A/N: Not a lot to say here since this is mostly a setup chapter. Though, in better news, the amazing voice actor, Sam Gabriel, has done a reading of the prologue of this story. A link is in my profile so give it a look. He does great work!
Shoutouts: Again, thanks first and foremost to my readers. You guys give me the motivation to continue. Next, my betas from the FlowerPot Discord server (link in my profile), HonerverseFan and x102reddragon. Check out their work. Finally, thank you, Sam, for your amazing feedback that will help to make my drabbles better!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
The Shadow of Death
Chapter 2: Of Tattoos, Dogs, and Wands
"So, his daughters attend Hogwarts," Harry mused to himself, seated in the middle of the study in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Multiple towers of parchment surrounded him where he sat on the floor in the early hours of the morning. "Perhaps I could use that to my advantage during in the future. Sewing the fear in the Death Eater ranks that not even their children are safe could be advantageous. Though, to keep my identity secret I would have to be cautious. It requires more planning."
He set aside the file he had been reading, ignoring the blazing red letters that that sprawled across the thick folder in neat script. Harry rolled his neck to work out the kinks that had developed and set in over the past three days of study. Sleep had been an afterthought, though he was beginning to regret that. His mind and body, enhanced as they were, still needed some sleep to function properly. But if he had been in the field he could have easily lasted another two days before requiring a scant six hours of slumber. It was a touchy subject with him, as some of his other fellow assassins could last longer than him.
Reading intelligence reports was far too much of a bore, as necessary as it was.
Harry was a man of action, though he did not discount the wisdom often hidden within the written word. Mind made up, he stood, donning his cloak to hide his features from the house's inhabitants and left the study for the first time in nearly eighty hours. His body protested the movement, rebukinghim for ignoring his daily physical and magical exercises. He was stiff because he had hardly moved, but, to be fair, he had too little time to prepare. Harry pulled up the hood of his cloak as he exited the study, a room that his master had forbidden anyone in his Order to enter. The timeworn wizard had even warded the room to protect against people wishing to snoop on him.
Honestly, Harry thought Dumbledore was protecting his people against a teenager who would have no qualms scrambling their minds should they decide to spy on him. It would have been far easier for the powerful sorcerer to move Harry to another location or to relocate his Order's headquarters. But it was not his place to pose such thoughts to his master, despite the man's wishes for him to do exactly that. Harry was still uncomfortable in his…relationship with the man.
It had been nearly a week since he had spoken at length with the man, though he could not say that he missed him in any way. Dumbledore had only had one brief conversation with Harry as he dropped off the veritable mountain of intelligence reports the younger wizard had requested after their foray into Diagon Alley. Since that day, his master had been absent from the house more often than not, but he had not deigned to tell Harry what he was doing.
Likely, he was planning while searching for hints to Voldemort's horcruxes. He had overheard members of the Order of the Phoenix talking about the current political spectrum, though he had not interacted with many of them. Most of them believed the lie that he was an Unspeakable and distrusted him based on that information alone.
Harry, of course, had done nothing to dissuade them of the notion. It was little more than a happy coincidence that assassins from his former place of work wore the same uniform as the Unspeakables in the British Department of Mysteries.
"I wonder how Professor Dumbledore will handle this," Harry mumbled as he picked up a discarded Daily Prophet from the kitchen table. He scratched at the scar on his forehead, cursing the fact that it had begun to itch incessantly as soon as he had entered the decrepit house. It had never done so before, and he had no idea why it had started. "Three muggles dead in Surrey. Dementors believed to be involved."
Muggles Murdered, Is Albus Dumbledore Losing his Grip?
Rita Skeeter, Senior Daily Prophet Correspondent
Greetings my fellow witches and wizards. I, Rita Skeeter, have once again overcome overwhelming obstacles to give you the truth that you deserve. Through happenstance, I overheard a conversation while venturing through the Auror offices of the DMLE and what I learned was enough to shock even the most veteran of reporters. Whispers told of three muggles having their souls devoured by a dementor last night in Surrey.
Now you may be asking, "But Rita, they were only muggles. Why would that matter?"
Let me assure you, my dear readers, that the truth behind the events that I uncovered shows that the Ministry does not retain the control they report to the public. In fact, after what I have learned I fear for our very safety. This, my readers, is why you must know: to be prepared.
The three muggles in question were Vernon and Petunia Dudley, and their son Dursley Dudley. The dementor, a guard of the wizarding prison Azkaban, travelled from its island in the North Sea all the way to Surrey to kill these poor muggles. Something of note is that the late Dudley family were in fact relatives of Harry Potter, The Vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, through his mother, Lily Potter nee Dudley.
So, you may ask yourself, how did this happen? If Albus Dumbledore's statement in the last Wizengamot session is to be believed then the dementors have flocked under the banner of You-Know-Who, whom he reported had resurrected himself this past June. But if that were true then why have there been no attacks, why are the dementors still guarding convicted Death Eaters at Azkaban?
This reporter believes it is more likely that the esteemed Headmaster has finally gone round the twist. Luckily, he was removed from his political positions of power last month, so we have little to worry about for the future of our nation. But what of our children who live under his rule nearly nine months out of the year?
I will leave you, dear readers, to answer that question while I demand that the Minister's office conducts a formal inquiry into the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures. As per the norm, the Minister, Headmaster Dumbledore, and all relevant Department Heads have refused to comment. While I am sure that the late Mr Potter would demand justice for his deceased muggle family, I believe it more important that we demand answers from our Ministry. This same Ministry claims that we are safe, but they lost control of a dementor! So, are we truly safe, dear readers?
'Fearmongering at its finest.' Harry threw the newspaper back to its place in the table with a disgusted sneer, a small plume of dust filling the air with its impact on the scarred wooden surface. He turned to the stove to start a cup of tea, ignoring the watch the demented house elf, Kreacher, kept on him from a darkened corner of the room. 'Though there is some truth to be found in this rag. The people of Britain are far from safe, but their eyes are shrouded by the Minister's lies. The truth is in front of their nose, but they cannot sense it…do not want to sense it. I wonder how long before my name, as loathsome having one is, will feature in the Prophet's pages. My return is a secret for now, but it will inevitably come to light that my master is the one who brought me here. Harry Potter will suffer the same slander as the vaunted Albus Dumbledore. But how does one fight propaganda? It was not something I was taught. Plans to be visited later perhaps?"
Knowledge was a funny thing. Most would have you believe that the more you gained, the more powerful you could become. "Knowledge is power," they would quote sagely. It was true, to an extent. Would you gain more power from knowing three different charms to tie your trainers? There was an endless list of possibilities for those spells, but they could be cancelled easily by a sufficiently cast Finite.
No, true power came only from useful knowledge. Learning that the Second World War ended in 1945, while proving that you had the capacity to memorize dates would not generally be useful. The true power would be learning the intricacies behind the war and utilizing that knowledge to better yourself.
It was, possibly, the second lesson he had been taught under his former master's tutelage, the first being the price of disobedience. Even with his ritualistically enhanced memory he could not be certain of when he had learned that, but it was useful, nonetheless. Consequently, Harry's tutelage had primarily been focused on manipulation, subterfuge, and how to best eliminate a target.
Yes, he knew a great deal of magic since it was the primary method he used to kill, but he knew little of political battlegrounds or how to sway public perceptions. The knowledge that such things existed and to be wary of them had been enough to see his success.
'Perhaps that is what Professor Dumbledore needed most when he sought us out,' he mused as he lifted the whistling pot of tea off the stove. The door to the kitchen opened just before a tall man with a hooked nose and greasy hair strode in wearing a billowing, black cloak. Harry conjured two teacups with a wave of his hand, but he doubted they would be used by Severus Snape. 'Am I to be my master's killer while he convinces the people it is necessary? It remains to be seen.'
"Professor Snape." Harry's casual greeting crossed the distance between them as he took a seat at the table. He waved his hand at the seat across from him in invitation. The Hogwarts potions master sneered, as was his norm, but did take the offered chair after a moment of hesitation. "A pleasure to finally meet you. I have seen you flitting to and fro about the Headquarters, but I have had little chance to speak with you properly. Tell me, how fares your master after his resurrection?"
A slight widening of the man's eyes was the only sign of his surprise. Harry took note of it as he poured them both a cup of tea with feigned nonchalance. The older man was either a master of occlumency or he hid his emotions very well behind a wall of impenetrable ice. Perhaps both. Harry was unsure as he had yet to finish his reading on the man, but he knew enough to poke holes in Snape's armour.
"He remains weakened, but still strong enough," the perpetually dour man replied, his tone flat and smooth. He palmed the teacup in both of his hands but did not take a sip, preferring to make an attempt at penetrating the grey-cloaked individual with his glittering, black eyes. "But you already knew that…I'm sure."
Harry took a long sip of his tea and bit back a grin. So much fun could be had with a man such as him. "I did. Though, I do wonder how much information you can truly give us, Severus Snape. A man with two masters, forever stuck between them. So close to death and yet so far from freedom. A man who can only give so much to either, lest he betray one and lose his usefulness, his very life. It is a fine line you walk, Professor."
A hand twitched, likely itching to grasp the familiar warmth of its wand, an illusion of safety. Harry's face broke out into a wide smirk completely unseen by his conversational companion. It was such fun toying with him.
"Your point being?" the man sneered, his dark, dangerous eyes narrowed in contempt. It was little more than a defensive measure. Completely benign if played correctly. "I know you are not an Unspeakable, despite the Headmaster's insistence otherwise. Who are you, really?"
Harry shrugged and placed his cup on the table between them. A flick of his fingers saw the brown liquid begin to rotate in rapid eddies around his index finger.
A casual show of power? Somewhat.
Childish posturing? Perhaps.
Effective? Unquestionably.
Though Snape showed no reaction at the wandless magic Harry knew it affected him. After all, the man had only seen it used so casually by two other wizards, neither of whom were currently here to protect him.
"That is the question, is it not, Professor Snape?" The casual question hung in the air as the tea rotating around his finger suddenly stopped and began to take various shapes between them before being frozen in the shape of a block. The thunk as it hit the table seemed louder than it actually was. "I cannot give you a name, of course. But, I suppose, if the Headmaster is the mind of the Order then I am the wand to strike down our foes. The real question is what are you, Severus Tobias Snape? Friend or foe? Dumbledore trusts you, but I trust no one. I know who you are, Snape, but I know not what you are. Why are you here when your master is absent? It remains to be seen."
Harry flicked his finger and the frozen cube of tea on the table was enveloped in flames, drawing a flinch from the older man. Snape stood quickly in an attempt to conceal his frayed nerves with vain posturing, but it did not do as he had hoped.
"I do not answer to you, Wizard." The man seethed, anger radiating off his body in waves. Good, he was unbalanced. The games could continue. "If your childish posturing is at an end, I would see the Headmaster. Now, where is he?"
The flames flickered and died in an instant, leaving a small black scorch mark on the wooden surface between them. Shadows thickened throughout the room, drowning the already dim light until their sight was limited to only the two of them and half of the table. It was little more than a trick of the light. Rather dramatic, but effective in keeping people off balance.
"The Headmaster has hardly been here this week." Harry shrugged once more. "I know not where he is."
"Then I will depart." The potions master turned to exit. "Good day, Wizard."
One step was made before the remainder of the room plunged into a thick, impenetrable darkness.
"Sit, Severus." The short command echoed through the room with a sinister hiss, the likes of which Snape had only heard from one other person. Harry allowed a faint sliver of light to illuminate both himself and the empty seat across from him. "We still have one item left to discuss."
"And why would I need to hear what you have to say?" Snape turned toward him and raised one bushy, black brow. His face was an excellent example of emotional control, though not perfect. There was fear in his dark eyes. "I do not serve you."
Perfect.
"I have a proposition for you, but we will get to that in a moment." Harry flicked his finger and the seat Snape had previously vacated scraped across the old wooden floor a few centimetres. An obvious command. When the man finally sat Harry allowed the room to be bathed in light once again. "Though we both serve the Headmaster in our own capacities you will find that he wishes me to be more his equal and his servant. What he knows, I will soon know when he has time to brief me. You may be of use to him, but I believe you could be of use to me as well, Severus Snape. I know what you want most, and I can give it to you."
The man scoffed in apparent disbelief.
"You betrayed the one you held dearest," Harry whispered, the lethality in his words finding its mark. Snape's eyes widened, his control fractured. The first chink appeared in the armour, a weakness to be exploited. "I know of the prophecy, I know of Harry Potter, and I know it was your actions that caused Lily Potter to die by the Dark Lord's wand."
Severus looked down at the hands he had placed on the table between them. He was shaking, almost to the point of convulsing. He had rarely been so rattled, the last time being when he had begged for Dumbledore's help all those years ago.
"The Headmaster did not tell me your secret if that is what you are wondering." Harry flicked his thumb, a small flame flickering at the tip. He rolled it between his fingers, the casual action little more than a subtle reminder of the older man's position, but Harry never took his eyes off the potions master. "Anybody can find the information if they know where to look, if they know how to access it."
It was a lie, of course, but he did not need to know that. The information had been there in the still partially read file.
"What do you want?" The question came out as little more than a breath from the man's lips. His fear was palpable. Harry could almost taste it.
"In a moment." Harry waved his free hand in a vague, careless gesture. It was best to keep him off base while he had the upper hand. "Let us start with what I will give you in return. It is my understanding that Slytherins do nothing for free, and I am a fair man."
A pale finger pointed at the Dark Mark covered by Severus' robes. "The mark on your left arm. I sensed that insidious piece of magic as soon as you entered the wards. Soul and blood magic. I am versed in those areas, if only to counter it. The magic is old, but with proper study I could likely find a way to break its hold over you."
Harry reached out to hold his palm over Snape's left forearm. "Yes, the magic is clumsy but effective. Give me what I want, and I will give you this, Severus Snape. In the end, if you still live, I will break the magic in that mark, though the ink will remain to remind you of your past failures. I will kill your Lord Voldemort. You will be given coin, enough to start a life and be out from under the nose of any master."
"And in return? I suppose you'd have my loyalty?" The question was prudent and shrewd. Snape had barely flinched upon hearing the Dark Lord's name.
Perhaps, he was not as spineless as he had been led to believe. Harry, however, had expected nothing less than prudence from the man. He would have been rather disappointed had the man accepted outright, despite what was being offered.
At least he was interested.
"Your loyalty is worthless to me." The statement hung in the air between the two, though the older of them did little more than raise a brow. He was impressed by Harry's blunt analysis but had shown little reaction to it. "I am a practical man and I have known many men such as you, Severus Snape. Though you are beholden to two men you are loyal to none save yourself and the memory of a long dead witch. I want information."
"I already provide the Headmaster with information on the Dark Lord." Snape's lips twitched in amusement. This was a game the man had been playing for more than a decade. Snape knew it well, but not well enough. He thought the shrouded figure a fool. Perfect. "If you are his equal then surely you would know this? I fail to see how you would benefit from what I am already providing your…partner."
A snap of his fingers brought a thick file into existence between them. The potions professor's face paled at the name that was written on it in thick, red letters.
Severus Tobias Snape
The letters invoked a twitch in his right eyelid.
Three.
Two.
One.
Snape jumped forward to grab the file but was stopped when Harry's hand slammed down on it. The older man twitched before awareness of his situation returned. The file had been sealed by the Ministry after the First Blood War, but the mysterious wizard had acquired it. He wanted it erased, if the manic gleam in his dark eyes was anything to go by. Harry snapped his fingers again and the file disappeared back into his well warded study.
"You dare threaten me, Wizard?" Snape pulled his wand quicker than most men Harry had seen do so, but it was not enough. A negligent wave of Harry's hand saw the wooden construct fly to the ceiling and become stuck between the rafters.
"No, not a threat, Snape." Harry stood to his feet to look the man straight in the eyes, so to speak. "A show of faith. I have several such files on all the important figures in this country, from politicians, to students, and Death Eaters. Yes, you provide the Headmaster with information, but it is scant. Dumbledore wants to see the big picture and cannot be bothered with the minutiae beyond any except the Dark Lord. But not all information is given in black and white, as you well know."
The Death Eater nodded and lowered himself back into his seat, caution apparent in his actions. Harry followed suit.
"You wish to know the whispers surrounding the Dark Lord," Snape muttered and began to caress his chin in thought. The man was still agitated, but he knew there was little he could do to combat the situation he found himself in. If he denied the arrangement, then he would die by the unknown man's wand. If he accepted, he may very well die to the Dark Lord. Neither was a position he was willing to put himself in, but he had little choice in the matter. "You wish to know movements and rumours in the ranks. You seek to create division and infighting. You want to be proactive, rather than reactive."
Harry nodded.
"Dumbledore has his large picture and that is all well and good. He seeks to destroy the body. I want to ascertain the smaller details and disable the joints holding up the body."
The drumming of fingers against a hard surface met his ears. Snape sat in silence for a few moments and pondered the words. There was still no acceptance in his eyes. This would see him serve his purpose well.
A shrewd man, indeed.
"You are a cunning man to have placed me in such a situation, Wizard." Snape reached for the teacup still in front of him and brought it up to his eyes, studying the workmanship. It was a perfect conjuration. Beautiful. Ornate. Effortless. "Few can claim to have done so. However, I do have concerns if I were to agree."
"You worry for your own safety." It was not said as in insult to the man's bravery, or lack thereof, merely a statement of fact. "I will kill Death Eaters. You worry the finger will be pointed at you. I have been trained well. The trails I leave are not easily followed. The Dark Lord will know that I am aware of where some of his less important followers reside. Most of them are prominent members of our society, after all. Their ancestral homes are registered in the Ministry, and I am reportedly an Unspeakable. No finger need be pointed back at you."
Snape's black eyes began to glisten slightly in anticipation. He, like Harry, was a man of action. Snape was cunning and patient, no doubt, but he had often disagreed with Dumbledore's more passive approach to the war. One only need to have listened to the Order members talk about Snivellus Snape to know that.
"And what should I tell the men I am beholden to if I accept?"
"I really haven't a care." Snape's mouth cracked open in shock. "I do not seek to control you. I only want you to pass information to me discreetly. Listen and watch, as it were. Dumbledore knows of this meeting and I trust you in that you will do anything to see Voldemort dead and yourself alive. I am your best bet for that. Tell him of Dumbledore's new lackey, that I am mysterious but unimportant. Report to him that I am advising Dumbledore on how best to protect the prophecy. At the moment that is all true. Dumbledore will not tell you anything about me. You will have little to deliver to the Dark Lord regarding me, even when I begin razing his ranks. You would not dare let slip to him that you are passing information to me. Such action would see you dead and your dreams unfulfilled. Do you accept, Snape?"
The dark-haired potions master closed his mouth with a resounding clack.
A short pause and a nod of confirmation was the silent man's only answer.
Perfect.
"You offer me much for little. How can I know you'll keep your word, Wizard?" A shrug of the shrouded figure's shoulder gave him the answer: you cannot. "Very well. I benefit either way. What shall I call you if you give me no name?"
The unexpected question gave Harry pause. He had a name now, hated as it was to him, but not one that he could give this man. Harry James Potter was little more than a mediocre wizard who had been raised in the colonies for his own protection.
Harry Potter was neither an assassin, a cold-blooded killer, nor a tactician. That fool would be wholly unable to manipulate a man such as Snape. The assassin with no name, however? That was a man who could do all those things and more.
But what name to give? He supposed the older man could continue referring to him as "wizard" as he had been during their conversation, but he was no mere wizard. He had always been destined for so much more. But what name could a man of two lives give?
'Duality is the answer,' Harry thought to himself as a bright smile crossed his face. He hated Harry Potter, a name forced on him by his biological parents and a sentimental old man. He had never been Harry Potter until last week. But he had no need for that wretched name while he wore the cloak. It was beautiful in its simplicity. He could still be what he once was, a tool that left only death and confusion in its wake.
Nothing.
An unspeakable entity.
"I have no given name, Snape." The man gave no notion of being surprised. "I was raised a killer, no one. You raised a most difficult question to answer as I have not pondered a name for myself in many years, though I suppose the Order will need something to call me if they are to whisper behind my back. If you must, call me Unspeakable. It will leave a false trail to confuse ally and foe alike."
"Unspeakable." The man tested the word on his lips, grimacing at the unimaginative absurdity of it, before he shrugged and stood from his chair. He stilled as he stood in front of the closed door and turned back to face the young assassin. Harry unstuck the unsavoury man's wand from the ceiling and floated it down to his waiting hand. "You said that you are the Order's wand. It was an inept comparison. You are much worse than that. More sinister. Though I admit I have no clue what you are or will become. Good day, Unspeakable."
Harry watched the man open the door and pause with a sneer directed at something beyond his current line of sight before quickly exiting the portal. Stumbling footsteps met his ears and a second later the scent of sour whiskey and cheap perfume invaded his nostrils. The man stumbling toward him was the largest of the reasons he had holed himself in his study.
Sirius Black.
Unfortunately, the confrontation that would follow was unavoidable. He waved his hand at the door to close, lock, ward, and silence it. The mongrel had loose lips that would expose his identity. Harry could only hope that the Order members would pay little credence to the words of a drunken fool.
This was the only man in Grimmauld Place, other than Dumbledore, that knew his identity. Freeing Harry Potter from his shackles had been the only thing that convinced the drunkard to part with the gold that funded the his addiction.
Pale hands reached up to lower the hood shrouding his face. Furious green eyes met unfocused steel grey.
Sirius Black's current state was an insult to the magic that ran through his veins.
Harry's former master had not lied when he said the assassins worshipped magic. There were many gods who ruled over the physical world in their own ways, but their ways were unknown. Magic, sentient and eternal, was supposedly a god of its own and had been worshipped by its first practitioners.
It was one of the few gods mortals could interact with and it was precious, sacrosanct. Though, he supposed one could interact with nature as well. Harry embraced the theory that magic was a god, at least a lesser one. He felt magic's influence, though it did not speak to him in the traditional sense. His communing with the magic inhabiting the world had brought him a control over magic that was thus far unparalleled.
Fate had Her workings, unknowable and unreachable by mortal minds.
Death had His souls, inescapable in the end.
Time festered all in His advance, always moving and uncontrollable.
Life created all in opposition to Death's games.
Nature had her trees and animals, worshipped by a small sect of muggles. Foolish.
The elements worked in tandem with Life, magic, and nature to ensure balance.
There were many more gods and demigods, or so he had been taught, but they were unknowable and unreachable until Death took you. Magic had been created by Life and Nature, nurtured by the elements, and given to select mortals as a gift aeons ago in time immemorial. Whether magic was a god or a demigod was not truly known, but it was the only deity mortals could interact with intimately. It was beautiful in its own way, something worth cherishing and worshipping.
And this man, this Sirius Black, spat in magic's face.
It was well known across all wizarding societies that humanity's worst vices could inflict untold damage on a witch or wizard's magic if used heavily over long periods. Harry could feel Black's magic screaming to him in agony from the damage he had wrought. Dumbledore had admitted to him that Sirius, against the older wizard's advice, had begun imbibing in drink after Harry had been pronounced legally dead by the Ministry.
For nearly twelve years the man had drunk away his sorrows to forget his friends Lily and James Potter and their infant son. The drink may have dulled his sorrow, but it had fractured his magic to the point the man struggled to cast a stunning spell. He had once been strong, at least at the level of a middling warlock. But no longer.
Sirius Black was an affront to the deity magic and was nothing more than vermin to the assassin because of it.
"Jamesh," the man yelled as he attempted to wrap his arms around the still seated younger boy. He hardly noticed when Harry smoothly rose from the chair to put distance between them. The stench of whiskey was strong enough to produce tears in his eyes. "I'm sho glad you're back. Peter, he wush the wrong choish."
The choked sobs breaking the once peaceful silence sickened him more than he cared to admit.
"James Potter is dead, as is Pettigrew, Black." The broken man's sobs stopped. He looked up at Harry with furious grey eyes. Black raised his wand and Harry made no move to stop him.
"You're one'a dem are ya?!" The man roared in his anger, though it was impotent in his slovenly state. Green, emotionless eyes watched as the man attempted to cast a curse only for each attempt to fizzle out halfway to its target. Sirius stared down at his wand as though it had betrayed him before casting it to the side.
An annoyed growl escaped Harry's lips as the man began to clumsily charge him. Waving his hand in a negligent gesture, he conjured several small tacks on the floor between them. In his drunken rage, the man never saw them and stepped on them in his careless advance. With a howl, Sirius jumped up and grabbed his sock-clad foot that was now leaking blood onto the dusty floor.
The corner of Harry's lip twitched. 'At least Kreacher will have work to look forward to. No way he allows Black's filthy blood to mar the sacred floors of Black.'
Broken sobs and howls of pain broke Harry from his thoughts, the sight of Black causing him to sigh in frustration. It would be so easy to kill the man for his transgressions against magic and put him out of his misery, but Dumbledore had forbidden him from doing so.
Worse yet, he had ordered him to at least make an attempt at building a relationship with the man. Harry could technically ignore the man's order, even though their contract stated that he had to follow every order given to him. Dumbledore's counter order, his first and most important command to be followed, had been that Harry was to attempt to be his own man and to consider them equals. It was a strange dichotomy, ordering him to choose to not follow orders. Harry, for the first time in his life, had the freedom to choose the orders he followed, and he had no earthly clue how to go about doing just that. It was easier for him to choose to follow his master's orders, so he had.
With little more than a thought, Harry vanished the thumb tacks, though he made no effort to heal the man. Dumbledore had never ordered him to not cause Black light injuries. 'Thank the gods for small mercies.'
"Black." The addressed man looked up at Harry, tear tracks and snot running down his grimy face. His sobs were broken by the occasional hiccough. He was pathetic beyond words. "You told me four days ago that you wanted a chance to get to know me, though I suppose you have no memory of that discussion. Professor Dumbledore has ordered me to let you do so, and I intend to follow that order."
Sirius shot off the floor with a stumble and charged forward to embrace the younger man. He fell to the floor when a transparent blue barrier sprung to life between them. Looking up in question, Sirius met Harry's baleful green gaze.
"Do not mistake my obedience to Professor Dumbledore as acceptance to your current state, Mongrel." Harry sneered down at the now gobsmacked man, his green eyes appearing to burn with barely contained hatred. "I will do so when you fix yourself. You are a drunk and a disgrace to the magic which runs through your veins. I will not associate with the likes of you until you are sober. I suggest rehabilitation at Saint Mungos. Hopefully, you will remember your current station and what is required of you the next time we cross paths."
Without another word to the shocked man, Harry dispelled the magic he had cast on the door and pulled up his hood. The blue barrier shimmered from existence when he exited the kitchen. Harry sighed in exasperation. He desperately needed sleep.
"Filthy master disgraces the Noble House of Black with his drunkenness." Harry heard the house elf's words from the other side of the door and hated that he agreed with the insane creature. "Kreacher is almost being glad Mistress is dead. To be seeing her son in disgrace would kills her."
*****BREAK*****
Harry opened his eyes and glanced at the clock on the far wall when a knock at the study's door woke him. He had slept for four hours. That was a bit more than he actually needed, though he had nothing better to do other than continue reading intelligence reports on notable students and Death Eaters. Closing his eyes, he let the magic surrounding him flow through him more freely than it did during his rest. His master was waiting outside the door. It was strange to him that a man who technically owned him would care about something as inane as his personal privacy.
"Enter," the sleep-dried voice that left his lips cracked from disuse and pubescence. The latter was truly an inconvenience when one dealt mainly with adult men. Dumbledore opened the door, revealing himself to be wearing a loud set of neon orange robes. Though his clothing was bright, as per usual, the dark circles beneath his eyes belied his attempt at appearing wakeful. "You've been busy, Professor."
There was no rebuke in his voice, as it was not his place to do so, merely a comment on the usually unflappable man's worn appearance. Truthfully, Dumbledore's absence the last week had been a boon for the young assassin. Harry had been able to read a great deal of the intelligence his master had provided him. Not all, but enough to begin piecing the puzzle together and start planning. It was not everything he would need, but his hope was that the man would agree to his ideas. Equals though they professed to be, Harry was still in a subservient position under the highly pacifistic Headmaster.
"I'm afraid so, my boy," Dumbledore replied genially as he closed the door behind himself. Old lips quirked at the controlled chaos that was spread around the room. Towers of folders containing parchment leaned precariously and loose sheets of parchment littered the floor around Harry's seated form. "I was present earlier and did not wish to interrupt your much needed rest, but I fear we have much to discuss and much more to do in the near future."
Harry stood and walked to the end of the small study, a side of the room that was not littered in debris. Conjured chairs, comfortable and lavish, appeared a handful of metres from the fireplace. Flames burst to life in the small brick structure for the first time since Harry had taken up occupancy in the room. The orange fire did little to ward off the dark ambience that covered the manor, but it seemed to appease his master if the old wizard's grateful smile was anything to go by.
A small table joined the chairs as the two men sat in front of the fire.
"Kreacher!" The assassin's harsh tone caused Dumbledore to flinch, but he did not deign to raise an objection. A loud crack echoed through the room. House elves were normally able to apparate much more quietly. Kreacher's magic had been fracturing as he gradually lost his mind under the influence of ambient dark magic and the mad ravings of Walburga Black's portrait.
There was little room in Harry's mind for sympathy. The creature was sentient and had been without a master until Sirius had finally been convinced to claim the Black Headship some seven years previous. Kreacher had made his choice, and as far as Harry was concerned, he could live with the consequences of that decision.
"Nasty half-blood calls for Kreacher?" The voice was grating, sinister and the house elf's stooped posture and malevolent glare did little to hide his inherently insidious nature.
"Professor Dumbledore and I require refreshments." Kreacher gave the two a heated glare and reticent bow before disappearing with another loud crack. "What is it you wish to discuss, Headmaster?"
"In this room we are equals, Harry. Could I not convince you to call me Albus in private?" An exasperated sigh escaped the confines of the old man's lips when his young partner shook his head. It was an argument between the two of them that was left over from their last encounter nearly four days ago, and it was just as likely to continue in the same vein in the future. "Tell me what you've learned over your last three days of sequestration in this room. Is there anything of value toward our efforts?"
Harry raised his left arm, a thick file shooting into his hand. He handed it to his master as tea and biscuits appeared on the small table between them. Dumbledore looked down at the file, taking in the name stamped on it, before raising his questioning eyes to look at his partner.
"I have learned a great deal over the last days, but not as much as I would like." He waved his hand at the file as if the innocent parchment within had offended his sensibilities. "I have recruited Professor Snape to help me fill in some of the gaps in my knowledge, though he remains ignorant of my true identity. I feel it best to keep it so. Were he to learn that I am Harry Potter, then his vitriol would likely overpower his burgeoning respect for me."
"Ah, yes. Severus was most displeased at your approaching him, but he will comply for now. This is something we shall discuss once more important matters are resolved, Harry."
Blue eyes held a hard glint. Dumbledore was displeased with Harry taking liberties with his designated spy without first consulting him. That was apparent. This only served to confuse Harry further in regards to their relationship. If they were to be equals in matters regarding the war then why would Dumbledore be wroth with him over such a small action? He had not strayed from the rules the man had set forth in any way. It was not worth consideration at the time, however.
Harry nodded his acquiescence and continued when Dumbledore motioned for him to do so, his voice mechanical in its delivery of information.
"The files, as you likely know, tell of a person's family, lineage, political leanings, personality traits, registered places of residence, status of wealth, OWL results, NEWT results, a listing of masteries, current occupancies, and any past legal transgressions." Dumbledore nodded at the pause and waited for the young wizard to continue. It was strange to Harry that he did not interrupt with questions or clarifications as his previous master had. "It paints a picture of the person that I could use to exploit them, but not anything they are currently doing or even suspected of doing. The files give me an idea of the person, or family's, importance, but little else. Without further insight we will effectively be blind, grasping at random threads in hopes of unthreading the whole. We would be reactionary as opposed to proactive once more."
An understanding nod met his claim. Dumbledore busied himself preparing their tea, something that bothered Harry for more than one reason, to give him an excuse to stay quiet while he thought of a response.
"Ah, so you wish to use Severus' information to act against Voldemort. I believe we need not speak on him further then. I approve of what you did as it will not needlessly place Severus in further danger. Though, I do ask that you consult me before taking action for or against a member of the Order." Steaming tea sat on the table waiting for Harry to drink it, but he did not reach for it. Dumbledore stared at him with inquisitive, sharp blue eyes from over the rim of his own cup. "The latter of your statement of course refers to the First Blood War. It is no secret that we were losing. The war only ended because of the mysterious happenings at the Potter residence. What would you have us do this time, Harry? Please be candid."
"To answer that, Sir, I would ask you to answer a question of mine." A dip of Dumbledore's hairy head met his request. "I have many different plans, though most are in their infancy as I do not have more current information of substance. That will be rectified easily enough with Professor Snape's assistance, but when I spoke with him, he did raise a relevant question. What am I to you? A soldier to fight alongside you, a wand to react and browbeat our enemies into submission, or a scalpel to dissect the ranks before removing the cancer? Perhaps, even, something else."
Ancient hands rose to slowly stroke an equally aged, white beard. The man, as Harry had come to learn in their limited interactions, did not speak words without careful consideration. Dumbledore meant what he said. Magically, he was not as strong as Harry, but his mind was a valuable tool, a weapon of great precision. Harry was smarter and had more knowledge of magic, due in no small part to ritualistic augmentations, but he was far less experienced. The two of them together could be unstoppable, but the older wizard was more than content to live the humble life of an educator.
"I suppose that depends," Dumbledore responded after several minutes of silence. "You would do well as any of those, but only one shall yield the best results. War is a most dreadful thing, Harry, and makes beasts of men. I bought you for several reasons, chief among them is that you can do what I am unwilling to. As much as such thoughts pain me, I fear it will become necessary lest we repeat the history of the first war. Tell me, Harry, which method do you believe will yield the best results?"
The question brought Harry pause and more discomfort than he cared to admit. Who was he to make such decisions? He knew what answer the old man would want, but it was not one he could give if they were to win. Passivity would make dead beasts of men. Harry reached deep into his robe and pulled out a muggle pistol. He unloaded the weapon and disassembled it with practiced ease. Conjuring a rag, he set to cleaning the weapon that he normally only used when working in the muggle world.
It was a wholly unneeded action as the weapon was already clean, but it was one that had always helped him think. Harry eyed the brass .45 calibre round standing tall on the table beside his still untouched cup of tea. Dumbledore considered the same item, blue eyes wary.
No doubt he had seen the damage something so small could wreak. As much as it was a method that allowed him to think with greater degree of clarity, it was also a statement, something to ease the transition of their conversation into more unpleasant waters. Harry Potter was no child. He was a killer, cold and ruthless. Both men knew the answer he was to give.
"The scalpel will see the greatest effect right now. Later, the wand." Harry ran his conjured rag in an almost loving manner down the disassembled barrel of the Sig Sauer. The weapon had served him well the past year and was akin to a cherished friend. "Right now, your intelligence suggests that Riddle is recouping his strength. His full magical abilities have yet to return after the ritual, but they will in time. In the meantime, he gathers forces from the shadows to prepare for the war to come. But he worries about Harry Potter and the prophecy. Riddle wants to know what he overlooked last time. He will seek it in the Department of Mysteries this year, though not openly.
"You wish to draw him out into the open, but he is cunning. Right now, I am the unknown chess piece on the board and can strike back at him from the shadows. Harry Potter being a slightly above average student will be enough reason for Riddle to turn his sites onto a more dangerous foe. He will never see that he is actually fighting a two-headed viper, but he will not allow you to draw him out until he is ready to do so, not even for the prophecy."
Harry set down the barrel and picked up the grip, his green eyes roving over the item in an almost obsessive search for grime he would never find.
"And how do you propose we lure him into the open?"
"We use his tactics from the last war against him," Harry responded with a shrug. "He cannot make many moves in the magical world, lest eyes turn to him. I, on the other hand, can move about freely. I will strike the joints and corner him like the animal he has become. He will become desperate by the end and will make a costly mistake. I will capitalize on his errror, leaving us free to search for his horcruxes."
An uncomfortable look passed through Dumbledore's blue eyes while he stroked his beard either in contemplation or an act of self-comfort. It very well could have been both. Harry was no expert on human emotions, though he did know how to manipulate them for his own purposes.
"You will cull the ranks and create panic, dissent," Dumbledore muttered with not a little distaste. "Though I find it most disagreeable, it must be done if we are to succeed. Who will be your first target?"
A lightly mumbled "for the greater good" passed between the two of them, giving the younger wizard pause at the vaguely familiar adage.
Harry shot a pointed gaze at the folder still resting in Dumbledore's lap. "I believe they will be the best first step. Their house is neither particularly old, nor politically powerful. I doubt they are high in Riddle's ranks. Their use comes in the form of exports and imports with a focus on potions and potions ingredients, a well-to-do business run by their head. Killing them would be a blow to Riddle's forces, but not enough to force his hand prematurely."
A wrinkled hand reached out to take hold of the silver barrel of the Sig Sauer pistol, bringing it to its owner's face. The orange light of the fire next to them reflected off its shiny surface onto Dumbledore's face, the constant flickering and odd colouring making him appear older than he was. Memories appeared to flit before his eyes, likely of the Second World War against Grindelwald and muggle armies. Hard-earned lessons paid with blood and death.
"Reluctantly, I agree," he mumbled, placing the barrel back on the table. Dumbledore moved to pour himself another cup of tea and grab a biscuit from the plate. He sniffed it, checking for possible poisons at the hand of Kreacher, before taking a small bite followed by a sip of the hot beverage. He cringed at the taste and placed both items back on the table. "Though I doubt Tom will allow this slight to go unanswered. Innocents could lose their life."
Harry shrugged, his thoughts on the matter clear.
"Innocents die in war, though I will do my best to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. As you said, Professor, this is necessary. I doubt Riddle's rebuttal will be too drastic. If he takes too much action, he risks exposing either his Death Eaters, who are few in number, or himself."
"I should like to hear your plan before you act." The old wizard let out a sigh and removed his glasses to clean them. "Let us move on to somewhat lighter topics, Harry. I have wanted to learn of the powers you wield, specifically during our duel and the incident with your wand at Ollivander's. I will not ask you to tell me about how you were trained as I know you are not able to do so in great detail."
Silence ensued, broken only by the sound of metal sliding against metal, as Harry reassembled the pistol. After fifteen seconds he put the clip back in the pistol grip and chambered a round. He had already placed the loose round back in the clip before doing so.
'Two seconds slower than usual,' he mused, disappointment flowing through his mind. "I am allowing myself to become distracted. Unacceptable.'
"I suppose I should start with how I use magic, as loathe as I am to describe it that way." Dumbledore cleared his throat when Harry turned his head to stare into the bright flames in the fireplace. He had been silent for longer than was strictly polite as he ordered his thoughts. "Apologies, Professor. It is difficult to explain to someone who does not share the same relationship with magic as I do. My previous master understood some, but we only share a few abilities."
A small smile graced Dumbledore's aged face. The scene had reminded him of a handful of similar discussions he had partaken in with former students. Simpler times, indeed.
"I find that it is usually best to start at the beginning and let the story come out as it will, Harry."
He nodded and took a deep breath in preparation for a long explanation, one that he did not even have all the answers to.
"As my prior master told you, all new initiates undergo several rituals and runic carvings both on and inside their body. It was no different for me, though I went further than any previously had. I am not sure if this affected my magic in any way, but it was apparent from the beginning that I was different from the rest, something more. We learn many things while also doing the rituals, though runic carving continues until we are thirteen and are sent on our first mission. When our magic has stabilized, we are fitted for a wand before more intensive training begins.
"It was that day that I learned how different I truly am. It took several wands, but I finally found one. What happened in Ollivander's happened then. The wood of the wand turned to ash in my left hand after the rush of the bond occurred. Once the core touched my hand it disappeared under a silver glow. We tried several more and the same thing happened to a handful of them. Because of this, I have never been able to use a wand in the traditional sense. Not until the Elder Wand, at least."
Harry looked back at his master and saw the man was once again stroking his beard in thought. "Fascinating. Please continue, Harry."
"Essentially, what happens is that when I bond with a wand, partially or fully, the wand core…bonds with me?" The last portion of his monologue came out in the form of a question, rather than a statement of fact. "What I do appears to be wandless magic, but it is not. Not truly, at least. It is…difficult to explain."
Fifteen steel balls appeared in the air in front of Harry, each no larger than the size of a fifty pence coin. Dumbledore watched in amazement as the steel balls began rotating around the boy's body in random orbital paths. After a few seconds, spells, though none that he could identify, began to fly from different points on Harry's body at blistering speeds and deadly accuracy.
The young assassin could only hope that the display of magic would distract the Headmaster enough to keep him from asking him of his abilities' weaknesses, few though they were. That was something he had no desire to let another soul know.
The steel balls were transfigured, charmed to change colours, and some even set alight all within the span of seconds. More impressively, the young wizard had not moved a muscle. It more than explained why Dumbledore had been so ill prepared to duel the lad. He had never stood a chance.
The steel balls vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.
"You mentioned you have a relationship with magic?" Harry nodded his response but waited for the man to continue. "That is an odd way to say that you cast spells. In fact, I have never heard a witch or wizard say as such. I saw the Color Changing Charm being cast, but the spell looked slightly different and when I sensed it, I could not ascertain the identity of the spell."
Harry held his hand between them, a small rotating orb of water the size of a football appearing above it. "You recognize the spell, yes?"
"Elemental conjuration and Transfiguration." Dumbledore smiled at the casual use of highly advanced magic. It was easily beyond NEWT level, something he had not learned until he began his work toward his Transfiguration mastery. "Spera Thedal, to be exact. It creates a sphere of surging water and is directed by the caster. It can be used in many ways. In fact, I used it during our duel if you recall."
"No."
Dumbledore's face fell. He pulled out the Elder Wand and began to mutter under his breath, waving The Wand over the rotating sphere in intricate patterns. His frustration began to mount as he continued to cast every magical detection and diagnostic spell he could think of.
"It does not register as any known spell," he muttered, disbelief clear in his voice, and stowed his wand. Truly, he had never encountered this before. "It only enumerated as a highly concentrated area of ambient magic, though I could feel the elemental component of the magic."
"It befuddled the ones who trained me, too. Nobody has been able to fully explain this to me so I can only guess what happens." Harry dropped his hand, the water dissipating into a small puff of vapor as he did so. "I can cast spells just as a normal witch or wizard, but it feels…wrong to do so. Magic is sentient and we can use it, but most do so in an incomplete way. I commune with magic, though it does not speak to me. I can replicate spell effects and even use magic in ways others cannot, though some spells are unable to be replicated. The Unforgivables are the best example of that. It is…difficult to explain."
Dumbledore stroked his beard a bit more fervently than before. "I imagine it would be. That would explain some of the spells you cast during our duel. You are only limited by your own imagination and knowledge of magical theory, though you may likely be able to transcend some of that theory. Remarkable."
"My previous master, when he found out, trained me personally as he has a similar ability to commune with magic," Harry continued with a nod. He was glad that Dumbledore had not inquired more. The young man never enjoyed explaining his abilities as it made him feel as if he were making himself more vulnerable to exploitation. "However, I feel as if he knew more about our abilities' origins than he let on. Other than that, my most notable features are the runes inscribed on and in my body. I can power them by pushing my magic through them."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow with a small smile. Ever the scholar, that man.
Sharp green eyes began to glow with an aethereal light, reminiscent of when Dumbledore had first laid eyes on his uncovered face. Looking closely, Dumbledore identified a small, white-blue glow at the inner corners of his eyes.
"This allows me to see magic, similar to your mage sight runes inscribed on your spectacles." The glow disappeared and Harry opened the top of his grey robes, revealing his pale and muscular chest. A faint light could be seen through his skin, originating from the area his heart was located and broken by his ribs. "This one slows my heart rate. How slow it becomes depends on how much magic I push into it."
"Dangerous if not meticulously controlled," Dumbledore murmured as Harry righted his robes. A nod met his statement, Harry's now medium length raven hair moving with the action. "How many runes do you have? I am familiar with runes inscribed on the body and have a few myself, but most wizards cannot power more than a few clusters. Most of their uses are useless during everyday life. The practise fell out of style several hundred years ago on the Isles when wanded magic became the norm."
"Thousands," Harry replied, though his tone had a questioning quality to it. "I never took the time to count. It seemed a waste of time. Most are microscopic but powering a few simultaneously is not an issue for short periods of time. The drain on my magic is multiplicative instead of additive so I only use them as needed or during fights when I need a major advantage. The easiest ones to power are the ones that enhance my physical abilities."
Both men noticed a blood-red glow settle over the dark room. The sun was beginning to set.
"As much as I have enjoyed this, Harry, I believe I must be off to Hogwarts soon or Minerva will have my hide again." The Hogwarts Headmaster smirked at his own statement and pulled the Elder Wand and an invisibility cloak out of his robes. An odd look passed through his eyes as he held them out to Harry who took them tentatively in his own hands. "I believe these belong to you."
Harry looked up, startled at the offer.
"The Elder Wand will no longer be more than a normal wand for me since you won its loyalty." A faraway look glazed over Dumbledore's eyes. "The cloak is a family heirloom passed down from father to son in House Potter. Your father gave it to me before your family went into hiding during the last war. I have reason to believe it is The Cloak given to Ignotus Peverell by Death."
"Thank you, Sir." What else could he say to such a gift? He held in his hands two of the three Deathly Hallows.
"No thanks are needed, Harry." Dumbledore stood to his feet, his ancient knees popping as he did so. "I believe you will find them most useful for your upcoming mission. The Wand does not leave a magical signature behind. Most useful, in my humble opinion."
Harry stared down at the two items in reverence.
"The Wand," he muttered, his voice almost a reverent whisper. "It spoke to me when I first held it, though I could not make out what it said. Did it do the same for you, Professor?"
"Curious." Dumbledore ran his hand over his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "It did not. Perhaps the Elder Wand reacts differently for each owner. The Cloak, however, I find to be infinitely more useful. Your father and I tested it, though I believe it would be best for you to find the extent of its usefulness yourself. I trust you will put them to good use?"
Such insignificant looking items hidden as ancient, powerful artefacts. The magic coursing through them was familiar but, at the same time, unidentifiable. The enchantments on them were not placed by mortal hands. Harry knew that, but he was unsure if the story of the three brothers was accurate.
He closed his eyes and held his hands over The Cloak and Wand. The magic was strong, streaming powerfully, and old. Time seemingly held no power over Death's gifts. Harry could not make heads or tails of the enchantments. It was not the first time he had been unable to do so, but it was the first time in his life he had been completely unable to even guess the secrets an item held. It would require more study later.
He had two Deathly Hallows.
He could become the Master of Death if the story were true.
Harry clutched the items closely to his chest and looked up at his master, the man who had entrusted these items to him. Dumbledore's blue eyes were giving him a knowing look. Likely, he had the same thoughts go through his own wizened head at one point over the last decade.
"I have spent years attempting to unravel their secrets, and I was only met with failure each time." Dumbledore's voice was grave. A warning. "Keep them secret, keep them safe. I shall leave you to your planning, Harry. Have a pleasant evening."
The young man hardly noticed when his master had left the room.
It flowed like fine silk through his hands, the other was unyielding and powerful. He could become Death incarnate with these relics.
"You could break the yoke you have been placed under your whole life. You could be free, Harry Potter, if only you would submit to me." The Wand's insidious voice floated through his mind like venom through veins, corrupting his thoughts.
Harry shook his head violently and placed the Elder Wand on the coffee table.
He had more files to read and more plans to craft.
Besides, what would one such as he know to do with freedom?