Tempting Fate – Chapter 3 (Doubt and Despair)

It was hard for Desmond to tell how much time had passed since he had been kidnapped by this… Abstergo. Obviously by now he knew it was just a cover face for the Templars' operations. The days had quickly molded together. But most every morning he had been forced into that… machine of theirs. It was still ice cold to the touch, but he didn't know how real Dr. Vidic's threat was. By the grimace of Dr. Stillman, he assumed it had to be real enough.

Dr. Stillman still allowed him frequent breaks in and out of the Animus. Something that seem to irritate Dr. Vidic to no end and Desmond was pleased to see that it did. But Dr. Stillman had been nice to him, he didn't want anything to happen to her. Though there were some moments that his brain felt slightly fuzzy and he had been immediately pulled out. He didn't realize that they had been monitoring him while he had been in that thing.

Though as each memory played for Altaïr, the more and more intrigued he was by his ancestor. He had never realized the lengths that Altaïr had to go to get his honor and rank back. It was kind of a humbling experience to watch and almost live. And as each kill was performed, he got more and more of his skills back. Then there had been the real shocker, one that he had never expected. Al Mualim, an Assassin Mentor had essentially betrayed his own and violated a tenant that Altaïr had previously violated. And that artifact that he held… is that why the Templars wanted him and his memories? So, they could twist the lives of men and bend them to their will? He always almost glad that Altaïr had killed his mentor. The man had become corrupted by power and greed.

And so, Desmond knew he needed to escape. But first he needed Dr. Vidic out of the picture. He wasn't sure about Dr. Stillman, she seemed to have sympathy for him. Maybe he could use his young age to his advantage? He knew that he didn't have much time left and that he couldn't risk going back in that thing. So, he slipped one of the steak knives from a previous dinner into his hoodie. Nobody said a word. Not about that a knife and potential weapon went missing. Nothing.

And it wouldn't be until the next morning that Desmond decided that he would put his plan into action. He wasn't sure how much time he had left. And he wasn't stupid enough to not know that Dr. Vidic would kill him as soon as his usefulness ran dry. So, if he had to beat Dr. Vidic to that, then so be it. It wasn't like he hadn't killed before, Assassin blood run through him. He had already started to regret that he ran from that. Maybe not escaping to England, because he had met Harry. And there hadn't been a day that his mind hadn't thought of him.

He still worried about the raven-haired boy he met that day. His bright emerald eyes never left any of his dreams. And so, his mind would make him endlessly think if he had made it out alive and away from the Templars. He needed to get back to England. Maybe he could find out where he lived from the park that he had first met him at. Surely, it couldn't be that hard to find a raven-haired teenager.

Though Desmond wasn't even sure he was still in England for that matter.

Though the morning came sooner than Desmond had expected it to. He could feel the knife still hidden within his hoodie. The heavy material had helped mask its presence, something he took advantage of.

Then he reacted.

Dr. Vidic had walked into Subject 17's room to wake him, expecting it to be just like any other day. Perhaps the last one he would have to deal with the irritating teenager. Though he would never expect on how literal 'last day' would mean, especially for him.

Desmond watched as the doctor choked up on blood. His hand faintly going for the handle before collapsing on the floor. The blade was still firmly in his chest as blood spilled all around him. His white lab coat wasn't white anymore. It was now stained with blood.

"You'll never escape here… you'll be dead before you walk out the door," he gasped.

Desmond frowned, "then you don't know me very well… doctor," he mocked.

Desmond carefully stepped around the Doctor, not really wanting to get blood on his shoes and leave a trail for them to follow. He didn't hesitate to pull the bloody knife out of the doctor's chest. Didn't know when he might need it again. Though he didn't hesitate to wipe the blood on the bed, so it didn't look as incriminating.

Dr. Stillman never walked in the room and Desmond was slightly grateful for that. He wasn't sure if she was an ally yet to him.

"Alright, Desmond, need you to get back into the Animus," Dr. Stillman called out.

Desmond stayed put.

When Dr. Stillman still didn't hear any movement, she looked up.

"Desmond, there isn't time for games."

"I'm not going back in there and you can either help me or get the hell out of my way," Desmond stated.

Dr. Stillman sighed, "I'm not your enemy, Desmond…"

Desmond's eyes flared, "Aren't you? You're just like them, already preparing to kill me after I go in there."

"Of course not! I'm trying to help you!" Dr. Stillman exclaimed.

"Prove it!" Desmond demanded.

"I'm with one of you!"

"And say I believe you, why should I trust anything you say? Maybe you were the one responsible for finding me…" Desmond folded his arms.

"You don't… but if you want to get out of here alive. You need to trust me. I have some Assassin allies that I planned for you to meet up with. They'll meet us at the ground level."

Desmond frowned at that but didn't reply to that. He wasn't sure if he was to trust her or not.

It was as Dr. Stillman was unlocking the door that her eyes caught a glimpse of something.

That was when Desmond realized that if anyone had looked towards his 'prison room', it would be a bit obvious what happened. Considering there was a body in view, and it could only be one person.

Dr. Stillman lunged at him.

And with the knife that was still in Desmond's grasp, he plunged it into her chest. She collapsed to the ground and placed a hand to where the knife was imbedded in her.

"Guess that's my answer after all, just another one of those fucking Templars," Desmond spat at her.

"You'll never make it out of here alive," she gasped. "You'll be dead before you reach the next room."

"Guess I'll find out… no thanks to you. You Templars are all alike. And here I thought you actually might be sympathetic," Desmond commented.

Dr. Stillman glared at him, "no better than you Assassins! I should have let you die in that Animus!"

Desmond grabbed the access pass that Dr. Stillman dropped. No doubt it could be his way out of here. And he knew a little bit around due to his 'exploring…' So, finding the elevator wasn't hard to find. And if he grabbed one of the batons from a random security guard to knock two out, then he did. It was easy to find a path using his Eagle Vision to find his way down. And Dr. Stillman had mentioned a garage. Did that mean the Assassins that were trying to rescue him before… were down there?

It wasn't the best plan to have, but it was better than being in that room and getting killed himself. And he wasn't going to stand idle and not fight. If he died… then at least he would die fighting as an Assassin and not a coward.

A pair of emerald eyes flashed in his mind.

Desmond took a deep breath and maybe… maybe he could find Harry again. He wasn't sure why he felt a bond towards him, but he meant something to him. And he was going to do all he could to find him again. Even if it meant finding that damn magic castle in Scotland.

Desmond raised the baton once more, prepared to strike…

"Desmond! We're on your side," was the yell.

Desmond didn't strike, but he didn't relax either.

"Last person that told me that wound being a Templar!" he growled.

The woman looked like she had been slapped. She was wearing a pair of brown pants with a white long-sleeve, covered up by a brown jacked.

"We're part of the rescue team. We were sent to bring you to a safehouse, out of their clutches."

Desmond hesitantly lowed the baton. The woman definitely looked shocked, maybe she was the Assassin that Dr. Stillman mentioned. And she didn't make him want to tense up or attack.

"Say I believe you…"

"Would you rather keep company with the Templars behind you?"

Desmond frowned, but he figured that maybe this… Assassin was his best shot right now.

The Assassin waited for Desmond to get into the car before she got in and started driving.

"Where exactly am I?" Desmond asked.

"Italy," she answered.

"Italy!? Does that have anything to do with Warren Vidic?" Desmond asked.

Desmond watched as the Assassin nodded.

Desmond sighed; he had never been a fan of Vidic. He was honestly glad he had killed him. Plus, that was one less Templar that he had to worry about.

"You obviously know my name, so who the hell are you?"

"Rebecca Crane. Lucy was supposed to arrange your escape, but it had been several months before we heard anything… but we never knew—"

"That she was never an Assassin…" Desmond finished.

Rebecca didn't answer, she just kept driving.

"What!? Months?" Desmond exclaimed, as if he just realized this.

Desmond was in a bit of a shock at that revelation. He would have guessed it may have been a month at most. How long had he been trapped in that facility?

"Its January now," Rebecca confirmed.

Desmond just sat there in silence. How could he have not noticed so much time had passed. Wasn't he kidnapped back in August or September? That made it over four months, maybe five. And then he felt the car stop.

"Its not much, but its somewhere where the Templars won't expect us," Rebecca explained.

Desmond nodded and followed after her. To meet someone else…

It was an older man.

"Rebecca, I was wondering when you would get back. Where's Lucy?" he asked.

And then he noticed the newcomer and looked taken back.

"Not to mean any offense, but isn't he a bit on the young side for this level of work?"

Desmond instantly disliked him.

"What business is that to you!"

"Easy Shaun, meet Desmond Miles," Rebecca intervened.

"So, this is the legendary Desmond… you don't look like much," he noted.

"I don't see Vidic and Stillman dead by your hands," Desmond retorted.

"Lucy's dead?"

Rebecca nodded, "she was one of them, Shaun."

Desmond was almost amused to see the older man almost lose his balance.

"But Desmond, we still need your help," Rebecca turned her attention back to the fifteen-year-old.

"You realize I'm only fifteen… what do you expect me to do?"

"You remember your training though. They may not have gained the map on any of the Pieces of Eden. But they're still looking for them and we think you may be able to help."

"I just want to get back to England," Desmond protested.

"Would you really let these Templars get their hands on one of these pieces?" Rebecca asked.

Desmond sighed, "no… I wouldn't. But I never finished my training."

Desmond didn't like what Rebecca was hinting at. He just wanted to get back to England and find Harry. But maybe this had to take a higher priority. He had seen what one of those apples could do. And he had tried to forget who he was once, and he couldn't allow that to happen again.

"There's a way to get that training and it would only take a matter of weeks. A month or two at most. Though the Bleeding Effect you could learn years of training in that short matter of time. But we can't forget that the Templars have their eyes set on Italy for a reason. We believe its because of the Vault," Rebecca explained.

Desmond looked interested upon the fact that he would be able to absorb one of his ancestors' training in that quick amount of time. At least it probably wouldn't take as long opposed to when he explored Altaïr's memories. But he had no idea what she meant by Vault. And he didn't think he would get an answer if he asked. But he knew that if anything, they needed to get one of those pieces before the Templars could. Then maybe…he could find some way to get back to England. But it looked like he was going to have to stay in Italy for a bit.

The month of September had been no better than the one in October. First had been the rumors about Sirius Black and where he wanted to kill Harry. And Harry didn't want to hear any more of it. His emotions already felt wrecked from that night on the train. And even more so at the Opening Feast. Apparently, word had spread that he had passed out because of a Dementor.

Because Malfoy was mocking him by doing poses of him fainting. Harry tried to ignore it; he really did. Because all it was doing was going to remind him of why he passed out and what he saw. And all he wanted to do was forget about that. His friends and Professor Lupin even told him it was nothing but an illusion.

Then there was a voice and Harry had never been so glad to hear it.

"Mr. Malfoy, that is clearly a fellow student you are insulting. How would you like it if a Dementor forced you to witness your mother or father dying?!" Percy's voice was furious. "Nothing to say?! Good… Now maybe you can do your House some honor by keeping your trap shut!"

The Great Hall echoed in applause and there was a very noticeable blush on Percy's cheeks. But it wasn't like he was going to tolerate bullying of a student if he couldn't help it.

Then there was another voice and Harry didn't know if he should laugh or not.

"Didn't you cry for your mum the first month you were here, Draco?"

It had been an older Slytherin. Possibly a 6th or 7th year and he hadn't even looked up from his dinner. But the voice had been loud enough to echo through the hall.

Harry didn't have to look that Malfoy either was red in embarrassment or anger. That didn't stop the Great Hall from erupting into laughter. But then he noticed the embarrassed look from Ron, who was sitting across from him.

"Ron? What's wrong? How did Percy know that?" Harry asked.

Percy cleared his throat, "that may have been my little brother's doing…"

Harry looked at the older Weasley in question.

"Ron had been acting a bit odd and wound up telling me what happened. While I do know that is a very personal matter. I was not going to allow a young student be allowed such atrocious behavior," Percy revealed.

Harry wasn't sure what to think on the emission. One, he was a bit annoyed that Ron had admitted what happened to Percy. But he could understand why he did it. He was worried and figured if he couldn't help, his brother could. And he was a bit relieved that Percy did intervene. He doubted any of the professors would have came to his defense.

Harry didn't even know who was the Slytherin that made that side comment. His lips twitched at the thought. No doubt that some students would use this as blackmail.

"Percy, who was the Slytherin that made that comment?" Harry asked.

Percy looked up at Harry, "Marcus Flint, he's one of the Slytherin Prefects. I'd imagine he'd be up for the position of Headboy next year."

"The Slytherin captain?" Hermione questioned.

"Exactly the same. Though he turned down that position this year," Percy confirmed.

"I thought Flint would be buddies with Malfoy," Harry admitted.

"Not at all, he's one of them that actually can't stand the blunt bullying. I imagine he's been waiting for an excuse to say that for a while…"

Harry looked thoughtful at that, he never expected to hear that. He had always believed that Slytherins were the worst sort and that everyone followed Malfoy's every word. Did that mean there were other Slytherins that didn't quite believe Malfoy's every word as well?

And that brought Harry to where he was now. He felt tears running down his cheeks and they wouldn't stop. And every time he thought he was done crying; another wave would rack his body. His knees were huddled close to his chest while his arms were wrapped around them.

And this all had started because of a damn lesson for Defense Against the Dark Arts. He almost wished that he had been skipped for that lesson. It was like the Dementor incident all over again. Although he didn't see Malfoy reenacting him passing out again. But now the entire school would know what his worst fears would be.

He had even been getting better about it. He would hate remembering seeing his dead body and that knife. But he remembered Professor Lupin's words, it was just an illusion. And whatever connection it was, he could feel it. It was faint, but he could feel it. If someone had asked him to explain it, he wouldn't know how. But he knew that Desmond was alive and breathing and somewhere far away. So, this knowledge gave him hope.

And now he was crying in an abandoned corridor because he couldn't fucking face a Boggart.

He remembered what Hermione had said, they were shape shifters and could turn into your worst fear. Harry didn't need to face one to know what his worst fears were. The Dementor had shown him that. But somehow the professor felt it was necessary for him to face it. Maybe it was because of the professor couldn't allow him to skip it when he allowed everyone else. But he wished he had. Then maybe he wouldn't have looked like a baby when he ran from the classroom. He couldn't even mutter the charm to fight against the boggart. His mind just went completely blank as he stared at the scene. There was so much blood… How was he supposed to turn that into something funny? He couldn't…

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked back.

Harry had expected to see Hermione, or even Ron. Not the person who was in front of him.

"Zabini… here to make fun of me…" Harry mumbled, even to him, he sounded pathetic.

Blaise Zabini didn't even take offense to the comment. His dark eyes were sympathetic as he slowly sat down in front of him.

"Quite the opposite actually, Potter."

Harry actually looked at the Slytherin. There was no hatred or mockery in his face. It actually surprised him. What was his game? Though he knew that he probably looked horrible with puffed up and red eyes. His voice sounded choked up and cracked, as if he hasn't spoken words in months.

"Then what?" Harry bit out.

"I know your pain and I don't believe you should struggle with that on your own," Zabini admitted.

Harry's jaw dropped at him, "you better not be just saying that."

The Slytherin let out a heavy sigh, "I swear I'm not."

Harry slowly let go of his knees as they fell away from his chest.

"My father…" Blaise finally breathed.

Harry felt his breath hitch. He had heard stories from the other Gryffindors about the legendary Black Widow. It was hard not to hear of them and how many husbands she had which were all now dead. Had Zabini witnessed that?

Harry nodded, still unsure what to say.

"Yours?" Zabini prompted, though he expected to be shot down.

Harry sighed and looked down at the stone floor.

"An illusion created by the Dementor from the train… I witnessed him kidnapped…" Harry's voice was soft.

Blaise winced at that. He knew just how horrible dementors could be, they were not a pleasant creature to be around. Though his eyes widened with realization and he couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the Gryffindor. He knew that Dementors typically could create illusions of a witch or wizard's deepest fears. It was practically unheard off… except for one thing. They did have the ability to do that… if they had a soulbond. Even though Blaise did occasionally have nightmares about his father's death. There was some myth about where Soulbonds were literally connected to their very soul and magical core. But maybe… that myth wasn't all lies and fable after all…

Though he hesitated… there was no way he could tell Potter of his suspicions. He didn't think the Gryffindor would believe him. It was a miracle that he hadn't cursed him for witnessing him in his emotional and vulnerable state.

"You realize that wasn't real? None of it was," Blaise finally said.

Harry suddenly looked unsure, "I don't know anymore…"

"Potter, look—" Blaise started before he was cut off.

"Harry," the Gryffindor cut in.

"Huh?" the Slytherin was caught off guard.

Harry then looked embarrassed, "I think you deserve the right to call me, Harry."

Blaise then looked amused, "then its Blaise to you."

That got a half smile from Harry, though he still felt like an emotional wreck.

"Now… before you interrupted me, all you saw was an illusion. I fight with mine somedays too… the difference is. Yours is still alive, don't ever forget that. Use your damn head for once in a while, at least. But that doesn't mean I don't know what its like to lose family, either…" Blaise's voice was soft at the end.

Harry knew what the Slytherin was getting at. And he couldn't help but go tense at it. That had been another dark memory of his. Reliving his memories about his parent's murder. But he couldn't help but feel that similarity between them. None of Harry's friends knew what it was like to lose your family. And Blaise didn't even judge him for his weakness. That had to count for something.

"I didn't think anyone would…" Harry whispered.

Blaise frowned, but he didn't say another word. He just placed a comforting hand on the Gryffindor's shoulder. And this time, Harry didn't back away from it.

Harry didn't share in the same hype as the rest of his house as the Quidditch Match drew nearer. Though there had been a heavy amount of protesting on how Slytherin House got out of playing against Gryffindor. Even Blaise had given him a helpless shrug on that one. Apparently, since Malfoy had complained enough about his fake injury. Professor Snape had decided to abuse his power as a professor and Head of House. And that's how it got to where they were now, to play against Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin.

And there had been a surprise for Harry. He hadn't expected to keep up this friendship with Blaise. He wasn't really friends with any of the Slytherins and now he was. Ron hadn't been very pleased about that, but he got used to it. But there had been a lot of times that Blaise just preferred to stay silent. Though occasionally Blaise did ask for details about his apparent friend. And Harry never saw it as mocking, more of general curiosity. And for some reason, Harry didn't mind sharing them.

And apparently Blaise had enough.

"How have you not noticed it?" the Slytherin stated.

Harry had glanced up from his assignment, surprised.

"Noticed what? You're going to have to be a bit more specific here."

Blaise made a small groaning noise.

"He's your bloody Soulbond! How can you not know?!"

Harry's face flushed red, "I had some idea…"

Blaise snorted at the mumble; least Harry wasn't completely hopeless.

"The vision would have been a clear answer!"

Harry's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"Harry… Dementors just don't give a witch or wizard a vision of their worst fears. Its always a memory of theirs. But your Soulbond is connected through to your soul and magic. And so, the Dementors can exploit that and doing so, they are able to leave you nothing but anguish. That's the only reason why you had that vision. Normally that would be something only a Boggart can create."

"Ohh…" Harry mumbled.

Blaise rolled his eyes, "I swear… Gryffindors…"

"You Slytherins aren't any better," Harry protested.

"That's a weak argument and you know it," Blaise retorted.

Harry sighed at that; he knew that it was. But at least Blaise wasn't another replica of Malfoy. Though the dark-skinned wizard would more likely curse Malfoy than be associated with him. He guessed the blonde tended to be even more irritating to other Slytherins, not just his house. It made him wonder on how many times they must have cursed him for that.

The next few hours were nothing but a blur for Harry. He briefly remembered pulling on his Gryffindor Quidditch robes and listening to Wood's lecture. Though he had no idea what Wood was talking about. It literally went through one ear and out the other. Though he wouldn't tell Wood that, his poor ego would get wounded and then the team would hear about it for weeks.

Harry remembered mounting his broom and flying in the piss pouring rain. But it was hard to remember much after that, besides knowing that he was looking for the snitch. Which was near impossible with the weather. And then his nose filled with the smell of blood, it had been enough to almost make him gag. The smell had been so strong, it nearly overwhelmed him.

Harry had almost felt like he was slipping from his broom. He tried to shake his head as if that would get rid of the smell. Maybe he should have dived closer to the ground. He never would have imagined it would be a sign for what happened next.

Hundreds and hundreds of Dementors swarmed the Quidditch Pitch.

And then Harry felt himself actually falling from his broom. The smell of blood still thick on his senses. And then he lost all awareness and he slowly plummeted to the ground.

It was when Harry woke, that he had believed he was dead. At least till Blaise had wacked him against the head.

"Oww… injured here…" Harry protested.

Blaise snorted, "maybe your pride…"

"Umm… Blaise… maybe that's not the best thing to do… He did just fall over one-hundred feet," Hermione said weakly.

Blaise rolled his eyes, "he's not dead yet, is he?"

Hermione just sighed at that but turned her attention to her best friend.

"How are you feeling?"

Harry just groaned.

Hermione glared at Blaise.

"Anyone would groan under Madam Pomfrey's care," Blaise protested.

"I heard that, young man!" came a woman's shout.

Blaise's dark skin went a shade lighter.

"Might want to avoid the Hospital Wing for the next few months," Harry grinned.

"You sure, you're okay?" Hermione asked.

"My pride is wounded, but I'm alright. But that's what happens when I hang around Blaise," Harry joked.

Hermione gave a relieved smile.

Ron howled in laughter.

Blaise just rolled his eyes, "Gryffindors!"

Hermione let out a small snort as her lips twitched.

"Does anyone else smell blood?" Harry suddenly asked.

Hermione shook her head, "you sure you're okay?"

"It'll fade, remember," Blaise reminded.

Harry gave a shaky sigh, that was all the answer he needed. It wasn't one that he wanted but it was one regardless. He was really starting to hate Dementors.

"Dementors?" the small Gryffindor asked.

"They weren't even allowed to be on the grounds. Professor Dumbledore sent them straight off… after you…" she couldn't finish.

Harry laid a gentle hand on top of hers, "Hermione, don't worry so much. I'm still here and obviously I'm just fine. And if Dumbledore sent them away, then no need to worry."

Hermione still looked unsure but nodded.

"Hermione… don't worry as much. And Madam Pomfrey has yet to let me go until I'm fully healed," Harry comforted.

Hermione sighed, "that still don't make me worry less. Promise me you'll ask Professor Lupin on how to fight them."

Harry looked curious at the idea, "that might be a smart idea. You said he chased that one away on the train?"

Hermione and Ron nodded.

"May try to ask him once I get released from this prison," Harry grinned.

"You will not be released until you're good and ready to, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey lectured as she shoved chocolate into his hands.

Harry gave a sheepish grin as he started to nibble on it. He could feel the warmth start returning to this body. He had forgotten that chocolate was one of the best remedies when you countered a Dementor. And he didn't doubt that Madam Pomfrey would go through every little detail before deeming him fit to be released. Sometimes he hated the Hospital Wing, but he preferred living to even think about escaping her clutches. Madam Pomfrey could be frightening when she wanted to be, and he wasn't stupid to think that she wouldn't use a sticking charm on him.

She had to threaten him with that once or twice and he never been brave enough to incur her wrath. He was too terrified of her, plus he knew that she would carry out that threat. To say that she was overprotective of her charges was a huge understatement. And it looked like he was going to be bound to this bed for the next few days. Now if he could just get rid of the smell of blood…