Act Two Chapter One: The Moon I

AN: Yo folks, I am back. With year one reaching completion I have begun working on year two. I normally respond to reviews through PM's, but decided to try and get them here for you all.

The first being the most obvious I will continue posting on this story until the title no longer fits. At a point in the future I will have a chapter titled The Dawn. That is when I will transition to a new story. Until then the title is too fitting to think of a new one.

The one above is for BROMBROS and TheDragon2000.

To 0b5curu5: Leet speech takes me back. Nice name. Your praise is amazing and is really motivating to my work. I, of course, disagree that my work should rate highly but the fact you think it does means the world. This might be my favorite review ever for how much I smiled after getting it, though my first may just beat out. I hope that my continual works can continue to entertain you and that the standard never decreases in your eyes. An as for English, work hard. It is a language we all struggle with (I use three separate grammar programs before I release a chapter) and your attempt is not as bad as you believe.

Procrastinatey: I do try.

SentenialSlice: First off welcome to the show. I really love getting feedback on how I can improve so thank you for that. By transitions do you mean from one bit of time to the next? Would adding in line breaks like in my earlier chapters help with that? If so, I will go back and do that again. As to Harrys magic use, I am sad to say he will never be a duelist, his magic is not capable of that. I will warn you now if you wish to see BA Harry who can kill waves of faceless mobs with one spell this is not the story for you. I did fix his magic, so he has more control over it now, though how I have yet to reveal. Yes, this was planned from the beginning and not a copout. The magics I wrote in the summery of this story is the limit of what Harry can accomplish alone, but he will not be alone forever.

On to the normal spiel.

Please review. I do love to get those reviews; they make me feel good. As always, I need a beta, I think this chapter will show that more than most.

Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!

His new task illuminated itself in the visage of The Moon. The pale shadow to the warm sun, he now followed its sisters' path. A goal was hidden within XVII, his task to reach. He needed to find The High Priestess.

She stalked the halls, clinging to her darkness. The shadow gripped onto a once bright soul and brought forth the tendency. The month brought battle between the cobra and mongoose.

She visited the corridor called forbidden by the headmaster, somewhere he would not follow. For the guardian of death stood vigil over that place. He watched and waited for the shadow every day, wrapped in his father's legacy, and hidden from the shadow's gaze.

The shadow knew he watched it.

It watched back from the classes they forced him to attend, skipping only brought him before the garter snake which watched over him, a docile creature who many feared. Misunderstood by the masses, he barred his venomless fangs.

Yet, under the pale light he stalked, an opportunity to strike never showed. His transgression for the year had caught up to him. The warnings of his deck had been clear from the beginning. Find the plot.

He failed. He ignored the warnings in favor of enjoying his new life. Comfortable in a situation that needed his full attention.

Information, as young as he was, was his only combat choice, and he carried little of it around. He tried to enter the fight against a stronger and more prepared opponent in a battle of wits. It is no wonder he lost.

He called himself a mongoose, but in reality, his form was only a cobra. One with half the size and experience.

His days ran short, and Albus was away. The sinister shadow moved with greater urgency, capitalizing on the headmasters departure. He foolishly followed into the trap. With the quiet voice speaking 'imperio' aloud, he fell into the abyss of his own mind.

He watched his body move by strings, his thoughts breed from a mind not his own. The shadow gripped his will and exerted its own. All Harry could do was fall into his depths. Falling forever into the madness he created. Into a damaged place he hid from.

"Henri, wake up."

The sun had appeared. It shown through the window with curtains carelessly tossed aside. Stupid, if properly closed the previous night the morning greeting would not have come. A nice and calm morning instead of instant flash.

No use crying over spilt milk.

"Henri, wake up." The voice which called him seemed upset. Not as loud as Vernon, but the hidden rage still existed.

He swung his legs over the bedside and grabbed his enchanted glasses from the bedside table. He ruffled his blonde hair and draped the blue cloak around his shoulders. Henri Perior was ready to start his day. Opening to the outside world.

Only to be met with Dumbledore's cold blue eyes.

"Henri, why did it take so long?"

"Did you want me in the nude?"

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, "Get to work."

"Yes, sir." Henri saluted, a sight interrupted by poor posture and a teasing grin, and walked down the two flights of stairs.

The building that now stood as his temporary home was a five-story hotel smashed into the body of a two story pub. The outside perspective showed the first two stories as they were. They squished the upper four into the same existence. This resulted with the third floor maintaining the view of the second. If he opened a window would it show outside? If he jumped, would he descend from the third story or the second?

Magic that twisted space truly was the most incomprehensible and dangerous sort there was.

The building seemed ancient. With the wood beneath his feet baring old feel, a resonance of an age past. Countless forms had passed over the floor, each imparting a measure of memory into it. It hummed with magic. Magic which coursed through this building like blood, refreshing its defenses and standing stalwart against the world. The magical flow paled compared to Hogwarts, but it was comparing the moon to the sun in a competition for the brightest.

Truly a task made for a fool.

Henri entered the pub proper. A few patrons decorated the dining hall, watched by the clear blue gaze of Ariana. She appeared as beautiful as Albus described. The young woman danced through the field of flowers, a shy grin across her features. Her death stood as a sad story, a reminder of how no matter how much power and control you have, those close to you may die.

It can even be your fault.

But still you must move forward.

"Morning Ari," He called moving to the bar top. Her grin widened as she gave a massive wave in his direction. The prophet sat open on the top and he leaned back against the bar whilst reading its pandering pages. He hated the prophet. It lied constantly and sat as a propaganda machine for the ministry. Already, his reliable Carpe Diem Collective had been swallowed by the machine. They closed their doors, and the press turned forth more of The Daily Prophet. Calling it The Daily Prophet was a mockery of his future profession, a prophet tried to decipher the world and find its truths, whereas The Daily Mockery hid them and shouted lies into the void.

"Hey, kid, get me another German." A rough voice called from one of the darker corners of the pub. The bar, designed so the only windows were from the main street inward, invited the pub to be constantly lit by enchantments or fire.

"Why not a superior French make?" Henri said over his paper, not bothering to complete the asked task.

"You actually want me to feast on your kin?"

"It would mean you have taste, after all."

"Henri, quit harassing the customer and work. I pay you to take out the trash, not read it."

"Hear, hear." The man Henry was speaking to backed up the barman.

"Quiet Daywalker." Henri announced. Magic coursed and entered his words.

The mouth of the beast shut.

Henri did not know when the yew had jumped into his hands, nor when he allowed his authority to enter his voice.

It was a new thing she showed him, after all.

He hopped the bar and grabbed a wine bottle, turning off the seal which hummed its quiet tune, breaking the runic circle that wrapped the bottle in magic. Elder Futhark is the language the British forged most of the enchanted objects he encountered in. He disliked the proto-language; it paled in comparison to Greek and Egyptian in terms of complex language forms and was dwarfed in variety by his new language.

The circle he broke was one of preservation, of halting. It stopped the flow of time within the container.

Truly a dangerous magic. Could it hold something more? What could be held in a crypt with this? Having time unmoving within. Truly, the implications of such magic were terrifying.

Here it was used to keep blood from coagulating.

"Sorry, Necromancer," The Daywalker spoke. The power he held over their kind was frightening. Unlike men who walked the earth free of binding, the vampires were preserved over it. They were strung along the flow of time, but never allowed to move forward in it. From the instant of death they preserved the curse which stagnated their blood bonded them to the will of earth. What damage they took was taken back, for they never took it. The power came from the dark, the leach which tied them to their former soul. Alone the light of the sun could push back the shadow, solely the things grown in its splendor could halt their progress down the stream.

Someone holding a soul that existed in here and beyond, they had an authority over Daywalkers. Despite riding that stream, they could move in it. Despite seeing the beyond, they could interact with it. With that power, one could command the stream to a destination, paving an alternative path with magic.

So his book spoke in its hidden language, so she showed him when they spoke.

"No, Martin, I apologize." Henri spoke pouring the blood of a German into the stained glass, the patrons of the bar not caring as the cool red filled the cup. Replacing the seal and allowing the magic to course again through the bottle, he returned it to the bar. Meditation, control. He needed to be stronger, to not falter.

Behind the bar, he wiped down the filth that accumulated on the surface. The residue of shots needed more scrubbing than normal to get the grime from the antique wooden surface.

"Quit harassing my customers."

"Matin would never leave you Abe." Henri jested, pouring the old man a pint of a stout. Stouts early in the morning made dealing with the stress the blonde gave him all the easier.

"Out of there, kid. It's not polite." Aberforth spoke in French.

"Sorry, Abe," he averted his eyes. Staying out never got easier. Constant effort, constant exhaustion. For years he craved the human connection, to be close to someone. The desire always boiled beneath, always reaching and magic called to that desire. His magic understood his wants and responded, a nature it now held. Rather than calling forth magic, as they taught him at Hogwarts, instead he needed to learn how to prevent it.

"It's ok kid, I know it's hard. But, next week you are free."

He glanced at the calendar; had it been a week already? It was taking Nic two weeks to dissect the paperwork. The adoption papers took many documents that Nic had long ago sealed away. In the meantime, before the adoption would register, he was restricted to British soil. Thus, working at The Hogshead became his new hobby.

Albus had sent him here, his brother being the only one the man trusted him to. Despite their arguments the brothers had, Albus knew his brother's heart was pure.

Having Harry Potter working would be difficult, the negative attention of the boy would bring the papers to the pub and Albus fired from every position he had.

They could not afford that.

Thus, Henri Perior was born. The boy façade Harry had taken was a blonde who the year previously attended Beauxbatons. A Frenchman with blonde hair and green eyes. Also, he was dead. He was killed in the men's restroom of his school by a jealous classmate, one still hidden. His soul had resonated with Harry's own, a man of high quality, a talented mage, a good-hearted man.

A man Harry had lived through before. A man he had died through before.

She had opened the paths of his mind before he closed. She took the things he held in shadow and brought them to life. It allowed him to remember the pains he had left, the things he had seen.

Where she had healed his mind, Nic had helped his body. Though unintentional as it was, and with meddling of a certain familiar. The blockage of his flow had been resolved, the limp of his leg erased, the years of malnutrition reversed.

"Quit thinking and get a move on. If you clean those tables in twenty, I won't take breakfast out of your pay."

Thus, the meaningless wiping of tables started. Alastair jumped from his pocket and after Abe, hoping the senile fart would drop some food. Or perhaps the devil got along with Abe more than Henri hoped. What did that say for someone?

The Moon.

Today, the attending Auror and Hitwizard sat in the darkest corner of The Hogshead. A true feat in a bar specialized to creatures who thrived in the darkness. If only they catered to Acromantulas. It was insulting to him that the pair was more incompetent than yesterday's. They at least had the graciousness to act as proper patrons instead of watchful eyes.

"Please, can we not serve them?" He asked Abe in French. "They are too obvious, can't we punish them, just a little?" His pleading, while enunciated well, failed to reach his eyes. The answer he would surely get did not warrant the effort needed to truly plead.

"Kid, they are patrons here like any other. Their coin is the same as anyone else's." The man answered in kind.

"Their coin makes everyone else feel unconfutable, thus losing their business. They could at least be less obvious." He sighed.

"Would you rather have an increased pressure on this place? By allowing them to think they are good at what they do, the patrons know who they are. Both sides win. They can collect information and our patrons still have a haven."

"But…"

"No buts, just give them their drinks."

"Fine." He collected the bottle of honey rum and strode to the dark table. Past hags and vampires and other things the populists call dark. The people who called them dark did not understand the true depths of darkness that lived in this world. Demons and devils lurked in the minds of all things, creatures born of evil lived in the true dark places of the world, and wizards who corrupted the idea of life flourished below the sight of the blind. How could a vampire be called dark, but Henry could merge the thoughts of a soul upon himself and mimic its appearance? What was evil about a hag who needed the slight amount of human flesh once a month compared to himself who could manipulate the mind of most peoples he encountered without needing to use a wand?

With his arrival at the table, he tipped the bottle into the two glasses between the two men. Both were on the younger side of their respective departments, and both looked out of place. A glance at the man whose eyes flickered around the room, flickering at whichever noise was the loudest, saw him as the Hitwizard. First assignment and a racist as well. Sending him into a place such as this is a mistake. They should task this man with control and incidents, not espionage and creature relations. 'It's not polite' the kind voice of Albus brought him from his trance. The glass was full.

The Auror paid Henry more mind. He avoided the eyes of this one. That department was known for a basic training in mind intrusion. The team specialized in the aspects of the dark, which favored attacks based on the mind and emotional manipulation. A slip up on him would bring many questions onto Abe, something the bar owner did not deserve. James, Harry's father, worked for the department before his untimely death.

"A little young to be working here, aren't you boy." He asked through narrow eyes. In his week of work, never had he spoken a word to any officers on duty. The veterans to the fresh recruits all were too focused on being inconspicuous to dare traverse in conversation with one such as him. This one was cocky, and he just so happened to hit a button. An incorrect one on his behalf.

"Perhaps I am old enough to be your father?" The smart reply exited before Henri could hope to stop it. A mistake on behalf of Henri, though surprisingly true for Harry. Harry had lived through the souls of many. Experienced time in a way slower than most. His eleven years he walked over the earth paled when compared to the years he spent in the mind of those who would parish. Though the conclusion the Auror would take from his statement would bring more problems.

"You are no vampire, boy." He sneered. This one was also racist, only holding it back more.

"You are correct on that."

"You are too young to work here then." Truly impeccable logic.

"There we disagree."

"It is not a matter of agreement, more so of legality." Bravo, fantastic reasoning.

"What if I am a vampire? I could have been lying."

"I know you are not." Want a cookie.

"How?"

"No vampires are employed here." You sir, are excellent at your job.

"How do you know that?"

"Boy, you listen here." His voice had reached the level of a shout. It also brought a second mark. "The ministry should come right in and close this filth down. Why they haven't is beyond me." This man passed his stealth exam.

"Nothing here is illegal, sir," Henri spat the word as if a curse, "that I promise you."

"You are either a minor or a creature. This store does not have a creature license thus a minor working at a bar. The ministry will be here on my call and have this place boarded up within the night." During his declaration he had pushed back his chair, the wood scraping the old ground it stood upon. How long would it take for Abe to restore that? Perhaps Henry could try some minor alchemy to fix it. His eyes flickered back from the major problem of the floor to the minor inconvenience of a man overstepping his bounds.

"Section 14 of the right-to-work act. Passed in 1795. Do read that before you do something foolish."

"What was that, boy." That's three.

"Well before you do something rash and stupid, read that."

His face was red. Fury wrapped around him as a gale on its eye. "Boy, listen here." Four. Killing him would be kind.

"Any such person, meeting the criteria, is allowed to work within the place he is resident in." His French accent disappeared.

"I fail to see how this applies."

"Well, currently I am living in 302. As such, I am a resident in The Hogs Head. Furthermore, I have expressed permission from my legal guardian to work. Finally, I have no prior instances of poor behavior on my record. With all these things being true, which I guarantee they are, Auror." His appearance wore a glare and venom bled his words, "The Hogs Head employment of myself is within the realms of legality. Now, I should think you should leave, seeing as you gave up your cover the second you walked in the door. No one will say anything you could find interesting tonight. Do me a favor and never come back here, send one of your other chaps alright. They at least have the decency to not look at everyone like trash."

The Auror finally looked around the bar. From the horrified face of his partner to the evil grins of the patrons. The attention of the entire room was upon him and his exchange with the young employee. "Let's go Ben." He grabbed his travel cloak and dramatically wrapped it, glaring at the child his entire departure from the room.

"Ok Albert." His companion looked quick to follow.

"Don't forget to pay, Ben. I would hate to have to call a Hitwizard." Henri spoke through an enormous smile, but his eyes were showing his genuine feeling. "I also wouldn't mind a tip; I did give such excellent advice." The fleeing man tossed a small stack of silver on the table. Ben, the Hitwizard, was quick to follow the Auror out the door. "Pleasure doing business with you." Once the door closed drinks were ordered with fervor as the hall laughed and joked at the expense of the two. Albert. Albert would pay.

At the bar, a frown marred Abe's face, though his eyes mirrored the truth. "What did I say, child."

"He started it."

"That was unlike you, normally you would ignore it." Perched on the old man's shoulder, Alastair spoke. His voice resonated, but the hustle of the bar made the sound unnoticed besides the three present.

"He called me boy. That was reason enough."

A grinning toad was frightening to look at.

The Moon.

Separating Henri and Harry was an arduous task. While it took meditation and hard work to become Henri switching back to Harry took less time than a blink as his body remembered what it was, who it belonged too, and how to respond. This led to the obvious problem of impersonating a person of France as an Englishman, that being when the switch happens one tends to lose the accent.

Hopefully, the Auror and Hitwizard were not quick enough to pick up on that exchange.

Doubtful. Despite the pedestrian performance the two put on, they still were taught by the institution to pick up on small things such as that. The Auror especially should be trained for a situation nearing his own. It is a dangerous position to be in with magic like his when the Auror department takes notice of such a person. A single mistake and Azkaban prison will be the only home Harry would ever need; no amount of borrowed lives would change that.

The ministry hated dark magic, or any subject matter they determined to be dark magic. Divination is a school of magic they allowed until a point. Necromancy is a forbidden school completely, unless you are a member of The Unspeakables. Battle Magics are fine until you use threatening magic to the ministry, unless you are a siege wizard; leashed to the government with a noose already strung.

The illusions he could cast were considered dark, for he could use them to hide. The divinations he used are dark, for they could find that which the ministry wanted hidden. The necromancy that coursed to his being was dark for the sake of its being; and to say the rituals he could and had performed.

If they knew about Alistair, he would not go to Azkaban, he would immediately be executed.

If they knew about her, he would be torn asunder by The Unspeakables.

Laying low was the best option for a person in his position.

But Albert had called him a boy.

He would learn to channel a new card.

Justice.