I don't own anything, JK Rowling owns everything, including you, me, and the world we inhabit. All hail Dread God Rowling!
Chapter 1: Dancing with the Devil
Harry heard the screams the moment he stepped out of the fireplace in the Diagon Alley's auror outpost. The scent of smoke and burning flesh nearly made him gag. Green fire flashed behind him, and Proudfoot stepped out of the floo.
"Potter," he said, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly, "There are already three other pairs of aurors keeping the threat occupied. They are located in the main square, in front of Gringott's bank. A team of rapid response Hit-Wizards has already evacuated the area. Our job is to contain the threat, preferably keeping the thing alive for study, but that's not a priority. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, "Yes sir."
"Good, stay close."
The pair stepped out of the building and into Diagon Alley proper, watching the buildings around them burn with unnaturally orange flames. They started running toward the Goblin Bank and Harry felt a potent terror grow in his chest with every step he took. "Sir, why aren't there more Aurors here?"
"This isn't the only place under attack," he looked at Harry out of the corner of his eyes, "it's why you're here, almost everyone else has already been deployed."
The most discordant sound Harry had ever heard rang through the ruined wizarding settlement, a cross between the roar of lion and the squeaking of nails on chalkboard. "We're near," said Proudfoot, wincing in pain.
They rounded the corner and Harry thought his heart would burst out of his chest. The marble steps of Gringott's were decorated with corpses and painted red with blood. The stench of sulfur and burnt flesh was cloying, and the beast…
It was at least six meters tall, a monstrosity with cloven goat hoofs and the head of a ram that rested atop a hairy humanoid chest. Wings as dark as midnight protruded from its back and were wrapped around its body like a feathered bath towel. Its forked tongue flickered out of sight as sickly orange flames spewed out of its mouth and devoured an auror. His high-pitched screams rang out across Diagon.
The thing turned its attention to the lone Auror left in the Main Square, and Harry and Proudfoot quickly stepped in to help.
Harry shot a chain of powerful exploding curses at the creature, gaping in shock when the spell-light was absorbed into the thing's skin, leaving his target unmarked. It turned a snake-eyed gaze towards Harry, and he knew, felt it in the marrow of his bones; this thing was not natural, not of this world. It was an abomination that did not belong.
It flew towards Harry, a demonic missile intent on crushing the auror trainee into a fine red pulp. Harry barely managed to roll out of its way and spin to face it. He heard Proudfoot cast, and saw his spells impact its back to no avail.
"Spells don't do anything," the only surviving auror told them as the monster turned back towards them. Her left arm hung limply at her side, and she was bleeding from a nasty looking gash that spanned her forehead.
"Avis," Harry incanted, adding a quick Stymphalian wand motion to the end his spell. Eagles with silver claws and beaks sprouted into existence out of the air around him. They circled the beast, which eyed them suspiciously.
Proudfoot summoned some of the surrounding rubble and sent it flying towards the monster, transfiguring it into spears as they flew. It swatted them away, but in doing so created an opening that Harry exploited by making his birds dive-bomb the creature. He smiled when the birds' claws left gashes, through which a viscous black liquid seeped through, dripping onto the ground with a hiss.
The monster incinerated the eagles with a mighty cry and charged the Aurors with blinding speed. Harry had managed to dodge it, however the Auror behind him wasn't so lucky. The beast grabbed her as she tried to sidestep and crushed her torso with a sickening crunch. It tossed her now lifeless body into a burnt down Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.
George, Harry thought as cold dread washed over him.
The creature roared once more and charged towards Proudfoot prompting Harry into quickly casting Geb's Grumble and sending a massive wave of earth towards it. The earthen tide knocked it off course, and the aurors did not waste the opportunity.
Harry and Proudfoot quickly started transfiguring wolves, eagles, and jaguars out of the rubble around them, which the creature immediately dispatched of, tearing them apart with its colossal hands, or incinerating them with its unholy fire. It even speared a few particularly unfortunate jaguars with its horns.
Seeing this wasn't working, Harry decided to change tactics. He swished and flicked, and a large wooden beam floated up and hit the demon on its head. As the thing burned the oversized club, he noticed that Proudfoot sent a few small rocks flying at towards it. Harry cast an overpowered duplication charm, turning a few rocks into a veritable hailstorm of stone bullets. They pierced through the abomination, creating a multitude of wounds in the process.
And yet the wounds healed as quickly as they formed, leaving the creature unharmed and significantly angrier than it was before. The terror in Harry's breast flared as bright as the unholy flame that surrounded him.
It breathed fire towards the two wizards, and Proudfoot responded by raising a wall out of the earth in front of them. He conjured a few birds and sent them to distract the creature. "Potter," he gasped, "Jupiter's grasp. I'll cover you."
Harry nodded his understanding. As his mentor sent the earthen wall flying towards the creature, Harry started casting.
Jupiter's grasp was a simple spell in theory but was difficult to utilize in any combat situation due to its sheer impracticality. In basic terms, it was the equivalent of a Wingardium Leviosa cast on every single air particle in a quarter-kilometer radius, which allowed the caster complete control of the air around them. Maintaining it would not allow for the usage of other spells and casting it required moving one's wand in a complicated series of swishes and flicks while remaining immobile.
Harry could complete casting the spell in around 5 seconds, which didn't sound like much, but was the equivalent of an eternity in arcane combat.
5
The creature roared and charged Proudfoot, who had moved away from Harry after his opening salvo.
4
Proudfoot sent a barrage of rubble at the thing, but chunks of wood and stone crashed against the creature to no effect.
3
It swung a meaty fist at Proudfoot, who rolled under it and conjured a gust of wind that pushed it back a tiny distance.
2
It breathed fire, forcing the senior auror to cast a shield charm due to the monsters close range.
1
The monster's fist smashed through Proudfoot's shield, sending him flying into Eyelop's Owl Emporium. It turned its gaze towards Harry and started its approach, charging towards him with a mighty roar.
0
Harry swung his wand in a wide arc and the demon was blasted off course, smashing into Madame Malkin's.
Jupiter's Grasp was an infamously draining spell, which meant he didn't have much time to kill the creature. He had to act, now!
The demon quickly picked itself back up and expelled a gout of demonic flame from its gaping maw. Harry slashed his wand downward, and the air directly in front of him coalesced into a near opaque barrier. The flames crashed into the shield and Harry felt magical exhaustion creeping up on him. Something needed to change, or he wouldn't last much longer.
Using the cover the flames provided him, Harry ducked behind a large bit of debris right before he heard a roar and the creature tore through his barrier as if it were wet paper. Harry, in a fit of desperation, stabbed his wand downwards with vicious intent.
The creature was crushed to the ground as all the air its immediate vicinity pressed down up on it. It let out a weak roar.
Harry, with herculean effort, stabbed downwards once again, and the monster was crushed into a black paste, dissolving the ground below it. A few drops of the tar-like liquid had splashed into his mouth, numbing it.
The trainee auror stood up and stumbled towards Eyelop's with the intent of making sure Proudfoot was alive. He took one shaky step, and the world spun around him. He took another and the edges of his vision turned black.
He collapsed before he could finish his third.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPPHP
HPHPHPHHPHPHHPHPPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH
"He would have died if I hadn't-" said a feminine sounding voice, an element of desperation tingeing her rather pleasant alto.
"No, Greengrass, no! No more excuses. You cannot simply use whatever method you see fit!" A man shouted, giving Harry a rather painful headache.
Harry shifted upon the rather hard bed he was laying on and groaned as he opened his eyes. He grimaced when he saw the whole world as nothing but a blurry white blob. "Glasses," he rasped out, and his throat burned.
There was a pause.
"Yes Mr. Potter," came the feminine voice. Harry heard footsteps, then the opening of a door.
"Mr. Potter," started the male voice, his gruff tone making Harry wince. "You are very lucky to be alive at this very moment, much less conscious in such a timely fashion."
"I don't feel that lucky right now." Harry coughed out.
"Well," the man scoffed, "considering that there was an unknown fluid wreaking havoc upon your body, and you had damn near no magic to fight it off, I'd say you were very lucky."
The door opened, and the woman announced her return, "Your glasses, Mr. Potter."
"Well, Healer Greengrass will make sure to answer any questions you have. Your emergency contact, a Ms. Molly Weasley, has already been informed of your condition. Unfortunately, she left when visitation hours ended an hour ago and so you will see her tomorrow at the earliest. Get well, Mr. Potter." Harry heard the man leave and shut the door behind him with a soft click.
He felt a pair of small soft hands slide the cool metal of his glasses onto his face. The world snapped into focus, and he found himself staring into a mesmerizing pair of deep brown eyes. Shoulder length blonde hair framed her sharp, aristocratic features. Her hands lingered on Harry's face and where they touched his face, he felt a warmth bloom like roses in spring.
She suddenly jerked back, and her high cheekbones were tinged a cherry red. "Hello Mr. Potter, I'm Healer Daphne Greengrass and I am in charge of your care until you are fit to leave St. Mungo's. You are quite lucky that-"
"Yeah," Harry rasped out, a lopsided grin upon his visage, "I've heard. I still have no idea why I feel like I've swallowed Fiendfyre."
Healer Greengrass conjured a glass and pointed her wand into it. "Aquamenti," she murmured, and water trickled into the glass. She handed it to Harry, who greedily gulped the soothingly cool liquid.
"Now, Mr. Potter," began the Healer, her full lips moving mesmerizingly as she carefully enunciated her words, "I am required to inform you that the Aquamenti spell does not follow Gamp's law, as the water it conjures is not conjured, but rather summoned from a random body of clean fresh water."
Harry wiped the water that was dripping down his chin with his sleeve. He noticed his robes were as white as his walls and bed. "Didn't we learn that in Hogwarts…" he replied as he looked around the room. Everything in the room was white, and other than the bed, a bedside table, and a strange mirror that reflected a slightly distorted image of the room, it was completely bare.
The blonde shot him an approving look, "most people forget what we learned in Hogwarts, sir."
Harry's piercing green eyes snapped onto the young Healer. Despite the presence of her green Healer's robes, Harry could tell she had a wonderfully full hourglass figure. She stood ramrod straight, her arms behind her back.
He looked around the room once more and saw that there were two doors. "Harry."
"Err, sorry?" He looked back at Daphne and saw she was looking at him with a rather adorably confused expression.
"Call me Harry. We were in the same year in Hogwarts after all, weren't we Daphne?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled softly at him, "Yes we were si- I mean Harry."
Harry smiled back, "Although that still doesn't explain why my throat feels like a firewhiskey distillery."
"Ah, right," she took a deep breath, "you had some sort of poisonous residue in your blood stream, presumably it originated from that… thing you fought in Diagon Alley."
"You know about that? How long was I asleep?" Harry asked, his eyebrows crawling to hairline.
"Three days, it was in the prophet" she responded shortly, her brows furrowed in annoyance, "If I could continue…"
"Go on." Harry gestured with a flippant flick of his wrist.
"Yes well, you were suffering magical exhaustion so your intrinsic magic couldn't neutralize the effects," Harry's eyes were drawn to her pretty pink lips, before he quickly caught himself and forced himself to look into her bark-brown eyes.
"And there was no antidote at hand, obviously, and so I decided that a magical infusion was your best chance at survival." She looked down, and Harry noticed she brought her hands together and started fiddling with them.
"That still doesn't explain my throat…"
"Well," she gulped, and Harry's eyes flitted down to her unblemished neck, "our larynxes contain a major arkamice, one of the major glands that allow us to control magic and store it within our bodies." That was also the reason that one must vocalize spells in order to cast them, and a major part of silent casting (which was a requirement to even get into the auror training program) is activating that gland without vocalization.
Harry noticed she was studying his Adam's apple rather intently. "I had to channel magic into it directly in order to replenish your supply of magic quick enough to neutralize the substance in your body."
Harry smiled warmly at her, "I suppose I have you to thank for my life then." She looked down at her feet and scuffed her shoes. "But you don't seem very proud of that fact…"
Daphne winced, "It's just that…" Harry looked at her encouragingly, "Well, it's an untested treatment, you know? So, I wasn't exactly supposed to…"
Harry suddenly felt a sudden sense of understanding click into place "Use it. That's also what the argument I heard was about wasn't it. I guess he's your boss?" He asked, but it wasn't really a question.
She gave a quick nod. "Heard that did you?"
An awkward silence filled the air.
Suddenly, Daphne scowled, and words rushed out of her mouth at a break-neck pace. "Well what was I supposed to do?! Let you die? I knew it would work, I had it figured out, and I wouldn't let some stupid protocol-"
Harry raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, I'm not complaining. You saved my life after all, right?"
Her chest heaved as she breathed heavily. There was a second's pause. "It's just…" She took a deep breath to collect herself; "I spent my entire childhood dreaming of becoming a Healer, using and pioneering the development of new treatments, saving lives…" Her lips pressed against one another and her brows bunched together, "I didn't expect all this useless bureaucracy, I guess."
Her upper lip curled in annoyance, "Especially when I know what I'm doing!"
Harry raised his arms in surrender, "Well, I'm grateful you do Daphne. Not that I would be alive to be ungrateful if you didn't."
She rolled her eyes and laughed a tinkling, delicate laugh.
Suddenly she snorted.
She quickly covered her mouth and Harry's laughter rang across the room.
She blushed, "Stop laughing," She said, attempting to sound stern, although the upward curl of her lips rather ruined the effect.
Once their laughter died down, Harry asked, "Has a George Weasley checked in? And how is Corvus Proudfoot?" He felt a writhing sense of guilt snake its way into his stomach. That's the first thing I should have asked…
"We haven't admitted a George Weasley as far as I know. And Proudfoot was discharged yesterday, to my knowledge. He only had a few broken bones, although Healer Weyland, a friend of mine in the physical trauma department, told me that healing his vertebrae was quite difficult. But he's been discharged and will make a perfect recovery. He was better than you in any case."
Harry felt relief warm his entire being, "Speaking of discharge…"
Daphne rolled her eyes. "The bathroom is through that door," she said, pointing to the door closest to his bed.
Harry's eyes widened until they resembled porcelain plates, "What, no! I meant when can I leave."
Daphne laughed her wonderful laugh once more. "I'm only joking Potter, no need to get flustered. In 10 hours, so tomorrow morning if there are no further complications tonight. Minister Shacklebolt left a message. Apparently, he expects you to visit as soon as you are able. Preferably tomorrow at 8."
Harry raised a brow, "No rest for the wicked, it seems."
Daphne smiled at him, "Quite. Speaking of which, I need to go. If you need anything, shout into that Monitoring Mirror over there. It'll also be monitoring your vitals, so don't worry being left alone."
Harry grinned and settled into the mildly uncomfortable bed. "Right then," he said, closing his eyes, "Thank you, Daphne. Goodnight."
He heard her mutter "Nox," and the room darkened. Her soft footsteps crossed the room, and right before she left the room, she quietly said, "I'd like it if you kept our conversation between us, Harry. A healer is not supposed to bad mouth… you know…"
"Yeah, yeah. Of course."
"Thank you. Goodnight Harry."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPPHP
HPHPHPHHPHPHHPHPPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH
After informing Mrs. Weasley that he was fine via stag Patronus, he used St. Mungo's floo to travel directly into the ministry of magic. He stumbled out of the fireplace, barely managing to keep his balance. He looked around the atrium and once again marvelled at how little the hall had changed.
The ceiling was still made of a turquoise stone and was inlaid with gold, ever-changing symbols. The walls and floor were still the deep black they were before, but where there was once wood, there was now marble. Opposite him there were people lining up in front of gilded fireplaces, waiting their turn to use the floo and depart.
The Fountain of Magical Brethren had been remade and replaced, although now the witch, wizard, centaur, goblin and house-elf stood back to back, as if they were surrounded by enemies and were ready for a fight. Glittering threads of water flew up from the golden wands that the witch and wizard were wielding, as well as from the tip of the goblin's pointy hat, the centaur's nocked arrow and the house-elf's kitchen knife.
As Harry turned left and passed the fountain, he couldn't help but smile a bit. Minister Shacklebolt had it commissioned as a gesture of gratitude to the other magical races for their assistance against Voldemort, and it served as a reminder that they had won.
Harry rushed into one of the elevators across the hall and just managed to reach it before it left. He pressed the button for level 1 and leaned against one of the lift's metal walls.
"Potter," he heard a man say. His voice was slightly high-pitched and had an undercurrent of snobbishness to it. Unfortunately, Harry knew the owner of the voice rather well.
"Malfoy," Harry responded with a curt nod. The elevator felt uncomfortable as the awkward silence pressed down on them like vapor on a humid day. Draco Malfoy looked much the same as he did during his Hogwarts days, but his robes weren't of the same caliber and his posture seemed… less. Somehow.
A cool androgynous voice had announced that the elevator had stopped on level 4, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which prompted Malfoy into leaving so swiftly that he was gone before the elevator's door had fully opened.
It wasn't long until that same disembodied voice informed Harry that he was now on level 1, Offices for Ministerial Heads and Administrative Staff. Harry exited the elevator and made his way towards the Minister's office.
As he pushed open the oaken doors to the waiting area, he smiled and waved at the secretary. "Astoria, how are you?"
The petite blonde looked up from whatever document she was examining and beamed up at him. "As good as ever, Harry. I hear you met my sister yesterday. Made quite an impression too," she said, an impish smile beginning to grow on her face.
"Yeah, I did. A good impression, I hope?" Harry asked as he scratched the nape of his neck.
Her grey eyes shone as her smile turned predatory, "A very good one, Harry. You don't need to worry about that, I think."
"Good," Harry laughed shakily, "She is the reason I'm able to be here in the first place, after all."
Astoria stood up and put her hands on her thin hips. She looked very much like her elder sister but was taller (almost as tall as Harry in fact), much thinner and lacked the curves Daphne had. Despite all that, there was a certain warmth in her aura that drew people in.
"I'm sure that's the only reason…" she tutted before giving him a hug. "I'm glad you're safe Harry. Draco would be sooo disappointed if you weren't."
Harry stepped back, smiling the entire time. "I still have no clue what you see in him."
"Oh, he's got his good points," She drew her wand, but Harry beat her to the punch, his Patronus already flying through the wooden door leading to the Minister's office. She scowled at him, "I can cast my own spells, Harry."
He sent a lop-sided grin at her in response. "So can I. Unless you're implying I can't…"
She huffed exasperatedly, a fond smile on her face. "I can see why you and Daphne got along." The door to the Minister's office opened. "That's your cue. Good luck!"
Harry nodded as he stepped past her desk and entered the office. It was more modest than it was during Fudge's tenure, with only an oaken desk and cupboard, as well as a couple of plain seats present as furniture, but it was all the more elegant for it.
Harry saw a photograph of the Order of the Phoenix as it was during his fifth year among the pictures that decorated the minister's desk. Harry smiled fondly when he saw Sirius waving and jumping up and down like a total loon.
Minister Shacklebolt stood up and firmly shook Harry's hand, the black skin of his hand contrasting starkly with the color of Harry's pale fingers. "I hope you're better, Harry," he said warmly. As his towering frame slid back into his chair, he gestured Harry to sit across him.
"I'm fine Minister, although my throat still burns a bit," he responded as he rubbed his neck.
"A side-effect of your treatment, I've heard. My secretary's sister healed you, if I'm not mistaken."
Harry nodded, "You're well informed, Minister."
Minister Shacklebolt's brown eyes warmed as he looked on Harry. "Must I always remind you, Harry? In private it's Kingsley. To you and all those that fought alongside us in the Blood-War."
Harry smiled in response, "Thank you, Kingsley. How is running the Ministry treating you, so far?"
Kingsley gave a tired laugh as he rubbed as his eyes with the heels of his palms, "The past year has been okay, actually. Apparently being the first legitimate Minister in a long time gives you plenty of room for error. That was until four days ago…" He sighed and glanced at the door. "We'll discuss that matter further when Head Auror Proudfoot arrives."
Harry's brows crawled up his forehead, "He got promoted? When?"
The Minister grimaced, "When Head Auror McGargan was killed in Diagon Alley. A few minutes before you had arrived, apparently.
Harry felt his stomach spin, a plane turning and crashing into the ground. "I'm so sorry, Kingsley. If I had been a bit quicker…"
The tall man narrowed his eyes, "Don't be an idiot. You killed the gods forsaken thing-"
The door to the office banged open as Corvus Proudfoot barged in. Harry could see Astoria sheepishly grinning behind him as she closed with door with a barely audible click.
His entire body was covered in bandages and so was half his face. Not bandaged enough to hide his virulent scowl, however. "Is director McLane coming?" he barked out as he slid into the chair next to Harry.
"No Corvus, she's not," Kingsley sighed out "You haven't changed a bit since I trained you, have you?"
"It's 8 in the morning King, and I'm injured and tired and fed up with the taste of Skele-Gro! Let's get to the point of this meeting."
"Very well," said Kingsley as he shook his head, "A quick report first, I think. Four days ago, around three in the afternoon, unidentified beings started appearing in magically dense areas all over Britain.
"Hogsmeade was attacked by three creatures. They were hybrids, men with goat legs. Similar to fauns of Roman myth. They were stopped with one casualty, a junior auror. I received an identical report from Godric's Hollow, although two aurors had been killed there, as did Griselda Marchbanks," Kingsley's brown eyes closed and his jaw visibly clenched.
Harry winced, and even Proudfoot looked down. Nearly everyone in magical Britain had been tested by her at some point for their OWLs or NEWTs.
He took a deep breath and continued, "All reports confirm that they moved incredibly fast, that they had a monstrous strength, and that most spells were effective against the creatures, the exception being the one you two faced," His eyes shot up and he leveled a piercing look at the men in front of him, "You two are the only survivors of the attack on Diagon Alley. Besides the ineffectiveness of standard spells against your foe, the only thing that I know about what happened there is that there were twenty two civilian casualties, forty nine if you include goblins, and 12 aurors had died."
There was a pregnant pause that seemed deafening to Harry. He shared a glance with Proudfoot. "Potter, get your memory out."
Proudfoot gestured with his wand and a stone bowl burst out of the cupboard that was behind the minister. He directed the bowl onto the desk with a gentle gesture of his wand, being careful not to spill the glowing silver tinted liquid inside.
Harry put the tip of his wand in his ear and a blue wisp of light stuck to its end as Harry pulled it back out. He flicked his wand toward the bowl, and the memory slowly floated into it.
"Will anyone accompany me into the pensieve?" Shacklebolt asked as he leaned towards the bowl.
"No, King. Just you," Proudfoot sharply responded. The minister nodded and stuck his head into the silver liquid.
The Minister's office was silent, but not awkwardly so. The silence was one that spoke of thought and rumination.
"Potter," Proudfoot said, an undercurrent of softness in his voice, "Good job. You've made me proud."
Harry's head bowed as his hands reached up to grab it, looking as if weights had been attached to his skull. "Thank you, sir, … I just think that..." His jaw clenched, "If I had been better, stronger-"
"Harry," Proudfoot interrupted, a softness growing in his eyes "If you hadn't been there, I would have died, and Diagon Alley would have been flattened." His eyes quickly hardened once more, "Aurors aren't supposed to say dumb shit like that. If I catch you being a moron again, I'll send you up against five opponents for training."
Kingsley withdrew his head from the pensieve as massive gasps escaped his lips. Harry dried him off with a quick spell. "Well," he said with a small grin, "good news at last."
"Bugger off, King," Proudfoot snarled, "what good news is there?"
The Minister chuckled, "Harry put too much power into his Stymphalian wand movement, which is something I'd normally scold you for," he said as he mockingly shook his finger at him. "However, your minor mistake lead to your conjured birds having silver claws, not steel ones."
"Kingsley?" Harry asked as one of his eyebrows slowly rose like a caterpillar on a leaf.
"The wound it gave the demon, it didn't heal!"
As Harry though back on the battle, he felt excitement bubble up in his chest. "You're right! Merlin's beard you're right!"
"That is good news," Proudfoot said, "but a reliable way to fight off the creatures isn't enough information. What are they? Will they return? How do we stop them permanently if they do?"
Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded, "Good questions. There is a library somewhere in magical Italy that holds the answers to these questions." Kingsley winced, "or held I suppose."
"What happened to it?" Harry asked
Proudfoot groaned and shut his eyes as if he were in pain. "The Domum Dei..."
"Sorry, the what?"
Kingsley, who had a similarly pained look on his face, said, "During Voldemort's first rise, we were on a taskforce for the International Confederation of Wizards. One of our assignments was stop a raid on the Domum carried out by Voldemort and his inner circle. It was one of our biggest failures..."
"The books there were ancient," Proudfoot continued, "One of a kind. I remember being told about a section for otherworldly entities while we were being briefed," he shook his head, "That entire section is gone now."
The silence was palpable as the Minister and Head Auror shared a pained look.
"So, there's nothing we really know then?" Harry asked, a cold dread settling in his gut.
"Nothing," Kingsley responded, "That brings us to why you're here, Harry."
"Sorry?" Harry asked, squinting with confusion.
"You've been promoted to Auror, congratulations."
Harry's eyes widened, "What-but-I'm not even a junior auror yet!"
Proudfoot started laughing, "And you've been granted the rank of Unspeakable Hawk, make it count Potter."
"What-bu-I-"
"And of course, you are aware of the privileges the rank brings," Kinsley continued, "A high salary, almost complete operational freedom, and a personal budget to be used in the completion of the tasks we assign you."
"Although the tasks you will be assigned," Proudfoot cut in with a severe frown upon his visage, "will be very dangerous and difficult, and will often take you out of Britain. You also won't be assigned a partner."
Kingsley winced, "not that we have the manpower to spare…"
Harry looked down, a strange mixture of shame and pride swirling viciously in his gut. "I'm honored, but I don't think I'm good enough-"
"Not good enough!?" Kingsley's baritone boomed across the room, "Harry, you're one of the most skilled wizards in the whole auror corps!"
"But I'm just a trainee, sir…" Harry kept his gaze firmly fixed upon the table between him and the minister.
There was a moment of silence.
"Well," Proudfoot started, "Considering keeping you as a trainee for an unprecedented amount of time was your moronic idea King, you can explain why he was held back."
"It was the best course of action and you-"
Proudfoot stood and slammed his hand onto the table, a scowl visible through the folds of his bandages, "Bugger off you filthy politician! TELL HIM! Tell him why we constantly held back one our most talented. Own up to your actions," he slid back into his seat, although the venom in his expression hadn't abated a single bit. "Unless a cushy desk job has turned you craven…"
Kingsley bit the inside of his lip as he stared at his lap, "I'm the Minister, you can't…" he sighed, and his shoulders sagged. He looked remarkably like a deflated balloon. "You're right,"
"The truth is, Harry, you could have become a junior auror mere weeks after you joined the corps. You certainly had the combat skill for it. You only really needed to learn about the laws that would bind you and work a bit on your disguise and concealment."
Harry's eyes widened, "Why was I…"
Kingsley continued talking, seemingly unaware of Harry' s interruption. "You know, of course, that we required prospective aurors to take their NEWTs before they applied for the program. That was a cover up," Kingsley looked into directly into Harry's eyes. Fatigue flowed out of Kingsley's pupils and into his sclera, leaving red rivers in their wake.
"Really, we accepted any applicant into the Auror corps. We desperately needed to pad out their ranks. But the NEWTs would have served as a good reason to reject your application… Unfortunate that your scores were phenomenal. Surpassed even our old requirements, which meant that you would know that we rejected you specifically," Kingsley's lip curled upwards, forming a grotesque hybrid of annoyed scowl and fond smile.
"I couldn't exactly risk you raising a stink. Especially considering I was only interim Minister at the time."
Harry felt numbness flood down his head and into his body, a chilling cold killing any sensation he might have felt otherwise. Kingsley was his friend, right? They fought side-by-side, hadn't they? "Why…"
"Because you never were just another potential auror," Proudfoot interrupted, his scathing tone cutting Kingsley off, "You were also the Boy-Who-Lived. The-Man-Won. Harry 'The-Chosen-One' Potter."
Kingsley glared at Proudfoot, "Corvus, enough." The Head Auror's jaw clenched, but he stayed silent. Kingsley's gaze flitted toward Harry before he continued.
"Being an auror is dangerous and comes with a high risk of death. Having you die under my administration would be disastrous. People would be calling for my head and the heads of those directly below me in the auror department. Having you complain about the newly-rebuilt ministry would be even worse."
He tried arranging his features into a sheepish smile, but something about it reminded Harry of a rotten core in a seemingly fresh apple. "So, I decided to keep you as trainee for a long period of time. Overtraining you, making you strong enough to defend against anything that might oppose you," His tone and cadence shifted, adopting an air of magnanimousness, "Of course, you would only have been assigned to the most risk-free cases. After a while, you would have been promoted to a cushy managerial position where you would have been safe from harm,"
He leaned forward and looked deeply into Harry's bright green eyes, "Your safety was always in mind Harry. You mean a great deal to many people, including myself."
His thick fingers tapped against the oaken desk and for the first time it occurred to Harry that Kingsley probably had information on various people locked in there. Important people. Blackmail…
He wondered if this side to Kingsley had always existed or if the expensive oaken desk he now sat behind perverted him.
Harry wanted to get angry, but all he felt was numb. And the worst part was that he sensed that Kingsley was telling the truth. Or not exactly lying. He had probably convinced himself that his actions were in Harry's best interest. Or both their best interests at any rate.
Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn't a bad man, in fact Harry would wager he was a good one. But he was a politician too.
Harry breathed out slowly. Then he breathed in. He centered himself, his occlumency drills coming into the forefront of his mind. "What now, sir?"
"Now…"
Proudfoot laughed, "Now he has no choice but to deploy you!" Harry didn't need to look at him to know he had a vicious smile on his face. "Congrats kid. You deserve it."
The Minister sighed and shook his head, "You never did curb your attitude, Proudfoot. Still the same whelp I trained all those years ago I see…"
"To what end?" Corvus spat out, "So I could be 'promoted' into sitting behind an oak desk all day? I think not, sir." He dragged out the honorific, a mocking lilt in his voice.
Kingsley smile turned strained. "The circumstances have changed," he said, addressing Harry, "Dangerous forces now threaten us, and there is no one more qualified to investigate these forces than you are, as your performance in Diagon Alley has shown. It seems my plans of keeping you safe has backfired spectacularly."
"Your assignment, Auror Potter, is to find out everything you can about these creatures. Their origin, motive, weaknesses, anything and everything. To that end, you will be supplied with 2,000 galleons per month. You are authorized to do anything in your power to accomplish this goal, up to and including the infiltration of other magical governments. You report either to the Head Auror or to me directly. Understood?"
Harry nodded, steely determination filling his entire being.
"Dismissed, Unspeakable Potter."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPPHP
HPHPHPHHPHPHHPHPPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH
Harry had picked up his dusty auror guidebook the moment he had apparated into his flat. He sat down on his rickety chair in front of his cramped pinewood desk, flipped over to the relevant page and got to reading.
The Ministry's Unspeakable department was first formed under the orders of the Mage-King Druidach as a branch of the Magus Aurorae (which would later become the modern day aurors during Council-Elder Mares Black's reign) for the purposes of espionage and research into magical methods of warfare during the 13th century.
Although the Unspeakable department is still considered to be a sub-branch of the auror corps, the research portion of the Unspeakables is run with minimal interference by the auror corps. This includes their hiring practices. Therefore, an auror is unlikely to ever become a research unspeakable (Also called a Crow or an Unspeakable Crow).
On the other hand, the espionage portion of the unspeakable department is entirely made up of qualified aurors. It should be noted that while this sub-department was founded for the purpose of espionage, its members are now made up of powerful mages (referred to as special operatives) who are assigned the most dangerous assignments of the corps in addition to the intelligence operatives that were already members of the sub-branch. Members of the espionage corps are also referred to as Unspeakable Hawks.
If an auror wishes to join the Hawks as an intelligence operative, said auror must first achieve the rank of auror proper. Said auror must have Os in the aptitude tests listed at the end of this chapter and must have a letter of recommendation from the senior auror that supervised them during their junior aurorship. Said auror must also pass a series of psychological tests to prove that they are fit for duty. These are pre-requisites, but having them does not guarantee a spot within the Hawk Corps.
As the name implies, intelligence operatives report and gather information on agents set to harm Magical Britain, including non-magical entities.
If an auror wishes to become a special operative, said auror must first already be specialized in an auror field (Tracker, Warder, Curse-breaker, War Master, etc. {a complete list of specializations can be found in section 25 of this guidebook}), and must have proved themselves competent beyond measure of doubt. A recommendation from a Hawk and an exceptional track record is required to even be considered as a potential Hawk.
This rank can also be granted by high-ranking Ministry officials (such as the Minister, or DMLE head). This has only occurred 19 times in the history of the department.
Special Operatives can be assigned a wide variety of assignments. The only common threads between all such assignments is that they are unspeakably dangerous.
The Vortigerns of the auror corps are-
Harry stood up and stretched his legs. He started pacing around the room, slightly annoyed that he had no more of an idea as to what an Unspeakable actually does. He stopped in front of his desk and knelt so that he was eye level with the drawer that was part of its front-left leg.
He tugged on it a few times before it finally opened with a terrible squeal, one that reminded Harry of dying pigs. He paused as he picked up his bag of lemon sherbets, studying the white feathers that had been next to it.
Those feathers were the only thing he had left of her. They were still in her cage after the battle of the Seven Potters, and Harry couldn't bear the thought of throwing them away. His eyes prickled as he thought of her, how she would keep him company during his hellish stays in Private Drive…
He shut the drawer with a decisive snap, refusing to think on the matter any longer. He shoved his hand into the bag and took out one of the sour sweets. He unwrapped it slowly, enjoying the sound of the crinkling plastic covering unravelling as it slowly revealed the yellow candy within.
He let the wrapper drop onto the floor as he tossed the sherbet into his mouth. He let it melt slowly in his mouth while he bonelesly flopped onto his bed.
It was quite a shame that he discovered his taste for the sweets quite recently. He remembered how much his late headmaster loved these sweets, how often he would offer them to anyone he could. Harry never accepted one, although he regretted that dearly now. They were quite good after all.
Harry wished he had spent more time with the man in general. He always had a lot to teach, and Harry always had a lot to learn (he still does). That's not to say Harry had completely forgiven how he had often left him floundering in the dark, how he would send him back to the Dursleys summer after summer.
How he had left him when the Blood-War was at its worst.
But he did genuinely care for Harry. Or at least Harry thinks he did. After all, he made always made his plans with the intent of giving Harry the chance to be child (no matter how long ago that boat had sailed) and the best chance of survival.
And Harry did survive, despite being a Horcrux. Despite having to die, he came back.
Albus Dumbledore was a genius beyond compare, the kind of man who would only appear on this earth once, and it was his plan that had saved them all.
Harry often tried explaining that he wasn't the hero the wizarding world thought he was, that his parents had ended the first Blood War, and Dumbledore had ended the second. His complaints were always cast aside as a 'hero's modesty'.
But Harry knew the truth. Harry knew that he was a fraud, an imposter. He didn't deserve the headmaster's love or trust, didn't deserve to be kept safe by him.
He didn't deserve to be kept safe by Kingsley (although Harry could admit his motivations were slightly less altruistic).
He didn't deserve the Weasleys' love (Without him, the Weasley family would be whole)
The only thing he deserved was being put in danger time and time again, for the sake of others. To serve until his dying breath. So, what if teaching the D.A had made him happy, so what if the constant fighting made him miserable! The world needed Harry Potter to fight.
And fight he would.
Because if there was one thing Harry knew, it was-
Flame and heat flooded through his entire flat, bathing Harry's world in fire.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPPHP
HPHPHPHHPHPHHPHPPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH
AN: The first chapter of the story proper is up. Hope I didn't bugger up too badly. Hope you guys enjoy it and see you next month.