The Boy Who Fled Chapter 2: The Past and Partial Revelations, a harry potter fanfic

!Warnings! There will be spoilers for all six books, so if you haven't read them yet, which, I sincerely doubt, don't read on! (I'd hate to spoil it for ya!)

!Desperate Plee! If anyone is interested in Beta-ing this story for me please feel free to send me an E-Mail, oooooh and also, please review!

!Suggested Recap! Harry Potter was found by the designated Auror search team in Diagon Alley after being missing for 6 years, he was brought into Ministry custody. He hasn't spoken a word since his capture and his wand has been taken from him. Anti-Apparition veils have been placed upon him in order to prevent escape. He is sixteen years old; placing the plot, into what would be the beginning of book 6, being the year of 1996…

!Author! Happy Fingers

The-Boy-Who-Fled

Chapter 2: The Past and Partial Revelations

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"Forgive me for being over-zealous Harry, and, by all means correct me if I'm wrong, but I would like to know why you were at Gaunt's Shack in the summer, and, if I might dare, ask why you would attack me-?"

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July 1994, Southern Spain – Tossa De Mar – 10:35 pm

The boy ran as fast as he could, his feet thumping painfully against the muddy forest floor. The small trickle of blood continued to travel slowly down the side of his face, and had (rather unpleasantly) begun to pool within his ear, causing him to feel positively nauseous. The violent shouts that traveled through the evening air weaved in and out of the trees, successfully infiltrating the boys head and fulfilling their purpose of causing his hairs to stand on end, and heart to thump faster than he ever thought possible.

They were close...

He couldn't help it, that infuriating need to cast a look over his shoulder had conquered him, and the moment he did it, he immediately cursed himself. The small group of men were running after him with frightening speed. Their angry faces illuminated against the black evening air by the flaming torches held high above their heads. Various assortments of curses, jinxes and hexes flew past the boy as he ran through the woods. The deep cut on his arm still searing from the dagger he was slashed with. They were deep in the forest, the bushes that sped past littered with large tropical flowers, and several foreign-looking animals that squawked in protest of being disturbed.

The thumps of the men's footsteps were growing closer and closer, despite the fact he was running as fast as he could manage, and the boy could clearly distinguish several voices, voices he was unfortunately far too familiar with.

Lucius Malfoy

Sirius Black

And Severus Snape

The usual mob…

He continued to run as fast as he could, ducking as brightly colored sparks flew overhead, and erupted, like confetti, against a particularly large tree trunk ahead. They were so deep in the forest now, that the nearby town of Tossa De Mar could no longer be seen or heard, despite the annual parade that was being celebrated, and the soft and gentle sea air was replaced by the humid, heavy blanket of heat that the forest had captured and retained as prisoner. The natural evening light soon began to deepen to the shade of darkness that would cause even the bravest of men to quiver in fear, and in doing so had hindered the boy's escape attempt to no ends. They seemed to be going uphill, as the forest steadily became denser and the path begun to slowly dwindle away to a small, barely visible patch of dead, trodden grass, and the icy-glare of the moon was eclipsed by the canvas of the trees above, that seemed, although most unlikely, to be closing in around the exhausted boy. He was loosing energy and fast, he knew he would have to stop soon, which considering his current situation could be considered fatal at best. They would have no trouble killing him, they'd got what they wanted from him, and he was expendable.

As the faint forest path twisted around a sharp bend, the young boy dived head-first into the undergrowth and ripped through the dense bush, mustering all the energy he had left. Tearing through the undergrowth he hopped and jumped over the roots and tree trunks, not daring to check if the men were following, and eventually stopped, crouching down as low as he could, panting and sweating.

He couldn't run anymore.

He ripped the sleeve of his sweat-drenched t-shirt, and wrapped it tightly around his slashed wrist, the fabric immediately turning a dark red, as the blood steadily seeped out. His forehead stung slightly from the beads of dried on sweat that were stuck there, and his drenched t-shirt clung to him uncomfortably.

The forest soon became quiet, and the boy struggled to gain control over his shaking legs, trying to hold them still as they twitched against a nearby bush. The men had stopped, and were now desperately peering into the woods, hissing and whispering to each other with sharp, short bursts of frustration. The boy held his breath, the men had seen him dive into the trees; they knew he was there…somewhere.

The boy crouched lower, striving to obtain the oxygen his lungs were craving for, and hoping the darkness would provide the cover he so desperately needed. In silence he started to mouth the ancient veiling charm, praying to god it would work. He couldn't be caught again; he doubted they'd allow him to break free twice. The muscles in his jaw were aching and cramped, and weren't helping in the boy's efforts to remember the incredibly complex ancient Sumerian charm he was taught so many years ago, as the images of the knife, slowly ripping against his skin, bore into his mind. His heart, once again, dropped to his stomach, as he remembered the shattered remains of his wand, which lay abysmally shattered in his back pocket.

The men spread out, using their torches to pierce the darkness, they were getting desperate.

Two of them however, hadn't moved a muscle and stood still, breathing heavily.

"We've lost him Severus" panted one of them, clutching his stomach tightly.

His face was a harsh red and his mouth twitched slightly as he stared through the woods, straight through the darkness, the hints of resentment carefully concealed beneath his exhausted exterior.

Beside him, Severus Snape's body visibly tensed, he understood what the man was saying, in fact, he expected it. The plan was bound to have hiccoughs, this was just a minor setback, or so he reassured himself. His dark, black orbs for eyes bulged venomously as he whirled around to face the man, his lips trembling.

"Get the others, we're done…" Snape snarled, as small sparks flew out the end of his tightly gripped wand.

He knew he'd lost him, and he knew he'd have to pay for it…

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Present Day – August 2nd1996

Dumbledore was not used to being nervous, in fact, the only recollection of the peculiar feeling was when he attended a rather strange Muggle sporting event, and, from that point onwards had decided it was best to disregard that particular feeling, and anything associated with it. For it fulfilled no other purpose than to cause his nose to sweat excessively.

And so, as he sat at his desk, he was understandably surprised at the fact his half-moon spectacles had an unending desire to slide off his crooked nose, and decided (half heartedly) that it was most likely down to the searing heat from the crackling fire, that lit up the usually darkened room.

However there were several reasons to cause Albus to feel nervous, not least, being the fact that his scheduled meeting with none other than Harry James Potter was about to commence in only a few moments.

Indeed, Dumbledore was apprehensive, to say the least, for he had no idea what to expect, if anything at all. Harry hadn't spoken a word to anyone since his…capture, and so Dumbledore wasn't quite sure how he would react to his arranged audience. With a final sip of his (excellently conjured) tea, he started to pile away the stacks upon stacks of paper that lay messily across the desk; leaving one final book resting neatly on the edge…he hadn't forgotten it. Oh no, behind every action lay a well defined purpose, well, it did with Dumbledore anyway. Dumbledore had read through the open book over a dozen times, each time his frown dropping to new levels.

The Pentagram

…A pentagram, according to Muggle literature, is traditionally a five-pointed star drawn with five straight strokes. The word pentagram comes from the Greek word πεντάγραμμον. However in 1866, the discovery of the Elementary Pentagrams by Sayshi Kabbilini abolished all myths and unfortunately produced a few new ones. The Elementary Pentagrams were described as a metallic five-pointed star with intricate, weaving designs. On the end of each point is a socket for a gem to be placed. Once the gem is socketed into the Pentagram, removing the gem ruins both it and the pentagram. Five gems can be socketed into the Pentagram at any one time, and it is presumed, that the gems must match the element to which it is being added to, those being, of course; Fire, Water, Thunder, and Air. However the Pentagrams are rumored to be extremely powerful, and as such, were given to…

It was ridiculous really, he'd never even spoken to him, he wasn't related to him, and yet he felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity, as though Harry and he shared a bond, a link. Albeit, the nature of it eluded him. Though, this was not terribly good news. For Dumbledore had felt like this only once before, and with only one other.

Tom Riddle.

More commonly known as Lord Voldemort.

His heart gave a small flutter as three sharp taps sounded from the door.

He was here…

"Enter" said Dumbledore, rising from his chair, while smoothing down his creased, crinkly blue robes.

The heavy oak door was slowly pushed open, and there in the doorway stood Harry James Potter, alive and well. Leaning on one hip, he stood examining the office from the safety of the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. His dark skin was lit up by the soft light of the dancing flames and Dumbledore could clearly make out his sparkling emerald-green eyes, causing a lump to rise to his throat, he'd seen those eyes before. He was tall, far more so than the aged-wizard expected, and well-built. Dumbledore didn't find it in the least bit surprising that that Nymphadora was terrified of him, for he did indeed seem to carry a rather, venomous, aura about him…

However he was still a child, no matter how he acted, and Dumbledore forced himself to remember it. The Headmaster chuckled inwardly it seemed he was as confident as James was, that was easy enough to see. And his well built physique and spiky jet black hair reflected his personality well (from what Dumbledore had heard) Not to mention the questions he conjured, just from his appearance alone.

Just as Dumbledore opened his (slight dry) mouth to speak, he was interrupted.

"Is that Flamel!" Harry asked suddenly, walking briskly over to Dumbledore's wall of portraits and squinting towards one particularly recent addition.

"Pardon me?" Dumbledore asked, dumbstruck.

"Flamel. Nicholas Flamel, is that him?" Harry asked peering at the portrait while tracing a finger over Nicholas' strangely large nose.

"Yes it is, though-" Dumbledore answered, his eyes involuntarily watering at the mention of his recently deceased old friend.

"Wow-" Harry gasped "Didn't think he'd age that quick, last time I saw him, he looked as young at me!" he laughed, shaking his head slightly.

Intrigued, he stood and walked over to stand behind Harry, his elegant robes sweeping behind him majestically.

Dumbledore could always tell when someone had traveled, not from skin tone, nor mannerisms, or that annoying habit a traveler usually picks up, of believing that everyone is interested in their stories, no, it was their voice. And Harry's voice was a traveled one. It contained accents, a mix of countries and dialects all softly rolled together.

"You've met Nicholas?" he asked smiling at the younger boy, hoisting his half-moon spectacles further up his nose, as he tucked his small white handkerchief inside his shiny, blue robes.

Harry turned to face Dumbledore, a small frown flicking across his features slightly before his face resumed back to its nonchalant expression.

"Yeah a couple of times-" he started "-He helped me out when this Balrock Spider was-" He laughed before stopping abruptly, lowering his gaze to the floor. He'd said too much. His body visibly tense, it appeared, the silent Harry was beginning to return

Dumbledore was pleased, he was speaking. He wasn't angry or uncooperative, he was how he expected him to be, although maybe with a few extra little quirks that Dumbledore couldn't have possibly foreseen. Such as his rather…extravagant, attire. His tattered jeans, torn white t-shirt and presumably, dragon-skin jacket seemed to add that little extra to further his fierce appearance, and successfully removed any trace of Englishness that had once lingered there. The Headmaster was desperate to keep the atmosphere light, friendly, he needed to.

Harry briskly walked past Dumbledore, purposely avoiding his piercing glare as he moved over to face the open fire, his skin basking in the searing heat that vibrated through the room. His eyes glistened against the golden flames and Dumbledore could clearly see his jaw tensing and releasing rhythmically.

"Anyways, haven't seen him since you got the stone" he finished with a sharpness that couldn't be concealed through his playful attitude, he stood watching the flames dancing merrily, envious of them, they hadn't a care in the world…

Harry smiled as he turned around, now facing Dumbledore with an accusatory glare.

"Mind you, that didn't turn out to well, did it?" he asked with one eyebrow raised, and his mouth smiling just slightly, just enough for Dumbledore to be well aware that he was being made fun of, or accused.

Though what he said was true, he had allowed Voldemort to obtain the Philosiphers Stone, heck, he even employed him as a teacher!

Either way, the boy was well aware of the wizarding world, perhaps too aware, and thus, was causing Dumbledore's mind to spin. The two stood in silence watching the other, each with unreadable expressions. Their blue and emerald-green eyes locked together for several moments, neither blinking nor moving a muscle. Indeed, Dumbledore was perplexed, to say the least. The boy was unreadable, as though with every expression there was something more, like an iceberg, the real meaning hidden deep beneath an icy exterior. Though he hadn't dared to probe his mind, even for a second, for he was well aware that even if he tried, he would most likely not succeed. Dumbledore could feel Harry's magical essence as soon as he entered the building. It was overwhelming, yet Dumbledore could not decide whether this was a good or bad thing.

Eventually Harry broke off his gaze and moved to pass Dumbledore, walking over to the over-cluttered desk. Harry examined the huge piles of Daily Prophet's that were squared neatly against the edge, and picked up the one on the top, folding it out to read the headline.

ELEMENTARY PENTAGRAMS MISSING!

Harry sighed and placed the paper back on the pile, shaking his head slightly, as his eyes flicked across to the open book that lay squarely against the opposite edge. The two suited men that stood either side of the Goblin in the photo below the title looked a tad disgruntled, each of them walking of in a huff. Dumbledore was now at his desk, and sat back in his comfortable armchair. He watched Harry carefully, bringing his interlocked hands to his lips.

"They still haven't found the culprit. Rather worrying really…" Dumbledore smiled, blue eyes twinkling.

Harry stood nodding, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do or where to go, the façade faltering, if only for a millisecond.

Harry chuckled "Yeah well, I wouldn't worry about it…"

Dumbledore leant forward in his chair, elbows resting against the desk.

"Why would you say that?" he asked.

"Because the Ministry are too stupid to do their homework…hardly anyone's interested in the Elementary Pentagrams anymore, not with Voldemort about…" Harry explained pacing back on forth in the office.

"There's only a handful of people who would have the interest or the power to control those Pentagrams" he finished, clicking his knuckles unpleasantly.

"And who might that be? Dare I ask?" Dumbledore said, frowning ever-so-slightly, he knew the answer, actually, he was sort of dreading it, and yet, by the look on the boy's face, Dumbledore knew.

The shields the boy was putting up around himself caused Dumbledore's hairs to stand on end; he was protecting himself, subconsciously or not.

"Whatever" he shrugged "I'm not really one for games Dumbledore…" Harry smiled, examining a book he had plucked from the slightly overbearing pile of them that lay messily by the entrance.

He was far more intelligent than he let on, he knew Dumbledore was fishing, and he was having none of it.

"Forgive me Harry, playing 'a game' wasn't my intention, I assure you. However I would sincerely like to know how on Earth you are aware of the Kiminari Ansatsusha?'' Dumbledore asked, with an accusatory glare in Harry direction.

Harry smiled at this, not looking at up from the (no doubt) enthralling book he was examining.

"Too long to explain…" he mumbled, switching his book for another on the shelf.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in intrigue, trying to gain control over the smile appearing on his aged-face. Harry glanced at him and rolled his eyes slightly.

Dumbledore was pleased, in a peculiar way. The atmosphere had remained…pleasant, if only just slightly.

The two soon resumed to a comfortable silence once again, pierced only by Fawkes squawking lazily from the comfort of his stand. Dumbledore was desperate to continue the conversation, Dumbledore had made the connection between the Kiminari and the missing Pentagrams, but as far as he was aware, the Kiminari were a 'forbidden topic' something a sixteen year old boy should no nothing about. However he sensed it was over; Harry wasn't going to tell him anything more.

At least, not anytime soon.

"Harry, I think it's important to know that you are not a prisoner here." Dumbledore said eventually.

"I'm here to be a friend, not an enemy"

Harry stopped his pacing, coughed, and smiled at him playfully.

"Is that right?" he nodded in mock understanding.

"Then tell me friend, why am I not allowed my wand?" The atmosphere had changed once again, back to hostile, and Harry was no longer laughing, his emerald green eyes glaring as another wave of energy emanated from him, it was cold, and the fire flickered slightly.

"Because I think we both know how dangerous that could be, don't you agree?" Dumbledore said calmly, looking suggestively at his shriveled, blackened hand.

Harry held his gaze, not blinking. His lips were sealed together tightly and the book in his hand quivered, just slightly, and then stopped abruptly.

Harry breathed heavily, carefully putting the dusty book back to its place. His back was towards him and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly.

"-Yes Harry I do know it was you, though I am curious as to your motive. Did you want the ring?" Dumbledore's face was no longer twinkling, he was serious. The atmosphere had shifted. The control had shifted.

Harry turned towards Dumbledore, watched him for a moment, and finally spoke, the playful attitude long gone, as was the pleasantness in his voice.

"You attacked me first" he finally said, and Dumbledore could feel the temperature around the boy dropping, if only by a few degrees. Fawkes was awake now, he could feel the tension and was ready to defend his master if need be. He was glaring at Harry, and squawked threateningly.

"Hmm. Indeed, and I apologize for it. I was not aware it was you at the time, I'm sure you can understand, your…might I say elegant, black robe was a tad misleading, as I'm positive was your intention" Dumbledore said softly.

This was not how he wanted this meeting to go. Not a tall. He was losing him, something he couldn't afford to do. For all the countless ways Dumbledore had imagined him, this was not one of them. He'd wanted to find out why he'd left, where he'd been, and now, he found himself allowing Harry to slip away, he was losing him.

Again.

"You destroyed it? The ring, is that what happened to your hand?" he asked, a frown creasing his handsome features.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his mind racing

Harry was most certainly far more intelligent than he was letting on, he had the cockiness of James and yet the fierceness of Lily, however there was something else.

Something dark, bitter about him.

Something unnerving.

"So if I'm not a prisoner here, when will you let me go?" Harry asked, now facing him, obviously the subject had (once again) changed.

He was still afraid, Dumbledore could tell. He wouldn't come near him, wouldn't sit and kept his distance. He was struggling to keep control. And still Dumbledore allowed the topic to be closed, he couldn't rush him. Yet this conversation was far from over, Harry had to know what was going on, it was Dumbledore's duty to tell him of the prophecy and Dumbledore was going too, he'd let his responsibility of protecting Harry to become overshadowed by fear once before, and he would never allow that to happen again. Ever.

"Harry, it's important you know all the facts…" Dumbledore started, and (to Harry's obvious dismay) conjured a pot of tea.

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Rufus Scrimgeour was considered brave by a few, even courageous. Yet as he stood at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, nothing about the man was remotely heroic. He stood, quivering and flinching at the slightest movement or sound, the wand that was gripped tightly in his hand shaking. To him Knockturn Alley was a place of nightmares, somewhere only lowlifes and criminals went, somewhere a Minister of Magic had no place in being. And so as he lowered his hood, neatly concealing his face, he began to walk down the alleyway, dodging anyone that happened to pass him.

He stopped short of the Cranky Tavern and waited, as instructed, outside. Soon enough, a small frail man stepped from the door, his wart-ridden nose shining from the grease that covered it. The Minister watched him as he beckoned and, hesitated for a moment before following him in. The short man was only a few feet shorter than Rufus himself (though to the Minister, everyone was shorter than him) and his curly blonde hair didn't seem to match his peculiar, rather greasy-looking appearance The room was dark, and had that sort of damp scent that immediately caused anyone to feel lethargic. Though it wasn't the damp or dark that caused the Minister to have second thoughts, no, it was something else. The room was a bar, filled to the brim with people, creatures and whatever else occupied the dark corners, of the room. Several of these were wearing black cloaks, rocking back and forth on their chairs, muttering under their breath. The Minister was lead through the bar, the cloaked men reciting apparently random numbers over and over. Eventually they reached their destination, a small door at the side of the bar. The greasy little man leered at the Minister and stood aside, pointing the way. The Minister nodded and pushed through the door, with a cautious look behind glance behind him. The door shut behind him and the Minister was enveloped in darkness, save for the small tea light that hovered in the air, at the centre of the room. The Minister jumped slightly as he saw the Asian-looking man that sat below it, crossed legged. The bald man's frighteningly large physique was silhouetted by the small yellow flickering flame above. His large black thunderbolt tattoo across the side of his face, clearly visible.

The Minister scurried before him, and offered a short bow of the head, groveling pitifully.

"H-Hello there…n-nice to meet you!" he chirped as sincerely as he could muster.

He had practiced this moment several times in the mirror; however no amount of preparation would've been enough for the nervous old man. He was not accustomed to secret meetings like these, at least, not with these people.

"Sit" hissed the man, he was foreign, perhaps Japanese, yet he didn't move a muscle, sitting perfectly still.

"Y-Yes certainly" Scrimgour stuttered, removing his hood in the process, after casting another cautious glance behind him. There was no one else in the room, apart from the strange lump that lay in the corner of the room. Rufus didn't like to think what it was, though somewhere in distance those numbers could be heard.

"Have you brought the gems?"

The Minister was now sat on the small square pillow opposite the man, his leg tapping rapidly.

"Y-Yes" the Minister stammered, producing a small little yellow bag, and handing it over to the man.

"Then our business is done. He will be dealt with" the man said, sharply.

The Minister nodded rapidly in understanding, doing his best to keep his gaze away from the rather intimidating tattoo that occasionally lit up with the flickers of the flame. He knew the meeting would be short, but surely not…

"Leave" the man hissed.

The Minister nodded one again, apparently, the only recognition his body would allow. Clearly terrified, he clambered to a stand, a begun walking towards the exit.

"A-And n-no one will find out. No one will know it was m-me?" The Minister asked desperately.

But his question wasn't answered, his head started to spin and he landed in a heap outside the entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

That was it, the deal was done.

Everything would go back to normal, as promised, or so he thought…

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