Unholy Purity Chapter 5: Shards of the Puzzle Pieces, a harry potter fanfic

I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

Unholy Purity

Part One: Demon Blood

Chapter Five: Shards of Puzzle Pieces

We Are
Singer
Ana Johnsson

See the devil on the doorstep now. My, oh my.
Telling everybody, oh, just how to live their lives.
Sliding down the information highway,
Buying them just like a bunch of fools.
Time is tickin' and we can't go back. My, oh my.

What about the world today?
What about the place that we call home?
We've never been so many,
And we've never been . . .so alone.

You keep watching from your picket fence,
You keep talking but it makes no sense.
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are.
You wash your hands, you come out clean,
But you fail to recognize, the enemy is within.
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are.
We are.

One step forward making two steps back. My, oh my.
Buying pity on the bad boy's back for life.
Lining up for the grand illusion.
No answers for no questions asked,
Lining up for the execution, without knowing why...

It's all about power, by taking control,
Breaking the will, erasing the soul.
They suck us dry till there's nothing left.
My, oh my. My, oh my.

What about the world today?
What about the place that we call home?
We've never been so many,
But we've never been . . .So alone.

So alone.

We are, we are, we are.

12 Grimmauld Place

Interrogations for three hours by a paranoid ex-auror to a sleepy teenager never went well. Especially when that ex-auror was Alastor Moody and that sleepy teenager was Ron Weasley. Mrs. Weasley had taken a visit to her youngest children, only to find the winged version of her son. He'd been stunned and re-awoken in the basement kitchen of Headquarters. That had been somewhere around two in the afternoon and it was going on five PM. Moody's questions were bringing them both no where and only bringing Ron's fiery temper out. All he was really waiting for was Professor Snape to come back from the Death Eater meeting, bringing within him both knowledge and Veritaserum to force the truth out with.

"Who are you and what are you?" growled Moody for the umpteenth time. Ron sighed angrily, his hands gripped very tightly to either side of the chair. In fact, his hold was so tight that chunks of wood had started to break loose.

"I told you a thousand times! Ron Weasley and I don't know what the bloody hell I am!"

The kitchen doors opened, revealing a haggard looking Remus Lupin, his hands holding onto a copy of the Daily Prophet, leading none other then Ron's potions professor. It was the first time Ron had ever seen Snape look scared. The man's already pallid skin was devoid of any blood, his eyes wide and frightened, one twitching slightly, his mouth agape. He took no notice of Ron or Moody and went straight to a chair, where he collapsed upon it. He was muttering to himself, sounding utterly mad, but the words escaped Ron. He doubted very much if he wanted to know what was going on.

"What's wrong with you, Snape?" grunted Moody, his magical eyeball still on Ron, though his normal one was upon the Hogwarts Potions Master. Both of the teen's blue irises were fixed upon Snape, whose hands pressed against his brow, staring wide-eyed and terrified at the table.

Remus took several breaths before speaking, and even then his words were stammered. "Voldemort," (Ron winced at the name), "He's . . . this ally of his, this Aiden Shamshair . . . he's got some potion, it turns people into demons."

Ron's jaw dropped and Moody's electrically colored eye turned sharply to the werewolf. "What!" he yelled, the first time Ron had ever heard the auror sound shocked, even scared.

"Where's Dumbledore?" snapped Remus, "Hogwarts or here?"

"Looking for Potter," said Moody crossly, "Still haven't found him."

"What's wrong with Harry?" asked Ron suddenly, standing up. His chair fell backwards, his wings twitching in concern for his friend. His ex-professors turned to him. Remus's own eyes widened. "Ron? Ron Weasley?"

"Professor, what's wrong with Harry? Why are people looking for him?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding frantic.

"This character claims to be Weasley," said Moody darkly, his eye flicking back to Ron, lingering on the Gryffindor's face as if trying to pry into his soul. How much the boy hated that eye could never have been expressed in words, especially words that weren't curses. "He's given no proof, and certainly doesn't look like Molly's son."

"I've heard stranger today," said Remus and his face took on a furious expression. A dark and almost mad look entered the normally peaceful blue gaze of the werewolf. He curled and uncurled the Daily Prophet in his hands. "Read this!" He slammed the paper into Moody's hands, breathing heavily. The auror glared but read. It didn't take more then a few minutes before his normal eye looked back at Remus.

"Damn Fudge and his lapdogs!" He threw the paper onto the table, "This is the last thing we need!"

Ron looked at the paper, his eyes narrowing to cold slits at the headline. It was worse the reading the dung Percy wrote. Much, much worse.

(HARRY POTTER – SAVIOR OR MURDERER?

By Rita Skeeter

Earlier today, the home of Harry Potter, hero and savior of the present wizarding Britain, and his muggle relatives was found in smoking rubble by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Examination of the debris proved to be the after effects of a misaimed Avada Kedarva curse, the curse that gave our precious Boy-Who-Lived his famous scar. The body of his aunt, Petunia Dursely, sister to the late Lily Potter, was found by muggles and a healer's later analysis proves this death to be caused of the same spell work. Potter's other two relatives, an uncle and cousin, also died earlier today. His uncle, Mr. Vernon Dursley's car (a sort of muggle transportation) crashed, killing him instantly. Upon further inspection it was revealed that the car's steering capabilities were altered using magic. His cousin, Dudley Dursley, was killed on an overdose of muggle drugs and alcohol. To add to the suspicion, Potter was found no where near the scene of the attack, his school trunk and wand gone as well.

Some are saying that our society's 'Golden Boy' may have been the murderer to at least two of these tragedies. One Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister, has this to say on the culprit of the murders. 'We can only hope that our hero has not lost his mind,' began Weasley gravely, 'However, a close friend of his died very recently, though I will withhold any names. It is, sadly, possible that this death may have unhinged Harry Potter, and it's very common knowledge that he was not at all on good terms with his muggle relatives. Perhaps he just went too far.'

Top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital say that Weasley brings up a fair argument. Deaths to close friends and family members have been one of the main causes for suicides and murders in the years following and including You-Know-Who's first rise to power. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, agrees and a reward has been set on Potter's capture and return to the Ministry, until such a time comes for him to testify under the Wizengamot, as well as under the influence of Veritaserum. Until then, the reward stands at two hundred fifty galleons for Potter's capture and return to the Ministry. Professor Albus Dumbledore, who has always been a strong voice in the boy's defense, was unavailable for comment.)

Ron felt numb for a moment, staring in horror at the article that bitch had written and printed. Mingled within his blind anger was sadness for his friend. Harry had no more family left in the world . . .

The Weasleys were the largest wizarding family in Britain. He knew he had a string of cousins and more distant relatives going from Aberdeen to Plymouth with even some family in America's eastern coast. He had grown up with six older brothers and one younger sister, as well as both parents. But Harry, Harry had grown up with only three members of family, all of whom hated him, and they had all died in one day. He could never have imagined what it must feel like to be that alone in the world.

What jerked him out of his depressing stupor was Remus's yell and Snape's sharp curses. The paper on the table had just burst into flames, flames as black as the feathers that lined Ron's wings. What was stranger about the fire was the fact it gave no warmth, but rather destroyed it. It was as cold as ice in winter and refused all attempts to be distinguished by three wizard's spells. It did not burn anything else and finally died when the newspaper had been reduced to smoldering ashes the color of iron.

There was silence for a moment or two in which he felt three pairs of eyes flicker and examine his sad face before Moody snapped to Snape. "Do you have Veritaserum on you?"

Snape reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small corked vial. He stared at it for a long time before placing it on the table and sliding it to Moody. His movements were still jerky, as though the vial had burned his flesh in some sort of way. Ron was reminded of the muggles vampire stories of how holy water burned them. A rather accurate comparison, he thought with a thin smile, though Hermione would have killed him for such thoughts. Moody's gnarled hands gripped it and uncorked it. "Sit down and this'll be over soon enough. We'll see how much truth you've spilled out for the past few hours."

The cold crystal of the vial was pressed between his lips and a small trickle of the liquid slid down his throat. It tasted like rat poison, in his opinion at least, as he had never ingested poison. The effect was instant and Ron felt as though he had been thrown backwards from his body, similar to the effect of a Portkey, and was watching Moody and Remus interrogate him through a sort of haze. It was nothing different then what he had been saying before hand and it turned Moody's scared face a nasty pale color. After the interrogation, he dimly felt his shoulder being taped with a wand before he was returned to his original state, feeling slightly dizzy.

"Molly's not going to be happy about this, not at all," muttered Remus. When Moody handed Snape back his potion, the tall, dark-haired man swept from the kitchen, still as pale as a ghost, the skin almost translucent in its appearance. Whatever had happened had certainly not been a pleasant memory and Ron didn't want to know exact details.

Moody had insisted on interrogating Ginny, but had been stopped by both a pale Mrs. Weasley and a tired Remus. After being told the chain of events by Remus, the Weasley matron looked up at Ron's face with her brown eyes strained. She did not look like the happy housewife in his childhood, but rather a poor impersonation of her. She was thinner by a considerable amount, her hair wiry and as bushy as Hermione Granger's. Her face was pale, her hands shook when she tried to hold them straight and her eyes were bloodshot, heavy bags under them. She pulled Ron into a tight hug.

"Oh Ron," she choaked, voice wavering like a poorly build bridge, "I'm so sorry for stunning you earlier!" Her hands touched his wings, which twitched on her cold touch. He could only dimly feel her fingertips, but only dimly. He put a hand on her shoulder, giving a pleading look at his younger sister. Ginny shook her head and left the room, looking angry. She must have gotten wind of the article about Harry.

"Mum, I'm alright, okay?" he said, trying to convince her otherwise

"Y-you're cer-certianly not," she stuttered, looking up into his face. She took several calming breaths, one hand on her heart and the other brushing the tears from her cheeks. "But I must say, you do look handsomer."

He flushed such a dark red it made a sunset look pale. "Did you, erm, read that piece by Rita Skeeter?" This made the normally cheery woman's eyes narrow to tiny slits, her breathing heavy. Always a warning sign. He had no idea why he had brought up the conversation, but he wanted desperately to get off the topic of his unusual metamorphosis.

"HONESTLY!" she snorted in a voice usually reserved for Fred and George, "Harry may be upset about Sirius, but he's not crazy! And Percy! HOW DARE HE SAY SUCH THINGS!" Ron, who had expected more, watched with a wince as his mother stormed off, screeching about writing a Howler. He didn't envy Percy when he got that crimson envelope.

12 Willow Avenue

There were not enough words in the English language to describe Harry's feelings towards Rita Skeeter and her article. Amelia had left the second he had taken the paper and Hermione was deadly quiet as he re-read it again and again. Numb shock was what was echoed inside his mind, anger and fear also present. There was a reward for his capture, like he was some sort of criminal, for murders he didn't commit.

Ironically, the same scenario as Sirius Black.

Harry breathed deeply, clutching the paper very tightly. "God kill me if I ever find peace," he said with a bit of black humor, looking at Hermione's ashen face.

"I can't believe it," she said weakly, "They think you killed your aunt and uncle?"

"Looks damn like it." He fell into a chair and closed his eyes, trying not to let his temper explode. It was a daunting task and simply gripped the chair very tightly. "If I stay here, you're going to get roped into this mess. Maybe I should just leave - "

Hermione gave him a severe look that would have made Professor McGonagall proud. "I'm already knee deep in this mess no matter what you do. They'd come to interview me for your whereabouts, so don't put the blame on yourself."

He gave a smile, fingering his mother's pendent. "I think we've made your mum and dad wait long enough for dinner, right?" It was a poor attempt to change the subject, but it worked well enough. Hermione nodded and went out to fetch her parents.

"So I'm a murderer now?" he thought softly, looking at the ivory lily and placing it in the center of his palm, "What the hell should I do now?"

GOD DAMN FUDGE! roared Sirius and there was the sound of something breaking.

Harry, stay with Hermione and her family. A thrill of . . . something erupted inside his chest. His mother, his mother was talking to him. Dumbledore will sort this out.

In any case, its not like the public's going to believe that load of dung, snapped James's voice, Especially after last year, from what Padfoot told us.

He felt numb for a moment, listening as his parents reassured him, but their one-sided conversation was ended by the arrival of the Grangers. Amelia sat down and quickly grabbed a piece of bread, dumping it completely into the sauce before tearing a chunk out of it. Harry sighed and sat down. It didn't matter right now, all he could think of doing was just waiting for the Order of the Phoenix to come and explain.

'More like they'd just come and shelter me like some fragile piece of china,' he thought angrily, half-heartily responding to Mr. Granger's questions about his school life. Hermione happily supplied more answers, apparently sensing that Harry didn't want to give much away and explained perkily about her career choices.

"Well a healer's always an interesting choice, isn't it?"

"A magical doctor? Impressive Hermione. What about you, Harry?" asked Mrs. Granger sweetly, twirling her fork.

"I haven't given it much thought, really," he confessed. He really hadn't. There were always the options of an auror or professional Seeker. Vaguely he wondered what his father had been.

"There has to be something. Hermione's told us you were thinking of being an auror. That's like the wizarding secret police, isn't it?" Mr. Granger chuckled, "That should be a challenge."

He felt heat rise in his cheeks. "I dunno." He saw Amelia watch him carefully as she tore another piece from her bread. Swallowing, she spoke in her quiet voice. "What about a foreign ambassador? You know, represent different people." There was something about her voice that made him feel edgy. Did she know about him being a 'demon', as Mitsukai had so delicately described it?

"Oh Harry wouldn't be interested in something like that," scoffed Hermione.

"How would you know?" he shot back with a smile. Both her parents laughed, though Amelia simply turned back to her dinner.

The meal passed rather uneventfully, and there was a pleasant surprise with the return of Hedwig. The snowy owl was seated on Hermione's old-fashion desk, pruning her wings and gave a happy hoot at the sight of her master. He saw that a few of her wings were still tinged with the ash of the fire. There was a note tied to her leg and he winced at the sight of it.

"Oh, so Professor Dumbledore did reply to your letter!" Hermione said, shutting the door behind her, "Go on, read it!"

Untying the parchment, he saw it was not written by Dumbledore, but in a rather unique style. It was type written, each line with a different hand and ink.

Little Boy,

Beware the moon of Blue blood, for awakening your demon form does. The Queen of Light brings but ill, your head is what she wants. Search for a time-travel hourglass and return to the year 42 of 1900's. Find the Puzzle Child, hidden within the walls of the snake's chamber. The true child, born from the Daughter of Snakes, for only he can kill the Cataclysmic Marriage of the broken Seraphs.

We will see you the night of your birth. We send our regards to the King's child.

With nothing wished but madness,

Emerald Moon, Sapphire Sun

He let out a frustrated growl, sounding more animal then he had intended. "Again with the riddles! The world wants to see me locked up in a mental hospital!"

Hermione took the paper from him and scanned it quickly, brow furrowed. "Let's see . . . The moon of Blue blood, that's an easy one. Tomorrow night's July's second full moon, and July's moon is known as the blood moon. The Queen of Light, no idea. Then . . . Apparently these people want you to go back in time and find Tom Riddle. Since a riddle is a puzzle and he's descendent from Salazar Slytherin on his mother's side . . ."

He goggled at her, eyes wide behind his glasses, and she clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently. "It's not that hard to figure out!"

"I suppose you've heard of these people then?" he snapped coldly.

"Nope. I don't know who this 'King's child is either' but since Hedwig is here, send her to the Order telling them where you are. That'll probably ease a few things out." Harry sighed angrily, fiddling with the lily pendent.

Harry? It was his mother. There's something I need to tell you something. I'm . . . I'm the reason why you're a lycanthrope now.

Tepes Manor, London

The demon race has always been obscured in shadows, unknown and dislikes by humankind for simply being an enigma. However, one of the breeds of demons has been known to wizards for centuries: the vampire. They were not true demons, like kitsune and dragoons, as the great Queen did not breathe life into them. They were born from the tengu, bat-demons of old, now extinct, whose bite made humans into a sort of half-demon. Since their predecessors were gone from the Earth and their blood as black as any other demon, they were gladly accepted as another breed.

Vlad Tepes, known as Dracula to those not of demon blood, rarely had any guests apart from vampires. It had been the first time in several years that a lycanthrope had walked through his doors, especially one of such a high rank as Zephyr Windstorm, brother of the current chieftain. The platinum haired boy bowed in respect for the count, his clothing contrasting sharply with the pale of his hair and skin.

"Zephyr, it's been a long time since I've seen you," said Tepes brightly, smiling at the younger demon. Whilst the stereotype placed him as an intellectual and gothic man, the real Count Dracula fit more along the lines of an eccentric inventor. His dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, his angular face one of a man in his prime with glittering, bright navy eyes with youthful energy. Currently dressed in a pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater under a singed and blackened lab coat, a pair of emerald sunglasses rested in the breast pocket.

"Milord," began Windstorm but the vampire shook his head.

"Please, I've known you and your sister since you were cubs, so for the Queen's sake, don't give me any of this formality crap," he said brightly, leading Windstorm into the grand hall. It had been decorated by his wife, who had the same sense for colors as his many daughters-in-law did. Dark fabrics of red and black hung in tapestries on the wall, Persian rugs slapped in various designs on the ground beneath an eloquently carved dining room set. The large windows were blocked by blood red curtains, doing little to help with lighting. Mumbling darkly as Windstorm took a seat, Tepes pulled the curtains out to show the dull London skylight.

Windstorm coughed to get the vampire's attention and continued to speak in his curt, almost bored-sounding voice. "Madame Mitsukai has a job for you, if you're interested in some pay. She's willing to pay double her weight in wizard gold if you get this correct." Tepes raised an eyebrow and chuckled lightly. "I'm not a mercenary, as she should bloody well know; my son does all of that."

True, the only vampire that fit the wizard and muggle picture of one was Alucard Tepes Dracula, the count's only child who currently lived in Carpathia with his ten wives and fifty children. It'd been he who had committed the crimes his father had the scapegoat for a hundred years ago, chronicled by the bounty hunter Bram Stoker. He hadn't seen his son in years, not after the whole event with the headless chicken and the ketchup at his mother's birthday. . .

Windstorm reached into his coat and pulled out a folded envelope, sealed with the crest of the Mitsukai family (an angel's and devil's crossed wings.) Tepes took the note and scanned it quickly, muttering in Romanian as he did so. Although Windstorm was not fluent in the language, he could understand one phrase. 'Damn woman has worse handwriting then a doctor.'

"She wants me to find one girl in all of London and sire her? Who does she think I am, Sherlock Holmes?"

Windstorm gave an icy glare, red eyes narrowed. "Madame Mitsukai, as mentioned in her letter to you, relates this girl to the King's child, mentioned in the prophecy of the Broken Ones." Tepes gave him a sharp glare to, though he could not stop the smirk that crossed his face.

"I'm not an idiot, Zephyr. If I do this job, the whole hell of humans are going to have a bounty on my head. I had to deal with it three hundred years ago and I don't want to have to do it again. I'm perfectly happy with blowing up things in my basement."

"Count -"

"IT'S JUST VLAD, DAMNIT!" yelled Tepes, eyes widening in anger as the vampire's traditional red hue entered the navy eyes. Windstorm didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Wouldn't you enjoy being known as the sire of the 'bat-winged beauty?' The father of one of the six soon-to-be legendary heroes and heroines?" That got Tepes interest. If there was one thing he enjoyed more then random chaos and the idealistic dream of the perfect soft drink, it was positive attention. Tepes slipped the note into his coat pocket and clasped a hand on Windstorm's shoulder.

"Alright, you've convinced me. But don't ever let Alucard know that he's got a younger sister. He'd try and convert her into some sort of cult . . ."

End Chapter Five: Shards of Puzzle Pieces