Sorry about the whole 'four weeks/ no update' thing. It's not like I meant to. And if I did, you, my dear readers, would do nothing about it. For I have the updating power, and on this website, THAT MAKES ME YOUR GOD! cackles evilly with maniacal glint in his eye as he marches in place ALL HAIL DALYON! ALL HAIL DALYON! Civilizations will crumble, and governments will burn in the fires of Dalyonism.
Now, seriously, enough with the fits of insanity. I would like to thank Treck, who reviewed and offered to AK whatever monster caused the updating lapse. You could blame it on several factors.A burned-out laptop charger, a box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies, several Algebra exams, and a lazy, unmotivated author.
That would me of course. . . . if you didn't get the whole. . . . . lazy . . . . . author. . .. .thing. Algebra exams? Do you pity me yet?
Now, on to the show, for it must go on.
I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I assure you, he would have been a Slytherin. Ron Weasley pisses me off.
Eyes.
They were the windows to a soul. A looking glass, so to speak.
They conveyed one's thoughts and emotions, their temperament and feelings. They blinked in nervousness, narrowed in anger and suspicion, dawned in horror and recognition, and widened in fear and surprise.
Whether the beady black of a ruthless goblin, the yellow of an immortal vampire, the golden-brown of a shunned werewolf, or the numerous colors of a bigoted wizard, all eyes performed the same function.
They looked out upon the world, while others looked in.
Occlumency worked well for the mind, organizing one's thoughts and guarding their secrets from intrusion. The art didn't carry over to the eyes though, which could betray a person before the brain had time to react.
As an Unspeakable during the final years of Voldemort's first reign of terror, Charles Morgan had learned the mind arts out of necessity. The Dark Lord had been obsessed with the Department of Mysteries, and his followers were highly skilled when it came to obtaining information.
Whether through torture, Legilemency, or persuasion.
Due to this past training, Morgan could easily suppress the numerous questions and possible reactions that flashed through his mind as he registered Harry's words. He couldn't stop though, the slight widening of his ice green eyes, or the surprise that rose from their depths.
"Why me?" Morgan asked, breaking the long silence.
Harry merely looked at the elder lord, noting the reaction and the sense of calm Morgan maintained.
"I have many reasons," he answered. "The foremost of which is rather simple. You can help."
"Help?" Morgan asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow with practiced ease. Harry was beginning to wonder if all lords used that specific gesture. He had certainly utilized it of late.
"How do you think that I can help you?"
"Once more, it's rather simple," Harry said smoothly, taking a sip of his tea. Frowning slightly at the cold liquid, he heated it with a wandless charm.
"You are a magically powerful individual, with years of experience in the political arena. You are also a highly respected member of the wizarding community.
"Something which I am not," he added after a few seconds.
"You don't consider yourself a 'highly respected' member of the wizarding community?" Morgan asked, amusement evident in his voice. "Many people look up to the Boy Who Lived."
Harry merely snorted in mixed disgust and exasperation.
"Oh, yes," he said bitterly."That is why I have been deemed their scapegoat, to be slandered one moment and praised the next. That's not respect Lord Morgan, that's sycophancy."
Pausing momentarily, he watched as a large raven flew past the floor-to-ceiling window.
"If I were to approach those who had beliefs similar to mine," Harry continued, "I would not be taken seriously. A sixteen year old trying to form an alliance that answers to neither Dumbledore nor Dark Lord? I would only be laughed at and subjected to unwanted attention."
"You could always use the name of Tenaroe," Morgan said quietly, looking the younger lord in the eyes.
"That I could," Harry agreed, "and that I will. But the Lord Tenaroe is an unknown quantity. You yourself know of the Slytherin connection, but how many others will? Salazar is not remembered fondly by those in power, and with the death of Bellatrix Lestrange, the Lord Tenaroe has proven to be skilled in the Dark Arts."
"Not exactly a reassuring combination," Morgan commented.
Harry merely nodded in agreement.
"With the name Morgan beside that of Tenaroe though, a certain respectability would be added. Your family is rather influential, and the word of a Morgan carries weight throughout the magical community."
"Indeed," Morgan mused. "And how precisely would the House of Morgan profit from such an alliance?"
"Profit?" Harry murmured, a small smile gracing his face. "I assure you Lord Morgan, I am not doing this for profit. . . . . . though there is always the spoils of war."
"Always," Morgan agreed, smiling in turn. "If profit is not your primary reason then, what may your motives be?"
Harry sighed, showing an uncommon amount of emotion. He had kept a tight rein on his feelings of late, not wanting them to betray him like they had done in the past. He mentally cringed as he remembered the countless temper tantrums he had thrown in the past.
Absentmindedly he recalled one of the ill-fated Occlumency lessons from the year before.
"Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily - weak people, in other words - they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!"
It was perhaps the only lesson of importance Harry had learned from the bitter Potions Master throughout his five years at Hogwarts. And he grudgingly admitted that the greasy bastard was right.
"The wizarding world is on a self-destructive path," Harry said, returning to the present. "You know this as well as I.
"The current ministerial regime has failed, and will only continue to do so. The ministry is riddled from within by corruption and greed. They cannot protect the people nor can they oppose Voldemort. Dumbledore can only contain the threat, and as time passes, he would be defeated as well. Voldemort would reign supreme and his will would be inflicted upon those beneath him. He would simply kill-off all muggleborns and reduce to slaves all those that dared oppose him.
"While I am tempted to just sit back and watch the magical community reap the whirlwind of their ignorance and bigotry, I know that I cannot. I have the power to prevent all this from happening, and if I did not, I would be little better than the Dark Lord himself.
"I may not be able to stay out of this conflict, so if I must fight, I will do so for my own beliefs."
"And what are those beliefs?" Morgan asked, though he no doubt had a good idea by now.
Harry paused, looking out the tall window once more. Trying to put one's beliefs in word was not the easiest thing to do.
"I am neither light nor dark," he said after a few moments. "Though you have probably realized that by now. If you feel the need to label me, then I suppose grey would be an apt description.
"The ministry will soon crumble, whether from Voldemort or lack of public support. From the ruins I will create an open system based on magical tolerance. Purity of blood or nature of origin will matter not. Every person capable will be given an opportunity, and all will have the chance to rectify the mistakes of their ancestors."
Turning back to Morgan, emerald eyes met the ice green of the elder lord.
"I know what you are Charles Devlin Morgan, Lord of Morgan," Harry said. "And I know of another title that can be added to that, one which I will not speak of."
Absentmindedly registering the conspicuous look of surprise that flashed across Morgan's face, Harry continued his sales pitch.
"What I plan to do does not involve the Dark Lord only. Voldemort's destruction will not cure our world of it's ailments. My proposition will take time, and it will require allies in numerous places. But when all is finished, the magical world will benefit greatly. And those who toiled in the name of tolerance and change will be rewarded for their efforts.
"I am asking for your help Lord Morgan," he said. "And your help I need."
Silence reigned after Harry finished, the soft ticking of a grandfather clock the only sound being made. It was not a decision to be taken lightly, and Harry would offer the elder lord what time was needed.
Long fingers clandestinely made their way to his holly wand just in case, ready to be called upon if required. Harry would not have approached Morgan if he was overly doubtful, but misjudgment was not something he was unfamiliar with.
If Morgan denied Harry's offer, the elder lord would not walk away with memory of this meeting. Hopefully, he would not have to resort to such tactics.
Still, being prepared never hurt anyone.
"All right," Morgan said after a long minute. "I'm in."
Long, spidery fingers twirled a yew wand as the Dark Lord Voldemort sat upon his throne. Blood red eyes bored into the white masks of the Inner Circle, causing several of his Death Eaters to squirm involuntarily.
A malicious sneer spread across his serpentine face as he studied the robed figures before him.
His Inner Circle had been depleted to less than ten, due to the others pathetic display at the Department of Mysteries. Less than ten, with Snape and Travers the only ones with a any amount of tactical intelligence among them.
Voldemort had come to rely heavily upon Bellatrix Lestrange, and her untimely death forced him to postpone many of his plans. Azkaban had become the Dark Lord's highest priority, the retrieval of his captured servants of the utmost importance.
As things stood now, Voldemort would have to lead the raid himself. Something which he did not particularly look forward to, as just recently had he recovered from the events at the ministry. His duel with the muggle -loving fool had left him tired; his attempts at possessing young Potter, near death.
Grudgingly, Lord Voldemort admitted to having underestimated the boy once more.
His vast magical reserves had been nearly depleted after the brat pushed him out and reversed the possession process. For a week afterward he had been incapacitated, and had spent the last two regaining his strength.
Which was the sole reason he had not attacked Azkaban already. Without the presence of the few thousand Dementors that were previously stationed there, it was ripe for picking.
Ironic, was it not, that the moment he recovered from the ministry ordeal, another problem presented itself?
The death of Bellatrix had raised many questions, few of which had been answered. The most prominent being that of Tenaroe, and whether the lord had really returned. His spy within the Auror Department had been unsuccessful in finding information, which meant the ministry was as clueless as the wizarding public.
Voldemort had done his own investigations, just as he had done fifty years ago. If this person who claimed the Tenaroe name was truly legitimate, they would have the Slytherin blood flowing through their veins.
A powerful ally they could be, if approached carefully. Or a dangerous enemy, if given incentive.
He had dug deeply through the Hogwarts library as a child, in hope of discovering his own heritage. While he had never actually viewed the Slytherin family tree, it was rumored to exist still today, hidden in some obscure location.
According to legend, only the heir was capable of accessing it.
Long and hard he had searched though, and no clue had he ever found. He did know for fact that he was the last of his branch of the Slytherin line, and the Tenaroe side supposedly died out years before his birth.
And now one emerged claiming to be lord and heir? After one hundred and fifty years?
Of course, Voldemort reminded himself, stranger things had occurred where magic was involved.
Neither had Severus been able to obtain any information. Which was less than surprising, as Dumbledore had the tendency of keeping even his own people in the dark. The possibility that Snape had lied to the Dark Lord was not to be dismissed though, as Voldemort didn't trust completely the words that came from that serpent's tongue.
Well he knew the game said Potions Master was playing. Spies did not survive for long without keeping their options open, and Voldemort doubted if even Severus knew what side he was on.
It was a shame really, as the man was a genius when it came to brewing potions.
Ah well, the Dark Lord mused, on to business.
"Death Eaters," he hissed to the assembled, "there are plans to be made. Of the Azkaban variety."
Yes, Voldemort would lead the raid himself, as he had often done in the days of old. It would not be a mass breakout, the Dark Lord didn't have the manpower required for such an assault. Even without the Dementors, Azkaban was still a formidable island.
Only those recently captured would be broken out.
And one other.
Twelve in all, they would be rescuing, though only eleven were loyal to the cause. And as for the twelfth. . . . . . just punishment, it could be called. For one who had left the Dark Lord's service forever. He would be killed of course, just as Voldemort had sworn the night of his rebirth.
Lucius Malfoy, the Lestrange brothers, Dolohov, Crabbe, Nott, Jugson, Macnair, Avery, Rookwood, and Mulciber would all be returning to answer his mark.
And as for Norahdi. . . . . . . .that traitor would wish he had never been found all those years ago.
Harry apparated directly into the Black library that night, not wanting to deal with the headache that would inevitably come should he walk through the front door. He was well aware of the full blown Order meeting that was taking place in the basement kitchen, and had no wish to be interrogated before the entirety of it.
Which would no doubt happen should he be spotted right after walking in.
Walking over to the table situated in the corner, Harry pulled of his Wizengamot robe, leaving him in grey trousers and a black t-shirt.
He sighed in content as he sat down in a comfortable chair, relishing in the quiet that filled the room. He had taken refuge in the library often of late, finding peace among the countless books and ancient tomes.
They had a personality of their own.
His initial meeting with Charles Morgan had gone beyond well, and a second one was planned for the following Tuesday. The specific details of the proposed alliance would be discussed then, as Morgan would need time to compile his own list of names.
Unstrapping the holster on his left forearm, he took out his holly wand and placed it on the table before him.
"Winky!" Harry called out.
Said house elf came at his summons, appearing in the middle of the library with a small crack.
"Master Harry called Winky?" the small elf asked.
Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. At least 'Master Harry' was better than 'Master Harry Potter Sir!', which is what Dobby and Winky had been calling him for the previous week, much to Remus' amusement.
The werewolf seemed to get some twisted kick out of the unnatural admiration that Dobby showed the young lord. That may have been due to the fact that the elf practically worshiped him.
"A drink, if you would, Winky," Harry said, pinching the bridge of his noise.
The house elf disappeared with another pop, only to return moments later with a large glass and a bottle of firewhisky.
An elf after his own heart, Harry thought with amusement.
Thanking Winky, he poured the glass to the top and effectively knocked back half of the potent alcoholic concoction.
It was Remus, damn him, who had introduced Harry to the splendors of the wizarding liquor. And the headache it later gave when consumed to freely. It had begun the night after Sirius' will reading, as a simple toast to a father and brother, respectively.
Long story made short; the bottle was empty in under an hour, and Harry and Remus were in the entrance hall, taking potshots at the portrait of Mrs. Black. The werewolf, unbalanced due to the copious amount of alcohol, had taken out half the wall with an Avada Kedavra.
Something he surely wouldn't have used had he been sober.
Not one to be deterred, Harry had taken his own shot, hitting Sirius' mother in the mouth with the Unforgivable Killing Curse.
Needless to say, Dobby and Winky had been doing repair work to the wall the next day, while Harry and Remus slept in, each suffering the effects of a terrible hangover.
And to top it off, the elves, in hopes of teaching the two wizards a lesson, had taken away their wands and refused to make them a sobering potion.
Harry could have sworn he heard Buckbeak snickering at their misfortune, too.
Damn Hippogriff.
Finishing off the glass, he flicked his wand, and summoned a large tome from a nearby shelf. The book was old and disturbingly enough, blood stained, with a nasty little charm that would make sure it stayed out of inappropriate hands.
Meaning Dumbledore, or anyone else who wished to destroy it. For Harry's own protection, of course.
The Black family was well known for their prowess in the Dark Arts. Even Sirius was skilled in the area, though he never chose to exploit it. Harry had no qualms about doing so though, and made good use of the numerous books the Black library contained on the Dark and Forbidden Arts.
Opening the heavy tome, he flipped through the pages until he came to the spot where he left off that morning.
A detailed drawing showed a man getting hit in the eye with a dark red beam, the picture continuing to the next page where the eyeball exploded in a shower of blood and mucus. The Occular Reductor Curse was deemed illegal by the ministry, as it caused immense pain, and the damage could only be restored by a potion of dubious nature.
He would need to try it on Lucius, the next time he saw the elder blond.
The soft turning of pages was the only noise as Harry read, time slipping by as he memorized wand movements and incantations. Most of the curses he already knew, though a few of the more obscure ones caught his eye. Which went to show that not even Lord Voldemort had absolute knowledge when it came to a branch as diverse as the Dark Arts.
It was a sudden jolt from the Black ring that shook him from his study, and the near sleep state he had assumed. Looking down at the family signet, Harry frowned as a feeling of warmth radiated from the silver ring. Emerald eyes widened in realization, and he rushed from the library, all traces of exhaustion gone.
The portrait of Phineas Nigellus had explained to him some of the powers the Black ring held, and he knew the heirloom was warning him now.
One of the wards had been breached, and Harry knew of only one person who could do it.
There were times when Nymphadora Tonks cursed herself for joining the Order of the Phoenix. While most of the missions she was given were at least bearable, her current assignment was disgustingly low.
Even Mundungus would frown at the morals behind it.
Tonks knew well why she was given this task. As the daughter of a Black, and effectively a Black herself, she was the only Order member would could bypass the wards at number twelve Grimmauld Place.
When Remus said that Harry was not yet back from the Wizengamot session, Dumbledore had given the sign, and Tonks had slipped discreetly out of the kitchen. It would not due to be seen by Remus, who would certainly disagree with what they were doing.
And an angry werewolf was not to be taken lightly.
Tonks herself was not exactly pleased with her current task. She had better things to do than break into the bedroom of a sixteen year old boy, and search through his private belongings.
She wasn't going to say that to Dumbledore though, who had been most insistent in the matter. The Headmaster had told her to confiscate anything of 'improper influence' and to find the Black and Potter deed books while she was at it.
Tonks felt ratherbad at the unethical activity, but quickly suppressed those feelings. It was for Harry's own good.
Slowly pushing open the bedroom door, she slipped in and closedthe doorbehind her. Lighting the lamps with a flick of her wand, a fresh wave of guilt washed over her as she recognized the room Harry had taken as his own.
Sirius'.
Her cousin's belongings were still there, mixed with Harry's own possessions. She tightened her grip on the wand unknowingly, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.
There were a few shelves on the far wall, lined with ancient tomes written in some flowing language she couldn't decipher. The bed was situated in the corner, next to a large, ornately carved wardrobe. Opening the doors, she found it to be filled with expensive cloaks and stylish robes.
What else had she expected?
Releasing a breath she wasn't aware of holding, Tonks moved onto the trunk at the foot of the bed. For some reason, she feared what she might find among Harry Potter's things. She had come to think of him as a younger brother, and prayed she wouldn't come across anything of an implicating nature.
Dumbledore suspected the boy of something.
The trunk, oddly enough, was not of the standard Hogwarts issue. It wasn't the same one she had seen Harry using the summer before. It resembled Mad-Eye's in design, with several locks and keyholes leading to separate compartments. She was faintly surprised when a simple "Alohomora" didn't work, but pressed on.
Waving her wand in a complex pattern, she muttered a spell that was taughtat the Auror Academy.
The keyhole unlocked with a soft 'click', and she opened the first compartment. There were several money bags filled with gold, as well as an invisibility cloak and a powerful looking sneakoscope.
Tonks assumed the invisibility cloak was the one Remus had spoken of, and there was nothing wrong with the sneakoscope. Gods know that Mad-Eye had more than enough of them. The gold was a bit puzzling, but she quickly dismissed the thought.
Teenagers had the habit of being rather careless in their spending.
The second compartment was filled with numerous glass jars, the contents of which Tonks didn't wish to know. Several of them were filled with what appeared to be blood, while one held a clear substance that was labeled "Basilisk Venom". She had to look away when she saw a jar that contained a large, yellow orb that looked disturbingly like an eye.
She had no wish to lose her lunch.
Frowning warily at what she assumed was Harry's collection of potions ingredients, she went on to the third compartment.
An additional wave of guilt washed over her when she opened it, as the contents were more personal than those of theprevious compartments. There was a silvery invisibility cloak, which gave Tonks reason to frown as she had found one in the first compartment as well. Setting it aside, she picked up a thick envelope that had emerald green writing on the front.
She instantly recognized it as the school letter sent to children at the age of eleven, notifying them of their acceptance to Hogwarts. Tonks had gotten one of her own little more than a decade ago. She was rather puzzled as to why Harry had saved his though.
Putting it aside with the cloak, she pulled a handsome, leather bound album from the bottom of the trunk. The young Auror hesitated for a moment, but her curiosity got the better of her.
Flipping open the cover, her brow furrowed when she looked down upon the moving picture of a handsome, messy-haired man, and a beautiful, red-haired woman. Her remorse returned tenfold as she recognized James and Lily Potter, and recalled the stories Sirius had told of the young couple.
Squelching her guilt, she turned the pages with trembling hands, knowledge that she was in the wrong nagging at her mind. Coming to a picture of the Potters' wedding day, a lone tear threatened to fall when she saw Sirius. He was standing next to his best friend, his handsome face young, carefree, and full of laughter.
There was no hint of the approaching darkness that would doom them all, or of themurders that would rip their world apart.
So absorbed was Tonks in the photo album, that she never noticed the soft creak as the bedroom door was slowly pushed open. She did notice though, the wand that was soon pressed against her temple, and the cold voice that followed.
"Wotcher, Tonks."
Hah, Cliffy! Because I can.
I would like to thank all those who reviewed, but lets be reasonable. There was damn near a hundred of you. I promise you that the next update will not take as long. You can expect itwithin the nexttwo weeks. Things are kind of hectic now, lots of work and all that crap.
I was asked several questions by those who reviewed, and instead of answering each one, I decided to cover the most common.
Remus?
I think the werewolf has mixed views. He's a bit on the fence between Harry's wishes, and what he thinks is best for Harry. I see him more of a surrogate uncle, than the father figure that Sirius was. Not quite sure how much of a role he'll play.
Heir of Slytherin?
The fact that the Tenaroe family are descendants of Salazar Slytherin is not common knowledge. Some of the more knowledgeable wizards, like Flamel, Voldemort, Morgan, and Dumbledore, know of the connection, but not many others do.
Lord Morgan?
Charles Morgan will be an extremely important character. You'll learn more about him as the story goes on.
Nicolas Flamel?
I am unsure as to how 'involved' Flamel will be in the war. I do like the idea of him being a mentor to Harry, though, and he will have a large roll as well.
Romance?
A few reviewers have asked about a possible Harry/Daphne Greengrass ship. While I do think it would work wonderfully, I myself doubt if I could write it. At least not in this fic. Harry will stay single for now, though there is always hope if I do an epilogue.
Until next time, please review.
Dalyon, out.