In This Twilight
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: This one's set in an AU wherein James and Lily died in 1990, when Harry is 10. He's been homeschooled, along with his siblings, and I'm really not happy with how this intro turned out.
Chapter One
The Hangman's Noose isn't a pleasant establishment. It's located in the middle of the labyrinthine cesspit that is Knockturn Alley, dimly lit by sputtering candles and regular bouts of spellfire. On a normal day, it's a gathering place for those who haven't a place in 'polite' society, werewolves and hags and harpies, those beings who can't label themselves as human, but who can't label themselves as anything else, either. There are the criminals, the prostitutes, the junkies, the predators, and every second Thursday, there is inevitably a small group of imbecilic sods who will leave the pub with empty pockets, a missing wand, and if they're particularly unlucky, a vampire bite on their neck.
Harry Potter has been something of a pub regular for almost two years. He's always accompanied by Remus Lupin, armed with a wand and a couple of knives, and in that time, he's gotten to know a few of the other patrons who frequent the place. He's familiarised himself with the unspoken rules of engagement, cut his teeth on the barkeep's piss poor excuse for fire whisky, participated in a few bar brawls, a few duels, and an embarrassing number of lost card games. He'll never be able to say he's truly comfortable with the place - no one ever is - but his visits never fail to entertain him in one way or another.
As he and Remus approach the crowded bar, he's sure this night will be no exception, and after the hell that was his N.E.W.T exams, he's looking forward to it.
"Anyone interesting tonight, Biscuit?"
Biscuit's a tank, a huge, burly black guy with more ink than not, and Harry's never seen him without his mirrored sunglasses. He's been the Noose's bartender for as long as Harry has been frequenting the place, and in that time, he's never found out where the name 'Biscuit' comes from, or learned the reason behind the specs, either.
"Couple of rookie aurors," Biscuit answers. His voice is a low, resonating bass, and Harry's sure he can feel the man scrutinising him.
"That'll be entertaining."
Biscuit grunts. "You joining the pool?"
"Not tonight," Harry declines. He and Remus purchase their drinks and settle in a booth by the basement door, and they make idle chit-chat as they wait for the night's entertainment to begin. As they do, Remus points out the rookie aurors, Harry notes one of the working girls, Stella, employing her charms, and they both chortle at the oblivious aurors' expense.
In all, it's a pleasant way to pass the time. Remus is good company, somehow a friend despite the years of history they share. "He'd once been 'Uncle Moony', has since been a mentor and a teacher, and these days, it only ever gets awkward when Remus brings up the fact he'd once changed Harry's nappies.
As they wait, the oblivious aurors finally learn Stella's a prostitute. It's around the same time Harry finishes his whisky, and he watches the aftermath with unabashed, undiluted glee. There are words said, there are slaps given, and there are wands drawn. There is a tenuous moment wherein Harry's sure there will be a brawl before the night's entertainment even begins, but then Biscuit is there with his biceps larger than Harry's head, and the patrons settle like cowed, scolded children.
Meanwhile, the basement door creaks open, and all eyes turn to the young woman who saunters towards the bar. She's short, barely 5'3" in her stiletto heels, with voluptuous curves and an undeniable sense of malice about her, and as per usual, Harry is enthralled.
Admittedly, it's mostly because she's got a set of breasts that ought to be worshipped, an hourglass figure, and a bold, take-no-prisoners attitude. It's sexy, but Harry at least has the decency not to stare. Much.
"Looks like Nix is ready for us," Remus observes.
"Let's go, then," Harry answers, "I want to get a good seat."
Remus doesn't protest, and the pair make their way into the basement. It's been converted into a duelling hall, raised, tiered seating surrounding a sandpit, warded to high heaven and visible at every angle. They choose seats in the second row, make themselves comfortable as the rest of the audience filters in, and then observe as Nix explains the Noose's rules and regulations to the newcomers.
Afterwards, names are drawn, and the first duel of the night begins. Although it's technically an amateur event, the duel is a fast-paced, rapid-fire thing, unhindered by the restrictions of formal competition standards. A lot of the magic used isn't fit for public consumption, but Harry's learned a lot from the duelists, as an observer and an opponent alike, and he's not about to call in the MLE for a few dubious spells.
Besides, there are a lot more unpleasant things in Knockturn Alley.
"What's the prize tonight?" Remus asks.
"250 galleons."
To the denizens of Knockturn, it's a lot of money. Harry's never asked where Nix or Biscuit get it from, but it's definitely not from the duelists. In fact, Harry's sure the informal duelling rink is their own twisted form of philanthropy, but it's none of his business, and therefore, he's never actually asked.
Moreover, he's as terrified of Nix as he is attracted, and he doubts she'd appreciate the enquiry.
Remus whistles lowly, surprised and impressed. "Who do you think will win?"
In front of them, one of the aurors is soundly trounced by a Noose regular. He's a former Hit-Wizard turned bounty hunter by the name of Ethan, a grizzled, cantankerous 50 something with an abundance of scars and even more stories to tell, and Harry's never won a duel against him. Sirius and Remus have - they in fact train with him to keep their combat skills sharp - and Harry thinks the answer is obvious.
Remus doesn't argue. Instead, he spends the rest of the night providing Harry with a running commentary of the duelists, the skills shown and spells cast, and by the end of the evening, Harry almost wishes he'd joined the pool.
'Almost' is, of course, the operative word. He's wiped after a solid fortnight of exams, and Harry doesn't fancy the thought of having his arse handed to him on a silver platter. He's a little too competitive for his own good, and he's never really taken losing well. He doubts that will ever change.
"Well, that was entertaining," Remus quips.
"Those rookies are a fucking embarrassment," Ethan grunts. He walks behind them, a scowl on his whether face, and Harry can't say he's a stranger to the sentiment. Sirius has lamented the quality of the Auror Academy's graduates for years.
"Budget cuts," Remus deadpans. Ethan mutters a litany of invectives under his breath, directed at Cornelius Fudge, Lucius Malfoy, and the general incompetence of the Ministry of Magic.
"Tell us how you really feel,Beauregard," Nix interjects.
Ethan smirks. "Don't mind if I do."
As they approach the pub's exit, Remus and Harry leave Nix and Ethan to their banter, and make their way to the nearest apparition point. Around them, Knockturn Alley is bustling, unhindered by the late hour, and Harry makes a concerted effort not to appear on-guard. Knockturn is dangerous, yes, but to hold a weapon - wand included - in plain sight is a recipe for trouble, and Harry's had enough of that to last him a lifetime.
"Home?" Remus checks.
Harry nods, and confirms, "Home."