Sins Of The Hero
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Hey, we all know how nice these 'happy endings' they are to read, right? Well, let me just get something straight here. Don't expect any happy endings here kiddies, 'cos we all know very well that no matter what I may seem, I'm not Dr. Seuss.
P.S. I, Akanksha Mathur, wrote this story. You can waste your time accusing me of stealing it from the internet if you want. No harm there, huh? Nah. Well, 'cept you won't, uh, y'know, live very long. ☺
Sins of the Hero
A 36 year old Harry James Potter blundered off into the room, clearly drunk. In this state his once glistening teal (now sunken and reproachful eyes) remained shut; his hand clutching an empty bottle of Griblix Redlite. Odd name; sick taste.
Forgetting why he was there, Harry turned towards a staircase towards his basement and stumbled down the stairs. He promptly tripped over himself, and immediately rocketed down the stairs; the bottle exploding into millions of pieces, sticking into the stairs. It took the young man twenty minutes to regain his full consciousness.
Merlin, I feel like I've been run over by a truck. He thought bitterly, glancing at the several jagged shards of glass on the stairs, and then to the few scars on his arms. Oh shit, Dean and Seamus probably talked me into a night at Knockturn Alley again. Damn it, I swear I'll kill them…
It was hours into the night, and Harry had just come back from what Dean and Seamus titled a night 'on the town'. For Harry, it was '1001 ways to get a migraine and watch Dean hit on some married woman' night. For this, he had his regrets about including the two of them in his resettlement to Australia.
Once again, the two reckless (Harry strongly suspected they were plotting against him. They'd changed ever since Dumbledore had died. But then, who hadn't?) drunkards had coaxed Harry into a night of drinking.
He heaved a sigh; never forgetting for a moment how alcohol had ruined his life. He'd always beaten his daughter Chontel whenever he was drunk. She'd tried to defend herself – and was quite strong, but she'd never had the nerve to harm, her father.
His wife Hermione could easily defend both herself and Chontel, but she was an Auror. She couldn't always be around to protect her 13 year old daughter.
When sober, (which he himself thought was never, though this was evidently wrong) Harry was always ready to give everything up for his family. That, he supposed, was why Hermione never left him.
It was dawn, and Harry found himself lying in bed, Hermione sitting in a chair next to him. He got up.
"Hermione, I-" he started, finding it essential that she understood.
"Shh. Lie down, get some sleep Harry." She'd said quietly; smiling at him.
Harry blinked.
"Herm? You okay?" He felt perplexed beyond all recognition; fear threading through him.
"Shh. Yeah. Now get some sleep Harry, I expect your head is pounding after that. Don't worry about last night, it's all fine." She smiled.
That smile. He just couldn't get it out of his (now painfully pounding) head. He could be at death's door, thumbscrews piercing his arms, and he' be happy, just seeing her smile.
"But, Hermione, I-" he tried to explain once more. "Hermione, I attacked you..." he trailed off, sensing that she was about to speak.
"Harry," she sat down on a chair next to him and began stroking his hair, "don't trouble yourself. You were drunk, you couldn't help it. And when you're sober, you're the greatest man ever. Just get some rest."
"Lumos." Harry muttered; igniting his wand with a bright light.
Still in his basement, Harry (finally feeling up to it) stood up and lurched out towards a cupboard in his basement. Inside he found many beakers and flasks containing beautiful liquids of all colours.
Taking a deep breath, (jars with an Unbreakable Charm on them or not, in his drunken state he was a universal klutz) his hand lunged out into the cupboard, and, relieved at the apparent absence of damage, drew out a conical flask containing a silvery and entrancing liquid.
"Hey, Herm, you're right, learnin' Potions ain't that bad." He grinned; chugging down the entire bottle.
Making his way out of the basement and into the living room, Harry reached into his jacket and pulled out a small photo of many people – the Weasleys – Ron was carrying his wife Luna - Chontel, Harry and Hermione (all with their arms around each other) standing together, beaming brightly at him.
Looking at this old photo aroused a searing hatred deep within him, metaphorically setting his chest ablaze with revulsion.
There they stood, hearts ignited of joy. Did they know? Did they already know that in barely five years two of them would die? Were they aware of the hardships they'd be facing in two years when the Death Eaters would find them hiding in Australia?
Harry swore abruptly and stowed the photo back into his wallet. He'd never told anyone this – ever, but for five years, whenever in face of a Dementor, that photo was his happy memory. His happiest, most joyful reminiscence… and yet it also filled him with loathing.
"Yeah… Potter's in for it big time." A voice far in the distance sneered.
Harry's wand was still ignited. He rushed to the nearest window he could find. Concealed in a bush; he could just make out the blurry (the potion had not taken full effect over his body yet, and anyway, years of hard drinking and duelling did not have a positive effect on his eyes without glasses) profiles of two hooded men; each gripping onto long sticks that looked suspiciously like wands.
"Damn… how'd they find me? The entire Floo Network's been blocked, Apparation and Portkeys are impossible to even attempt without an official licence, and…" he sighed. "Does the fact that I'm in the middle of bloody Australia mean nothing?!"
Harry proceeded towards a wall with a faint outline of a box in the middle. Taking his wand from his robes, he muttered "Alohamora." and stood still.
In a matter of seconds, numerous rays shot out from the outline, and a mini door opened. Inside it was a lock to a safe where Harry kept the entire family's treasures, (including a 'time capsule' Chontel made at age 11) but Harry ignored this, for there was a shelf above the safe. He reached in and drew out a mirror.
"Percival Weasley." Harry said clearly.
And within moments, the face of Ron's third oldest (and only remaining) brother was shimmering in the glass.
"Ah, Harry! How are you?" Percy said with a grin. "Ronald! Guess who's contacting us in the middle of the night!" And soon after this, Ron's face appeared beside Percy's.
"What's up Harry?" Ron's tone changed into a concerned manner Harry had rarely seen before, "Is anything wrong? Do you need us? I mean, I know it's Australia and everything, but our Apparation wasn't blocked, we were in Romania with Bill when the Apparation Ban was applied to England, and we got this Universal licence-"
"Yeah, I know Ron. Chill. I'm fine Perce, but not for long." Harry lowered his voice; and with his other hand, he held his wand steady; looking around him. "They're here."
"WHAT?!" Ron yelped; he'd always been easily excitable and Percy had to put the mirror down for the few moments in which he restrained Ron from making any sudden actions.
"Harry, are you serious? Voldemort – stop whimpering Ron – he's really found you?" Percy had finally calmed Ron down and was now talking into the mirror again.
"Well, there are two hooded men outside my house, Perce, and I'll be damned if it's not just Death Eaters that wear dark clothing like that. I swear that git Macnair is one of 'em, I'd recognise him anywhere after what he did to Hagrid's baby Thestral in sixth year." Harry replied bitterly.
Percy was gob smacked beyond recognition
"Wha – Death Eaters – I…" the red-haired man regained his posture. "Well Harry, do you think you're in any condition to fight? Wait – don't tell me – have you been drinking? You've got a bit of glass in your neck – take it out this instant Harry!"
Harry put down his wand and traipsed down to the basement, reached up to the shelf and pulled out another mirror. This time he did not name anyone; but simply looked at his neck in it. A large shard of glass – somehow hidden – was stuck deep into his skin. He hadn't paid any attention to it before, but his neck now had a searing pain inside. He slowly dislodged it out and winced.
He then drew another bottle from the cupboard, and rubbed some of the silvery substance onto his neck. It was Murtlap Essence, and since his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry he'd never been without a bottle of it.
There was a loud tinkle, and then a crash. Harry dropped the bottle in surprise; and another small crash was heard as the bottle smashed into pieces on the floor. Harry bent down.
"Nox." Harry's wand lighting charm turned off instantly. "Reparo." The bottle instantly repaired itself – the Murtlap essence was nowhere to be seen. "Lumos." The wand-lighting charm was re-activated.
"Listen, Harry, say no more, we have to go now." Percy muttered.
The mirror no longer showed the faces of Ron and Percy – it seemed they'd left him to face the Death Eaters alone. Harry's eyes widened. Had they just gone and fled? Harry could tell many people from experience that being used to people deserting you never made it feel any better.
"I don't believe it... cowards." Harry snarled; half in disbelief that they would desert him in his time of need.
Harry reached in the cupboard once more. Another safe. Turn the handle, this way and…
"Hey Dad." Harry greeted thin air. "Thanks for the Invisibility Cloak."
Wrapping himself up with the cloak, Harry then slumped his back against a nearby wall and sat down; hoping that if he was murdered on the spot, he'd be too miserable to feel anything. How much time had passed? He didn't know what was taking the Death Eaters so long. Perhaps they were waiting for him to draw himself out.
He closed his eyes, praying to be killed instantly. It felt like an age before he opened his eyes. Five minutes, ten minutes…
Crack.
There, barely a meter away, stood a medium-height fair-skinned man beaming at him. Towering over Percy stood Ron; a sturdy well-built young man; his crimson hair glistening in the luminosity of Harry's wand.
"Hey James." Ron grinned.
Harry shivered slightly. The only person who'd ever called him by his nickname was Lupin, and that was years ago when the man was alive.
"Wha – oh, hey - you're here!" Harry chuckled; never once tiring of his old joke with Ron's nickname.
"In the flesh…" Ron replied cheerily.
A deafening smash was heard; all heads in the room immediately turned to the door of the basement. It seemed that somewhere not so far, a vase had fallen from its table.
"Merlin, d'ya have to be a klutz all the time Alan? Potter can't be that thick if he's still alive. He might hear us. I don't care if you're just 19, try and do a job right for once." a voice was heard criticizing not too far away.
"Argh…" a heavy thunk was heard. "Oh damn, that's gonna leave a mark. Who put that wall in my way? And Macnair; just shut up and find the guy so we can get out of here. I have a date at 8… and that was not supposed to rhyme…" it seemed this 'Alan' fellow did not appear to be quite that intelligent…
"Harry," Percy whispered in a low voice, "you realise we shouldn't waste time fighting them?" He took a deep breath and ushered the other two into a corner. "Now, it's obvious they're making themselves heard. Therefore I will stay here-"
"HELL NO!" Ron shouted angrily.
"Ron, keep your voice down. I will stay here and find out what's up. I suspect they are deliberately trying to lure Harry out. Hence, it becomes important top get you two out of here fast."
Percy strode over to the door and peered through the keyhole. Harry couldn't see his face, but he was sure Percy was devising an evasion of some sort.
"Ah, that's right…" he muttered to himself. "Got it. Alright… now, Harry, you keep your Firebolt here, right? And you have a spare broom in handy, right?"
Harry nodded and, without a word, proceeded over to another faint outline in the wall. This one was around two metres high from the ground.
"Alohamora." Harry tapped his wand in the space.
Just as before, the lines started to glow; a large brick went into the wall. Slowly, every single brick within the shape started to melt away into the wall; showing a long tall door.
"Aloha- oh screw it." Harry opened the door to reveal a cluster of shimmering tall and strong broom sticks with golden lettering embossed into them.
Harry took out a smooth and sturdy Cleansweep Revolutionised. Ron's eyes widened.
"Whoa Harry, I thought you gave up Quidditch since…" Ron paused, deciding it'd be better to spare Harry his feelings and not remind him of Hermione's death and how it destroyed his passion for Quidditch, "I thought you gave up Quidditch Harry. And… every single broom in here looks brand new and everything."
Harry merely grinned as he took out his Firebolt and an Inferno 182 (it was named by a muggle) for Percy. He'd never told anyone, but his family's death (Hermione and Chontel) had really shaken him up, and every now and then he'd polish his brooms.
It was insane, for he never rode them, but he felt he should be using Hermione's Broom Servicing Kit she'd gotten him for his 13th birthday to good use.
He handed the Gunfire Inferno to Percy; who simply shook his head.
"I'll use it when I need to."
Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Percy would take on Macnair and Alan while he and Ron flew back to the Weasley's new house far away in Adelaide. Percy would then join them when he'd sorted the Death Eaters. For a moment it seemed as though it was all going to be alright, it really was.
Too bad it wasn't.
Percy made his way towards the Death Eaters. They were standing in the doorway to the living room; their backs towards Percy. Bewildered at this suspicious idiocy, he glanced through a nearby window. Realising the coast was clear for escaping; Percy signalled Harry and Ron to set off for home.
"Come back alive Perce." Ron whispered, moments before they opened a window.
As the two crept out, Percy advanced on Macnair and Alan.
"Solenumin lumos!" Percy cast the spell right at Macnair's head.
It really was a great plan. So you can understand it was a shame the two Death Eaters turned round a little too quick. Alan (a gangly-looking burly young man barely at the end of his adolescence) towered several miles over Percy, and within a split second, Percy found himself on the floor, directly under Alan; his wand thrown far from his reach.
"That will do, young Alan. Leave him be now, we need to question him." Macnair ordered.
Percy kicked and struggled, uttering several thousand horrid things.
"Hey, that won't do now, will it Perce?" Alan pointed his wand right at Percy's face. "Scourgi-"
"ALAN!" Macnair snapped. "I told you, you cannot touch a hair on his head! Put your wand away this instant. Kids these days…" he added under his breath.
Alan flicked a lock of ginger hair on Percy's head.
"So sue me. It's not like he'll tell us this stuff instantly, isn't there going to be torture involved?" He muttered.
Macnair just dragged Alan (who had Percy in a painful half-nelson) into the room. There Percy stared; aghast. Staring right back at him with crystal clear jubilance were no more than twenty-odd Death Eaters.
Oh crud… I hope to Merlin that Ron will get Harry home safely. Percy thought bitterly.
After being carefully Disillusioned, the two men kicked off from the ground. To say he hadn't done any flying for five years, Harry was definitely on top form, Ron noticed.
Harry had completely forgotten the freedom of flying. He was soaring into the air; his mind was at ease, not a worry in the world. As he stared intently at the open sky before him; he couldn't help but envision his family by his side; Hermione on his broom gripping him tight whereas Chontel sped on light years ahead…
"Hey." Harry called out to Ron half an hour later, noticing Ron's watch. "Hey Ron, what's up with that watch? It's got my name on – you better not have gotten any Harry Potter merchandise."
At the Burrow in England, the Weasley family once owned a grandfather clock which Harry was very fond of. It consisted of 10 hands (It used to be nine with the whole family on, but they counted Harry as family too and added him) with the names of every member of the family. Instead of numbers, it would point at things such as Home, Work, School, Harry's Home, Mortal Peril, and Death… Harry shuddered.
"What, this?" Ron glanced at his watch and paid for his lack of concentration by almost slipping off his broom – he answered Harry 5 minutes later. "It's not just your name. I 'ad it done last Christmas. Kinda like the grandfather clock we had in the Burrow in England, see the hands? Your name, my name, Percy's name…"
Ron (who hadn't paid any attention to where Percy's hand was pointing) trailed off, and Harry noticed he hadn't mentioned the fourth hand with the name of the youngest Weasley – his one and only sister Ginny Weasley. Right now it was pointing at Death. Harry did not press the subject any further.
"Hey," Harry tried changing the subject, "Where's Percy? He should've been here by now."
"Dunno," Ron shouted out – he had fallen slightly behind Harry. "Maybe he's miles behind, you know how bad he is with flying."
Ron checked his watch. The names Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were pointing at Town (They were flying far above the town centre) but Percy's hand… Ron nudged Harry.
"Argh – I could've fallen off my broom, what is-" And Harry stopped in mid-sentence.
Percy Weasley's hand was pointing between Harry's home and Mortal Peril.
"Oh..." Harry found there was nothing he could say.
"Oh shit." Ron finished for him.
Percy was sitting in a very comfortable chintz armchair; (Harry's favourite) bound to it by many invisible and stiflingly tightened cords; being thoroughly questioned by none other than-
"Peter Pettigrew." Percy gasped; half-wishing he'd been blindfolded.
"In the flesh, Weasley." Peter sneered.
"But – you're… you died sixteen years ago…" Percy stammered.
"Oh? And before that, didn't I 'die' the day after Potter's parents-"
"Don't ever talk to anyone about their deaths." Percy spoke in a dangerously soft voice.
"Manners, Weasley." Peter drawled." "You don't want me to-"
"Don't want you to what? You can't do a single thing without running to hide behind your mates." Percy retorted angrily.
Sixteen years of laying low had surely changed Peter Pettigrew's appearance. He had become taller, there was much more flesh on him; his face was no longer sunken and his smirk was enough to force anyone to grab the nearest object possible and throw it into his face.
Oh, sure Merlin, you just have to go and make all the bad guys look good while torturing the good guys… Percy mused; an amount of bitterness in his mind.
Peter flinched slightly; as if getting ready to wrestle Percy onto the ground, but decided against it.
"Now, Percy, I would like to ask you some questions…."
Far away from where any of this was happening, in the hart of Australia's capital city, Canberra, a meeting was being held between very few people. One stood majestically in the centre of the room; pacing in circles. The other, quite a handsome man, sat in a chair.
"My Lord," he began to beseech, "she should've been here by now. I guarantee that my youngest niece is always on time, never once late for an exam or-"
"I have no time for your excuses. She is either here or not. Mark my words Zabini; should your recommended pawn fail to please me, it will lead to both your instant demises. I have not come all the way from Germany to listen to your snivelling explanations." The other spoke in a cold and harsh voice.
"You think Macnair and Alan gave him some trouble?" Harry voiced both their thoughts.
"I dunno… Percy's pretty advanced in magic, and… well, I know he can't really do much physical fighting, but he's good at escaping…" Ron's voice was short of the reassuring tone he'd intended for.
"C'mon, let's turn back, he might need our help. And… wait, his hand on your watch is moving closer to Harry's Home… maybe he's escaping…"
"Let's go anyway Harry."
Ron and Harry swiftly turned round and rapidly shot towards Harry's home, neither of the two uttering one word. Under a heavy cloud, round a bird, anything to get there and save Ron's only remaining relative.
A young and beautiful woman shot into a dark alley. On and on she walked; her coal-black hair wafting in the wind. It was around 5 minutes before she found herself gazing attentively at a shabby broken-down shack; her shimmering azure eyes widening.
"This is where Uncle Jason said to come…" she noticed.
Her arm was burning - that skull-like tattoo was blazing into her skin.
"Ouch."
"Say whatever you want, I'm not giving any answers." Percy growled.
"Watch the ego, Weasel!" Peter snarled, his other hand gripping his wand tensely. "Anyway… alright, here's the drill. You don't want Potter roasted to mincemeat at the hands of He Who Must Not Be Named, right?"
Percy did not answer, but instead glared daggers
"Right?" Peter taunted.
Percy remained silent.
"Go on, answer me, damn it!" Peter glowered in irritation.
He raised his wand. Percy braced himself to see green.
Well, you can't say I lived a bad life… at least not as bad as Harry's… he mused.
"Imperio!" Peter commanded.
Percy was immediately filled with an agreeable sensation of light-headedness.
Say 'yes' Percy a voice in his head told him to. It was taking all of Percy's self restraint to keep his mouth shut. If Peter would kill him, Percy wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of toying with him…
"Silent, aye? You're as good as Potter with this, and I was seriously willing to bet you were a useless piece of traitorous filth." Pettigrew teased.
Percy glared.
"Yeah, remember when you were 19? You didn't think the Dark Lord had returned, but oh, he was! You went as far as to boycott yourself from your family just to believe that fool Crouch. Took two years for you to find out He Who Must Not Be Named was possessing him and that Umbridge cow." Peter continued.
Percy remained motionless; not a breath escaping his lips.
The woman knocked on the door. A cerulean orb emerged from the keyhole.
"What the hell am I supposed to do to this?" She whined in a disapproving tone.
Her arm was throbbing once more. She raised her hand.
"Here goes nothing…"
Prodding the orb with her index finger, an icy sensation shot through her. She shivered slightly, and raised her arm.
"Maybe this'll stop the Dark Mark from burning my arm off." She pondered.
She pressed her arm against it. The door opened instantly; a creaking sound was made. Somewhere in the hart of the room were three chairs. The first two were occupied.
"H-hi… Uncle Jason…?" she stammered uneasily.
They landed in the backyard.
"Oh crud, d'ya think he's okay?" Harry asked worriedly.
There was only one instance where Harry was familiar with the feeling of remorse and guilt that was now seeping inside his stomach. It was in his fifth year at Hogwarts School when he thought he had attacked Ron's father. He'd waited for so long with the Weasley family… and Sirius… Harry flinched at the thought.
"I – I'm sure he – he can handle himself… I mean, you remember Percy's grades in his NEWTS, right? No-one could…" Ron faltered, apparently unable to say more.
"But… what about the Dark Arts? I mean…" Harry stopped.
The look on Ron's face was too much for Harry to continue and make it worse.
"Hey, d-don't worry Ron, I'll bet he's fine. C'mon, let's check it out."
"Harry." Ron stopped very suddenly.
"Hmm?" Harry mumbled, interested.
"You heard those guys. They definitely weren't troubling to be quiet. You think they were hoping you'd hear them?" said Ron.
"
"Weasley… it bores me to taunt you. Why don't we… have some fun?" Peter twirled his wand in his hand invitingly.
He then motioned towards the lanky teenager Alan, who handed Percy's wand to him. Peter lazily muttered the counter-curse for the ropes charm.
"So," Peter handed Percy his wand, "ready, to die Weasel?"
Percy raised his eyebrows. This was the sort of rhetorical question that didn't need an answer. But he gave one anyway.
"Depends. Ready to be crowned Voldemort's biggest loser?" Percy replied swiftly.
"I'll make you eat those words, Weasley, and then you'll see what happens to fools who dare utter the Dark Lord's name. Now…" Peter leered, "1, 2, 3… Expellia-"
"Silencio!" Percy beat him to it, having successfully silenced Peter for at least one hour.
Peter glared. He'd been struck dumb, and lost his power of speech. Killing Percy could take a while… But hey, that wasn't too bad, right? After all, there was Unincantationable Magic, and then there was Wandless Magic…
Raging and practically foaming at the mouth for his embarrassment, Peter made a slashing movement with his wand – the same that rendered Hermione unconscious years ago in the Department of Mysteries. Percy was not quick enough to avoid the flames that reared from the tip of Peter's wand, but he stepped away in time to avoid the full brunt of the Enflaminus Jinx.
He stopped a while to rub his chest on the spot that was now searing with pain. Percy's vision was blurring, his heart was beating… sweat was pouring down his face and he could've timed his own heartbeats… it took him a few torturous moments to start breathing properly again.
SMASH.
Both Percy and Peter looked up. Amidst all the amused expressions upon the Death Eaters faces, the giant window-like door had been crashed into. Shards of glass soared into the air. The atmosphere was tense, but Percy was fine, everything would run smoothly provided that Ron and Harry were…
Right there. Standing in the doorway. Coming to 'rescue' Percy. Endangering their lives and ruining Percy's plan.
"Damn."
The elderly citizen smiled weakly.
"You see, my Lord?" he spoke to the hooded man. "My niece Hannah is here, as promised-"
"She is five minutes late, Zabini, and you are blessed by Merlin to have your life spared after that." The man turned to Hannah. "However, should you turn out to be useful; your old man will live. And," he waved his wand in his hand slightly, "if you don't… I'm sure you know what will happen. Lord Voldemort does not give second chances."
"My Lord," Hannah stepped forwards; quivering badly at the mention of the cloaked figure's name, "I can be of great service-"
"I am quite aware of that, otherwise you would not be alive right now. You know the plan, and I have but little time to waste with explanations. However, I am confident that your loving uncle Jason Zabini would be more than happy to help." And with that, he disappeared.
Hannah then sank into a chair; her sapphire eyes closely surveying her uncle.
"So Jase, what's up with the plan?" She asked humorously.
"Ah, I'll tell you later…" Jason muttered.
"Nah, now's better. I have to get ready to see Alan."
"Oh yes, you have a date at 8… and that was not supposed to rhyme…"
Peter smirked. Within moments of the two fools' grand entrances, possibly every Death Eater in the room (besides Peter himself) shot into their direction. The room was full of chaos. Spells rocketing this way, fists pummelling that way and swear words being uttered every few minutes or so. And in an hour, something horrible happened…
They were all too busy fighting. Too busy to look the other way. Too busy to notice Peter, who had finally regained his power of speech, advance on an unsuspecting Percy. It was far too hectic to notice one crimson-haired man fall to the floor – life being swept from his instantly.
Far too busy to see the invisible tears on Ron's face five minutes later. Or the giant slash across his chest, causing him to plummet to the floor; not a breath escaping his lips.
Rewind precisely 40 years back. Now fast forward 40 years and one week. There you are. Yep, see the same old scene as one week ago. Same old bottle of alcohol clutched tightly in Harry's hand, same old pounding headache exploding in his head, same old shape of glass stuck in his neck…
A new addition to the memories that now haunted him.
Ron fell to the floor, his breathing becoming faint.
"Ron!" Harry ran over to him. "Ron! C'mon man, get up!"
Ron did not move.
Harry put the bottle down, using his hand to wipe blood off his face.
"Ron!"
Ron did not breathe.
He stumbled down the stairs towards his basement.
"RON!"
Silence. Silence. And then-
"Damn it…"He closed his eyes.
Harry sank into a chair and buried his head into his bloodstained hands.
Harry James Potter ambled off into the centre of town. A stroll in the town centre might do him some good. In truth he wanted nothing more than to die, to escape this horrendous reality, and to be with everyone he cared for again, but a walk was pretty much all Harry needed to calm his nerves down after another night of drinking.
He noticed a young raven-haired woman round the corner. Her cobalt eyes were all too familiar, and Harry was positive he knew who she was.
"Dysoria Brown!" Glossy shimmering chocolate brown hair. "Peachinsorum." Hide the scar.
Perfect for revenge. As the woman turned round the corner, she tripped and flew straight into Harry. Not that anyone else noticed. There were very few people alive on the planet anyway, and none of them cared about tow people bumping into each other, one knocking the other to the floor.
"Sorry." She helped him up.
"That's alright, miss…" he started.
Harry knew perfectly well what her name was. For five years Hannah Zabini was a name he'd never forget.
"Hannah. Hannah Zabini." She held out her hand.
He shook it, trying to think up a fake name for himself.
"And you?" she asked kindly.
"Michael. Michael Davies." He gabbled, saying the first name that rushed into his head.
"What a nice name." she beamed at him.
"So – er, Hannah, there's a new café that opened last week, it's just down the road. I've been thinking of going but I'd like to take someone with me." He asked her, giving her one of his infamous fake inviting smiles.
"Of course."
Harry – er, Michael Davies marvelled at Hannah's gullibility. Or maybe (this theory, he highly doubted) he was just a genius in hiding. Off they strolled; Hannah getting nervous around this handsome 'Michael' fellow; 'Michael' holding inside his indescribable feelings of amusement. How long they walked, 5 minutes, 10 minutes… he counted.
Once they arrived and ordered two butterbeers, the two sat down to talk.
Ten minutes later, as the two were deep in conversation, Harry – er, Michael remarked on how easy it was to talk to her, and how a murderer could seem like such a genuinely polite person.
"Nothing like I thought…" he wondered aloud.
Hannah gave no sign of having heard him; though her cheeks had become a noticeable red hue. Standing up, he quickly drained his cup, threw a galleon towards the barman, and motioned for Hannah to follow him. Innocent children were in the place, and he didn't want to let any of them witness what was about to happen.
"Reversio." He said clearly.
Jet-black hair flying all over the place. His scar was visible.
"Hello. I believe we've met before." Harry smirked.
Hannah stood motionless; gaping at the sight before her eyes.
"Weren't expecting me, were you?" He taunted. "So…" his voice became dangerously hushed, "going to kill me?"
Hannah shook slightly.
"Killed my daughter, why not finish off her father? Go on. Pick up your wand, point it at me-"
If he was going to die, he might as well give her something to think about.
"Avada Kedavra!" she stammered.
Harry lay dead. With second thoughts, Hannah walked away.
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