked casually over to his designated chair that he used to throw his clothes at and draped himself over it, and waited.

-oOo-

Auror Nymphadora Tonks was happily munching on a chocolate brioche from the cafeteria, eyeing the clock across from her cubicle impatiently, the clock was slowly approaching 02:00am, the end of her shift. It had been a long day, starting with a robbery at a powdered magical ingredients store in Knockturn, cleaning up after another raid up North that people would deny happened later and finally finishing off on patrol splitting up the odd fight in the Leaky and other pubs around the Alley, and now she was finally near the end. Tonks closed her eyes and imagined the bliss of falling into her soft bed at her flat and smiled, taking another bite out of her brioche.

Of course, that was when it was all cruelly snatched away.

"Green alert, green alert, aurors Tonks, Wells, Stannard and Hicks report to auror leader Griffiths in apparition room 1, killing curse detected in Brixton, London near Max Roach Park." The alarm, glowing brightly with the familiar bright green of a killing curse, flashed harshly across the cubicles as the calm voice emanated from every corner from the almost empty auror office.

"Oh for fucks sake" Tonks grumbled, but still quickly rose to her feet and swung her red auror cloak on, checking to make sure her wand was secured on her arm, along with an emergency port-key and cuffs. She would grumble and complain, but at heart Tonks was a good auror, and a green alert was bad and, unfortunately, getting more and more common.

She also wasn't happy about having to go with Richard Griffiths, the guy was admittedly a good auror in terms of combat ability, but made no attempt to hide his bigotry and regularly let purebloods and higher ups off while throwing the book at muggleborns and half-bloods, occasionally just making laws up on the spot. He would get reported for misconduct, then get bailed out by the Minister or his bitch of an undersecretary every time. He also looked down at Tonks in a way that thoroughly pissed her off without fail. When he wasn't looking down at her for being a Black family cast off and a half blood he was making tasteless jokes about her abilities and their use in sex. She was proud and completely unashamed of her abilities, they were what set her apart and made her unique, something which she had always valued greatly. When people disparaged her for it and made it seem like she was some kind of non-human for her ability it really set her off.

Tonks mentally readied herself to deal with the guys shit as she weaved between the cubicles, hurriedly finishing her brioche as she went and occasionally nodding at some aurors that she knew along the way. Without being entirely aware of it, Tonks' face and features shifted to become more modest and plain, her hair darkening and her curves lessening. It wasn't to avoid Griffiths and his leers, she wasn't some meek little girl to change how she looked for any man, it was an instinctual reaction that she had developed before going into any situation where she needed to be discreet. Her normal bright colours and crazy styles would attract unwanted attention on missions, so she dulled her hair from the normal bright pink to a dark brown, and pulled in her breasts and ass a little to give herself her normal balance and combat ability. D-cups may look good, but in combat they were normally just a huge pain in the ass. Tonks checked over herself one more time to make sure everything was in place, then entered the apparition room, pointedly ignoring Griffiths' patent creepy leer and waited for the call to apparate to the given coordinates.

The call was given 30 seconds later, and the team of five apparated outside of flat that the signature was picked up at. The area was decently well kept, but not to an extravagant extent. It seemed to be a middle class neighbourhood in the suburbs made up of modest houses and blocks of square brick apartment blocks sprinkled around ruining the view. Overall, an average British muggle suburb. The road shone with the remnants of a rain spell earlier in the day as the street lamps shone down on them. It was entirely silent, not a soul present at this time of day. Tonks glared a hole into the back of Griffiths head as he visibly looked around in disdain.

'Prick.'

"This way, Stannard, wait outside and make sure that nobody leaves the building" Griffiths said gruffly, looking up from the device that tracked the signature and pointing at an innocuous 3 story block of flats on the corner of the road. Stannard, a tall, thin bald man with a constant scowl, nodded curtly then took up vigil across the street from the block and kept watch, wand drawn at his side and casting the standard muggle repelling wards.

The team approached the flat and – after casting silencing charms on their feet – let themselves in, which wasn't hard as the door had already been opened. They entered into a small entryway, with a rack of cubbyholes on the right side for mail. They followed the device which pointed them upwards, towards the third floor flat on the corner of the building. The team moved slowly up the stairwell; wands trained around corners with Wells bringing up the rear.

"Residue of a tripped alarm ward here, sir" said Hicks, who had his wand trained at the floor of the corridor around 15 feet from the door of the flat they were approaching, "whoever lives in that flat, orlivedin that flat, knew someone was coming." He finished in a hushed tone, which still sounded loud in the silence in the corridor.

Griffiths grunted in acknowledgement but didn't look away from the door, "Hicks, Wells, set up the standard set of wards. Tonks, watch the door with me until they're done, you're first in with me," he said in a low tone. Tonks felt a heady rush of adrenaline and anticipation flow through her, she always got excited for this sort of thing on missions, the tense moments before they moved in on a scene and prepared to confront whatever they were called to confront. It was why she signed up for the corps in the first place.

Tonks nodded and set herself up on one side of the door, wand trained on it, with Griffiths on the other side mirroring her. After five minutes Tonks felt the air hum slightly above her and heard the hushed 'done' from Wells to confirm that the wards were up. The two aurors, now finished with the warding, rushed to take up a position behind Tonks and Griffiths, wands readied at their sides and gazes fixed on the leader as they waited for the signal.

Griffiths glanced around at the others to make sure they were all in position before giving a sharp nod and saying "enter!" in a harsh bark.

Griffiths banished the door open with his wand and entered, Tonks following closely behind with her wand drawn and eyes scanning the inside of the modest flat, trying to take in as much information as possible. It looked slightly barren, as if whoever was living inside had only just moved in. Tonks scrunched up her nose as a cloying smell that she vaguely recognised made itself known.

"Aurors! Make yourself known and raise your arms above your head with your wand pointed upwards!" Griffiths shouted, sticking his head into the bathroom to the right of the entrance with his wand pointing in as they gradually moved through the flat.

Tonks was just looking away from the small room holding what looked like a boiler when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and he stepped out. He had an almost fae look, prominent cheekbones and a narrow nose with full lips and a sharp chin, to her, he seemed almost unnaturally beautiful but also dangerous. Bright grey eyes sparkling with amusement, topped off with a toothy grin gave Tonks the inexplicable urge to check for prank spells on her person. He had a mop of curly matte black hair that was messy in a way that somehow made it seem stylish and on purpose. He was tall, taller than Tonks, maybe around 6ft, but he wasn't lanky. His steps were languid like a cats, like he knew exactly where each of his body parts were at any time in a way that Tonks envied with her penchant to fall over non-existent objects on a regular basis.

His raised arms parted what had to be one of the most badass dragon hide combat jackets she had ever seen (she had a similar one) and revealed a t-shirt that would probably made her burst out laughing if she wasn't so tense. Her dad had taken her to see that movie last year, and she had loved it. He was wearing green camo trousers and black leather combat boots to complete the look, which was somewhere between teen rebel and soldier.

His sense of dress immediately made her want to like him, mainly due to the fact that she wore similar clothes when she was off duty.

"Lo' ladies, what can I do for you this morning?" he asked cheerily, apparently completely unfazed by the four wands pointed at his chest. In fact, he seemed to find it amusing. His wand was spinning rapidly in his left hand as he kept them above his head.

"I'm lead auror Griffiths, these are aurors Wells, Tonks and Hicks. We're here to respond to a detected killing curse," Griffiths eyed the man suspiciously, "wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" he asked accusingly. Tonks wanted to bash her head against the wall. The prick had apparently already decided that he didn't like the man based on his clothing.

The man's eyes widened in mock surprise and his wand stilled, "oh! You're here for that bloke? Yeh, he's in the bedroom," he pointed to the doorway he had come out of with his right hand, which had some sort of rolled up paper cylinder in-between its index and middle finger, letting off smoke that smelt of that odd smell she had noticed earlier, "fucker tried to off me, can you believe the nerve of some people?" he directed the last part to Tonks, shaking his head, "really, the idiot didn't even realise he set off an alert ward. Fucking amateurs." he grumbled. Tonks coughed to hide her laugh, he could still be the killer, she couldn't get distracted.

The lead auror sniffed dismissively, "we'll see about that...Tonks, Hicks, guard the suspect, and question him, find out what really happened. Wells, come with me," Griffiths said condescendingly as he looked at the man in disdain. He smiled back brightly. Griffiths gave him one more distrustful glare then pushed past him through the door, Wells following close behind.

Tonks nodded and turned to the man, who was leaned up against the wall looking entirely at ease. He lowered his non wand hand and inhaled from what Tonks now knew to be muggle cannabis, blowing the smoke into rings in front of him.

"What's your name?" She asked, wand still trained on him, the other hand opening the notebook and dictation quill to write down the details.

"Harrison Slate, at your service m'lady," he performed an over exaggerated bow of deference, ruined somewhat by the fact that he still had his hands above his head, in the end just looking ridiculous. Tonks snorted but continued in her line of inquiry.

"And you live here?"

"As of about," he lifted his wrist to look at a watch which wasn't there, which made Tonks breath through her nose in a half laugh again, "11 hours ago, yes." She raised an eyebrow at that and he explained, "last one got burnt down in that raid a couple nights ago," he grimaced, "bastards killed my dog."

"You were attacked in the raid on Digby? I wasn't aware there was any wizards there?" She asked curiously, ignoring his muttering about 'going John Wick on those bastards', whatever that meant.

He smirked at her crookedly in a way that she found herself liking immensely, "I don't doubt that you haven't heard of a wizard who survived it, as much as I don't doubt that it is that way entirely on purpose. I suppose I was supposed to die here so there were no witnesses left that could tattle on their little group of murderers" his smile turned slightly feral, and Tonks saw something dangerous spark behind those pale grey eyes, "unfortunately for them, whoever they sent was a fucking idiot and didn't even check if I was the right guy before he tried to AK me in the back of the head."

Before she could ask him to elaborate, Griffiths stormed back into the room, levitating a stunned and bound man in a dark cloak behind him. Tonks was caught somewhere between being horrified and amused when she saw a death eater mask in Griffiths' other hand, with a large penis drawn onto it in permanent marker.

"Boy! What do you think you're doing? Assaulting Heir Burke with no evidence of provocation? Not that I think a mudblood like you would understand what kind of upstanding citizens the Burkes are," He snarled, wand pointed at Slate, who for his part didn't even seem to notice the wand pointed at him and instead seemed to be trying not to laugh.

'Oh god, this is not going to go well.'

"What did you just say to me, fat fuck?" Slate asked incredulously, "what the fuck has the consistency of my blood got to do with this? The spastic shot a killing curse with the intent to kill me, just use priori incantatem and see for yourself you incompetent tub of Kneazle shit." Tonks silently cheered for him, she couldn't interfere for fear of losing her job, but it was still entertaining to watch. She got the distinct feeling that Slate wasn't the type to let himself be pushed around, and Griffiths was too arrogant to back down.

As predicted, Griffiths puffed himself up, indignation clearly writ across his face, "now listen here you filthy muggle spawn, don't tell me how to do my job, and don't you dare disrespect me. Do you have any idea who I am? What I could do to someone as insignificant as you? Heir Burke has the backing of Lord Burke, a good friend of mine and an upstanding citizen, unlike you, boy." He snarled.

Slate leaned towards him, his grin wide and genuine, "you know, you sound awfully familiar to me, like someone else I once had the extreme displeasure of being forced to listen to" he said airily, then his expression changed and he perked up, his mouth forming an 'o' and his finger pointing up as if he just had an epiphany, "oh god, you're sleeping with Umbridge aren't you? Tell me you puffed up lump of Griffin shit, when you fuck her do you get her pussy and her back folds mixed up?" at that he took another drag from his spliff and blew it into Griffiths' face, who looked like he was about to explode.

Tonks turned to the side and coughed violently to hide her laughter, to her left she saw Hicks do the same.

Before Griffiths could reply Slate continued, amusement heavily present in his eyes, "as for Burke, I don't care who he or his daddy are, the little bastard tried to kill me, even if he was pretty bad at it. So could either you, or maybe someone more...competent," he looked directly at Tonks, who felt a good amount of pride at being labelled as competent, "quit the bullshit and check his wand so I can just get back to sleep?" Tonks' internal cheering reached fever pitch as she watched the git get humiliated in front of his team, all of which looked varying degrees of amused, apart from Wells, who was just as much as a minister puppet as Griffiths. Tonks was grinning ear to ear.

Griffiths was red in the face with humiliation and fury, a perfect contrast to Slate's complete disregard of the man. Tonks noticed that somewhere along the way he had holstered his wand and his arms were down again, "now look here, we don't even know if he did it! You could have used his wand to cast it and tried to frame him!"

Slate rolled his eyes and took another long drag before flicking the end of his spliff over his shoulder, "fine, disregarding how fucking stupid that statement was, let's have a bit of story time then, I was asleep, in my bed of course. Then my alert ward that I always set up went off and woke me up. I waited in my bed until I could hear someone charming my door open so I left my bed and stood next to the doorway and set up an illusion in my bed to make it look like I was still asleep, wanted to see what whoever had broken into my flat wanted," he shrugged, "turns out they just wanted me dead, fired a killing curse straight through the back of my illusions head, probably because I survived the Digby raid, they can't have been very happy about that," he scratched his chin in thought, "so in return I hit him in the side of the head with a stupefy, quite tame in my opinion. If I could, I would have splattered the idiot's brains across the wall but, oh well," he shrugged, "I'm perfectly happy to give my memory of the event if you like."

'Moody would like this guy.'

Griffiths sneered unpleasantly at the man, who was still leaning nonchalantly on the wall, "that won't be necessary, I think I can personally make sure that your story is truthful… Wells! Cuff the suspect and take him to one of the holding cells to await trial, I'll make sure that Heir Burke is looked after as a man of his station should be, Tonks, go with him." He grinned nastily, "we'll see whose innocent after you stew in a cell for a while, boy."

Slate sighed dramatic and waved in her direction as Wells, a hulking brute of a man, advanced on him with the cuffs, "come on buddy, if I'm gonna get tied up, at least let the pretty one do it instead of Hagrid here," he jerked a finger at Wells, Tonks fought down a rare blush (not many could make her do that). Griffiths just sneered at him then apparated away with Burke.

Wells roughly spun the man around and snapped the cuffs onto him without hesitation, then apparated away as well, Tonks sent a patronus to Stannard, who was still waiting outside and apparated into the Ministry atrium, leaving Hicks to take down the wards and clean up.

She followed Wells as he led Slate past the fountain and the front desk. He was cheerfully trotting along, once kicking the back foot of Wells to make him stumble. Wells glared at him. He laughed.

"You know, you're awfully cheery for someone who's about to be put into prison" Tonks remarked as she trailed behind him. He twisted his head to look back at her.

"Bah! I'll be fine princess, mere stone and metal bars won't hold back a man of my calibre" he said pompously, nose turned up at her, "plus, how could they possibly suspect little old me of doing anything unlawful to the revered Heir Burke? I am the picture of innocence" he smiled innocently at her.

Tonks snorted as they turned a corner to approach the needed lift to get to the cells, "sure you are, and I'm Minerva McGonagall" she replied dryly.

He sighed wistfully, "ahh, if only. A formidable witch, McGonogall, with the power and attitude to back it up. Why, if I was a couple decades older..."

Tonks couldn't hold back the bark of laughter at that, it was a well known joke amongst the boys of Hogwarts to say they were attracted to the older witch, which seemed to be the only way to make her display any emotion through making her flustered, though it normally ending up with the boy ending up with weeks of detention.

"That your type then? Older witches that could kick your ass?" she questioned in amusement.

"Nah, I'm more into hot witches around my own age in uniforms, y'know?" he asked teasingly, winking at her, "a witch in uniform is a sight to see."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't quite stop the blush that coloured her cheeks, "you know, you're not really in the best position to be flirting right now" she commented.

"Try to stop me" he said without hesitation, "this might be my last chance to flirt with a hot witch in years if I'm left to my doom," he said morosely.

Tonks was amused, but also felt sorry for the guy. She had seen this happen more times than she liked over the last few months, muggleborns or half-bloods taken in on trumped up or false charges before they were held in a cell at the Ministry, then inevitably moved to Azkaban for the maximum week before the ministry was legally obligated to put them through a trial. By that point they would be barely coherent and scared out of their minds, and would end up getting convicted most of the time.

The worst part was that she couldn't do anything about it. Any complaints she made were shut down, and her job had been threatened multiple times. It was at these times where she hated being an auror, but there was no better way to help. The Order of the Phoenix wasn't any better then just being the average citizen. Most of the time she guarded Harry Potter or whatever was in the DoM, two of the most boring jobs in existence. And for every death eater they stunned, there were always more to rennervate them, and they didn't have the ability to prosecute them either, being a vigilante group.

Logic dictated that this 'Harrison Slate' would be the same, but for some reason a small voice in the back of her head just couldn't see the cheeky grey eyed man devoid of any of the life that he seemed to be full of to the brim. In a way he reminded her of Sirius, limitless spark of life and mischief that nothing could ever burn away.

She wasn't able to reply to Slate's last comment as they had reached the floor with the cells on them. Wells turned to Tonks when the trio reached the entrance to the holding cells underneath the Ministry, "Tonks, watch the prisoner, I'll go get someone to put him in a cell." And with that he turned and was gone.

Tonks waited next to the man for several seconds, looking down the corridor before she heard him whisper, "hey, princess."

Tonks whipped her head back to him to see him grinning cheekily.

"Yes?" she asked with a small frown, she wasn't sure if she liked being called princess.

"Could you reach into the inside pocket of my jacket for me please, I've got a little something for you there" he replied, "I promise this isn't a tasteless joke, but you can still cop a feel if you want" he added with a wink.

Tonks rolled her eyes but reached into the pocket and felt around, frowning slightly when she came in contact with something cool and cylindrical pulling out a glass vial with a… "is this your memory of the event?" She asked, surprised.

He bobbed his head in the positive, "yeah, it is. Saw who I stunned and reckoned that some shit like this might happen. I don't really know you all that well, having just met you and all, but I trust that you can get this to Bonesey, yeah? You seem like a good woman from what I can tell," he said, suddenly serious. She felt herself blush again and nodded, pocketing the vial. She was rarely talked to like an adult, her bubbly personality and lewd jokes tended to make people talk to her like she was 12 instead of 22.

He glanced over his shoulder to see a jailer coming over with Wells, "alright my Knight in Shining Armour, seems like I gotta be off," he turned back to her, his impish troublemaker look back on his face, "I'll play the part of the damsel in distress and your role is to come and save me from my dark tower so I can live happily ever after, yeah? After all, people like us have to look after each other" Just as the jailer got within hearing distance he winked, his left eye turning a deep purple before he winked again and it reverted back to its mirror like grey.

Tonks sucked in a sharp breath, 'holy shit! He's a metamorph?'

She wanted to drag him off with her and keep him, but all she could do was nod numbly to show she would do as he said, still processing what he had showed her. He grinned at her one last time then was dragged roughly away by the jailer.

"Au revoir, Sir Tonksie! I'll see you on the other side!" He cried dramatically as he was towed through the doorway.

The last thing she heard before the door shut behind him was the jailers gruff 'shut the fuck up' and him laughing, apparently amused that he had found a new person to annoy. Then the sound was cut off and she was left standing alone in the long hallway.

Tonks stared at the door that had just shut behind a man that she thought she might have just fallen in love with just a little bit, then put on a determined face and stormed away in the general direction of the Head of the DMLE's office.

She had an appointment with Madam Bones.

AN: I haven't quite decided if I want Harry to join the aurors or just cause mayhem while hunting down death eaters. Tell me what you want in the reviews, I probably wont listen but it would be nice to see other opinions ;)