The Greater Good
by Kiana Unei
Lessee. . . how many different ways can I say this? Harry no mine. Belongs to J K Rowling. Too bad. But you're probably rejoicing because it isn't mine to mess with.
My computer stinks. No spell check, in English or otherwise. No accents for letters. Please don't take this lack out on me!
Again, thank you so much for being nice!!
Chapter VI:
A Nessicary Evil
Harry didn't know how long he stayed there, curled in a fetal position on a chair near the exicutionary. After his innitial outburst, he had managed to quiet himself down, biting hard on his fist if needed.
It wasn't fair! They had murdered an innocent man; murdered him without a trial. Harry felt a painful, empty void settling within his heart like a miniature black hole, worse than the hundred Dementors he had faced in third year. Because this time, the chill was comming from inside himself.
He glanced sideways, blinking back pain and dried tears, towards the lonely oak door that had sealed the fate of the only person in the entire world he ever remembered loving. Sirius was dead, and what was worse, he had died because he had gone after Harry.
Harry turned his head slowly back to gaze blindly in front of him, at the blood-coloured carpet. How appropriate.
"I'm sorry, kid," the red-cloaked guard whispered.
Harry blinked. He hadn't realized that the man was still there.
"You . . . have a mum what can take care of you?"
"No." Harry wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. Of course you don't have a mum, a nasty little voice at the back of his mind whispered, she died trying to save YOU. You killed her, and you killed Cedric Diggory, and now you killed Sirius. Turn yourself in to Voldemort. End it now, before you kill anyone else. You're a curse to the people who love you.
But Harry didn't know where Voldemort was. Tears welled up behind his eyes again, though he didn't make a move to wipe them away.
A door down the hall opened, and Harry watched numbly as some bloke wearing a minister's traditional green dress robes made his way towards them. He stopped when he noticed Harry.
"Who are you?" The man took in Harry's faded hand-me-down shirt, worn bathrobe, and too-large shorts rolled up to his knees bareing the letters B.U.M. He had often reffered too his 'new' shorts as "Dudley's bum's"; Harry only wore them when he had no other choice, for obvious reasons.
"You a- a Muggle?" the minister peered suspiciously down at Harry.
"No." Harry wet his lips, wiped the back of his wrist across his nose, then mumbled, "I don't know. Maybe now. Don't know if I wanna go back."
"Eh?" the minister glanced at Harry's guard.
"Black's son," came the quiet, soloumn explanation. "He wanted to see his father before he died. We were too late."
Harry was vaguely aware of the minister uncomfortably shifting positions in front of them. " 'Son'?"
"Aye."
The minister swore softly. "I wasn't expecting this. Complications . . . How old?"
"Dunno. Fourteen, I'd guess."
"Go to school?"
It took a moment for Harry to realize that he was the one being addressed. "Yeah. Hogwarts," he mumbled. Don't cry, not in front of everyone!
"You know any useful spells?"
"Stupify," Harry pretended to have an itch on the bridge of his nose, giving him a chance to run his thumb across his eyes. "Accio. Expelliarmus. Expecto Patronus."
"The Patronus?" the Minister sounded shocked. "You any good?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"What's your name?"
"Har- " Harry turned his cock-up into a wreched sob, "Deneb." He glanced up at the guard, "Sorry. I didn't wanna tell you, after what you said about . . ."
" 's all right." The man looked longingly for a moment at Harry, then turned away.
"Come with me." The minister tapped Harry on the head to get his attention. Slowly, the boy worked his way to his feet, wondering if, perhaps, he would now share the fate he had forced his godfather into. Harry flattened his hair over his scar.
"This is Azkaban's high security level," Wesson aimed his wand at the schematics tacked up against one wall of the white-washed room.
"No shit," Sirius grumbled. The twisting hallways and ghostly illuminating windows of the dreaded fortress had long since been burned behind his eyes; Sirius needed no further reminder of the place.
"You will most likely be placed within this level, Black, so make sure you know where you're going. Now, Azkaban does have a lower level- "
"A dungeon," Sirius interrupted in a flat voice.
"-but the catacombs are located almost a kilometre below. You will need to take some sort of light- a lantern, perhaps, because the path from the lower level is surrounded by deep underground pits."
"How 'bout I take a wand?" Sirius asked, "Lanterns don't work forever, you know."
Wesson ignored him. "I can't help you find a light, so that's something you'll have to work out on your own.
"At the bottom of the path is the entrance to the catacombs; beyond that- well, let's just say you recouver the Crest, and make your way back to the lower level."
"The dungeon."
"From there, you will present either Minister Reiton or myself- "
"Minister Who?"
"Reiton. You've met him." At the prisoner's blank look, Wesson ellabourated, "-The Minister of Defence . . ?"
"Oh."
"Yes, as I was saying, from there you will present either him or myself with the artifact."
"And then . . ?"
Wesson made a jerky motion across his throat with his right hand.
"Oh. You commit suicide. I don't blame you." Sirius turned his attention back to the other two members seated at the table, Doctor Maelani, and Sonna Ibse- the latter of the two had a vague smile brushed over his lips. Sirius hoped it was because of his stupid joke, and not because she couldn't wait for them to get to THAT part of the plan.
"Any questions, Black?" Wesson asked.
"Yeah . . . First, how the hell are you going to know when I'm back in the dungeon?"
Wesson raised a small, red object that looked much like a jewl. "You will use this to send a direct signal to an identical one in Minister Reiton's possesion. The password to activate it is up to you."
"Okay. Second," Sirius continued, "what does this bloody Crest thing look like?"
"It's a golden ankh; I need go into no further detail."
"Fine. Third- what does NeuroTech have to do with this?" The last question had the most pronounced effect- Wesson and Maelani looked shaken.
"How does he know about- ?" Maelani hissed.
"I didn't think he'd remember- " Wesson intterupted, looking livid, then composed himself and said to Sirius, "That is of no concern to you. Your job is simply to get the Crest."
"Tell me." Sirius demanded, "Besides, Ministry secret missions are safe in my hands- who the hell'd believe me? And if you're planning on killing me anyway . . ." He raised an eyebrow.
"It's just a precaution, incase you do somehow manage to escape, that you know as little about the working of the Ministry as possible." Wesson stated firmly.
Sirius glared darkly at him, then said, "Fourth- why a psychic?"
"To make sure you were reliable, and to stop you incase you got the wise idea to run for it after you escaped your cell."
"How?"
"There are ways, but I suggest you not find out. It was Ms Ibse's sister, by the way, who sent you that vision."
"Vision?"
"You remember. The pit, the dancers, the creature in the well? A message, if you will, to not attempt slipping away from us."
Sirius had been caught off guard by this, and sat in silence, thinking over his options. Follow their lead and die, or get his soul taken away. Damnit.
"Mr Wesson."
The four turned to find the Minister of Defence standing just inside the doorway, looking ill.
"Yes, sir?"
"We've got another card to play- Black's son."
Sirius jumped internally. Son?
"Son?" Wesson asked. "Oh! That kid."
"Harry?" Sirius gaped at the man.
"Deneb. I said 'son', not 'godson'." The minister motioned, and behind him, Harry Potter wandered dejectedly into the light. His face was wet and turned towards the floor, and there was a nasty purpleish bruise couvering the first two knuckles of his right hand.
"Harry?"
The boy raised his face slightly, then stared in blatant disbelief. "Si . . ?" was all he managed to get out, as the man wrapped him in a tight hug.
"Are you all right?! I thought you'd be at home by now!" Sirius held him out at arm's length, studying his face. "What happened?"
"I- I thought you were dead! We looked at the executionary- but you weren't there- and I'm glad- want me- this thing- Azkaban- said no- and they- they said they'd- " His string of words cut off and Harry burried his face in Sirius' shirt, gasping between dry sobs.
A/N: That's it for now, Nick's gotten tired of watching old Monty Python episodes and is begging for me to get off so he can make a phone call. I swear, he only wants things when I'm on the computer. 'Tis a conspiracy. Ah, well. By the way, I think this is the darkest the story's gonna get.
by Kiana Unei
Lessee. . . how many different ways can I say this? Harry no mine. Belongs to J K Rowling. Too bad. But you're probably rejoicing because it isn't mine to mess with.
My computer stinks. No spell check, in English or otherwise. No accents for letters. Please don't take this lack out on me!
Again, thank you so much for being nice!!
Chapter VI:
A Nessicary Evil
Harry didn't know how long he stayed there, curled in a fetal position on a chair near the exicutionary. After his innitial outburst, he had managed to quiet himself down, biting hard on his fist if needed.
It wasn't fair! They had murdered an innocent man; murdered him without a trial. Harry felt a painful, empty void settling within his heart like a miniature black hole, worse than the hundred Dementors he had faced in third year. Because this time, the chill was comming from inside himself.
He glanced sideways, blinking back pain and dried tears, towards the lonely oak door that had sealed the fate of the only person in the entire world he ever remembered loving. Sirius was dead, and what was worse, he had died because he had gone after Harry.
Harry turned his head slowly back to gaze blindly in front of him, at the blood-coloured carpet. How appropriate.
"I'm sorry, kid," the red-cloaked guard whispered.
Harry blinked. He hadn't realized that the man was still there.
"You . . . have a mum what can take care of you?"
"No." Harry wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. Of course you don't have a mum, a nasty little voice at the back of his mind whispered, she died trying to save YOU. You killed her, and you killed Cedric Diggory, and now you killed Sirius. Turn yourself in to Voldemort. End it now, before you kill anyone else. You're a curse to the people who love you.
But Harry didn't know where Voldemort was. Tears welled up behind his eyes again, though he didn't make a move to wipe them away.
A door down the hall opened, and Harry watched numbly as some bloke wearing a minister's traditional green dress robes made his way towards them. He stopped when he noticed Harry.
"Who are you?" The man took in Harry's faded hand-me-down shirt, worn bathrobe, and too-large shorts rolled up to his knees bareing the letters B.U.M. He had often reffered too his 'new' shorts as "Dudley's bum's"; Harry only wore them when he had no other choice, for obvious reasons.
"You a- a Muggle?" the minister peered suspiciously down at Harry.
"No." Harry wet his lips, wiped the back of his wrist across his nose, then mumbled, "I don't know. Maybe now. Don't know if I wanna go back."
"Eh?" the minister glanced at Harry's guard.
"Black's son," came the quiet, soloumn explanation. "He wanted to see his father before he died. We were too late."
Harry was vaguely aware of the minister uncomfortably shifting positions in front of them. " 'Son'?"
"Aye."
The minister swore softly. "I wasn't expecting this. Complications . . . How old?"
"Dunno. Fourteen, I'd guess."
"Go to school?"
It took a moment for Harry to realize that he was the one being addressed. "Yeah. Hogwarts," he mumbled. Don't cry, not in front of everyone!
"You know any useful spells?"
"Stupify," Harry pretended to have an itch on the bridge of his nose, giving him a chance to run his thumb across his eyes. "Accio. Expelliarmus. Expecto Patronus."
"The Patronus?" the Minister sounded shocked. "You any good?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"What's your name?"
"Har- " Harry turned his cock-up into a wreched sob, "Deneb." He glanced up at the guard, "Sorry. I didn't wanna tell you, after what you said about . . ."
" 's all right." The man looked longingly for a moment at Harry, then turned away.
"Come with me." The minister tapped Harry on the head to get his attention. Slowly, the boy worked his way to his feet, wondering if, perhaps, he would now share the fate he had forced his godfather into. Harry flattened his hair over his scar.
"This is Azkaban's high security level," Wesson aimed his wand at the schematics tacked up against one wall of the white-washed room.
"No shit," Sirius grumbled. The twisting hallways and ghostly illuminating windows of the dreaded fortress had long since been burned behind his eyes; Sirius needed no further reminder of the place.
"You will most likely be placed within this level, Black, so make sure you know where you're going. Now, Azkaban does have a lower level- "
"A dungeon," Sirius interrupted in a flat voice.
"-but the catacombs are located almost a kilometre below. You will need to take some sort of light- a lantern, perhaps, because the path from the lower level is surrounded by deep underground pits."
"How 'bout I take a wand?" Sirius asked, "Lanterns don't work forever, you know."
Wesson ignored him. "I can't help you find a light, so that's something you'll have to work out on your own.
"At the bottom of the path is the entrance to the catacombs; beyond that- well, let's just say you recouver the Crest, and make your way back to the lower level."
"The dungeon."
"From there, you will present either Minister Reiton or myself- "
"Minister Who?"
"Reiton. You've met him." At the prisoner's blank look, Wesson ellabourated, "-The Minister of Defence . . ?"
"Oh."
"Yes, as I was saying, from there you will present either him or myself with the artifact."
"And then . . ?"
Wesson made a jerky motion across his throat with his right hand.
"Oh. You commit suicide. I don't blame you." Sirius turned his attention back to the other two members seated at the table, Doctor Maelani, and Sonna Ibse- the latter of the two had a vague smile brushed over his lips. Sirius hoped it was because of his stupid joke, and not because she couldn't wait for them to get to THAT part of the plan.
"Any questions, Black?" Wesson asked.
"Yeah . . . First, how the hell are you going to know when I'm back in the dungeon?"
Wesson raised a small, red object that looked much like a jewl. "You will use this to send a direct signal to an identical one in Minister Reiton's possesion. The password to activate it is up to you."
"Okay. Second," Sirius continued, "what does this bloody Crest thing look like?"
"It's a golden ankh; I need go into no further detail."
"Fine. Third- what does NeuroTech have to do with this?" The last question had the most pronounced effect- Wesson and Maelani looked shaken.
"How does he know about- ?" Maelani hissed.
"I didn't think he'd remember- " Wesson intterupted, looking livid, then composed himself and said to Sirius, "That is of no concern to you. Your job is simply to get the Crest."
"Tell me." Sirius demanded, "Besides, Ministry secret missions are safe in my hands- who the hell'd believe me? And if you're planning on killing me anyway . . ." He raised an eyebrow.
"It's just a precaution, incase you do somehow manage to escape, that you know as little about the working of the Ministry as possible." Wesson stated firmly.
Sirius glared darkly at him, then said, "Fourth- why a psychic?"
"To make sure you were reliable, and to stop you incase you got the wise idea to run for it after you escaped your cell."
"How?"
"There are ways, but I suggest you not find out. It was Ms Ibse's sister, by the way, who sent you that vision."
"Vision?"
"You remember. The pit, the dancers, the creature in the well? A message, if you will, to not attempt slipping away from us."
Sirius had been caught off guard by this, and sat in silence, thinking over his options. Follow their lead and die, or get his soul taken away. Damnit.
"Mr Wesson."
The four turned to find the Minister of Defence standing just inside the doorway, looking ill.
"Yes, sir?"
"We've got another card to play- Black's son."
Sirius jumped internally. Son?
"Son?" Wesson asked. "Oh! That kid."
"Harry?" Sirius gaped at the man.
"Deneb. I said 'son', not 'godson'." The minister motioned, and behind him, Harry Potter wandered dejectedly into the light. His face was wet and turned towards the floor, and there was a nasty purpleish bruise couvering the first two knuckles of his right hand.
"Harry?"
The boy raised his face slightly, then stared in blatant disbelief. "Si . . ?" was all he managed to get out, as the man wrapped him in a tight hug.
"Are you all right?! I thought you'd be at home by now!" Sirius held him out at arm's length, studying his face. "What happened?"
"I- I thought you were dead! We looked at the executionary- but you weren't there- and I'm glad- want me- this thing- Azkaban- said no- and they- they said they'd- " His string of words cut off and Harry burried his face in Sirius' shirt, gasping between dry sobs.
A/N: That's it for now, Nick's gotten tired of watching old Monty Python episodes and is begging for me to get off so he can make a phone call. I swear, he only wants things when I'm on the computer. 'Tis a conspiracy. Ah, well. By the way, I think this is the darkest the story's gonna get.