Chapter 1: Curiosity Isn't a Sin

I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from writing this whatsoever. The Harry Potter franchise is the property of Warner Brother's and J.K Rowling.

"I'm not sure where *static* came from, but the front (door?)'s been knocked right off its hinges. How is *distorted* even possible? It's made of steel and *static* just pushed it forward like it was nothing."

- Transcript of a voice recording taken from evidence submission #79324 of March 17th, 1994. Marked as submission #79324a accordingly.

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He awoke to a splitting headache, voices arguing heatedly, a far too uncomfortable chair, and a pair of curious brown eyes staring at him from the crack in the door.

Not the worst position he's ever been in, for sure. He tried to take everything in, but that just made the headache worse. Four plain grey walls surrounded him. That was a good start. He was tied down to something. Not as good. Those eyes kept staring at him, and he couldn't make out a face. Ropes. Ropes were around him, dug into his jacket, which was a shame, he'd hate for it to get ruined, it was a nice jacket. All leather and black and - focus. The voices got louder, his stomach lurched as he tried to listen to them.

"-can't possibly be a Death Eater, they don't know the location."

"He wouldn't be able to even see the house because of the Fidelius, it must've been by accident."

Were the voices coming from inside his head? It wouldn't be the strangest thing to ever happen to him. What the fuck was a death eater?

"Both of you stop, he's awake."

Well, shit.

A hand grabbed at his hair, he couldn't fight it. His mouth was pried open, but he didn't see anyone's hands. Felt his stomach lurch dangerously again. A liquid forced its way down his throat. Suddenly his vision was much better, and he could make out some curly brown hair from the crack in the door along with the chocolate colored eyes. Sadly, his attention was shifted to the people right in front of him. The one on the left was old; with a long silver beard and odd purple robe and cap with a starry design. The one in the middle had a hooked nose, and jet black hair that reached down just to where his shoulders were. The man had a stick pointed at him, and a empty vial in his other hand. Finally, the one on the right, had shaggy and long light brown hair, complete with a mustache and stubble. There were laugh lines around his mouth and crinkles near his eyes, but he wasn't smiling right now.

"State your name," the one in the middle demanded. He felt himself grimace. Knew he shouldn't say anything, but something was compelling him to.

"Johnathan Blaze," he choked out, snapping his mouth shut a moment later.

It didn't help. They were British, he realized belatedly, as they shared confused glances. The accents gave it away. Then again, so did his.

"An American?"

The question was rhetorical, he knew that, but Johnny answered anyway despite his unwillingness.

"Yes."

The shaggy haired one rolled his eyes a little at that, and the one in the middle glared harder. "How did you end up passed out on the lawn?"

His stomach really hurt, and while he really didn't want to answer, again, his mouth moved regardless of his wishes.

Screams, there had been so much screaming. It wasn't his, he knew, and Johnny certainly wasn't used to it yet. Two down behind him in the small and tightly laid out office building, dead and gone already. Humans, he suspected, considering none of them changed form. He tried hard to remember their faces, prayed he wouldn't forget, but praying never did a damn thing for him, so he didn't hold out too much hope. A click, and then he's nudged forward a little, pellets melting as they make contact with him. He turns around, see's the fear and comprehension on a third mans face as he realizes he's going to die. The shotgun he's carrying can't save him, but he shoots at Johnny again anyway.

Johnny raises his hand, and feels the hellfire shoot out onto the man.

His screams pierced the silence, but Johnny ignored it. He was in control for now, that's all that mattered.

One more room, he could feel it. An evil whispering in his ear, though technically he didn't have those right now. He walked closer to a room at the end of a hallway. The rest of the place had been trashed from his arrival. Walls were scorched, honestly an improvement over the garish green that was peeling.

"-can't stay here. He's coming, he'll kill us all."

"Unlike you, Velgthar, I do not fear a mere fairy tale. Do you have no faith in your master?"

Johnny reached out for the handle.

No.

This wasn't right, he'd lived this already, didn't care for remembering it.

He pulled the handle down, pushed open the door a little.

"NO!"

The three men were in front of him again, the middle one with a scowl and focused expression. Stick still pointed at him.

"Legilimens!"

The door opened, and inside was the boy. Beaten and bloated and clearly dead. There were two men, one that was human, and one that was not, no matter how much they appeared to be. Dressed in an odd robe and black mask, the other had a casual outfit on.

Rage blinded him, even more than usual. Grabbed the fake by their throat, stared into their soul. Pitiful strikes landed on his shoulders, until the body went limp. And then just out of the corner of his vision, a spiked tail slithered beside him. He dropped the body, but he was too late. Something stabbed into his stomach as he turned. That wasn't supposed to happen. Hurt like a bitch too. Also not supposed to happen. Johnny grabbed at it before whatever it belonged to yanked it out. Put both his hands on it and swung.

The body it belonged to was just as spikey as the tail, but he could barely make anything else out as it flew into and then through the wall. It opened up into the cold London night, and the loud thud that greeted its landing was extremely satisfying. There was still the other man to deal with though, the one with the mask. But then there was a stick raised at him, and a shouted word that Johnny didn't understand. A bright white jet of light shot out from the stick, hitting him right into his wound.

He screamed.

Leapt for the man, lit his clothes on fire and they tumbled towards the hole in the office wall. There was a loud crack, and Johnny felt like he was being squished through a small tube, until there was nothing at all.

Johnny felt like shit. He didn't know what was going on, and the ropes around him still stayed stubbornly strong. Couldn't break out, not as he was now.

The dark haired man looked surprised. His scowl was gone now.

"What are you?" He asked.

Johnny had to answer. "The Ghost Rider."

The man didn't really react at that. But a female voice piped up.

"What did you see, Snape?"

He turned his head a little, and saw a woman with bright pink hair eyeing him warily. It was then that Johnny properly took in the other people present. There was a man and a woman close by to each other, both with very orange hair. A man who looked tired beyond belief, with a beat up cardigan on and mousy brown hair, and a slightly faded scar running across his face. A dark skinned man in elegant robes and a piercing gaze. The last person in the room was a man with a myriad of scars on his grizzly face, complete with a whizzing light blue eye and wooden staff. He tried to commit these faces to memory.

"Not here," the man in the middle said, still staring at him, "you don't know anything about us, do you?"

"You're whatever that other man was," Johnny answered, eyeing the mans stick, "he used the same thing."

The old man looked at 'Snape'. "Let us go review the young man's memories in private," he then turned to Johnny, placing his own stick at Johnny's temple, "I'm terribly sorry about this, Mr. Blaze, but this is nothing personal." He could feel something being tugged out of his head, and a wisp of silver came back connected to the stick. The old man placed it in the empty vial. "Just a precaution. If you're telling the truth, all will be well." He smiled at him in a grandfatherly way. And then one by one the people filtered out. All except for the dark skinned man, who stopped at the doorway and turned around to face him. He didn't say anything to him, just stood guard at the door.

Great.

"You know," he tried, "I don't feel so good." It wasn't even a lie, his stomach really hurt, but the man still raised a skeptical eyebrow at him anyway. His vision blurred abruptly, and the world went sideways, or was that him? Either way, darkness took him again.

"-telling the truth, all will be well," she had about two seconds before Sirius got to the door, and so she ran as quietly as she could, getting around the corner and into her room so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

"Hermione!"

She jumped, heart beating very fast.

Ginny greeted her, a worried look on her face. "Where've you been? I woke up to use the loo and you weren't here!"

Hermione raised her hands and shushed the redheaded girl. "Not so loud!" She whispered. Seeing no other option, Hermione told her about what she'd seen and heard.

"It must have just happened, they didn't even have any protective charms to keep anyone out. I'm sure they thought we were all sleeping."

Ginny, who'd been incredibly shocked to say the least, finally spoke after being silent during Hermione's retelling. "Think they'll tell us about it tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted with a frown. Hermione had thought about it already, but figured there was an even chance that they'd say something, or nothing at all. It'd be hard to hide a hostage, but not impossible. And Hermione did not want to give away that she knew, just in case. "Whatever they do, it'll be what's best for everyone, I hope." Figuring there was nothing they could really do about it, both girls went to bed.

It was hard to sleep though, what with her mind racing about what Professor Snape could have possibly seen inside the man's mind. She found it highly unethical to peruse through someone else's memories, but trying to figure it out through questions would've taken longer. Still... whatever he had seen scared him. Enough so that they had to leave immediately.

Just who was Johnathan Blaze? And what was a ghost rider?

"He passed out professor, even made the chair fall. When I got a proper look at him, I knew he wasn't faking it."

The world was coming in blurry, and Johnny had a headache that felt like a drum was going off in his brain.

"Mr. Blaze, can you hear me?" Mr. Blaze?"

He knew that voice, vaguely. "Mmh?" Was all he could mumble out though.

A light hand grabbed at his chin as he was sat up, (when did he lie down?), and another liquid was forced down his throat. Unlike the last time, this one instantly made him feel better. His vision cleared, and a warmth spread through him, immediately alleviating the headache he had.

The old man from before was in front of him, as well as the red haired woman and the black man that had been guarding him. His piercing blue eyes stared into Johnny's own with an edge of seriousness to them. "It seems your wound has gotten the better of you." Johnny looked down, his jacket and shirt were gone, which he also had no memory of taking off, and on his stomach was a ghastly black bruise. "It's been quite a few hours since you've passed out, and we've worked tirelessly to save you." The redheaded woman and the black man moved off to a different room, leaving the two of them alone. Johnny didn't know what to say to that. They'd saved his life, apparently, but they'd also tied him up and searched through his mind without permission.

He settled on a curt nod in the end. That, was apparently enough, for the old man smiled. "Allow me to properly introduce myself, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I'm the leader of a group dedicated to combat one of the men you encountered last night. They are Death Eaters, a group that follows Lord Voldemort, a man who reigned over Great Britain for almost eleven years in a terrible war. Many of us died. We were losing badly until the thirty-first of October, 1981, when he was abruptly defeated by a mere baby."

This was too much, was he hallucinating? Wars he'd never heard of and a supposedly evil man killed by an infant?. Yes, definitely hallucinating. He wanted so badly to believe that's all it was, that he was just dreaming and soon he'd wake up. But he lived in a world where the devil existed, and ruled over hell with an army of demons. Johnny lived in a world where his head burst into flames and he became a skeleton to punish sinners.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked.

Dumbledore frowned. "Because I have an offer. Two months ago, Lord Voldemort returned. He murdered a student at my school, and nearly killed the same baby, grown up now, as well. These are dire times, our Ministry refuses to accept that the man that nearly destroyed them, has risen again." The old man now looked a little troubled. "They have run a smear campaign on me, but more than that, they have claimed the boy to be insane, an attention seeker, and a liar." Johnny wanted to ask how that pertained to him, but suspected he was about to hear. "The man you killed that night, was one of Voldemort's followers. And based on your memory, there was something else there too. A creature you were hunting?"

Johnny scoffed. "I thought so. But in the end, I guess it was me being hunted. And that creature, I don't even know what that was." It freaked him out too, that the underworld could keep surprising him like this, that this was barely scratching the surface. He could see where this was going though, and wasn't that opposed to it.

"It seems we have a common enemy." Dumbledore said. "Voldemort has allied himself with the being that you fought, clearly promising his aid in defeating you, as shown by the spell that even I had not seen before. And I fear, with the help of this creature, and any other beings like it, he will be even stronger than last time."

"Wait," Johnny interrupted. "Spell? You said spell?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Yes, Mr. Blaze. A spell. We are all wizards, and for centuries we have been secretly among you. All over the world there are witches and wizards practicing magic. For many, they barely interact with the human world, entire magical societies go unnoticed every day. Right now, I'm breaking several laws telling you this."

After everything he'd been through, Johnny still found himself surprised. His brain running a mile a minute trying to figure out how that was possible.

"Now I ask this of you, and perhaps it is unfair of me to do so, we've kept you here, no doubt against your will, invaded your memory without permission. And for that, for that, I am truly sorry." He looked like he meant it too. Johnny was no mind reader, but he felt like Dumbledore could be trusted. Besides, he was right. Taking the fight to this Voldemort meant another shot at wiping out some of the devil's favourite demons, and Johnny was all for that. "But we need your help. The other's may think this is a rash decision, and perhaps it is. I do not know why you do what you do, but what I am almost certain of, is that the death of innocents is not something you will stand for. You went to that office to save the boy, and that doesn't strike me as an evil action."

He stared at the old man, memorized his face. Faces were important to him, he tried to remember all of his victims. No matter how evil, they were mostly still people. He couldn't let go of that, or he'd lose his humanity. Dumbledore offered him entrance to an entire new world. A whole universe of wrongs to right, sinners to punish. He wondered then, if it didn't matter, if he was just on a long road straight to hell anyway. One that didn't have any turns or exits.

He nodded at Dumbledore, and the old man smiled a little, something more hopeful this time.

"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."

Settling in was odd. The house that was more like a mansion was called Grimmauld Place. Introductions were made. He knew their names now, which was nice. But things were still tense, to say the least. He had his own room on the second floor, next to the twins, Fred and George. They were an interesting duo, always finishing each other's sentences and giving off an air of mischief. But they welcomed him pretty well more or less. He'd met them after leaving his room for the first time, and he'd caught them teleporting around the house to annoy another red headed boy, not as tall as the twins but quite lanky. Ron, his name was. Johnny got the impression that he didn't know what to think of him yet. Which was fine, expected, even.

He sat at the large dining table mostly alone. He didn't sleep in all that much, even though he probably should. Rays of sun shot in through the limited amount of windows, and there was a delightfully sweet smell coming from the kitchen area. There were only a few people down here, as the twins and Ron had not come with him, electing to stay upstairs for a little while longer.

The two redheaded adults, Arthur and Molly, were the parents of the Weasley family, which was apparently quite a large one. Molly was in the kitchen while Arthur sat close to the head of the table reading a newspaper with.. moving images? Yeah, sure. Why not? Seated at the head of the table was Sirius Black, the shaggy haired man from before. He gave Johnny a small smile as he sat down two seats away from him.

"Sleep well?"

Johnny shrugged, not wanting to be rude, but also not having a particularly good answer for that.

Sirius nodded understandingly. "I know what you mean. Never used to wake up this early, but now I'm up and about like an old woman."

"What changed?" He asked, and Sirius' smile turned bittersweet.

"Prison. Twelve long years of it."

Ah, that'll do it.

"Framed for a crime I never committed. Still wanted by the Ministry, actually."

He felt awkward. Didn't really know what to say in response to that. Sirius realized it too, and cleared his throat. "So, Johnathan-"

"Johnny, please." He winced.

"Johnny," Sirius amended. "Did you do anything for work, before leaving America?"

To kill people went unsaid, but he supposed there was no real nice way to say that.

"Er, yeah, I was a mechanic for a while," he said, "worked for my dad. He was a stunt driver."

Arthur put down the newspaper, something called The Daily Prophet. "A mechanic? Fascinating. You must have been good at it, you're so young."

He didn't feel that young, but yeah, a fifteen year old, seventeen now, working in a garage was liable to shock anyone. He was about to say something when Sirius spoke up.

"You'll have to forgive me, I don't recognize the term."

Johnny tried to answer, but Arthur did it for him, looking a little excited.

"He would fix muggle automachines, the ones they use to get around."

"Do you mean automobiles?" He asked, a little confused.

"Oh yes! Pardon me, I always get the names wrong."

Did they.. not use cars? Was that normal? And what was a muggle?

"Ah," Sirius said. At least he knew what a car was. "We don't really use those. Brooms, apparition or floo are much faster."

Johnny didn't know what two of those things were, and the other still made no sense. He nodded along anyway.

"And you said your father was a stunt driver? What's that?" Sirius continued. Even Arthur looked interested, apparently having no idea what it was either.

"He would jump over large distances, or objects on a motorcycle in front of a crowd. They'd like, pay to watch it." He explained. "He's gone over a dozen cars, through a ring of fire too. The whole nine yards."

Both men looked thrilled, and Sirius let out a laugh that sounded more like a bark. "That's amazing!"

Molly, who had come to the table to hand out some plates with food on them, huffed a little. "Dangerous, more like it."

"I agree," Johnny said, not put off by her. "Wasn't really my thing, more of a family business. Kinda glad I never got into it."

While his words seemed to have a positive affect on Molly, both Arthur and Sirius kept up a steady flow of questions about some of the stunts his father had done. Each getting more ridiculous than the last. It was a little hard to talk about his dad sometimes, but it was only a few harmless questions.

"Jumped over a large canyon?"

"What about over a lake?"

"An ogre?"

"Twelve scantily clad women?"

"Sirius!" Molly admonished from the kitchen, causing the man to let out a bark of laughter again.

"Er, yes, no, definitely not, and no, can't say that he did."

"Goodness, look at you, getting embarrassed! Be honest, did you sneak a peek when the girls were out?" He said. Which, yeah, Johnny could feel his face heating up a little. Part of him should be annoyed at it. He didn't get flustered like this. Ever. And yet, here he was all the same.

It was then that people started to come downstairs. Perhaps smelling Molly's cooking. It looked good, to be fair. Eggs, bacon and toast. Simple, but there was nothing wrong with that. The twins came down, as well as Ron, then Remus. Kingsley, Moody, Dumbledore, Snape and Tonks didn't live here, each of them having their own homes to go to. Though Tonks had a room reserved for her if she ever needed it. She had another name, but wouldn't say. Finally, a redheaded girl came downstairs. Johnny hadn't met her yet, but assumed it was one of the Weasley's. He'd only been introduced to the adults, as most of the kids were asleep at the time of his arrival and subsequent fainting. She eyed him with muted surprise and sat down at the end of the table.

Another girl followed her, and she looked around his age. Her hair was brown and a little bushy. They locked eyes, and he realized that he'd seen her before. Or rather, seen her eyes. She had been the one peeking in on his interrogation last night. Were the others aware? He didn't think so by how panicked she looked. Sitting down stiffly beside the other girl. Nobody really noticed, too busy stuffing their faces, but he did.

"Johnny, Dumbledore'll be here later to properly introduce you to everyone, mostly the kids." Sirius said. "Doubt Kingsley or Snape will show, but Moody and Tonks should be here. As well as some others." At his confused look, Sirius elaborated. "You didn't think this was it did you? We may not have the numbers we used to, but I assure you there's more than just the nine of us adults you met.

Breakfast continued in relative silence from there, and Johnny got the impression that this was an abnormal thing. Glances were shot his way, but besides Arthur and Sirius' renewed pestering about stunt driving, nobody else really spoke to him. And when he caught the brown haired girl's eye again, he held it until she looked away.

He needed to get out of here. Made an excuse to go to the washroom, but in reality he went up two flights and reached the library, that damned portrait cursing up a storm as he went. Closed the door behind him and let out a sigh of relief. Dedalus Diggle was a menace. The man talked on for what seemed like hours excitedly. Emmeline, Elphias, Sturgis and Hestia were nice enough, but if Johnny had to be in a room with Diggle any longer he'd kill the man. How did someone have that much energy? Half of these people seemed ineffectual, harmless, even. Hell, some of them were his age, still in school.

He didn't miss school all that much, and there was hardly any time for it now. He'd had to grow up far too fast. And then there were people like Snape, Dumbledore, Moody and Kingsley who radiated intensity. Dumbledore less than the other's but with age in this world came experience, and Johnny wasn't stupid enough to underestimate the old man. He was their leader after all.

The library was as dusty and depressing as the rest of the house, something which Molly wanted to rectify, much to the horror of the rest of the Weasley's. He never cared that much for books, barring the ones on how to summon the devil. Johnny learned almost everything he knew from his dad, and everything else from his nightly activities.

Still, it was his best chance for not being found. The members of the Order didn't strike him as people who wanted to dive into old tomes like the one's displayed on the shelves. Well, maybe Snape would. He certainly dressed like it.

"Even the dust has dust," he remarked quietly to himself, skimming over the names of books displayed on their spines. Some had no markers at all, and seemed to have entirely blank covers. Other's though, had fun little names like 100 Way's To Make Your Enemy's Skin Melt. "Charming," Johnny muttered.

"You get used to it."

He jumped a little, and then cursed himself internally. It was the girl from before, the one with the chocolate brown eyes. She was sitting on a black armchair close by to the door, reading a book. Didn't even look up at him.

"The dust or the murderous books?" He asked.

There might have been a small quirk of her lips, might have. Her face is partially obscured by her bushy hair though, making it hard to tell. "Both, I suppose," she answered, eyes never leaving her book. She's got her own pile too, a few stacked neatly together in a pile, some other's tossed away without care. Very few are bookmarked. All of them have title's though. Demons and Exorcism's, Satanic Rituals Through the Ages and many other colorful names. What kind of people did he agree to help? But then it hits him.

"You're looking in the wrong place, you know."

Now she looks at him, now he has her undivided attention. He had it before, wasn't hard to tell really, but now it felt right.

"I saw you peeking in, through the crack in the door. Curiosity isn't a sin," Johnny's got her, hook line and sinker. "But it can be dangerous. Lead you to places you were never meant to go."

She rallies herself though, and he has to admire her bravery. He's towering over her a little. "If you were truly never meant to go there, you wouldn't," She's smart, not just witty or studious, but painfully logical and calculating.

He gives her a falsely polite smile, before leaving. She can play that game if she wants to. And then he realizes why he was in there in the first place when Diggle's voice calls out for him from below.

"Shit."

Thankfully, Diggle doesn't have his claws on Johnny for long. But he can't decide whether it would be preferable to being the centre of attention, more so than usual, in front of all these people as Dumbledore basically inducts him into the Order. And as he stands there, Johnny can't help but wonder what he's gotten himself into.

Nothing good, certainly.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

Harry Potter was not having a good time. He'd been expelled from Hogwarts, unfairly blamed for his cousin's current sickly state, fought Dementor's in Wisteria Walk, found out someone has been watching him for the entire summer, and that Mrs. Figg, the crazy lady with far too many cats that used to babysit him was actually a squib and spy for Dumbledore.

"I haven't finished with you, boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed at him, blocking the doorway into the hall easily.

"Get out of the way," Harry said quietly.

"You're going to stay here and explain how my son —"

"If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you," Harry said, raising his wand.

"You can't pull that one on me!" Uncle Vernon snarled. "I know you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!"

"The madhouse has chucked me out," Harry said. "So I can do whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One — two —"

A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen; Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry was staring for the source of a disturbance he did not make. He spotted it at once: A dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.

Ignoring Uncle Vernon's anguished yell of "OWLS!" Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open again. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had pulled off the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and in blotchy black ink.

Harry —

Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry, and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.

Arthur Weasley

Sure, he could totally do that. Easy.