A/N: You guys should have fun with this chapter. Sam Gabriel has done a professional 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 (your response to this story has been incredible). Next, my betas from the FlowerPot Discord server (link in my profile), HonerverseFan and x102reddragon. Check out their work. Finally, Sam, who gave me a lot of feedback on this specific chapter to make it what it is.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
The Shadow of Death
Chapter 3: As the Crow Flies
Such a strange sensation, falling. Even stranger was that he knew he was falling, but he could not feel the tell-tale passing of wind as he passed through the endless void. His body was weightless, but the sensation which generally came with falling was missing, its feeling dulled somehow.
Perhaps he was floating?
He had experienced several strange dreams over the years of his life, as had all other humans throughout time, but he could not recall one quite so bizarre as this. Though, if his currently fuzzy memory was to be believed, he usually only saw death during his sojourns with Morpheus. This was an entirely new experience.
Or was it?
The shadows were all encompassing but not oppressive, unlike his own magic or the darkness of his former home. However, it was a home he could scarcely recall.
He could not see his body, nor even his hand in front of his face. Normally, this type of experience would cause people to be overcome with an all-consuming, mind numbing fear. But not him, never him. He was always in control of himself. It was paramount, but he could not remember why it was.
Who was he?
Where was he?
How long had he been here? Hours? Days?
Anger took the place of calm acceptance almost instantly, his previous emotional control all but shattered, when he could find no answers in his now racing mind. His breathing became laboured as he tried to twist his body, finding his weightlessness to be almost as disconcerting as the infinite void he was trapped in.
There had to be a way out. He had to find himself again, but his brain just felt so unclear.
He could scarcely think.
The air was so thin, so wrong.
An odd realization, all things considered.
Could air exist in an expanse of nothing?
If not, how could he exist in such a place?
Irrelevant, erroneous. He had to escape.
Pushing air through his throat, he yelled his frustrations into the endless nothing surrounding him. He screamed until his throat felt as if razor blades had torn it to shreds.
Nothing.
He could hear nothing, not even the noise which should have come from within his own body. A pathetic. soundless moan escaped from between his lips, his show of weakness angering him further. Still nothing. The pain, something that he somehow knew he was used to, felt overwhelming. Perhaps it was due to him being denied access to any of his other senses. Perhaps not.
Wait.
A light?
Arms and legs started to flail in an effort to bring himself closer to the distant speck. It was the first thing he had been able to see during the seeming eternity that he had been trapped in the void. Despite his wild gesticulations, he did not move closer to the pinprick in the distance.
Until an unknown force decided he had lingered long enough.
A silent scream of fear left his mouth when gravity finally took hold in a violent manner. He closed his eyes against the wind searing against his eyes. If he were not screaming, he would have cursed his questioning of his prior inability to feel the wind against his skin.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a sight that made his skin crawl, but at the same time, he felt as if it were the most beautiful thing he had seen in more than ten years. The strange duality made him question his position at first. His own thoughts, his revulsion, which had been strong as any other emotion, began to fade into the background until he no longer remained. There was no more duality. There was only him.
After a few more seconds of staring into the mirror in front of him, the prior mortification was replaced by curiosity, acceptance, and a sadistic glee.
It felt right.
He was whole, only one being for the first time in so, so many years.
He was alive again after spending so long roaming the Earth as a spirit.
Pale white skin, nearly translucent, littered with bulging grey veins met his crimson gaze. He noted, with a small dose of displeasure, that his skin was stretched tightly across his frame, giving him a skeletal appearance. That would likely never change, even despite the wonders of magic. The seemingly sentient entity had exacted its price from him.
The disfigured wizard sneered at his lack of nose or hair, but he was satisfied that he had at least retained his crimson eyes. His original body had become more and more inhuman as he continued creating horcruxes, but at least he had a semblance of a nose and hair back then, as white and thin as the latter had been. His skin had been much the same as it was now, minus the bulging veins, but that had never bothered him. It was a small price to pay for immortality.
His serpentine appearance, though somewhat displeasing to his extremely critical eye, would at least be of use in striking fear in both his followers and his enemies. Even his voice had become more sibilant than it had been before. The resurrection ritual had affected him, but that was not to be unexpected.
Thankfully, he had risen at the same power as he had been before he had been felled by the youngest Potter. Though, he had noticed the changes almost immediately, not all of them were for the worse. His control over magic had increased significantly, but he was still becoming accustomed to such a change. He theorized it was due to his new body being a magical construct, but he had yet to fully prove such a supposition. He would require more time to become fully accustomed to it. Then, and only then, would he finally be able to take his revenge against Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore. Finding the former, while necessary, would likely be a most difficult task.
Lord Voldemort, the greatest Dark Lord to have existed, had risen again and magic, as his tool, would ensure his need for vengeance would be fulfilled.
The Dark Lord's thoughts turned to the prophecy as he ran his long, skeletal fingers over his yew wand, the wand that had seen him through so much on his journey to transcend all other magical beings. A quest, though temporarily set back by the Potters, would begin anew.
The prophecy had ultimately been his downfall. He knew now that he had not heard it in its entirety and his own over eagerness to see his greatest threat ended had forced him to live as less than a ghost for more than a decade.
It was not a mistake he would make again.
The Department of Mysteries was not something he had focused his efforts on in the last war. This was a change he had ordered almost immediately after he had slew the Diggory boy. Unfortunately, Yaxley had been unable to give him much information of use regarding the Department buried deep beneath the Ministry of Magic.
It was not unexpected but still a disappointment, nonetheless. Corban Yaxley would not have been his first choice to study the workings of ancient magic, but the Dark Lord was rather limited at the moment. Voldemort, in an effort to bolster his chances at success, had sent his familiar, Nagini, into the Department on a few occasions late at night, but she too had made little progress. Locked doors and their handles were rather a bother for an organism without hands or the ability to cast magic.
Nagini, though somewhat limited in her capacity, had at least identified Dumbledore's Order members standing guard in the circular room of doors but had been unable to find her way to the Hall of Prophecies. Augustus would have been a prime candidate to study the Hall were it not for his imprisonment in Azkaban. That would need to be rectified sooner rather than later, he feared. Yaxley, though capable with a wand, was not well versed in the intricacies of esoteric magic. A useful wizard, but a brute, nonetheless.
But how to free his most loyal followers without turning eyes to himself? A plan began to take shape in his mind. It would need to be a simple action for a simple solution, but it would suffice. Grand shows of power, though he enjoyed them, would only bring undue attention upon himself and his more capable followers.
A knock on the door to his personal study broke him from his thoughts.
"Enter, Severus." His voice came out as little more than a hiss, but he knew that the man would hear him.
The door creaked as it opened, its loud protestations grating on the Dark Lord's nerves. Lucius' new house elf had been remiss in its duties. He would be sure to remind the overly pompous man of such.
"My Lord." Severus kneeled as soon as he crossed the threshold into the room, his eyes lowered in deference. "I have come as you commanded."
"Rise, Severus, my faithful spy." He had never truly been sure of Severus' loyalties, but the man was too useful to kill. He played his role well, but his usefulness as a spy would end with Dumbledore and Potter. "Tell me, what news from Dumbledore?"
A sinister grin formed on his lipless face when he noted Snape's discomfort at his new appearance. The almost emotionless man hid it well, the only tell being a twitch in his left eye before turning his gaze to the many tomes lining the study's walls. But Voldemort, if nothing else, could read people as easily as a tome. Humans were such simple creatures. It pleased him greatly that he had transcended such shackles so many years ago.
"Little as of now, My Lord." Severus' dull tone washed over the taller wizard, reminding him of the many meetings between the two in years long past. They had been better times, when the promise of victory was within his reach. "The old fool has various members of the Order guarding the Department of Mysteries in hopes they will catch one of your servants to bring forth as proof to Fudge of your return. He's not told them what they are guarding. The Order has once again placed itself as little more than a reactionary force with the primary goal of providing intelligence to the Ministry once it mobilizes the Hit Wizard and Auror Offices."
Changes to the beginnings of his plan flitted through his mind at a rapid pace at the new information. This could be of some use.
A distraction, perhaps?
"Is there anything more, Severus?" He had heard rumours of Dumbledore travelling abroad briefly from his spies in the Ministry, but the information had been of little use as none could tell him where the old fool had gone.
"The Headmaster has been travelling much as of late," the potions master mumbled. His body was slightly tense, as if he were readying himself for an impending punishment by his Lord's wand. A prudent measure, but unneeded at this point. "However, he's been tight-lipped about where he has been. It is my belief that your return has seen his desire to locate Harry Potter resurface."
Voldemort quirked his head, trying to remember something he knew was important. It was there, at the edge of his mind. He had gone somewhere to speak with somebody. It had left him weakened and injured. That much, he could recall. He stopped as his efforts only brought him pain. The Dark Lord hissed lightly but refused to show anything more. Let Severus believe the hiss had been in reaction to Dumbledore's actions.
"Have his efforts seen success?" It was imperative he knew when the boy resurfaced. The fact that he had been missing for so many years was a cause for concern. None had been able to say where the boy had gone after that night in 1981. Perhaps he had been secretly trained for future confrontations with the Dark Lord, but such action was not within Dumbledore's norms.
"Not entirely, My Lord." Severus turned his gaze to stare out of the study's only window, taking note of the position of the moon in the dark sky. "To my knowledge, he's not found Potter, but he has found a new companion. I do not know the identity of the man who has recently been seen around the Order's Headquarters, but I do know he is posing as an Unspeakable."
Interesting.
"You find his occupation unlikely?"
Severus shrugged, the motion negligent and uncaring. "I'm unsure, My Lord. The man refuses to give any of us a name and nothing is known about him. He is enigmatic enough to be an Unspeakable, and his British accent seems…somewhat forced. It is entirely possible that he is from another country and is advising the Headmaster regarding the prophecy. But it's equally as likely that he is something else entirely."
The need to free Rookwood was all the more apparent.
"Is he a threat to our operations?" Crimson eyes narrowed at the possible threat.
Severus' shrug sent waves of fury through the newly resurrected wizard. He quashed the surging need to punish the younger wizard immediately. It would not do to punish his servants when it was not necessary. At least, not yet.
"Keep an eye on Dumbledore's newest pet," Voldemort hissed, his anger causing his voice to become more sibilant than was its norm. Dumbledore rarely allowed himself to become acquainted with figures shrouded in mystery. "Inform me as soon as you have any new, relevant information on him. In the meantime, I require your services."
A slight turn of the man's head and a quirked eyebrow were the only signs of his interest. "My Lord?"
Voldemort conjured a large snake between the two of them, causing the younger to cringe slightly as the serpent coiled, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. The magic had been fast, quicker than he had seen of the Dark Lord before. However, upon closer inspection he found the scales' texture to not be of the quality he had seen in his Lord's conjurations before. The potions master rubbed his chin in thought.
"You have noticed, as I would expect of you, Severus." Voldemort banished the creature with a negligent wave of his wand. "I expect that magic is more receptive to my commands as my new body is an entirely magical construct. However, the connection between soul, magic, and body is not what it once was. It is more…tenuous. I believe my time spent in spirit form has somehow caused my soul to not be as properly attuned to this new body, and its inherent magic, as it should. I require you to create potions to assist me with this connection."
"Would a ritual not suffice, My Lord?" Severus asked, hesitance creeping into his normally flat tone.
Usually, questioning the Dark Lord would be punished ruthlessly, but Severus was allowed the occasional impertinence due to his knowledge of the Dark Arts and his usefulness as a spy. Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort was not a merciful Lord.
The Dark Lord shook his head imperiously. "The risk of further unbalancing my magic is too great. I expect that a regimen of potions created by you and, possibly, rune clusters engraved in my body would suffice. It will take time, but I expect success from you nonetheless, Severus."
A subordinate bow met his command. How he loved the power he held over these men, lesser beings who at one point in time would have looked down their noses at him for being a half-blood. Now they prostrated before the very thing they despised as if they were in the presence of a god.
Glorious.
Now was the time to begin paving the road to securing his most loyal servants' freedom.
"One more item, Severus." The addressed man had not yet left the room. He knew better than to do so, not until his Lord had dismissed him. "Tell Barty to meet with me. I have a new mission for him that will take much of his time."
Another bow. "At once, My Lord."
The hands had been dealt, the chips laid on the table, but it was not yet time to reveal his hand.
*****BREAK*****
Deep, gasping breaths broke the still silence of the tapestry room in Grimmauld Place. Sweat beaded down a pale face as Harry Potter shot up from his prone position. His breathing ragged, green eyes swept the familiar room for possible threats he knew were not there. The dream, a vision more like, had deeply unsettled him. It was like nothing else he had experienced in his short life. It left him with more questions than answers.
'That vision,' he thought to himself, wiping the accumulated sweat from his brow, darkening the grey of his sleeve. 'I was Voldemort. But how? I am no seer. I am sure I was conscious when the vision took me.'
A look at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room told him that he was late for his meeting with the Headmaster. Harry muttered a curse under his breath before quickly collecting himself. It would not do for his master to see him so anxious. Thankfully, his hood had remained over his head when he had collapsed to the floor.
Harry took one final, steeling breath before exiting the tapestry room. Casting one last glance over his shoulder at the Black Family Tapestry, he closed the door behind him and made his way to the public study. Though, the more he considered it, he realized the room had become his personal domain over the near two weeks he had lived at Grimmauld Place.
Magic, calm and soothing, crept through the cracks in the closed door, but it had no effect on him. His master was already behind the door and was waiting for him. He raised his fist to knock but stopped when he realized he would essentially be asking permission to enter his own room. It was a strange feeling since he had never had any semblance of true privacy or ownership before. Harry forced the errant thoughts from his mind as he reached for the silver knob on the door.
"My apologies, Headmaster," Harry called into the room as he opened the door, the sound of light, cheerful humming reaching his ears. He noticed his master sitting with his eyes closed and a gentle smile on his face before a fire in the hearth. "Something strange occurred which left me indisposed for some time."
Dumbledore opened his eyes and turned to look at Harry with a bemused smile as he sat in the chair across from him. The expression quickly shifted to a thoughtful one as he noticed the frown lines in the younger wizard's face were slightly deeper than they normally were. The boy's face was normally as expressive as a stone so any changes to his mien were readily apparent.
"No apologies necessary, my boy," Dumbledore replied with an wave of his hand. "Though I am interested to hear what troubles you. Whatever it is seems to have deeply unsettled you."
Orange flames reflected in Harry's eyes, giving them an unnatural glow.
Was it truly so easily noticed?
Harry had more nightmares than he could recall in his former life, some horrible enough to leave grown men quavering in fear. Though, none had been quite so profound as what he had just witnessed. Stranger yet, was that he could recall it with perfect clarity, and he was sure that he had not been asleep. He had been Voldemort during the vision, to the point that even his own thoughts and emotions were too muted to be noticed.
A boon, to have not been noticed intruding, at least.
Had it been some unknown form of possession? No that would have required direct line of sight.
But what was it?
"I had a vision," he said quietly after an extended silence, his voice far away while pondering answers to his numerous questions. He never noticed the aged wizard's eyes snap to him frantically, an almost manic gleam in his normally placid gaze. "It was…I was Voldemort. It was as if I were seeing through his own eyes, but I could not fight it. His thoughts were my thoughts and I simply ceased to exist."
"Most curious…and vexing," Dumbledore murmured, running a hand over the length of his beard which was tucked into his brown leather belt. "I will have to think on the possibilities before I can say what happened, Harry. It is a peculiar situation, and one that I would not comment on lightly. Tell me, what did you see? Has this happened before?"
Shifting his gaze, Harry looked into the deep blue eyes of his master. The pitying expression easily gave rise to anger roaring deep in his gut, his emotions easily slipping from his control due to how frayed they were. He quashed the feeling. The man could think anything he wanted. It mattered not. Harry would be the strong one, unyielding steel to strike at the enemy. Weakness could not be afforded, and it would be punished, though now the latter would be done by their enemies rather than his master.
"This has never happened before, but it revealed little that we did not already know." The monotonous tone of his voice pleased him. Harry did not particularly care for his previous emotive thoughts. "He is, in a sense, more powerful than he was before, but his control of magic is tenuous right now. Professor Snape is helping him regain that control. Voldemort is also having Nagini scout the Department of Mysteries. Lastly, he has a mission for Barty Crouch Junior, but I do not know what it is."
"It tells us little," Dumbledore agreed. "Though I feel we should come to the purpose of this meeting."
Harry nodded his agreement, ready to get to the crux of the matter. His first mission under Dumbledore was to begin soon, though he was not anxious about it. There was nothing new or different about the mission besides the man who owned him.
"However, before we speak of your impending mission," Dumbledore began with a serious look. "I would like if we discussed a recent happening that will affect how we operate at Hogwarts."
"If you believe it necessary, Headmaster."
The inner workings of Hogwarts did not particularly interest him. Harry put little stock in the teachers or students' ability to keep him from his work, thus saw little point in discussing the Headmaster's proposed subject. However, he still felt uncomfortable at even the thought of denying the older man.
"Minister Fudge and Lucius Malfoy have been pushing the Hogwarts' Board of Governors for my dismissal in response to my claims of Voldemort's return." A wizened hand reached up to brush off a speck of lint that had settled on his robes' shoulder. He seemed to not care a whit about the heavy-handed move he spoke of. "Their efforts failed, but they did manage to plant a ministry official in the school as the new Defense teacher. Delores Umbridge will be joining us this year."
The name was immediately recognizable. Harry could almost feel the intelligence report in question sitting among the large pile at the other side of the study.
"A most unpleasant woman, a pureblood bigot who is ironically a half-blood." The possible implications of the woman's placement raced through his mind at blistering speeds. "She would be ill-suited to it, but I assume she will attempt to supplant your position within the castle."
Silver-white hair shifted as the old man nodded. "That is my theory, as well. It will mean we must be all the more discreet whilst conducting our affairs. If she catches wind of our involvement with one another she will likely be able to oust me, as it were. I wished to also speak with you further about your role within the school, but I believe now is not the time."
Harry tapped his chin in thought. "Madam Umbridge is no obstacle. I could remove her from play before she has enough power to hinder our work."
"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to kill Delores, Harry." Blue eyes dimmed in obvious sorrow at hearing the boy speak of killing so nonchalantly. "Killing Delores would only draw Minister Fudge's eyes to me, something that must be avoided at all costs if we are to succeed. I fear we must bide our time until we happen across an advantageous opportunity. I have little doubt that she will play her hand to our liking, given enough time."
An amused chuckle drew the older man from his introspection.
"There are ways to remove an opponent from the chessboard without killing them, Professor." Harry's eyes widened to emphasize his words, excitement at a challenge flowing through his green eyes. "I will bide my time at first. When she does overextend then I will take advantage of it and remove her from play without killing her. Given enough time to plan I can even make it seem as if it were her own doing."
"Very well, Harry," Dumbledore muttered, a small amount of apprehension showing in his expression. "You should also be aware that Auror funding has been cut once more. We shall be evermore on the back foot until the Minister admits to Tom's return, though I can only hope it will not be too late by that time."
A sharp crack resounded throughout the room, breaking the two from their conversation. The two turned to stare at Kreacher, who was staring at Dumbledore in poorly concealed contempt.
"Headmaster," the old elf croaked, his tone edging on disrespectful. "The nasty Weasels is here."
Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a word Kreacher disappeared with a parting sneer. The deranged house elf was obviously not happy these "Weasels" were sullying the great House of Black with their presence.
"I must attend to the Weasleys before long, Harry," the man mused with an entertained smile twitching his beard slightly. "I did want to speak to you regarding the Horcruxes. In short, I have found no clues as to how many Voldemort has or where he is hiding them. I will likely have to continue my hunt while Hogwarts is in session. I will leave Minerva, and you, to look after the school in my absence."
That had been a topic of worry for the younger of the two. Voldemort's horcruxes were of paramount importance, but Harry had been relegated to the walls of Hogwarts when he was not out on missions. His master would be the one to hunt the horcruxes. Madam Umbridge's presence, when combined with the Ministry's vitriol toward Dumbledore, could hinder their movements and place them further behind Voldemort than either of them would prefer. The hunt would continue while Harry ensured Umbridge's actions within the castle's walls were limited. Perhaps he would need to force her from the castle expeditiously to ensure she could not interfere.
"On a more sombre note," Dumbledore muttered, looking at an area just over Harry's head. "The Ministry is adamant about looking into the Dursleys' untimely deaths. I imagine they are only doing so because they were connected to you, a national hero. Tell me, Harry, what do you feel regarding their demise?"
The answer was simple, and Harry expected Dumbledore knew what it would be before he even asked the question. Harry lowered his head, shadows caused by the flickering fire beside him deepened across his stoic face. "I feel nothing, Headmaster. I have had no family since 1981 and their demise does not affect my future."
Dumbledore nodded, sadness enveloping his features. The man truly wore his heart on his sleeve. "I expected as such. It is my hope, my boy, that you will learn to forge personal connections while at Hogwarts, but I will not hold my hope closely lest I be disappointed. But that is a matter we will discuss when the time is more appropriate. What have you learned of your mission tonight?"
This was an arena of discussion Harry felt more at ease in. It was safe, familiar. He could afford no distractions, his mission too important to fail. Though, truthfully, he felt no personal connection to his given task, but that was not abnormal for him. The assassins had been taught to form no attachments to anything or anyone.
"They are a relatively young family," he began. Harry turned to stare into the fire, as had become the norm for him during their few discussions. It was a small comfort he had never been given in his last abode. "The wards surrounding their manor are strong. I have had no issues making my way past their defences and I do not expect to tonight. They have only one house elf and there are few internal security measures once I pass the ward line. I have watched them the past four days and nights. They keep to a schedule, their movements predictable. I will use that to my advantage. This outing is to send Voldemort a message that we will fight back, that the magicals under his reign will never be safe from us."
The older wizard seemed uncomfortable at both his words and tone of voice, which had been spoken with a great amount of relish. Dumbledore had not heard such a tone from the young man in their previous encounters.
Normally, Harry did not become excited for an impending mission, but he was genuinely anticipating this one. It was not for any attachment he felt for their overall goals, but, rather, it was a break from the monotony of sitting in the public study of Grimmauld Place reading intelligence reports. It was a lack of action that he was wholly unaccustomed to. Harry had constantly been on the move under his previous master, something that had been rather lacking under his new owner.
"Then I shall leave you to it," Dumbledore sighed, his popping knees echoing throughout the small room as he stood. He looked loath to leave. Perhaps it was due to Harry's mission, but the older man knew it was necessary. He had said as much before. "I fear the Weasleys may have grown restless during my time here. I should seek them out before they wreak their unique brand of chaos within our Headquarters. I only ask that you spare the two children as they are still my students. Good luck, Harry."
Harry nodded his farewell to the older man and turned his gaze to the small mountain of intelligence reports and the small moleskin pouch lying in the middle of the chaotic mess. With a sigh, he rose to his feet and resigned himself to conducting his pre-mission inventories.
A most dull task.
*****BREAK*****
Unseen, a black crow flew through the night over a large open field, the full moon glinting from behind dark clouds. Winking stars endeavoured to be seen by those inhabiting the countryside, wishing to proclaim their seemingly eternal beauty to the mundane creatures who inhabited the land. The clouds, the dull mottled grey that they were, denied the celestial bodies the glory they wished to express to the Earth's lesser beings. It was a never-ending story, a struggle of give and take, that had played out nearly every time the sun sank into its rest since their creation so long ago.
Though the sight would have been considered particularly breathtaking by most, the crow paid it no mind as it had done its entire life. Its eyes, indiscernible through the shadows cloaking it, never strayed from the field below its fluttering wings. Magic reached out to touch the dark bird from the ground, sending a small jolt through its small body.
The field was broken by small, rolling hills that littered the countryside of Hexham. Small lines of trees broke the openness of the field to the north, west, and south, their branches swaying lightly in the chill, night breeze of Northern Britain. The crow's darkened eyes flitted around the grassy knolls, searching for its unseen prey amongst their well-hidden bounty. Beady eyes stilled when they found the hidden flat ground they had searched for.
Flattening dark wings against its lithe body, the crow sank into a sharp dive. Its target, a lone shrub standing a lonely vigil amongst the manicured grass. The target was much too obvious, unaware of the danger that was coming. Air battered against its sleek feathers as it reached terminal velocity, the feeling of powerful, though somewhat young, magic washing through its body. It would have made for a series of unsettling sensations that would have set the bird on edge were it not for the fact that this was not a strange occurrence for the creature.
The crow extended its wings above the lonely shrub as the conflicting sensations washed away as gently as a receding low tide. Its black beak worried at its slightly ruffled feathers as an old Victorian manor appeared in front of it in a light shimmer. The front of the manor faced to the east, fronted by well-manicured shrubbery and a small, elegant fountain set into the base of a set of stone stairs leading up to the entrance of the owner's home.
Sun-bleached yellow and red-brown bricks looked to sprout from the ground in a crude yet beautiful imitation of the flora that surrounded the man-made structure. The splotchy black tiles making up the roof were obviously preserved by the magic protecting the home, but even magic could not fully prevent nature from letting its dominance over all be known. Windows, most dark due to the time of night, were situated evenly across the two floors of the home, acting as portals into the everyday mundanity of human life. Dark green vines of ivy crept up the manor's brickwork in crisscrossing streams that had obviously been coordinated by wizards to enhance the structure's picturesque beauty.
Human architecture had always been of minor interest to the avian creature, but it had not made its long journey here to critique the better points of fine construction. It took flight once again, keeping low to the ground, to situate itself on a taller shrub that was nearer to the manor. Eyesight had always been something of a problem for the creature. Crows naturally saw better out of one eye than both. Cocking its head, the bird satisfied its curiosity by watching each of the windows for several minutes. Superior peripheral vision was indeed a boon for hunts such as this.
None of the prey within the brick structure stirred.
Excellent.
Wings extending from its body, the bird of ill omen took flight with a low caw to circle the manor. It was seemingly satisfied with what it observed as it landed at the northwest corner of the opulent house. Clawed feet dug into the earth of a small nook that was well hidden from the casual observer, black beak clacking loudly against the sound of crickets singing their nocturnal song to the aethereal heavens. The crow paused for a few moments as if sensing a predator before it began to grow.
Harry Potter stared emotionlessly at a spot three feet from the corner of the brick wall. The servant's entrance of the manor was well hidden from the average witch or wizard, even if it was quite unimaginative. Though, he could easily sense the magic covering the solid barrier. The hole was quite small and would force him to crawl through it, the perfect height for a house elf to come and go as it pleased.
A shimmer enveloped his body, akin to what one would see emanating from asphalt on a hot summer's day before he vanished from sight. Many from the upper crust of wizarding society looked down on them for being "new blood", but the relatively young family had spared no expense for their home. Even the entrance meant for their bonded slave was lavish, flaunting their wealth to remind those who would use the narrow tunnel of their lot in life.
It reminded him of his old home, the obsidian halls a subtle reminder that all assassins within its halls were as expendable as the next.
Harry paused at the exit at the sound of china softly clinking together. Rich though they were, the family inhabiting the large home was foolish. They placed too much trust in their insufficient wards to protect them. No defences, other than a lone house elf and a singular ward encompassing the house, had been placed to prevent intruders from accessing the servant's entrance.
Invisible green eyes tracked the house elf. It was dressed in little more than a cream-coloured toga with the family's crest upon its left breast. The creature hummed happily as it scrubbed the floor of the kitchen, plates of fine china washing themselves at its back. Young magic permeated from the grey-skinned creature's body. It was powerful, for a house elf, but it had yet to master its own magic. Mipsy, the name he had learned from his previous ventures into the manor, had yet to sense the intruder in its presence.
Most witches and wizards overlooked house elves as being beneath them, little more than slaves unworthy of their notice. This was a flawed opinion. House elves, at least those who had lived long enough to master their own unique brand of magic, made for a wonderful defence. It was not necessarily the strength of their magic, but their connection to a home's ambient magic, which made them a nearly perfect early warning system.
He, however, was not like most magical humans. Though he had been on many missions, his first had nearly ended in his death due to a house elf detecting him and warning its family. He had been both young and foolish. It was not a mistake he had made again as his master had been most wroth with him.
Thus far, Harry had kept as wide a berth as possible from Mipsy every time he entered the opulent home. Though the creature was young, it would likely sense his magic if he came too near to it. Slowly, he crawled forward and out of the tunnel, invisible green eyes tracking Mipsy's every movement. Any blunder he made here would see his mission continue in a direction he would not want. At the absolute best, he would be forced to kill all the home's inhabitants before he could gather any information of worth. At worst, the occupants would flee and warn their master of an intruder who had the ability to pass through their wards uninhibited.
Back to the wall furthest from the house elf, Harry reached into his cloak and pulled out a sword from one of his many pockets. Spells were visible, and house elves could warn their masters of an intruder quickly. Worse yet, the ward the family had a ward encompassing their home that would warn them of an intruder should any foreign magic be cast within its walls.
Silent breaths escaped his lips in an even pattern, his sword in hand and his eyes never leaving the house elf scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the kitchen floor. Harry dared not to even power any of the runes engraved across his skin lest Mipsy detect a change in the ambient magic in the large room.
Gritting his teeth, Harry used all the force he could project to fling himself forward in a silent leap toward the crouched creature. As he landed, he swung the sword down. His target was clear in his eyes, his gaze allowing for no mercy. The blade was close, its faint whistling whispering the sickly-sweet melody of death.
His heart pumped in anticipation. Victory was near.
Mipsy turned her head to look back in shock at the invisible figure above her.
It mattered not.
Her time had come.
Death took her into His gentle embrace as dull green blood, cast in a sinister glint by the room's many candles, sprayed from her stump of a neck in a crude arc through the air. The pitter-patter of the house-elf's life essence striking the marble floor contrasted in a hauntingly beautiful song of demise with her body and head thumping limply in near tandem to the surface. Harry watched the scene unfold without a hint of emotion. It was something he had seen too many times for it to be a bother.
Flicking his sword roughly, the young assassin grimaced slightly at the green liquid that splashed against the ground.
He noted the need to thoroughly clean the weapon after his mission was complete.
Exiting the kitchen without a backward glance at the slowly cooling body, Harry stowed his sword back in his cloak. His work had finally begun after too long a wait.
The kitchen had been placed at the end of a long hallway bereft of anything other than storage rooms. So many rooms with little functionality, all with the express intent of keeping the rabble completely separate from the occupants. Shadows leapt at him from the many marble statues of notable British wizards, but he paid them no mind. Any competent wizard would have made the statues a form of defence rather than rendering them as little more than pretty affectations to flaunt their wealth.
Hinges squealed in protest as Harry opened the lavish cherry door at the end of the hallway. Extending his senses, he noted that none had stirred from the disturbance of the night's silence. The Manor's wards, unfortunately, would alert whoever was in control of them of an unwelcome presence using magic within its walls. Luckily for him, that defence did not extend to the grounds.
Fools, the lot of them.
Lavish was a rather dull word to describe what was on display in the entrance hall, though Harry had expected nothing less even when he had first reconnoitred the manor. More marble statues, along with fine art, adorned the walls. White and grey marble extended in every direction. Individually, it would have been quite beautiful, but it was garish as a whole.
Harry suppressed a snort as he made his way up the marble stairs silently. Thankful that the family did not deign to construct internal defences, Harry ignored the home's finery as he made his way to the family wing of Greengrass Manor.