Author's note: This story is a hybrid of Cornelia Funke's The Thief Lord and J.K.Rowling's Harry Potter series. All characters with the exception of Scipio belong to J.K.Rowling, as he belongs to Cornelia Funke. The plot is completely original, however.
***********************************Scipio*********************************************
"Excuse me, sir. Could you direct me to the Campo Santa Magherita?" Asked Scipio, holding out a map pretending to be a British tourist.
"Sure thing, kid," the unsuspecting man replied. "It's right – there on the map. If you take a left at the Marco San Polo, then you should be able to. . ."
As the tourist pointed the directions to Scipio, the boy carefully reached into the man's coat pocket, concealing his wallet. Scipio slowly removed the man's wallet and placed it in his own coat pocket. The man, totally oblivious to the fact that he had been robbed, continued to give Scipio the directions.
"-And then you'll be at the Campo Santa Margherita. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir. Thank you for more things than you'll ever know," Scipio replied, tipping his black hat in gratitude. He was now going home with another possible hundred lire to spend on food and other things he needed in his home.
Scipio approached the run-down Venetian apartments under condemnation. They were worn and the paint was peeling rapidly from the shutters and the windows were boarded up with signs that read "VIETATO INGRESSO"- no entry- in bold lettering. Scipio walked to one of the apartment doors and crept in through the window.
"Tourists, what idiots!" Scipio exclaimed to himself as he took off his black top hat and long black trench coat once he was inside. After carelessly throwing them to the ground, he made his way to his bedroom, which was pitch dark because the sun was going down – Scipio had no electricity in his apartment. Reaching into his coat pocket, he took out his long black wand.
"Lumos," Scipio muttered and a spark ignited from the tip of his wand.
Scipio was many things, as fate would have it. He was an orphan, a thief, and a sixteen-year old boy with no past. And, he was a wizard. Before Scipio ever resided in Venice, he lived in a muggle orphanage in Bristol, England. His mother had died during childbirth and his father's whereabouts were a mystery. He had been a most miserable little boy at the orphanage, often pick-pocketing nuns and professors for the fun of it and was always in trouble for one reason or another at school. Then, on his eleventh birthday that year in August, he received a letter that would change his life forever: he had been accepted to Kikaider Academy of Magic- a school of witchcraft and wizardry outside Venice, Italy. Deciding that the nuns of the school would not permit Scipio to go to a school of witchcraft and wizardry, he ran away to Venice alone, carrying nothing but his hopes and dreams and not two pennies to rub together. Kikaider eventually caught up with Scipio and provided him with everything he needed for school, a wand, school robes, books, and even money and clothing for when he returned to the non-magical world.
For the last five years of his life, Scipio had lived in this apartment alone with no family ties or hints of his past. The only clue he had about his past was his last name, his father's last name: Black. With his seventeenth birthday at hand, Scipio very much wanted to find out who his father was, where he was, and why he abandoned him when he was still a baby. He had saved (or rather stolen) most of the fees he needed to get to Bristol for the last few months and was very close to his aimed goal. In Bristol, he would find clues of his past and ways to make his own future brighter. He knew it. He depended upon it.
Scipio looked into the mirror beside his bed as he changed into his nighttime clothes. He was a tall skinny boy with long black hair neatly placed into a ponytail. His icy blue eyes contradicted his otherwise dark complexioned features and his long pointy nose was sharp enough to cut the skin. Standing lazily in his underpants, he ran his spider-like fingers through his hair- a habit he'd had since childhood. Deciding that he could no longer pickpocket safely without being watched by the police, Scipio jumped onto the hard, tearing mattress on his bed. There, in his underwear, he cradled his head with his arms until he fell asleep. The next morning, he would meet his quota and take the next plane to London.
Miles and two countries away, Harry Potter awoke to the twinge of his scar.
*********************************Harry***********************************************
"You know, death isn't sounding so bad right now. No more stupid scar," Harry said aloud to himself sarcastically. He'd taken to sarcasm this summer mostly because sharing the way he actually felt made him miserable. Laughing in spite of sorrow was a difficult matter
Harry had awoken with a splitting headache grabbing for the lightning shaped scar on his forehead. It had pained more since Harry had left Hogwarts one month ago, but it was to be expected due to more recent events so Harry dealt with the pain accordingly. He had to think less of his scar; there was enough to worry about without the constant reminder of his scar that Voldemort was back. It was because of this thought that Harry managed to stand upright on his own after nearly ramming into his coffee table and knocking over Hedwig's cage. After scanning the room dazed and confused, he realized that he was in his room at the Dursley's. Spotting Dudley's extra large clothing and a broken barred off window confirmed this and so Harry sat upright on his bed and thought critically of his recent dream.
It was the same dream Harry had been having for weeks: the death of Sirius and the mind controlling Voldemort had done. Only in this dream, Dumbledore found it right to kill Harry.
"You have caused us too much trouble Harry" Dumbledore had said dryly in his dream, eyes full of malice and distrust, smiling wryly. Perhaps if I just finished what Voldemort seemed to not be able to carry out . . . "
Harry shook himself awake, truly realizing that Dumbledore would never kill him, Harry for the simple reason of being a bother. As Harry had learned, Dumbledore had mistakenly become too attached to Harry to tell him simple truths …simple truths about his past present and future. And what Harry had learned about his future in Dumbledore's office, he was terrified of but all but willing to accept.
Last year, Harry had gone to the Department of Mysteries, searching for his Godfather Sirius, whom he thought to be soon murdered by Voldemort. There, he found his search for Sirius to be a trap, banking on Harry's flaw of heroism and by coincidence, Harry took the one thing Voldemort had wanted – a prophecy – and broken it so its contents were unknown. There, the same person who had killed Neville Longbottom's parents – Bellatrix Lestrange, had killed Sirius. Tearing after her in white-hot fury he met with Dumbledore and Voldemort who had begun to duel. Voldemort and Lestrange had disappeared just as Fudge and the ministry had appeared and he'd gone back to Hogwarts feeling miserable about his godfather's death. He later found that the prophecy that Voldemort had been so keen on getting told both his and Harry's future. Voldemort and Harry would face each other one time in Harry's not-too-distant future and either Harry would come out as the murderer or the victim. It had given Harry no sense of hope and he feared the day he thought would come soon.
Harry stood up and looked into his mirror, still a bit dazed and stared at his reflection. There was the tall lanky boy with untidy jet-black hair and acid-green eyes he'd always known. His face had thinned out considerably during the summer and whenever he looked into the mirror, he saw himself as looking more and more like his father everyday. Harry spun on his heels and dressed quickly, wishing to go for a brief walk before the Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon awoke for breakfast. Wearing alight blue T-shirt and a-size-too-big khaki shorts, he headed out of the house and out of the Dursley's front yard. But before he could leave the lawn, an owl flew at Harry, Ron's owl. Untying the letter attached to its left leg, Harry sat on the front steps and read.
Harry,
It's been nearly two months and we haven't heard a single letter from you. Dumbledore insists that all is well, but if that's so, why haven't you been writing to Hermione and I? Well, Mum's invitation of staying over for the summer still stands, if you want to come. She's been in a rather friendly mood around the house lately; don't know what's gotten into her.
Dad's away on order business, the new location is supposed to be Lupin's house, but Mum won't allow us to go at all. She's told Fred and George they're to watch us while she's away, as if were still babies! Honestly, Fred and George watch somebody? She must be on something. Hermione's here and she tells me to make sure you're okay. We're really worried about you, Harry. We haven't seen you this down in a long time. Ginny asks about you too. Well, if all isn't well, I wish you'd let somebody know. We've been really worried about you. Remember Mum's offer, Harry.
Ron
So they've really been worried about me, thought Harry. I didn't think they'd really care if I wrote them or not. I guess it's due to recent circumstances. Harry stood up and stretched, ruffling his hair into a sloppy state. Then he realized where this wretched habit had come from: his father! Harry smiled in spite of himself and walked back into the house. Every day, it seemed, he became more and more like his father. Now all he needed was to grow an ego the size of Europe.
Both smiling and feeling sorry for Sirius, Harry went to his room to compose two letters of apology: one to Ron and Hermione and one to Professor Dumbledore.
Ron and Hermione,
First, I want to apologize for not keeping close contact with you this summer. I have been going through a pretty rough time, coping with issues I never would have dreamed possible. But you two have stuck with me through everything and you don't deserve to be kept in the dark under any circumstances.
For a brief moment, Harry considered being completely honest, sharing the prophecy. But it seemed his hand would not allow him to worry his friends more than they were possible already worried.
Tell your Mum, that I'm up on the offer, Ron. I'll come as soon as possible. I'll have to check with my guard first. I can only imagine Mad-Eye's magical eye spinning in anger. Fred and George are home? That's great, it's been boring without them, I have to admit. Has 'upright Percy' come home yet? I figured it'd only be a matter of time, unless he has some serious pride issues. I don't know why I've been so distant lately; really, I keep anticipating something to happen when we get to Hogwarts. I have no idea what this could be, but I know that it must have something to do with Sirius. Call me crazy, guys, but I think there's a way we could bring him back. I know what you're thinking, Hermione, don't give my hopes up, but I figure as long as I still have my hopes, I can cope with disappointment. I miss you both very much and try not to have too much fun until I get there.
Stop worrying,
Harry
Harry tied the letter on Ron's owl and sent it off into the morning. He picked up a clean piece of parchment and a quill and was ready to begin his letter to Professor Dumbledore. He owed him a great apology. After all, he had destroyed most of the man's belongings not-too-long ago in June. But Harry remembered the letter Dumbledore had written to him a day after he arrived at the Dursley's, saying that he was on order business somewhere in another country . . . where was it again? Ah yes, Venice, Italy.
********************************Scipio************************************************
Scipio threw on his black pants and his long black trench coat. He didn't have much time to prepare himself today, he was in a rush to meet his quota and leave Venice before sunset, and he wanted to leave for London as soon as possible. He did manage, however to run his fingers through his raven-black hair a few times and wink at himself. Finally, he put his hair into the ponytail style he usually wore and put on his black top hat. After putting all of his money in his coat pocket and his wand (he could never be too sure) he left his apartment and headed towards the Campo Santa Margherita.
"How I hate tourists," Scipio managed to mumble while smiling at several young ladies. There was no denying his good looks; he was a magnet when it came to attracting young ladies. It was always to his benefit, robbing them blindly as they spoke of their latest trips to the spas and how 'daddy dear' never let them go out on their own. But today, he needed a bit more money than that. He needed at least a thousand lire, and he needed it before sunset. The he spotted his target, a long gray bearded man with moon-shaped spectacles and twinkling blue eyes sipping a coffee at a local cafe.
He normally didn't target older people, but being very desperate today, he would do anything. He stood there observing out his surroundings, planning the best way to take the man's wallet and an escape route, just in case. But before he could even advance upon the man, a young boy rammed into him and stole his wallet. Scipio ran after the boy screaming at the top of his lungs, but it was no use, the boy's tiny stature and fast speed were too much for the sixteen-year-old. Grumbling heavily to himself he stomped hard upon the ground.
"Imagine," Scipio growled "a thief being robbed by a thief! What is this world coming to?"
"An end," Suggested an old man's voice from behind him. It was the moon-shaped spectacle man Scipio had seen before at the coffee shop. Scipio now had a close up view of the man and he seemed much older than he'd appeared from afar. Wrinkles lined his skin and his eyes were deep pools of grief and sorrow, even though they tried to pull off into a cheery smile.
"Yeah, I agree to that. You saw what happened?"
"Oh yes, I did and I am rather sorry. Perhaps if you'd allow me to, I'll buy you a coffee. I'd very much like to talk with you."
But grief tore at Scipio's heart. Only five minuets ago, he'd wanted to rob the man and now he was being offered coffee. He looked at the ground and managed a smile.
"No, I think I'd better be going. I really need to find that money. I was planning on leaving today."
"Really? To where?"
"London. I'm on –er family business." That was not a lie.
"Well, if it is rather urgent, I suppose I could take you back to London with me, I was planning on leaving in a few days anyway and it'd really be no trouble."
"I would, but I have no place to stay."
"If you wouldn't mind staying with an old man for a few days until you handle what family matters need to be dealt with, you're very welcome to stay with me."
Scipio looked at the man in both awe and suspicion. There was not such man in all of Venice who would make such an offer, no matter how sorry he felt for him. For a moment, Scipio considered it. If this stranger were willing to offer, he'd be a fool not to take him at his word. But again, his conscience ate at him.
"I really couldn't sir. Thank you for your offer anyway. It has greatly lifted my spirits."
The man smiled and held out a hand. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I'm a headmaster at a school in London. Won't you at least tell me your name before you leave?"
Scipio saw no harm in it. If anyone were following him anymore, He'd soon be leaving the country without a trace. Breaking into a staggered walk, Scipio turned to Dumbledore and smiled.
"My name is Scipio, Scipio Black."
He left Dumbledore standing in the street looking both content and interested, as if he'd seen something familiar in him for a moment. Then Scipio turned down a dark alleyway and disappeared into the darkness.
*********************************Harry***********************************************
Harry picked up his parchment and quill and looked for Dumbledore's last letter. In it, he'd enclosed the members of his guard in case he needed to get in touch with them for any reason. Harry looked down the list. To whom would he write? Mad-Eye? No, he was too paranoid. He'd have a better chance of seeing snowflakes in hell. Lupin? No, Lupin would still be worried stiff about Harry's state. Shacklebolt? Perhaps not. Mundungus? Only if he wanted a firm telling off from Mrs. Weasley. Harry glanced down the list until he came to the last on the list, and beamed.
Nymphadora Tonks.
He'd write to Tonks. She was by far the most understanding of his guard and he was sure that if he needed to pull one over on anybody, Tonks was the one with the weak spot.
Dear Tonks,
I know it's been a while since I've written to any of the members of my guard. I was writing to tell you that all is well and that my uncle has not poisoned me with arsenic. . . (Yet). I was wondering if you could do me a favor though, Tonks, a little one. I wanted to visit Ron Weasley this summer as I usually do. I promise that I will be on my best behavior and write to you and the rest of my guard every day to keep you updated. Please consider, Tonks, It's been quite a while since I've had outside contact and the loss of socialization has me becoming almost as paranoid as Mad-Eye. Please say yes if you have my sanity at heart.
Love,
Harry
Harry clicked his tongue at Hedwig and smiled.
"You ready to stretch your wings a bit, girl?"
Hedwig cooed brightly and shot out of her cage like a bullet. She seemed very eager for Harry to get the letter on her leg so that she could go soaring through the window. When she did leave, Harry suddenly felt alone.
Harry often felt like this: alone, as if he had no one he could relate to. Sometimes he just wished for a friend. Someone he could confide in and that could confide in him as well. Sure, Ron and Hermione were the best friends anybody could ever ask for, but Harry sought a friend who had been through things he had gone through, who could relate to his pain. And as Harry thought of this, he flipped through his parent's photo album, past a picture of Sirius and a tall brunette with the most alluring icy blue eyes he'd ever seen.
End of chapter one. Please review. Any suggestions would be appreciated. Thank-you very much.