!Authors Note! OK, this is now a version I'm semi-happy with. As usual I'll re-edit chapters 5 – 9 when they're completed, so after Chapter 9, it'll be made much better, but I need to start on Chapter 7 now so…
!Second Note! If you like this then you should try reading The Soldiers of Eden by S.J Rafael, an amazingly original concept that has been displayed in a brilliant piece of fanfiction!
The Boy Who Fled
By Happy Fingers
Chapter 6: Memoirs of a Particular Wizard
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"It was obvious how he could be intimidating. Any agent for the Association held power, especially this one. He didn't like to gossip, nor hear it, but there were rumors flying around about this young man, rumors that caused the sweat under his arms to double in both odor and amount."
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Italy – Fuimicino Airport, May 1991
The stampeding crowd moved as one through the humid airport, with utter disregard for anyone unfortunate enough to have the need to head the opposite way. One of those was a young man, and he only growled through tightly gritted teeth as another bag whacked against his skinny left shoulder causing him to stumble back another few steps for the fifth time in the space of a minute. He was walking fast, some might say jogging, casting cautious glances behind him, checking for the suited men that had followed him since his arrival.
The loud ding of the airports' announcement system whistled through the crowd as Harry finally made it to the large main entrance, with a fleeting smile of triumph. The suited men were a few feet behind, struggling to weave in through the crowd as the much smaller boy could, and were now resorting to pushing and shoving the oblivious Muggles aside, desperate to keep an eye on their target.
As the sliding doors opened to allow his path to freedom, a wave of heat washed over him, he crossed over the busy road, dodging the hooting cars and the many, many people going about their holidays in a happy fashion. Once he'd got into the small cluster of tourist restaurants and cafes, Harry dived into a nearby alleyway, running past the boxes and bins on either side without looking back. His feet were sore, the shoes he had were worn and far too big for him, his backpack was shoved full off numerous things he thought he might need, and it was a good job too. He didn't have time to collect his suitcase when he arrived. The three men had been following him since Stansted Airport, and he knew he had to lose them on way or another, so, instead of retrieving his heavy suitcase he'd made a mad dash for the exit, he could find his suitcase later.
A sharp snap against a wall to his left told him the men were fast on his tail, and Harry instinctively held his hands over his head to protect himself for the sparks that were flying around the alley. Without stopping he continued to run, using the barrels, bins and boxes to block the path of his pursuers. However this turned out to be futile when he almost ran smack bang into a large brick wall, blocking his escape.
He was trapped.
The three men that were fast approaching ceased their fire, and stopped a few meters away from the breathless boy. One of them, presumably the leader smiled slily as he removed his sunglasses.
Harry knew he was trapped, there was no way out. He'd never be able to get what he came here for…
However any more thoughts of what he'd never achieve were immediately stifled as a young man Apparated in front of him. Well, Harry thought it was Apparating. Though from what he'd read, when a wizard Apparated there was no black mist and there was usually a large popping sound.
Before Harry could say anything, the blonde-haired boy grabbed him, and with a rush of wind and a peculiar sinking sensation in his chest he went from standing in the alley, to sitting on the floor in some small, square shaped room.
Harry jumped up defensively, not entirely sure whether he should thank the boy or run from him. Yet no matter what decision his brain had made, his body seemed to disagree, for he didn't move. Instead, he just stood, breathing heavily while watching the boy that was now closing the curtains that looked out on the street.
"Who are you?" Harry said eventually, when his lungs somehow found the oxygen to breath.
The blonde haired boy didn't turn around to answer Harry, but continued to peer out the closed curtains. He was wearing tattered rags that barely covered his bruised body. The state of his hair was no better than Harry's and his face had so much dirt on it, that Harry was sure that the boy standing before him really didn't look anything like his true self.
"Luca. Nice to meet you" he said, though Harry couldn't tell whether he was being rudely sarcastic, or sincerely polite.
Harry was confused to say the least, those men were after him, and they definitely weren't Muggles, nor working for the Ministry. Yet they didn't grab him on the plane, or at the Airport in England.
Why did they wait until now…?
"So-" Luca started, turning to face Harry "Do you wanna tell me why you've got the Association running after you?" he asked, smiling slightly, while maintaining a tight grip on his wand.
"I…I don't know, I got off the plane and I was supposed t-to meet somebody-" Harry started, unable to hide the nervousness in is voice. If this boy attacked him Harry could do nothing, the magic he could perform was basic to say the least, and without a wand, he was helpless.
"-Sophie. Yeah I know, they got her" he said grimly, rubbing his forehead, while examining his wand that was in his hand.
Harry took a moment to grasp what he'd just said.
Sophie…
"So…y-you know who I am?" Harry stuttered, because if he should run, now was the time…
"Yeah, I know who you are, and we'll still get your wand, we're just gonna have to lie low for a while…" Luca replied, glancing at the scar atop Harry's head, covered with sweat.
"Who are those people?" Harry asked, hoisting his bag further up his shoulder, trying to sound as manly as possible.
Either Luca didn't notice, or chose to ignore this odd display of masculinity as he resumed his inspection of the windows and the room they were standing in.
"The Association" Luca replied quickly, and from Harry's look of sheer confusion thought it best to say more "I guess the closest thing to them Muggle-wise is the Secret Service. Though the Association are far from serving king and country, if you get my drift…" Luca smiled, amused that The Boy Who Lived seemed to have no idea what was going on.
"A-Are they…evil?" Harry asked, embarrassed at not thinking of a better way to say it.
He clasped the only weapon he had, given to him before his departure from England. If he needed to use it, he would be ready…
"Maybe. Don't really know. Though there's a guy I know that thinks they work for the Ministry"
" The Ministry…them?" Harry asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.
"Yeah that's what I thought, though I wouldn't put it past them" Luca replied, raising one eyebrow, though, with all the dirt covering his face, it may have just been him smiling.
Harry was still not sure whether to trust the boy. Sophie had never mentioned anyone else knowing of his arrival…
As Luca dived away from the window, Harry grasped the weapon in his pocket, ready to fight the blonde haired boy.
Though Luca was not attacking Harry, Luca was pushing Harry to the ground. A flash of blue light tore through the air and filled the room, spraying the two boys in a sea of shattered glass, as Harry looked up he could see Luca mouthing something to him, it took him a while to realize that his hearing had been damaged from the blast.
"OUT THE BACK!" He was pointing to a small window at the back of the room.
The two boys scrambled to their feet and made their way to the smashed window, yet as Harry climbed through it he heard Luca yelp behind him. One of the suited men had grabbed him from behind and was carrying him backwards. Harry didn't move, contemplating whether he should just leave.
He couldn't get caught.
"GO!" Luca bellowed, fighting the large man's grip, with absolutely no chance of prying free.
Harry sighed and pulled out the small round ball in his pocket. He had no idea what it would do, all he knew was that he was told to use it if in trouble, and now was as good a time as any. Acting purely on instinct he threw the small blue ball to the floor, which landed neatly by the struggling pair. After a few seconds the ball erupted in a cloud of smoke, filling the room to the brim with a thick haze of grey. Without thinking Harry ran to Luca, whacked the suited man with his bag, and then dragged Luca to the window at the back of the room. As Luca climbed through it, Harry followed, narrowly escaping the fireball that was sent in his direction from the angry agents of the Association...
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July 1994, Tossa Del Mar, Spain – 6:25pm
The cackles of numerous Death Eaters was a sound that seemed far more frightening than even they were aware, yet Harry displayed no signs of fear, he was not about to give them the satisfaction. His naked body was tied to the wall, his legs and hands spread apart and fastened tightly by crackling magical energy. From what Harry could see through the thick stream of blood flowing over his left eye, the Death Eaters were laughing at the body that lay bloodied on the floor in front of Harry.
It was a woman, her name was Christina Black, a Muggle reporter who had taken a special interest in Harry. She had been investigating the boy for 2 years, following him everywhere he went, photographing him whenever she got the luxury of capturing a glimpse of the elusive young man.
Yet tonight, she would find out why she should've left him alone, why Harry had warned her to leave him alone.
Harry had been on an assignment to recover some evidence that would incriminate his organization in ways that would be less than fortunate, yet things had taken a turn for the worse when Christina arrived to announce her discovery that Harry was a wizard.
Yet Harry could remember no more, everything then went black and Harry had awoken, tied and gagged to a wall, with an unconscious Muggle lying before him.
"Do it Wormtail!" a cold voice hissed from the shadows.
Harry tensed as a small man stepped out from the darkness, and although un-expected, Harry couldn't help but hiss as the disgusting little man slid a knife over his wrist, causing sparkling droplets of blood to seep out and glide down the cool knife edge. Harry bit down on his already bleeding lip, as his thoughts drifted to his colleagues.
Were they captured too?
As Wormtail walked away, happily kicking the unconscious Christina on the way, Harry caught glimpse of someone mouthing something, his lips barely noticeable from the shadows enveloping his grim expression.
It was Sirius Black.
Harry tried to make eye contact with the man, to see if he could decipher what he was mouthing, yet Sirius was looking at the floor, his arms folded across his chest. Harry was aware of his link to the insane Sirius Black, it was because of Harry that he was free, yet he still didn't expect anything from him. He knew he was framed by Wormtail, he knew that he was his godson, but all Harry felt towards him was discontent.
Harry suddenly felt the slippery world of darkness claiming him, and with another final glance at Sirius, and the woman that was almost certainly dead because of him, he fell unconscious, while his wrist seeped thick crimson red.
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Somewhere in Italy, May 1991
Alberto Gianni had served the wizarding population for as long as he could remember, supplying unregistered wands to the good, the bad, and the somewhat questionable individuals that happened to have found his shop on their travels.
Gianni's was hidden deep within the maze of back alleys and streets within Rome, protected by numerous magical enchantments and items, as a means of thanks by those he had provided for. His shop, like most other wizarding stores within the busy city, looked like nothing but a run-down failure, closed off to the public for safety, and hidden away to conceal the extreme power held within it .
Despite being a Muggle, Alberto was an expert at his craft, employing techniques even the brightest of wizards could not fathom. His wands, unlike most within Europe, were not registered with the Ministry of Magic, and had the added bonus of customizable appearances.
Though despite the fact that Alberto had met both the greatest of good, and the rock-bottom of bad, nothing shocked him as much as when Harry James Potter, otherwise known as the Boy Who Lived walked in through his dirty, sodden door.
"Good afternoon!" Gianni cheered loudly, apparently unaware that the young eleven year old standing before him could not understand a word of Italian.
Along with his renown for the service he provided, was also a wide realization that Alberto was a friendly man, sometimes dangerously friendly. He had no care for legalities, war or whether or not his customer happened to be 'good' or 'bad'. No, Alberto was one to act first and never ask questions. It was a way of life.
Unlike in the books, and documentaries, Harry Potter looked like anything but a hero. His clothes were torn and dirty, with what was unmistakable scorch marks spiraling up one side of them. His glasses were dirtied, and sported great cracks in each circle, distorting the boy's emerald green eyes, and illuminating the numerous cuts that had ruined his young face. He said nothing, and merely looked at the man with a glare no eleven year old should posses.
Next to him was an old friend of Alberto's, a young man by the name of Luca. Luca was something of a local legend (though some might say curse) A local thief, vagabond, hero and general problem solver, Luca had serviced several of Alberto's not-so-legal needs to great effect. Though the several marks, burns and gashes that covered the 14 year old boys' body had little effect on Alberto, for those marks were a usual sight on the young man.
"Luca! How've you been?" He asked, never removing his gaze from the disheveled young boy beside him, while rubbing his oil-stained hands down his oil-stained vest.He had rumors of the boy's arrival, and knew exactly why they were there, yet that didn't stop him from being polite.
"Good, good!" Luca replied happily, casting a glance over his shoulder and out the door to the street.
"This is Harry. He needs a wand" Luca stated matter-of-factly, apparently not having time for the small talk he usually participated in.
"Oh he does, does he?" Alberto chuckled, moving from behind his large counter and disappearing amongst the stacks of shelves behind it.
"Yeah. And quickly, we have a few people who seem to have taken an interest in Harry, if you get my drift" Luca said, louder this time, projecting his voice to the stacks the fat Italian man had disappeared into, as he draped an arm round Harry protectively.
Alberto froze for a few moments as he reached the small black box he had set aside, he had suspicions that they'd be after Harry, but he was certainly surprised to hear them trying so soon…
Harry continued to stay silent and motionless, staring at his feet through the broken spectacles. Eventually Alberto emerged from the darkness, watching Luca with a scowl, while automatically glancing quickly outside.
"Be careful now. Harry doesn't have to work for anyone if he doesn't want to" he said warningly, eyeing Luca with an intimidating glare.
Luca merely scowled at the older man.
"Of course not, but you should see this guy in action man, frickin amazing, beside they want him anyway, no doubt he'll get in" Luca smiled, pointing at Harry as though he was some sort of museum exhibit.
Alberto scoffed loudly, placed the small black box in his hand on the counter, and moved in front of Harry, crouching down to his eye level.
"Is this true young man? Do you understand what you're getting into? The Association is a way of life, once you join-" Alberto said softly, ignoring the angry look on Lucas face, while watching Harry intently.
"I want to. Just give me my wand" Harry interrupted, and although the vocabulary used conveyed anger, his tone suggested nothing but kindness. It was unnerving.
"Ok, let's see what we've got then" Alberto said happily with a sigh, unsure that an eleven year old was capable of making such a decision.
Yet Harry was completely aware of what he was doing, despite his appearance he was in complete control. Everything was going right…
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Friday 13th November 1995 - 8:00 am
Harry James Potter had never liked wearing the required clothes when attending a meeting with the Governor; he found suits to be itchy and uncomfortable, not to mention extremely distasteful. Yet still, he performed the ritual with apparent ease, displaying his professionalism effectively. He had been called to this meeting with no further knowledge other than that the Governor wanted to see him personally.
To Harry, this meant trouble…
"We have reason to believe that he has information on the Kiminari, a dangerous cult that we would prefer to be more of an extinct one. You'll go to a meeting and retrieve whatever information he has, and then dispose of him. He is too dangerous to kept alive. And Harry, I cannot impress on you enough the necessity to be covert. No one can see, hear, or even know you are there. I do not expect you to understand just yet, but in due time you will see why only you can perform what I ask"
"But…what about Siberia, Charlie confirmed that there were Fighting Arena's there, I thought I was going to-" Harry cut in, struggling to remain respectful towards his boss.
The man that sat opposite him was considered by some (though definitely not admitted) to be somewhat peculiar. For instance, the Governor would not tolerate being looked in the eye; instead, his subordinates would have to look elsewhere. Something Harry found undeniably difficult, especially when considering the large red dragon that would crawl around his body. It wasn't a real dragon of course, but a magical tattoo. Harry struggled to maintain his gaze elsewhere as the dragon's bulging yellow eyes flashed at him.
"You'll be leaving for Siberia tomorrow evening Mr. Potter but first things first, get the information, you have no idea what it's worth…" the Governor replied, and with a flick of his aged hand, the meeting was over.
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The Rising Sun Public House, Surrey
Friday 13th November 1995 - 9:00pm
Harry Potter sat in the creepy looking bar, sipping at his incredibly bad tasting Pumpkin juice. His black polar neck jumper itched at his tanned skin, but, as intended, blended into the background well together with his black smart-looking trousers. Occasionally Harry would hear a recognizable voice, or catch someone's eye, and instinctively he would tighten his grip on his wand, held hidden under the table. The small din of the customers filled the air, along with smoke and the stench of alcohol. Soon the evening air outside began to darken, the atmosphere of the Pub in which he sat began to liven up, which was odd, considering the steadily dimming lights, causing Harry to feel extremely groggy. The warm crackle of the fire on the far end of the room could be heard, piercing the strangely odd silence that would occasionally smother the loud crowd's din of chitter-chatter and drunken fueled laughter.
Harry had been waiting for over an hour now, and Harry did not like to be kept waiting, and especially not in the same place. It wasn't safe. His employer was not someone who liked failure, and so he waited some more, his anger beginning to growl within him. Bored, Harry began to focus his attention on particular man that stood closest to the table. He gently began to delve into the man's mind, observing the flashing images and emotions that flashed across his brain, smiling at the less than savory thoughts that cropped up from the sidelines about the large breasted woman than was talking to him. He gently left the mans consciousness and bravely took another sip of his drink.
After another ten minutes Harry stood to leave. His contact was obviously not going to show, and he didn't fancy waiting any longer in that seat. Not because of the stench of drunkenness, the endless din of the locals, or the foul tasting beverage, but because, regrettably he was an impatient person, and perhaps more importantly he could not afford to be recognized, despite the fact that he had no resemblance to his former self. Thanks to desperate, painful training he was taught, yes, taught, to be a Transmorphamagus in Singapore, and so the Harry that sat in the busy little pub bore no resemblance to a fifteen year old boy, especially seeing as he himself had breasts, long blonde hair, and extremely painful, not to mention difficult to walk in, high heels clasped tightly around his ankle. As he was about to leave, his disappointment was somewhat quelled as his contact walked into the pub, and bee-lined straight for the table at which Harry sat. Without saying a word, or exchanging so much as a glance the man slid into the chair opposite Harry and called the waiter over with a click of his fingers.
"Butterbeer please. Large" he said, the slightly disgruntled waiter turned on his heel and left to fetch the beer with a rapid nod.
Harry sat back down at the table, took another sip of his drunk, more out of habit than desire, and smiled.
"How'd you know it was me?" he gleamed, his emerald-green eyes twinkling in the flickering light of the candle in the centre of the brown wooden table, while flicking a rather annoying strain of hair from his 'pretty' blonde hair..
The man across from him snorted slightly as the waiter plopped his beer down on the table, its contents seeping down the side of the warm ribbed glass. Harry's gaze followed the waiter back to the bar, his eyes faltering for a moment on the shiny black hair atop his contact's head that had obstructed his view.
Before the man could answer Harry laughed loudly as he leaned across the table.
"Are you wearing a wig?" he exclaimed, his gaze flicking back and forth between the mans thin face and the blatantly obvious, straw like toupe that was placed messily upon his ordinarily bald head.
The mans face flushed pink as the realization he was discovered hit him, along with the confusion as to which question to answer first, if at all. Looking around to check no one was listening he leaned in over the table, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"Would you keep your voice down!" he hissed, glaring at the boy, girl…whatever he was.
Harry rolled his eyes dramatically "Relax. I've warded…no one can hear us"
"Well…anyway, yes it is a wig-" he insisted, irritably, automatically casting a wary glance around him "-and I'm an Empath remember, I know you're signature-"
Harry opened his mouth to object, a frown lacing his pretty female features, but the bald man started again, holding a hand to interrupt him…her…it.
"- yes Harry even you can't shield your signature, at least, not from me anyway" he stated proudly, his eyebrows raised disapprovingly in Harry's direction.
Harry looked slightly put out at this, but quickly pushed it out his mind, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Quickly probing the minds of those nearest he checked for spies or anyone that may have, on the off chance, penetrated Harry's wards somehow.
"So, do you have them then, I don't have much time, seeing as your over an hour late" Harry said, his face no longer the relaxed casual one of someone sitting with a friend for a drink. His face was now serious, this was business, and, when it came to business, Harry had no time for side-tracking. He was a professional, he certainly hadn't got to where he was by goofing around, talking about toupes and drinking perhaps the most foul-tasting drink his lips had ever had the misfortune to come across.
The man could sense the impatience oozing from the young man and spoke quickly. How could a fifteen year old be so intimidating?
The man half-laughed inside. It was obvious how he could be intimidating. Any agent for the Association held power, especially this one. He didn't like to gossip, nor hear it, but there were rumors flying around about this young man, rumors that caused the sweat under his arms to double in both odor and amount.
"Yes I have them, here they're all there" he said, handing Harry a sealed brown envelope.
Harry took them without looking at his contact and opened them; meanwhile the man quickly rose from his seat. Harry ceased opening the envelope and looked straight at the uncomfortable man.
"And where d'you think your going?" he asked, his face a blank canvas, unreadable.
The man stopped and looked at the young boy, offering a meek smile along with a slight whimper, his red cheeks seeming to deepen to a crimson red. Before the man could speak Harry said firmly
"Sit down"
The man did so immediately, his eyes wide, while paying particular interest to a brown spot on the polished table. Harry resumed opening the envelope, pulling out the cluster of papers and photos shoved inside them. Carefully flicking through them he looked at the numerous people within the photos and skim read the several notes on all of them, including the several dead bodies and the markings carved into their flesh.
"My employer will be in contact with you shortly…" Harry smiled, standing from his seat and smoothing down his clothes.
With one last sip of his juice he placed the notes and photos in his brown bag, and turned to leave. Stopping short at the door he cast one final look back at his contact and with a rapid flick of his wand the mans head exploded, the remnants of his brain and skull spraying the horrified onlookers in a sea of lumpy dark red gunge, and with a wisp of black mist disappeared.
Leaving the pub in a state of screaming terror…
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Somewhere unkown to most men, Present Day
""6, 12, 88, 94, 59, 3…6, 12, 88, 94, 59, 3…6, 12, 88, 94, 59, 3…"
The shallow mutterings of the thirty-something people crammed into the small, cave-like room bounced of the walls and echoed around the room menacingly, adding to the dangerous feeling produced by those men muttering the set of numbers over and over. All of them held their attention on one thing, a sea of glowing yellow eyes all focused on the circular pool of yellow liquid in the middle of the room. What was in this water could not yet be seen, and was surrounded by a sheet of thick glass that reflected the bright yellow light around the room. Around the glass were several small star shaped pockets, and below each one was a number. Each number was one of the one's chanted, going around the circular chamber in a clockwise motion.
The men surrounding the glass usually wore hoods to conceal their identity, however down here, there was no need. And so the thunderblolt tattoos were clear for all too see as their heads rocked back and forth with the chanting. Around their hands, bright yellow energy snapped and crackled.
"We are nearly there my disciples" one of the men said, walking circularly around the glass " It is just four days until we place the Pentagrams, and then, then we will be on our way" the last few words were drowned out by the cheers of all those listening, while some stood silently, the energy around their hands snapping loudly.
"We will raise our master and rule once again, and nothing, not even the Chosen One, can stop us!"
The man continued to rant in this fashion for some time, causing the room to erupt in cheers every now and again.
However there were two of the Kiminari not cheering, they were sat at the back of the small cave muttering between themselves.
"The attack wasn't successful?" one asked the other.
The man just shook his head, watching the display of the bellowing man by the Elder's Chamber.
"But we need the -" the man spurted again. He looked around to check no one was listening "We need the chosen one for the Awakening ritual, Kavkar won't-" he hissed into the air of his partner.
"We'll get him, he's not under the protection of the Association anymore, he's with the Order-" the other man interrupted, knowing full well that having a conversation such as this was blasphemy…