!Suggested Recap! On August 2nd 1996, Harry James Potter is captured by the designated Auror team and taken into Ministry custody for questioning, after being missing for several years. It is not known how or why he left, if voluntarily. Where he's been or what he's been doing. He is examined and taken to Dumbledore for a private audience, while the Minister, seedy as ever, is in the third secret meeting of the month, fretting about the resurfacing of The Boy Who Lived. The meeting between Dumbledore and Harry goes smoothly, with questions flying about the room at an alarming rate, though most, if not all, are not answered. He is informed of the Prophecy, and as they speculate over the theft of the Pentagrams, the Minister heads to Knockturn Alley, and hands over a small yellow bag to a man with a thunderbolt tattoo sprawled across the side of his face, the man replying 'he will be dealt with'. Harry has his wand retuned to him before he retires to bed for a much needed rest. Dobby then makes a sudden appearance and returns a small twinkling necklace to Harry. The next day Harry awakes to find the Great Hall is under attack by tattooed men…
!To those of you who're confused! Please just read and enjoy it. If you try to make sense of everything I'm more than certain that this chapter will be more of a headache than an enjoyable read. Everything will be tied up and answered, just enjoy the ride!
!Note! I am well aware of Hogwarts: A History, and the rules that surround the school, and of the characters I have placed into the chapter. As always, there is a reason! Also I would like to point out (in reference to a message I have received, and a few reviews) that the sources by which my ideas are drawn come from numerous places, such as films, books, video games, television, and of course, my own little old brain!
!Author! Happy Fingers
The Boy Who Fled
Chapter 5: Recovery
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"-I think it's safe to say that where Harry's concerned, security is something of a misnomer, and as for dark wizards, magics and let us say, ambiguous actions, it is fair to mention the fact that he could well be working against us" Snape cut in sharply."
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The doors to the Great Hall burst open with such force that those who remained on their feet were subsequently knocked to the ground, the powerful wave of energy zooming past them and smashing all the remaining windows with a deafening crash. The shards of glass that flew through the air narrowly missed those that were still fighting, and spread the soft particles of summer sunshine around the hall in a sea of color. Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody all fell to the floor, their feet whipping out from beneath them as their bodies thumped painfully against the scorched cement, the vibrations rippling through their bones as the heat emanating from the blast skimmed their bodies rapidly towards those it was intended for. The three tattooed men had also not managed to throw off the force of the blast, and they too, had been forced to the floor, the static rushing over them and causing their short black hairs to stand on end. As a result of the particularly powerful energy wave, the doors hung pathetically on their damaged hinges, clanging against the concrete walls behind them, with the ever increasing threat of falling off completely.
Dumbledore, the first to recover, struggled to sit up, seeking out the source of the unusually powerful energy blast, while carefully brushing of the jagged pieces of window that had torn at his usually immaculate blue robes of and to the floor. Albus had studied magic extensively, some might say religiously, seeking out answers to questions most wouldn't even comprehend. However the magic that had just rushed past him was like nothing he'd ever felt before, and in his experience, most things that Dumbledore had never come across, were usually unpleasant, in a various number of horrible, horrible ways. However it didn't take long to find the source of the blast, who was incidentally standing in the centre of the doorway, crackling green energy swirling around his body and snapping loudly, as sparks flashed behind him menacingly.
Harry James Potter.
And he didn't look pleased.
The three tattooed men had recovered, immediately jumping to their feet with a complex, yet extremely precise manner, each doing so in unison. Harry was now striding towards them, his gaze scanning the bodies that littered the floor, and the three that were left standing. Throughout his years Harry had learnt that scanning the room for possible exits, casualties and any sign of anything that could help in a coming battle, was a vital skill, and Harry had adopted it with such intensity that to him, it was like breathing. A rough wind began to course through the air, rushing in through the smashed windows and swirling around the now severely damaged room, bringing leaves from the weakening trees outside.
A few feet away Lupin coughed and spluttered as he attempted to sit up, clutching onto the quivering hand of Albus Dumbledore. The cut on the side of his face was artificial, but still throbbed with pain as Lupin winced, trying to speak.
"Don't-!" he started, holding out a badly bleeding hand towards Harry.
Though he couldn't be heard, for the wind that was circling the room was harsh and loud, whistling around the room at such volume, that although Lupin and Dumbledore could see Harry was talking to the three men, they couldn't hear what they were saying. Something Dumbledore was not thoroughly pleased about.
"There you are…" one of them leered, his eyes glowing a fierce yellow, as the two men either side of him exchanged significant glances.
Harry didn't respond, instead, the energy waves seeping from him seemed to increase as the snapping sound grew louder, together with the speed of the wind rushing in and around the hall.
"I was beginning to think you weren't here" the man drawled, well aware that the two men behind him were now helping the final man to stand. Harry too seemed to be aware of this, yet he made no move to attack.
"So…have you told them yet?" he continued, smiling mischievously.
They all stood deathly still now, each of them waiting for the first move to be made. Harry adjusted his grip on his wand, red energy snapping out the end of it. He scanned the three men for any sign of weakness, anything he could use to his advantage.
Nothing.
"Get the others out of the Hall" Dumbledore said to the injured Lupin, his eyes no longer twinkling.
Lupin moved to argue, but Dumbledore met his eyes and Lupin knew that Dumbledore was not to be swayed. Yet that didn't stop Lupin from feeling a pang of anger. He, of all people, should stay with Harry. However there was no time to argue, as Dumbledore and Moody began to walk towards Harry and the men.
"Haha…you haven't have you…? Oh, what are they going to say when-?" the tattooed said sarcastically, his two comrades leering triumphantly.
But he couldn't finish, for the young man he was talking to suddenly disappeared from view with a wisp of black mist, and rapidly re-appeared silently behind them. With a complex swish of Harry's wand, the three men were forced into the air in separate directions. Two of them, hit the wall with a satisfying thump, each of them grunting in pain. The man in the middle, who seemed to be the leader, flew backwards towards the entrance of the Hall. He however landed squarely on his feet. Harry charged forward, while Albus and Moody split up to attack the other two.
A barrage of spells soon began to fly around the hall, the once green leaves that flew around the air sharply turning a crisp black, crumpling to the floor as black ash, and scorching flames. From the end of Harry's wand, a green whip was conjured, and was clasped around his assailant's ankle. Harry then tripped him up and flew him into the air, and proceeded to throw a deadly assortment of curses towards him as he fell to the floor.
Lupin was slowly levitating the bodies towards the entrance of the hall; however his injured stomach and head were obviously far more painful than he was letting on. The several bodies were now floating behind Lupin as he made his way out of the Hall, tripping and stumbling on the debris that covered it. The beads of sweat that were trickling down his forehead were now seeping into his cuts, making him fee, if it were possible, even worse than before. A blinding white flash filled the hall that caused its occupants to shield their eyes from the blinding brightness. As it slowly faded, the man Harry was dueling with dropped dead to the floor with a slump. However Harry did not linger over his triumph, and as he turned to run to the struggling Moody's aid, Lupin caught his eye. For the first time in 16 years Lupin had once again seen the shadow of his two best friends, and his heart gave another leap, and with one final stare towards the battle, left the Great Hall, his fallen comrades floating behind him.
As Harry reached his target Moody slumped to the floor, his leg giving way, as Harry flung a barrage of spells at the tattooed man. After ducking under a shot of energy, Harry finally managed to hit his target, a loud crackle, like a firecracker, filling the hall as his attackers eyes widened in shock at being hit squarely in the chest. Slowly he fell to the ground, momentarily disorientated. Harry took this chance and leapt forward towards him, grasping his head between his hands. And with a sickening snap, broke his neck, his lifeless body slumping to the floor.
Dumbledore watched with a mixture of shock, horror and awe as Harry ran towards him, ready to help him fight his assailant. The magic he was performing befuddled even Dumbledore and he had managed to defeat two of the attackers single handedly, a feat, even Dumbledore himself was having trouble achieving.
It was two on one now, and Dumbledore and Harry were fighting side by side against the final tattooed man. A barrage of spells, curses, and jinxes flew around the hall, with black wisps of mists appearing in the air as Harry disappeared and re-appeared. The two were exhausted, both physically and mentally, as they pushed to defeat the incredibly strong man. However as the two fought, they were both unaware that from the damaged entrance to the Hall, a Silver haired man was running towards them.
"Harry!" he bellowed, ducking under a golden burst of energy.
Harry who had just dodged a particularly powerful spell was momentarily distracted by the call of his name, and as a result, was knocked of his feet and sent flying through the air. Upon his landing he watched as his old friend and Dumbledore fought the final tattooed man, but soon enough the darkness claimed him, and he too, joined the several other unconscious bodies that littered the Great Hall…
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Harry awoke with such a start, that the small frail chair he was tied to clanged violently, struggling under the immense strain forced down upon it. It was dark, though the empty room had rebelliously grabbed hold of the light that was so obviously artificially cut off, and had created a sense of an eerie presence circling the air. The little rooms refusal to surrender this light to the control of whom owned it had allowed Harry the luxury of clearly identifying the Magi-Rope tied across his waist and legs. He was fully clothed (something he was thoroughly relieved to see) and while he would have liked to have been somewhere altogether different, this particular situation was not at all intimidating to Harry, who, on numerous occasions, had been tied down by Magi-Rope in a dark, dank room and questioned excessively, or on the off chance, tortured (though admittedly those instances were few and far between). Closing his eyes Harry reached out with his mind, probing his surroundings for any presence, human or not.
Nothing.
Harry sighed, his wand was nowhere near him, nor anyone else for that matter. There were no magical presences anywhere, or any ordinary ones, he was completely alone.
Wherever he was, it was most certainly cut off, something that would make Harry's escape far more complex than usual, and so, he strained his ears, hoping that they, unlike his sight, would provide perhaps more of an insight into where he was or how he could escape.
The irritating continual dripping sound that echoed around the room, and presumably the corridor outside it, was soon overshadowed by that of approaching footsteps. Three people to be exact, accompanied by sharp, murmured mutterings and rather audible scoffing at whatever was being said. Harry gave a hopeful tug to the rope tightly wound around his wrists in the vain hope that some imbecile had somehow tied it incorrectly. But even as it twitched uncomfortably against his cold skin he knew that, unlike in a Muggle film or book, there was no such imbecile in real life, and especially not when it came to being tied to a chair with no memory of how or when he arrived there.
The memory of the fight at the Great Hall had suddenly filled his mind, as if some flood gates had opened and the situation had dawned on him.
Had they lost?
The arrival of his old friend, comrade and part-time mentor had surprised Harry to say the least. For his last sighting of the silver haired vampire had been in Romania, and due to the chaos that had ensued upon that particular meeting, Harry had sincerely doubted he would ever see him again. His chest tightened as the recollection of being hit squarely in the chest filled his mind in conjunction with the throbbing thumps that had begun at the back of his skull.
A sharp click filled whistled through the room as a rush of cold air began to flow into the little box, causing Harry's hairs to stand on end. With another click the wind fell, and was replaced by the rather worrying noise of heavy, raspy breathing. Harry's heart began to thump, true, he had been in worse situations than this, yet something felt off. Wrong somehow. He didn't have his wand, his friends weren't with him, and he sincerely doubted he'd be this unprepared if he was on an assignment. Harry forced himself to relax, as his mind stretched out towards the person behind him, however all he met was a wall of blackness, yet as he sensed the presence of two other people in the room he still could not penetrate their minds.
Were they Human?
Since his training in Tibet, Harry had only met a handful of people who could shield themselves from his Legilimency, and his technique was something of legend throughout the Tibetan hills.
One of the men walked around Harry and stood in front of him, watching him with a look of disgust. After a while, Harry brought his gaze to meet the suited man, and couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the pitiful performance the man was providing. To most people, the man that stood before him was like a rock, a cold hard wall of nothing. But to Harry he was a nervous wreck, employed by someone to look strong, and if they were lucky, intimidating. Yet Harry could clearly see the small twitch that flicked gently beneath his left ear and through guesswork alone could tell that beneath his polished black shoes lay ten quivering toes, itching to leave the company of the young prisoner that was tied up in front of them.
"Are you Harry James Potter?" The man asked, careful to maintain his aggressive manner.
Harry said nothing, choosing to stare at the man with a frown.
"Are you Harry James Potter?" he asked again, watching him.
This process went on for several minutes, and even Harry, who had liked to think of himself as somewhat patient was now tired, the slither of amusement that had tickled within him now wearing dangerously thin. Yet the man continued, and as he was halfway through his 47th time of saying
"Are you Harry James Potter?" he was interrupted by another click of the door.
Harry strained his ears to listen to the murmurs that were being exchanged before a blinding white pain seared at the back of his head. Harry bit down on his lip hard to stop him from yelling, and forced the large purple dots in his vision to dispel themselves. The Magi-Rope tied around him snapped and crackled in reaction to the magics bursting from Harry's body, yet they held still. The person that came to stand before Harry this time was someone altogether different than the terrified man before.
For starters she was a woman, secondly she wasn't even in the least bit frightened of the sixteen year old, and thirdly her name was Frelua Pimmelfry, private nurse of Rufus Scrimgeour and professional interrogator for the Minister's inquisitorial squad. Harry scowled at the woman he had seen only a couple of days ago and couldn't help but feel the tingle in his spine at the thought of what was undoubtedly coming.
"Hello again" she whistled coyly, shaking the black briefcase she was holding slightly, as if to welcome any guesses as to what was inside it.
"Rufus not brave enough to come himself?" Harry asked, the aggression rolling of his tongue in such force that Harry could've sworn the two guards behind him had shuffled backwards.
Pimmelfry laughed, her high pitched shrieks ringing through Harry's ears, she withdrew her long black wand and with a flick conjured a seat. She then opened her briefcase which sprung open and forged into a wide, white table, and atop it were several ambiguous silver objects that seemed to cause an endless amount of happiness to sprout within the rather psychedelic woman. With another flick, the t-shirt Harry was wearing ripped open, revealing his muscled, scarred chest. Harry forced himself not to move or even struggle, and instead watched the nurse, awaiting his answer. Pimmelfry sat down in her chair, and picked up one of the silver objects that looked something like scissors, and twiddled them in her hands, with a fondness one would resemble with a pet of some sort. Her eyes scanned the boy's naked chest and she sighed deeply, while a small thin smile crept along her face.
"The Minister will not be joining us no, though he sends his regards" Pimmeflry answered smiling while cocking her head to one side.
"Now Mr Potter I'm sure you'll understand why we're all here. The process will be over in a few painful moments. You broke the deal, and as I'm sure you're aware, the Minister cannot afford for you to be informing the Order of your…past…with him. And so, I will be removing your memories manually. Something I pride myself in performing both efficiently and accurately. Though I won't lie. It will be painful."
Harry scowled at the woman as another bound of energy crackled of the Magi-Rope.
"You think I'll forget Azkaban?" Harry sneered, one eyebrow raised so high, that it rivaled the more than obvious fake ones drawn across the ugly woman's face.
Harry's skin instinctively tensed as he prepared himself, this was something he would have to repay the Minister for…again.
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Albus Dumbledore strode down the hallway towards the polished black door at the end at such speed, that the blue robe that was bellowing behind him struggled to keep up, flapping back and forth. Upon waking up at St Mungo's he was relieved to hear the Minister informing him that they had Harry Potter, and he was safe and well. As he approached the guarded door, the two men that stood there both held out their hands.
"I'm sorry sir, but you can't enter just now"
Dumbledore smiled at the man, though a soft chill was emanating from him. The two men flinched slightly as Dumbledore brought one hand up to stroke his majestic beard, the shiny blue material glimmering in the harsh light of the hospital.
"I'm sorry, why would that be?" he asked politely, gazing intently at the guard that had spoken.
"He's being questioned, over the attack" the man replied, briskly, as if he knew full well that Dumbledore would not have liked his answer.
Dumbledore nodded slowly. True they had definitely come for Harry, but it seemed very unlikely they were working together. Harry had fought side by side with the Order, he had killed two of the attackers.
"So this is a formal interview I presume? May I remind you he is sill a minor, whatever he may tell you. Is there someone there to defend Harry's interests?" Dumbledore asked, smiling as ever.
"Err…w-well…err…no sir…" the other guard stumbled, glancing at his counterpart, hoping for some sort of support. He had none.e had none.He
"Well then, I shall assume the role for the time being then. Excuse me" and without another glance pushed past the guards and into the room.
In the centre of the room lay a large white bed, and its occupant lay angrily glaring at the two ministry officials that sat at the end of his bed. Each of them looked up at Dumbledore's sudden entrance. Harry displayed no emotion other than exasperation, the young woman with a clipboard looked like a Hare caught in headlights and the other woman, looked (for politeness, let's just say) extremely annoyed.
Dolores Umbridge knew full well that the interview was over, and she abruptly rose from her chair, not bothering to pick up her quill that fell to the floor.
"Dolores" Dumbledore sighed, though Harry could've sworn it was more of a grimace.
"Albus" Dolores drawled, and without another word, glance, or even the slightest sigh, walked straight past him and out the door, her frail little assistant whimpering in tow.
The door behind them slammed quickly, and the small square window beside it shook slightly.
Dumbledore smiled quickly before taking a seat beside Harry, smoothing down his blue robes, while staring towards the corner of the room.
"And how are we today?" he asked Harry, his eyes twinkling as he did so.
"I'm fine." Harry said abruptly, with a mere flick of glance in Dumbledore's direction.
His body was smothered by the thick white duvet, and his naked chest bore a large red mark in the centre.
"I assume the Ministry believes you are to blame for the attack this morning" Dumbledore asked, easing his blackened hand back into his sleeve, and hoisting his spectacles farther up his crooked nose.
Harry nodded, smiling as his eyes flicked to the corner of the room and back.
"Hmm. Yes well, that's to be expected…Were you?" Dumbledore asked, watching Harry intently.
Harry was now out of bed and getting dressed, wincing in pain as he reached for his t-shirt.
"What? No, I wasn't" Harry said angrily.
"Yes I should think so. Though I'm afraid to say we may never find out who sent them." Dumbledore said solemnly.
"How'd you know they were sent?" Harry said, looking at Dumbledore with a frown.
"Come now Harry. I may be old but I'm certainly not a fool. And if my suspicions are correct, then the Kiminari at full strength is something that is far more important, not to mention dangerous, than who sent them"
Harry did not respond to this, instead he continued to search around for his final sock, though for the life of him he couldn't find it. After a while Dumbledore spoke again, though what he said caused Harry to laugh out loud.
"Are you going to let you're friend hide in the corner all day Harry?"
Harry smiled at Dumbledore and shook his head slightly; he knew Dumbledore was going to be well aware that his friend was in the corner, though to be fair, he had put up a good show of ignorance.
"Kayshaii, you can come out" he said, more with amusement than exasperation.
On cue, the silver haired vampire appeared in the corner of the room, pulling the invisibility cloak from his head, while watching Dumbledore as if he were a large steak.
"Hello again" Dumbledore smiled at him, though he had not risen from his seat.
Kayshaii nodded back, without a word.
"I assume you're well aware that if anyone sees you here, you will be killed" Dumbledore said calmly, not looking at Harry who looked as if he was about to curse him.
"I'm not leaving. I have told you why I'm here, and I shall remain until my mission is complete" he finally said, his Romanian accent crisp and fresh.
"Well I suggest we all leave, I can take you to the Order's Headquaters, you'll be safe there" Dumbledore answered.
Harry watched Dumbledore for a moment, as if contemplating what to do.
"Fine" Harry nodded to Dumbledore.
"Kayshaii we're done-" Harry said firmly but was interrupted.
"I will not leave until my mission is complete, I will watch you from afar, if it is what you want" he finished.
"I want you to go back to the Suveran, I don't need you here" Harry said, ignoring the fascinated look upon Dumbledore's face.
"I have told you my plans Master Potter, there is no space for disagreement"
Eveidently the conversation was over as he put the cloak on, disappearing.
"Then we shall leave" Dumbledore said finally, and the three walked out of St Mungo's, each of them ready for another attack.
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Albus Dumbledore's office had seen many a things in its lifetime, being the Headmasters office, it had the privileges of witnessing secret discussions between the Headmaster of the time and any number of his or her associates. It was lucky enough to feel the benefits of the roaring fire and the soothing cry of the Pheonix that resided there, and had the good fortune to watch as an endless supply of guilty students that were forced to sit opposite the large oak desk and pay penance for their wrong doing. And sometimes, although rarely, it was even given the right to bear witness to discussions, which not even members of the Order were aware of.
Today, was one such occasion.
The Battle at the Great Hall was now public knowledge, though for safety, there was no mention of three tattooed assassins or the fact that Harry Potter had taken part, and fought with (what was presumed to be) illegal magic and had talked to them for a minute at least. Several members of the Order were being treated for severe wounds while two others remained in what the Healers called, 'a comatosed state'. Argus Filch and Minerva McGonagall had still not woken up, or shown any signs of life, despite the fact that 1 Muggle Doctor, 4 Healers, and an Iranian Herbalist all had agreed that while they were most definitely still alive, though they could see no possible explanation for their medical condition, and as Dumbledore was not yet willing to divulge any information that it may have indeed been the Kiminari, they still lay at the Hospital.
Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody and Severus Snape were all stood in the small office, each contemplating the sea of questions that were floating around them. Snape, who was lucky enough to be on an assignment for the Order when Hogwarts was under attack, was the only one in the room who did not display any battle scars, and as such, was the only one able enough to pace the office back and forth.
"He was Apparating Proffessor, there seems to be no doubt about that, though that does not dispel the fact that he was talking to them, which I think is something we should address" the potions master drawled, his hands folded behind his back.
Dumbledore contemplated this for a moment, nodding slightly. His blackened hand lay limp on the desk in front of him, while his other hand, tapped gently against his armrest.
"Yes but how…the security in place shouldn't allow that, an just cus he was talking to em doesn't mea-" Moody said loudly, waving his wooden stick around as if he'd had too much to drink.
"-I think it's safe to say that where Harry's concerned, security is something of a misnomer, and as for dark wizards, magics and let us say, ambiguous actions, it is fair to mention the fact that he could well be working against us" Snape cut in sharply.
Severus and Moody had both made a fuss of the fact that despite the endless amount of security measures place around the school Harry was able to Apparate. If you could call it that.
Lupin however, had stayed quiet, staring into the fire, allowing the warm blanket of heat to brush across his pale face, casing it to flush a pleasant pink. Dumbledore, who had been well aware of this, turned his attention towards the man.
"Remus, what are you're thoughts on the matter" he asked softly, well aware that the man held with him an extraordinary amount of guilt over the mornings events.
The Werewolf breathed in deeply, and let out a long slow sigh, as if on the off chance, the heavy guilt residing within him may fall out. Lupin had been delighted to hear of Harry's discovery. He was his last contact to his parents, and felt a sense of duty towards the boy. That morning, Lupin had been a nervous wreck, waiting for Harry to enter the Great Hall, preparing himself to see James' and Lily's' son. Yet the attack had spoiled everything, and had, in more ways than one, created far more questions to pile up on the already increasing list.
"I think we should worry less about Harry and more about the Vampire" he said finally, his body deathly still.
The three men listening each exchanged glances that were immediately understandable. It was well known that Lupin had a particular dislike of their race, especially so when one is 'guarding' the Boy Who Lived. Lupin had not reacted well to Dumbledore informing them of the Romanian Vampire's presence, yet, all of them, spare Lupin, had accepted this snippet of information and moved on. Lupin however, found the prospect of a vampire to be somewhat confusing, not to mention dangerous.
"He seems to be no threat as of yet" Dumbledore replied, careful to keep his voice even.
"And the Kiminari. What're we gonna do bout them?" Moody said, obviously the Vampire held no significance with the famous Auror, and he had been pushing Dmbledore for any information on them since the attack.
The crackles of the fire filled the room, as each the men pondered for a few moments, however it was Snape that spoke first.
"I think that Mr Potter holds the key to that particular pathway, don't you agree? We need to find out where he's been, what he's been doing and how he has learnt the magic he was performing. Only then may we get some answers as to why the Kiminari are here. If it is really them at all." Snape said definitively, his gaze resting finally on Dumbledore for approval.
"I agree, they were there for Harry, that much seems clear." Dumbledore replied slowly.
As the crackles of the fire once again rose up through the lingering silence, each of the men within the office returned to their thoughts.
Each held their own questions, and some held answers, though as always with war, secrets have to be kept, for some secrets are not yet ready to be heard…
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Tom Marvelo Riddle was as relaxed as any Dark Lord could be. So far, it seemed no one was aware that the Queen was under his control, and it would be several days before the world would find out that the Muggle Prime Minister was indeed dead, not as it had been reported, on a secret holiday with his family (which incidentally, had confirmed the Wizarding assumption that Muggles were indeed the most gullible of all races) The Order of the Pheonix had not discovered the spies that were among them, and as far as he was aware, they had no idea what Harry Potter's sudden re-appearance meant.
To some, Voldemort laughing was something to steer clear from, for it usually meant someone was in pain. These select few, known as Death Eaters, were incredibly sensitive towards their master, and so, as the haunting laugh echoed around the small room, the three men crept backwards slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. For the three men were well aware that each of them were potentially on the verge of being the centre of their masters attention.
Something that was most definitely not a good thing.
"You've all done well. Wormtail, get back to the boy, and keep your filthy little nose clean" Voldmeort hissed, his snake like eyes glaring at the little man venomously.
"And you-" he hissed, turning his attention on the hooded figure that stood there.
"Do nothing. We shall wait, patience is a virtue…" He leered.
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Number 9 Grimmauld Place had been the centre of operations for the Order of the Pheonix for the past six years. Its walls, ceilings, and numerous (painfully loud) paintings could tell a lifetime of tales as to the happenings inside the grim looking habitat. Though the ancient building actually belonged to Sirius Black, a known Death Eater, the Order had been offered the house the instant Voldemort's return was suspected. The kind fellow that had performed this generous deed had not shown himself, and Dumbledore doubted he ever would. For all they received was a letter, though this was no ordinary letter.
Harry Potter was well aware of the Incorruptus Parchment, for he had made a few of them himself, he was also aware that Number 9 Grimmauld Place was the Order's Headquaters because, unbeknownst to most, he had been there twice before. Yet as Dumbledore explained that they were given the house by an unknown entity, Harry began to worry.
Something didn't make sense, despite the obvious reasons...
Sirius Black, a Death Eater, owned the property. That much was certain. Though Harry was positive Sirius Black would definitely not give up his house to his sworn enemies, and through magical contracts, no one else could, but him. This was problem number one. Secondly, though only Harry seemed to catch onto this, the Incorruptus needed the approval of the Elf. To most this would only mean one Elves, to the informed it meant the race as a whole. The Incorruptus could only be performed if no elf, anywhere in the entire world, would oppose it. This might seem trivial, yet it is the rules of their kind, and it is abided by rigidly. And there was definitely one or two house Elves that would have a problem binding Sirius Black's promise.
For Harry had met them, and was even friends with one of them.
So, by magical law, only Sirius Black could offer up Grimmauld Place to the Order, yet Sirius Black would not be able to perform the Incorruptus Parchment ritual for at least two house Elves would protest.
So who had given them the Headquaters?
And why would Dumbledore be so trusting, did he know more than he was letting on?
So as Harry sat in the small bedroom on the top floor of Number 9 Grimmauld Place, he could not help but worry at the suspiciousness of the situation .There was more to this than meets the eye…
That night, Harry sat at the end of the fluffy bed, pondering the situation he was now in. He didn't feel safe, the house he was sat in (if you could call it that) was not safe.
Could it be a trap?
A way to lure him in?
Dumbledore couldn't possibly trust an unknown bit of parchment, that happened to claim that Voldemort wasn't watching, listening to their every move. He wasn't that stupid, was he?
The usual restlessness that bustled within Harry began, like clockwork, to rise within him, as the light outside began to fade, giving way to the evening. The Headache that had been troubling him since St Mungo's started to pound as Harry's thought's drifted to his friends. He missed them. He thought of Kayshaii, and smiled at the though of him.
From under the bed he pulled out his brown rucksack and tipped it out onto the bed, rummaging through the numerous items that now were in a muddled pile. He fondly picked up the small square bit of parchment. Though it was blank, Harry knew what was hidden within it. He had memorized it. He then examined the photo. In it was a small skinny, black haired boy. He had a thin lightening bolt tattoo across his pale forehead, and large baggy clothes that hung of him like a coat hanger. Next to him was an old man, with a disgustingly dirty white vest on. He was a large man, but looked jolly, draping an arm around the two young men either side of him. On the other side of the man was a blonde haired boy, tall, muscled and tanned. He looked proud, confident, everything the boy one the left was not. Harry's muscles tensed as he quickly put the picture back in his bag, along with the parchment.
The young Harry Potter in that photo looked nothing like the one sitting there now. The pale white skin had been traded for dark, battle torn skin. His skinny, frail physique had been swapped for a large, muscled one. And the messy, jet black hair was exchanged for spiky well kept hair, though the color was still (to Harry's dismay) still the same.
As Harry moved on to examine his Invisibility Cloak a small rustle at the door could be heard, Harry flicked his wand towards the door.
"I was wondering when you'd show you're ugly face" he snarled.
Over the past three days Harry had been angry numerous times, he had seen and talked to people he resented so much, he had vowed he would never give them the time of day. Yet the person that stood before him conjured up more hate, more feelings of betrayal, and anger than Harry had felt in a long time.
"Hello Harry" he said, smiling, carefully closing the door behind him.
He softly removed his cloak to reveal his freckled face and red hair, and couldn't help but smile at his old friend.
Harry had expected him to come, he knew he would. Though he hadn't seen him in nearly two years, he knew that Charlie Weasley still, after all this time, still felt guilty. Though Harry, ever the gentleman, would never accept his apology, he would die unforgiving, for that is what he deserved.
"What d'you want" Harry asked, putting his belongings back into his rucksack, as though they, not Charlie, had betrayed him.
Charlie inched forward, wand ready in his hand.
"Look. Harry, you have every right to be angry with me-" Charlie started.
"-Damn right I do" Harry cut in
"-but I just came to tell you…to tell you that I'm sorry. For everything. I don't expect you to forgive me for what happened. Hell, I don't even forgive myself. What happened in Siberia shouldn't have happened, to anyone. Least of all you, but you have to understand, I had no choice. If I didn't leave-" Charlie said, speaking fast, so as to not let Harry cut in. He failed.
"-You had a choice Charlie." Harry said through gritted teeth.
"Harry, if I didn't go, the Association would've!-"
"-No! No Charlie you don't get to play the victim card!" Harry was now standing from his bed facing Charlie.
"You weren't the one left there. What about you're friends? Me, Dobby, Luca, Sophie! You left without a second glance. Sophie's dead, and it's because of you!" Harry was now shouting, restraining himself from killing Charlie right there and then.
Charlie just stood shaking his head, his eyes flushed with water.
"I-I don't-" he started.
Harry strode towards him, so their faces were mere inches apart and snarled
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand"
The two were in silence, staring at each other. One with sorrow and guilt, and the other with seething anger.
"I came to tell you how sorry I am, and to give you this" Charlie handed him a square blank bit of parchment.
"They've made some amendments, Rienna's your contact now, she'll see you tomorrow at twelve." And with that he Dissaparated, leaving Harry in the empty room.
Warding his room, he moved to the bed and performed the usual ritual to read the parchment. His heart thumping with anger, and (though he didn't like to admit it) grief
xxxxxxxxx
Darkness is something some are afraid of, especially when accompanied by the weird and wonderful sounds that mingle within it. It dumfounds Muggles and Wizards alike with it's ability to make sounds seem far louder than they actually are, and provides an endless amount of material for tales and ghost stories to a plethora of young children, who have not yet discovered why darkness is indeed something to be scared of.
Auror Kingsley Shacklebot was someone who was most definitely not scared of the dark. Though he was certainly aware that it was to be respected, he had seen far too much blood and gore to find the prospect of darkness even remotely problematic. So as he crept through the narrow hallway of Number 4 Privet Drive, he gave no concern to the darkness that had engulfed it, instead choosing to concentrate his attention towards the undeniable stench of blood that floated unpleasantly in the air. His wand light probed through the thick blanket of black that stood defiantly before him as he ventured further down the hall to the Dursleys' kitchen, the floor beneath him creaking with each step.
The front door swung slightly in the evening air, as two of his colleagues stood watch, each of them ready to defend or attack, depending on which of the most undesirable situations occurred.
Shacklebot stopped in his tracks as the faint sound of whimpering could be heard from ahead of him, he swiftly pointed his wand towards the sound and was stunned to see a woman. She sat rocking back and forth, her hands clutched around her shacking legs. Her tattered clothes were drenched in blood and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. Although Kingsley had never met the woman, he knew from the moment he set eyes on her who she was, and his stomach performed a brief summersault...
Petunia Dursley could hardly speak, except for the small whimpering sound that escaped her lips rhythmically, in time with her rocking body. Her eyes were fastened on the body that lay before her, and although the sight of it made her heart thump and body to scream in emotional despair she could not take her eyes of him, for if she did, that would be letting go. And letting go was something Petunia Dursley was not prepared to do.
As Shacklebot checked the small boy that lay spread eagled on the floor for life he carefully closed his open eyes, trying valiantly to shrug off the terrified look that was sprawled across his pudgy face. The husband was nowhere to be seen, and Shacklebot could waste no time in reporting this to the Minister. Slowly he turned towards the shuddering Petunia and lowered his gaze to her watering eyes.
Shacklebot had never been one for the 'touchy feely' approach, yet even as he asked the grieving mother who had murdered her son, he knew that no amount of sympathy or empathy could ease the pain and searing anger as she answered
"H-Harry…Harry P-Potter"
Okay I just had to put this out there because It took so long, thank you for sticking by me, I know this was a pain, but don't worry. Won't happen again! I'll edit any mistakes in the next few days!