Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and neither am I making any profit off it. It belongs to Jk Rowling and co.
Chapter 1
The room was ensconced in darkness, only the back corner was bathed in milky white beams of the full moon that shone through the small barred window on the back wall of the room. The shadows were long and dense. A single silhouette of a man paced back and forth in agitation in front of a threadbare table and well worn chair that were tucked in the back corner. The beams of light reflected off the glass of the portrait that hung directly above the table. The man inhaled deeply, and stopped just in front of the table.
"What other options do we have?" He asked in frustration.
"Calm down son." A soft, melodious voice soothed him.
He dragged the chair tucked under the table away from it, and flopped down heavily onto it. He rested his head on the backrest of the chair and closed his eyes.
"Mum! I don't have enough time. We don't have enough time." He groaned helplessly.
"Panicking won't help you, son." She reasoned with him once again.
He opened his eyes, and sat up straight on the chair, resting his elbows on the table top. He looked at the portrait of a beautiful women, her dark red hair and porcelain skin glowed in moonlight. He gazed into the jade green eyes that were identical to his own.
"If I won't surrender myself to the use of veritaserum, how am I supposed to live freely, and clean all this freaking mess?" He asked agitated beyond words.
"Harry, they will throw you back in that hell hole before you could even utter 'veritaserum'. Is that what you want? You want to go back to Azkaban?" She asked him, standing up from her own chair, and walking forward towards the window of the painted living room as though she wanted to come near him, touch him, soothe him, comfort him.
He shuddered as he remembered the torture he had suffered for seven long years in the low bowls of Azkaban.
"N-no, can't do that...won't go back. Didn't do anything." He rocked back and forth on the chair, wrapping thin, bony arms around his skinny waist.
"You have to be patient, my little Icarus." She comforted him once again.
He looked up at her, his eyes beseeching and anxious.
"I am here with you son, I believe in you." She murmured in a low tone, her eyes held love and warmth for the lone child that was starved for affection.
His eyes became moist as the urge to feel the comfort of her arms around him skyrocketed. He hastily wiped at them. He wouldn't yield now, he had gone through so much, he won't succumb like this. He had vowed with himself that he would fight tooth and nail to purge the society of evil and corrupt, so no more mothers have to sacrifice their lives for their children.
"Shh. Darling. Mama loves you. Dada loves you." The soothing whisper echoed in the small room. He closed his eyes tightly, and curled into a ball. He rocked back and forth as he felt the phantom touch of her fingers through his hair. It was soft and so full of love that it balmed his bleeding heart. Sucking in shuddery breaths, he forced himself to calm down.
She waited for him to calm down, her eyes sad as the breeze tickled her red locks. He was so pure, so vulnerable and so innocent. She couldn't comprehend how they even imagined that he could kill in cold blood, or join those who killed his only real family. Her eyes shed tears as she saw him comforting himself. Her baby boy was alone, cold and scared. She wished she could cross the borders between the living and dead planes, so she could be with him, so he wasn't alone, so he won't have to wipe his tears alone.
He wiped his face and nose with a small handkerchief , although his eyes were red rimmed, he was no longer crying.
"I am sorry, mum. I am ready now." He looked at her with somber expressions. He was ready to continue his training.
"Sweetheart, you have to learn to meditate." She reminded him gently of his biggest obstacle.
A pained expression appeared on his face, but he nodded his head bravely.
"Yes mum."
He vacated the chair, moving it in its original position, he moved towards the center of the room, and sat down onto the frayed greyish rug, and assumed the position to meditate.
He closed his eyes and reached deep within himself to grasp at the raw magic. He tried to mould it into calm waves, but the raw stripes slipped from his grasp, and buzzed while sparkling as though short circuit was occurring at a very large scale. He sighed in frustration, and reached once again within himself to calm the magic that had gone haywire. He tried desperately but the magic grew more and more agitated until his ears were ringing from the wrestle between errant magic and its perturbed master. With an inhuman glower he broke the connection with his magic, and punched the rug repeatedly with both his hands.
"I am a failure." He muttered with exhaustion.
The elite members of the order of Phoenix were gathered in a room located in the corridor beside the headmaster's office in Hogwarts. They were all bent on a long table that was covered with a large map. Hermione Granger huffed as she moved away from the table, and towards the couches placed against the left wall of the room. She plopped down on one of them. She summoned a chilled water bottle from the ice box that Hogwarts' house elves have provided prior to the meeting. She chugged half the water down.
"Nothing makes sense." She said aloud, her brows knitted in a frown as she tried to put together the clues but nothing was coming forth.
"His attack patterns are making no sense." Another young man that looked to be in late twenties and a Weasely replied.
"No. No, that makes sense, but nothing else make sense." She mused still starting at the ceiling as though it held all the answers to her questions.
"Please Miss Granger enlighten us all how the attack patterns make sense, because we are at loss here."
She looked at her colleagues sheepishly as she suddenly remembered that they all weren't as well synced with muggle world as she. And like many times she had forgotten to share her deductions.
She chugged the rest of water down, and placed the empty bottle on the coffee table. She stood up and joined them again at the long table.
"Headmaster, Professors, look at these orange highlighted points." She pointed towards four big orange circles.
"These are muggle children orphanages. These have children ranging from 5-16 year olds."
"But he didn't attack these points." Another member looked at her quizzically.
She didn't answer him, but moved to the other side of the table and picked up a red highlighter. She circled two more points with it.
"These are Juvenile Detention Centers. Here juvenile criminals are kept."
She then pointed towards the single yellow circle in the center of the map.
"This is the main office where records of Detention centers are kept ." She closed the highlighter and placed it back on the table.
"His attacks surround these Orphanages and detention centers. His real aim were these, not those houses and buildings that were actually attacked." She told them pointing at the green dots that made a large circle around the orange and red highlighted spots and looked back at them expectantly.
"He had taken children and teenagers from these six points without any bloodshed. But he had destroyed this whole building where records were kept." Kingsley mused aloud.
But there weren't any reports of missing children or teenagers." Junior Auror Dean Thomas told her pointedly.
"Because Dean he attacked those points for distraction, he picked kids up here and obliviated anyone who knew about them and that is why record office is also destroyed." She told him.
"How do you know for sure?" Seamus Finnegan challenged her.
"Because Seamus I asked one of my contacts to copy a few records from the record office. He wasn't able to copy all, but he brought me records of this one detention center before the office was attacked. Five of their worst criminals are missing, but none of them have any idea and they show signs of memory charm." She paused to gather some documents from the drawers of the table.
"The worst thing is that these missing teens were orphans. They don't have any family left." She placed a file in the middle of the table that contained the information of the missing youth.
"What he hoped to gain from these muggle children?" Junior Auror Ronald Weasely looked at his fiancé.
"That is what doesn't make any sense, Ron." She told him exasperated at not being able to find the answers.
"Could he be planning some type of sacrifice?" Ginny Weasely asked shuddering as she remembered her experience with the damned diary in her first year at Hogwarts.
"Who knows." Bill Weasely voiced his thoughts. "We still have no lead as to where the Death Eaters and Dark Lord had gone underground. And we have searched almost half of the country."
"His strategy has clearly changed. Since he had broken his death eaters out of Azkaban, he had changed tactics."
"Since Potter had died, he looked more sane and more dangerous."
"Fear is but biggest weakness one can have. Prophecy was his only fear. Now that child of prophecy is dead, he thinks himself to be unbeatable." Albus Dumbledore said in a low tone of voice. His eyes were sad. It had pained him greatly to lose Harry Potter first to darkness and now to death.
"We are still no close to answers than we were two months ago." Head Auror Damian Thompson said gravely, moving away from the map.
"I think we all need a break. Go home, go to your families and friends. Take two days to yourself unless dire circumstances arise. We'll meet here two days from today. Then we'll rethink our strategies with refreshed minds and energy. What do you say, Albus? "
" I think that is an excellent idea, Minerva" Albus smiled at them, his eyes looking at their forlorn and unhappy faces. He knew that even though Harry Potter was in Azkaban for seven years, they all had wanted him to show regret and take his place back in the fight against Voldemort. Including him they all still expected him to fight the evil mad wizard. He sighed. The words of prophecy echoed in his thoughts. He was sure that Tom was behind this death, or else Harry wouldn't have died. Neither can live while the other survive. Only Tom could kill Harry and only Harry could kill Tom, and it seemed that Tom had succeeded, he got there first. He sighed once again as he saw them, the soldiers of light retiring to their respective rooms or homes. Seeing him deep in thought, Minerva retreated to her rooms as well. And he was left alone in the ginormous meeting room to contemplate their next move.
"Harry is dead." He thought. "We must accept this as soon as we can if we want to survive enough to make a small dent in his armies." He closed his eyes as the night played before his eyes when two months ago dementors had brought the beaten and battered body of the boy. Despite his attempts, Minister of Magic had ordered the body to be incinerated. And so incineration had occurred minutes before the midnight on the thirty-first of July. Twenty-one years later, the boy had died on the same day he was born. born as the seventh month dies. He lowered his head in defeat.
She looked at him breathing heavily into his hands as he tried to gain the control over his emotions. Seven years in Azkaban had done a number on him and not only his magic but his emotions were chaotic as well. And her little boy was suffering more and more even after his escape from Azkaban. He was struggling to gain control on his emotions, his magic, and his body, but he was failing again and again. She realized he was scared, no he was terrified of going there again. And fear was making him lose control.
"Harry can never be a failure, he is a brave, brave boy. Even more so than I." She told him pouring all her love, affection, and pride for him in her voice.
He raised his tear stained face to look at her. They was wonder on his face, as though he was hearing those words for the first time. He hiccoughed to stave off the flow of tears, but they kept coming.
"I can't. Meditation, i-it's hard. I-if I won't learn it, i-i won't be able to unlock my m-magic." He sobbed.
"Shh. Harry, I'll help you. I'll teach my boy how to meditate. You won't be alone. I'll be there with you all along the way." She told him.
"Promise." He asked.
"Always." She said.
He nodded and got back into the position.
"Close your eyes and concentrate only on your breathing." She said in a low tone.
"Nothing else matters just you, only you." She looked at his face closely as some of the frustration and tension drained from it as he concentrated.
"It's calming, isn't it? In and out, in and out. Just like that." Her voice had dropped to a mere whisper. He was calm now. His breathing was regular and steady and his shoulders relaxed.
A soft smile graced her delicate features as she saw all of the tension had left him and he was as calm as the sea. She waited for him to feel the magic in and around himself.
A small smile lit his face as he came face to face with his magic. He was floating in it. He was surrounded by the invisible watery fluid that didn't suffocate him at all. It caressed him all around and he felt happy and free. He slowly focused his attention inward and the previously shambolic magic was much calmer now. He went deeper and the greyish core of his magic came into his full view. It was magnificent but disconnected. It was bruised and torn. He found the tight black bounds on it that were making his core erratic. He raised his hand towards his core, but froze mid way. What if they found out he was alive when he removed the bound? He shivered as the cramped cell came into his mind. His magic hissed dangerously. The jittery waves lapped at his hands as though telling their master to free them of the torture they were going through. He trembled. Last two months reeled past his eyes like a fast forwarded film and the strong presence of his mother's portrait gave him the courage. He sprang his hands at the bounds like a king cobra that sprang at it's prey. He gripped the bounds tightly and tore them away from his battered core completely. A slicing pain went throughout his body, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. The core now free of the bounds expanded around him and ensconced him as though giving him a congratulatory hug that they were free. It was so familiar and tranquillizing that he wept at having it back, at feeling his magic coursing through his body, just under his skin, kissing him, caressing him and protecting him. He slowly opened his eyes and the small dark room came into focus. He leapt up from the floor and ran to the table, he looked into the pride filled jade eyes of his mother and cried.
"Mum, look mum I did it." He cried as he showed her his hands.
She smiled through her tears.
"Yes, son you did it. I am so proud." She told him and he danced with joy.
"Hermione, do you think in these seven years he ever regretted killing Fred?" They were sitting in their quarters near the fire, both lost in their own thoughts when he asked her.
"I don't know, Ron." Tears slid down her face as she remembered their years together. They had both last seen him seven years ago at his trial when he had said under truth serum that he didn't regret killing the older twin at all.
"I wish he had." He said looking at the burning embers. Since his death, all his anger had diminished, only something akin to grief, regret and helplessness had remained.
"I wish we knew what he was thinking, so we could've stopped him." His fiancé sobbed, moving closer to him and leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
"You still love him, don't you?" He asked in a trembling voice.
"I am sorry, Ron. I hurt you." She cried on his shoulder.
"No. He... Sometimes..." He stopped to collect his thoughts. "I am not angry at h-him since he died. Sometimes at night when I really think about it, it feels as... as though... I don't know... But I miss him too." He rested his head onto hers, and they both cried for him, for their best friend, for their brother, for Harry Potter, the boy-who-died-in-Azkaban.
To be continued...