Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the original characters, except characters that I create. I am making no money from this story, and all rights belong to the original owners.
Chap. 1: The Conversation.
Harry Potter had just returned to his "home" at the Dursleys about two weeks ago, and he knew, after he arrived, that something inside him had finally snapped. Of course, after what happened inside Dumbledore's office, he knew it to be true, as his memories came back to him about what had occurred just after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries on Tuesday, June eighteenth. Four days later, he was on the Hogwarts Express.
Here, Harry closed his eyes, and thought back:
The guilt filling the whole of Harry's chest like some monstrous, weighty parasite, now writhed and squirmed, Harry remembered. He could not stand this, he could not stand being himself anymore… he had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody, anybody, else…'(OOTP, Chap. 37)
His godfather was dead over Harry's foolishness, his stupidity, his know-it-all attitude, and his insolence. He had acted just like most Slytherins said the Gryffindors always did, and he was ashamed of himself.
Worse, Harry had found the mirror, still wrapped up, and the note from his godfather. That stung him the most since he could have easily used it to verify where Sirius was located, as he had almost gotten he and his friends killed, alongside Sirius. Hermione might not ever be right again over Dolohov's curse, for Merlin's sake!
He had also run off crying to Nick, hoping that Sirius might now be a ghost. How warped, selfish, and cruel was that?
Then, there was Dumbledore, who, Harry knew, was also at fault here. It was he guarding the prophecy, and keeping it hidden, along with his past, and the history leading to everything. Here, Harry thought about the headmaster trying to placate him, and what happened afterward in the headmaster's office.
"I don't want to talk about how I feel," Harry had growled out, "all right?'
"Harry," Dumbledore explained, "suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human –"
"THEN – I – DON'T – WANT – TO – BE – HUMAN!" Harry roared, and he seized the delicate silver instrument from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room; it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, "Really!"
"I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE –" (OOTP, Chap. 37)
Harry, on the way back, and while on the train, thought very seriously about changing all his money to muggle currency, fleeing to the Caribbean, and just allowing Britain to fall. Fuck them all, Harry thought, but could he really leave his friends behind? Then, there were the Weasleys who had taken him in. No, Harry thought, he couldn't bring himself to do that, but what he could do was fight back, and fight back in the most clandestine, underhanded, dark, deceitful, and Slytherin way possible. Fight fire with fire, and all that rot. The Sorting Hat had tried to tell him, but no, he wanted to be "normal," and blend into the background, which, he knew now, would never happen.
Also, Harry thought, there were his Aunt Petunia and Dudley. The Death Eaters would murder them, and he knew that his mother would not like it if he turned his back upon the only blood family that he had left. No, he was going to have a long talk with his aunt, though he cared nothing for Vernon and Marge. As far as he was concerned, the Death Eaters could hang both of them by their guts from the streetlamps. It was Vernon, Harry thought, that had mostly ruined Petunia, and turned her into the bigot that she was. No, Petunia married who she could, being sort of horse-like in the looks department. She had become a secretary, where she had met Vernon, who had added fuel to the bigotry already there, over her jealousy of his mother. After Vernon was promoted, she had become a stay-at-home mother and tried to put on airs.
Here, Harry had to snort, because when the Masons, who were very wealthy, had visited, Petunia had ruined any idea of them being from the upper crust of society when she had made the mistake of asking Mrs. Mason about what stores she shopped at for her attire. Stores? Harry shook his head with a grin because from what he had glimpsed of the Masons, they wore bespoke clothing. The Dursleys bought off the rack. Of course, Harry chortled, Dobby had finished that night off with quite the bang. What a spectacle!
Finally, Harry looked down at an older Daily Prophet, where the wizarding world had been demanding that Fudge step down. Worse, though, were the reports of the murders of Amelia Bones, who had been Susan's aunt, and Emmeline Vance, whom he knew from the order. The Vances had been murdered close to Number 10 Downing Street, and someone had sold them out. He'd bet it was Snape! Would they go that far for the so-called greater good? Who else would they sacrifice?
Next, he read a bit of the Saturday Prophet from June 29th, where it said that Fudge was sacked and that Rufus Scrimgeour had been made the Minister for Magic. Scrimgeour had been Head Auror under Fudge, which didn't sit well with him. Harry would hold off judgment, though, until he fleshed Rufus out, as he wanted to know if the new minister was ruthless enough to do what needed to be done.
"SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE," the Prophet proclaimed, and the paper was from today.
Most of the front page was taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lionlike mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. The picture was moving – the man was waving at the ceiling.
"Rufus Scrimgeour, previously Head of the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has succeeded Cornelius Fudge as Minister for Magic. The appointment has largely been greeted with enthusiasm by the wizarding community, though rumors of a rift between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced within hours of Scrimgeour taking office.
"Scrimgeour's representatives admitted that he had met with Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job, but refused to comment on the topics under discussion. Albus Dumbledore is known to (Cont. page 3, column 2)." (HBP, Chap. 3)
Harry sighed, and then stretched while sitting on the wooden chair by his window. He was waiting for Hedwig to return, as she would probably be carrying a reply from Hermione. Finally, he stood, made his way out of his room, and down the stairs to the sitting room, where he knew that his aunt would be.
Luckily, Harry thought, Vernon was gone, and Dudley was out with Piers Polkiss, who was a worthless lout in Harry's opinion.
"Aunt Petunia," Harry said, which startled her, "we need to have a long talk before Vernon and Dudley return."
"What, now?" Petunia scowled. "I was just starting to watch my yoga program!"
Yoga, Harry thought with a snort and a shake of his head.
"That can wait," Harry deadpanned as he made his way through the arched doorway to the dining table. "This is about Voldemort, and we now have a new Minister for Magic, so, after today, I don't know what is coming for us. So, if you want to save your family's hides, then it's time that we had a long talk."
Petunia dropped the schedule for the telly that she was fanning herself with, and with a huff, she stood and followed Harry into the dining room, where she sat at the end of the table.
Harry, though, made his way to the icebox and took out two cans of Dudley's fizzy drink. After closing the door, he handed his aunt one, and opened the other for himself, which made her scowl grow even more.
"Well, boy," Petunia asked, "what is it, then?"
"All that stuff that's been on the news," Harry explained, "about the bridge collapse, the so-called hurricane, and the two murders were all by Voldemort, I'd bet. He was outed, due to me, and now, he's started his attacks. The two murders were of people that I knew, and they were magicals. Bones was the head of the DMLE, and the Vances were in Dumbledore's order. I'd say that the Vances were trying to protect the Prime Minister."
Petunia studied her nephew for a second, and asked, "What's the DMLE?"
"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They're like our solicitors and prosecutors."
Petunia almost spat her fizzy drink out, but forced it down with a quick swallow, before she shakily sat the can down on the table's placemat.
"You know this for sure? But Dudley and Vernon... They're out and about, and they could be attacked!"
"They could," Harry said with a quick glance at his aunt. "Voldemort will target you over me, and over being my mum's family."
"But your headmaster," Petunia exclaimed, "claimed that we are protected!"
"As long as you are in this house, and behind the wards that are based upon mum's blood protection. Plus," Harry said, "I'm not sure how much we should trust the headmaster, to be totally honest; not now. I've been thinking about a lot of things, and much of it seems a bit too contrived to me."
Here, Harry paused and took a good look at his aunt, who now looked like a pole-axed steer.
"All of this, I found out just a few weeks back, was caused by a bloody prophecy, which was given by Professor Trelawney, and her sight is spotty at best, though she did give one to me that came true about Pettigrew."
"Pettigrew?" Petunia questioned and thought back. "The ratty-looking fat boy that was at your parents' wedding?"
"Yes," Harry continued, "he was who sold us out, and was the cause of my godfather spending twelve years in Azkaban for crimes he didn't commit. Pettigrew revealed it all to Voldemort, after becoming one of his followers and a spy, about where mum, dad, and I were living at Godric's Hollow. He's the reason they are dead!"
Petunia looked like she was about to faint, Harry thought. She pitched and weaved in her chair a few times, before steadying herself, and then stood, making her way over to the kitchen. At the sink, she opened the upper cabinet to her right and removed a bottle of Gordon's Gin and a shot glass. Next, she sat those on the dining table and walked back into the sitting room, where she removed a bottle of muggle medicine from her purse. Finally, she retook her seat, poured herself two ounces of gin in the small glass, opened the bottle of pills, took one out and placed it in her mouth, and followed it with the gin, drinking down the entire two-ounce shot in one gulp.
After that, both nephew and aunt sat in silence for a while. Harry was becoming unnerved, as he listened to the ticking of the Windsor wall clock on the dining room's wall, and the tapping of his fingers on the table.
Finally, Petunia let out a sigh and sat back in her chair with a relieved expression on her face. "What exactly did the prophecy say, Harry?"
Harry told her, word for word since it was burned into his memory.
"So," Petunia said, as she stared at her nephew, "that batty headmaster of yours is betting that you were chosen to end this, hmmm? Over some flakey prophecy? Funny, that, as Lily said that he had been accused of sitting back, and having others do his work for years."
When Harry started to argue, she held up her hand and continued. "Your mother wrote to me about things when she and your father were living at the Hollow. There was an old witch there, Bathilda, or something like that, who used to visit and dote on you."
"Bagshot?" Harry asked.
"Yes, that was her," Petunia replied. "She was an elderly woman - famous in your world - an author. She knew your headmaster's family well since they were from the Hollow. Lily was quite upset about some of her tales, I can tell you!
"Dumbledore, when young, had befriended some young dark wizard, who had been expelled, that was the old lady's nephew. That was back when the anarchists were on the move, and both, according to your mother, had delusions of grandeur and wanted to take over our world. There was a falling out, a fight, and your headmaster's sister died.
"Your mother said that the headmaster's brother still hates him."
"Brother?" Harry mumbled.
"Yes, and he lives close to your school," Petunia remarked. "Your mother said that the two boys - I'm not speaking of the brother here, mind you - were the faces on either side of the same coin. Your headmaster was a socialist, and his friend was an early fascist."
"DO WHAT, NOW?" Harry shouted.
"Oh, yes," Petunia said, with a satisfied smirk, after pouring herself another glass of gin, "we tried to warn you, boy! That was what we were trying to keep you away from and protect ourselves from. You might think that the sun rises out of that old man's arse, but we know better!
"Your mother and father, along with that Black boy, were all a part of the sixties and seventies hippie scene. Flower children! Free love, you know, with rock music, and socialism. The London scene.
"Of course, after they settled and went into hiding, your mother started to learn of things, which, it seems, the old man wanted to keep hidden. Now, they were in too deep and were known followers of your headmaster.
"Lily, at first, didn't want to believe it, of course, but that batty old woman was telling her the truth. She was a historian, your mother said."
Now, Harry sat back, stunned, with his head swimming.
"And then, there was Severus, who went the other direction, and became as dark as they come!"
Harry looked appalled. "Professor Snape? I thought they only knew each other from school!"
"Some professor," Petunia snorted. "We grew up together, your mother, Severus, and I, at Cokeworth. Snape was from the wrong side of the tracks, you see, but it would not do for your mother to not befriend him after he told Lily that she was a witch. He'd seen her doing magic, for me, on the playground.
"Then, he started to pull her away from me, her own sister, while filling her head with all his nonsense. He even attacked me once, you know, but your mother made excuses for him.
"But she finally saw him for what he was, in school, and dropped him like a bad habit. Next, she started dating your father, but here, she jumped out of one fire for another."
"What kind of man..." Harry muttered.
"Severus?" Petunia questioned.
At Harry's nod, Petunia replied, "He was struck on your mother, which, I thought, was just a schoolboy's crush. No, he was possessive, and had a few screws loose, if you ask me.
"His father was a cruel drunkard, and his mother, a witch, mind you, put up with it. His father used to belittle them, and beat both of them. I'm sure he became a soci..., oh, what's the word, a sociopath, over that."
"Well," Harry said, "he's one of Voldemort's; I can tell you that, which explains it. All his followers are sadistic psychos. He also has a cruel streak, and he hates me over my father.
"The headmaster trusts him, but I don't, and nor did Sirius. I don't think Moody does, either."
"Moody?"
"The scarred and one-eyed man, with the bowler, who met you at King's Cross. He's a retired auror, or what you might call a bobby. A dark wizard catcher."
Silence settled in around the two for a few minutes, as Petunia poured herself another shot of gin, which she sipped and followed it with her fizzy drink. Harry could tell that his aunt was becoming rather lit, and he wondered what those pills were.
Finally, Harry drank the last of his fizzy drink, where he crushed the can, and stood to make his way to the trash bin. On his way by his aunt, he caught the name of the medicine, and it was Diazepam, 10 mg, which, he knew, was a sedative. Merlin's saggy bollocks, Harry thought, but, of course, being married to Vernon would require it, especially if Marge was around.
Once Harry sat back down, Petunia spoke up. "What do you believe about this prophecy, Harry?"
"It's not about what I believe, Aunt Petunia," Harry stated, "but about what the headmaster and Voldemort believe.
"The prophecy claims that he chose me that night, and marked me as his equal, thus, my scar. Voldemort chose to believe this drivel, and that was why he murdered my parents and wanted to kill me.
"He could have ignored it, and left my family alone. If he did, I might never have turned against him, but, who knows?
"Something about my scar is bugging me as well, and we share a connection over it. Dumbledore claims that he shared some of his magic with me that night, but something about that doesn't make sense, nor does him casting the killing curse at me.
"The killing curse, Aunt Petunia, leaves no mark or scar. I don't believe that he cursed me that night, and I believe that this was from something else - something dark."
Petunia stared at Harry's fringe, and what she could see of his scar for a moment, before nodding at him to keep going.
"I believe mum threw herself between he and me that night, and he hit her with the killing curse. That I know for a fact.
"By Mum doing so, it set up some sort of intent-based protection, and I believe that his curse rebounded on him, from mum, and destroyed his body, though it killed mum. What happened next, I don't know. I just know that I ended up with this scar before Sirius found me in my crib."
Here, Petunia sighed, and stared at the table, before she muttered, "It killed more than her that night. It killed your unborn sister. Your mother was pregnant, Harry."
Harry felt cold, and couldn't seem to breathe, nor swallow. "I'll kill him," Harry whispered. "No, I'll torture him first, until he completely loses it, and goes completely off his trolley. Then, I will slit his white snakey neck!" The last came out with a shout.
"No, you won't, Harry!" Petunia exclaimed, and when she saw him start to protest, she held up her hand. "You will do it when he least expects it, from behind his back, and you'll do it quick. You still have your father's cloak, I take it?"
"How, by Merlin, do you know about my cloak?"
"I know much more than you think, boy!" Petunia exclaimed, and then, stood. "Follow me."
Harry stood, and followed Petunia out through their small orangery, and onto the back lawn, where she made her way to the garden shed at the privacy fence. She opened the door and beckoned Harry to follow her.
Once inside, Petunia made her way over to the shelves on the back wall, and, while standing on the tips of her toes, pulled down an old blue Samsonite suitcase. It was rather dusty, and had several cobwebs on it, which she cleaned off with the old towel hanging on the lawnmower's bail handle. Next, she left the shed for the house, and Harry followed her.
Once inside, she placed the old suitcase on the dining table, surprising Harry, and she opened it. Folded neatly, on top, was a small blue blanket, and in one corner, was his name embroidered: "Harry." She handed this to Harry, who fingered it.
"That was all the headmaster had you wrapped in that night, just after Halloween, in that basket, until I found you the next morning when setting out the milk bottles. His note is in here somewhere, as well as several letters from Lily, and their photos.
"Would you believe that your ministry tried to take them? I marched past them, and collected everything important in that house, just after the funeral." Here, she sniffed.
"However, I want you to have this," Petunia said, as she sat out several framed photos of his parents, and a box of other photos as well. She handed him a long cardboard box, which was thoroughly taped up, and was about two and a half inches thick, about six inches wide, and about twelve inches long. "Inside is the weapon you will use, and when you manage the coup de grâce, and as he is writhing on the floor, you will tell him that it was payback from me."
When Harry started to open it, she stopped him. "No, not here. Wait, and when you open it, you'll know what it is, and how to use it. Your grandfather owned it, and it's now time that you have it. Father carried it with him after the war. He bought it around 1959 if I recall.
"When the time comes, Harry, don't hesitate. Slip up behind him, don't blink nor pause, and issue the killing blow. That is how you deal with their lot."
Here, Harry placed the box back into the suitcase, and Petunia pulled out a dog-eared paperback book, which she handed to him.
"Your grandfather was in the SOE, and that is a training manual that was issued to them. Study it, and use their tactics.
"Now, I think I'll head upstairs, and have myself a nap."
She left Harry there, stunned, as he started looking through all the photos that once belonged to his parents. When he was through, he closed the suitcase, and carried it, along with the book, up to his room, where he lie back, and started to read.
-==HP==-
A/N: This will be a slow burn until I finish Intrigue II. Another chapter of it is coming shortly.
