Chapter 2:
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling.
The Leaky Cauldron is a nasty place.
You'd think that with all the magical cleaning powers of wizards they'd learn to take better care of their buildings.
It's around ten in the morning when I walk in. I got home last night at around midnight. We had barely escaped the police after I had charged back to the Limo, and only because we had a couple friendly cops on our side.
Always count on a crime boss to have one or two moles in the police.
Anyway, once I got home I immediately went to bed, it had been a long day, both physically and mentally, and I was exhausted. The next morning I slept in a little before getting some coffee and then blasting over to London. I knew I didn't have much of a window before the press got hold of the four dead Death Eaters. Voldy probably knew about it already. And once that happened I would not be safe anywhere in muggle England.
Say what you will about the magical world, but they do have some kick ass tracking spells, almost as good as military grade GPS.
I open the door to the Cauldron and get hit with a blast of moldy air.
The main room is gloomy and depressing, with peeling gray paint on the walls, and grimy tables. The bar itself looks as though it has never seen a mop, towel or even water in decades. The chairs and stools are rickety, like they'd be crushed if someone sat down quickly.
Now that I think about it, the whole room looks slanted, as if there'd been an earthquake recently. In fact I'd bet this entire building is kept from crashing down by a generous use of magic.
I move through the room ignoring the rest of the customers who are staring at my casual purple button down, blue jeans, and Adidas sneakers. I snort derisively at them, never heard of fashion?
Unlike the rest of the patrons, Tom, the barkeeper, is looking at me curiously, like he barely recognizes me but can't match my face to anyone. His hunched shoulder and dirty robes and apron fit right in with the atmosphere of the bar.
I nod at him as I sit down. Now I can feel their gazes on my back, must not get many single muggles in here.
I absently grab a newspaper that was lying on the table. As I turn the page over, looking carefully for anything of note my attention shifts to a short article.
Shit! How the fuck did they already get wind of last night.
There on the second page of the paper shows the picture of a spokesperson for the DMLE talking about how they found four dead Death Eaters with a muggle and signs of a struggle. Apparently one of the police officers who had investigated the disturbance was a squib, good to see my people making a name for themselves.
The squib had notified aurors immediately and they had identified the bodies as Death Eaters.
Also interesting is the aurors conclusion on the cause of death, "Auror spokesman, Mr. John Abbot has said that the DMLE suspect that all four victims took several piercing curses each to the head and upper torso."
Idiots, they can't recognize bullet wounds if a person was shot in front of them. Or maybe they just don't want to admit that non-magical bullets might have done more damage than most legal spells.
I'd bet the latter.
I look up as Tom stops in front of me.
"Scuse me sir, is there somethin I can get ya?"
"Hmm," I pretend to think, "I'm looking for my brother, is he on tap?"
"Wha's 'is name?" Tom replies with a slight grin.
"William Potter" I answer casually. I almost laugh at his shell shocked expression.
"Why! You mus' be young Harry! Haven' seen you since you were in 'ere with yer paren's." He grimaces slightly as if remembering something unpleasant, "Terrible business with yer magic tho ain' it."
It's my turn to grimace as I try to overlook the tactless question, "Yes, well I've gotten over it." I say carefully, "But that's not important, are you in contact with my brother?"
He looks a little apprehensive, as he glances around trying to be subtle. "Well I have spo'en to 'im once or twice, bu' I can' give you where he is, I's no place fer a non-magical you see." He looks up abashed and apologetic, giving me that look of pity that drove me out of my parents' house.
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." I say rather heatedly, "I need to find my brother, he wants me to help him with a problem he's having."
Tom looks conflicted, "Well I'll do abou' anythin ta help William bu' I can' in good grace giv you his house, security risk an' all tha'." He's still giving me a look of pity.
I glare at him stiffly, and inwardly grin with satisfaction as he pales slightly, but I don't care, my patience is gone. "Very well" I hear myself say, "If you see him again please tell him I was looking for him."
I turn quickly barely seeing him nod his head, and stride out of the room towards Diagon Alley.
(AN: Sorry if I butchered the accent)
As I step through the brick entrance watching the family, who had unknowingly let me through, scamper off excitedly, I start walking to the Owl Emporium down the street. If I can't find anyone to tell me where my brother is, I'll just have to owl him.
I'm pretty sure they do rentals here right?
As I walk down the street observing the colorful shops and wide cobblestone street, I can't help but think back to the last time I was here.
It was the day we found out I was a squib.
My parents had just taken me to Gringotts to get confirmed as the heir to house Potter. I remember my father was nearly bouncing up and down with excitement, while my mother was carrying baby Will, they didn't trust anyone with him after what happened with Pettigrew.
My father and I were brought into the Potter account manager's office, I remember the ceiling was barely over six feet high and my father had to stoop awkwardly to avoid hitting his head on it. I'm pretty sure the goblins did that on purpose.
Our account manager, Strongbone, asked me for three drops of blood to complete the ritual. But when he dripped it onto the paper, nothing happened. I was immediately shoved out the door to wait with my mother as my father and the goblin had a heated argument.
When we got home it was explained to me through the clenched teeth of my father.
I learned that the goblin parchment uses the potent magic contained in a wizard's or witch's blood to discover the person's inheritance. When nothing happened on the paper, it meant that I had no magic to give. I was a squib.
I had never seen my father more disappointed than in that moment. He looked like he was told he had won the Powerball jackpot only to lose the ticket.
I come out of my musings as I enter the Owl Emporium. The whole place is full of screeching birds that look like they have nothing better to do than yell and poop. The smell of the place nearly blasts me off my feet and my face must show it since the guy next to me snickers slightly.
I turn to glare at him, but my expression morphs to surprise as I take in the youthful face of Sirius Black.
I lost contact with him after I left my parents tender care, but before that he had been my godfather, and was one of the only ones I was on reasonable terms with.
"Sirius?" I hear myself say hesitantly, I'm not sure if he still remembers me, after all I have changed a lot in the last five years.
He turns sharply at the sound of his name, and looks intently into my face. His eyes trail down to take in my obviously muggle clothing.
"Do I know you?" He asks politely, but with an air of warning, which makes sense considering he is in a war.
"It's me," I say weakly, "Harry."
"Harry" Now he looks like he just swallowed a lemon. "What are you doing here? This is no place for muggles, even if you are a squib, and especially not at a time like this. If a Death Eater saw you, you'd be put down like a wild animal." He says all this very slowly like he's talking to a child, my face begins to heat up.
"I'm very capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Black." I say in the same patronizing voice. Wow the first time we've spoken in the past five years and he treats me like I'm still 14, and they wonder why I left.
"Come on Harry, you know how bad the prejudice against non-magicals is these days, I just don't want to see you hurt." His voice is bordering on pleading with a touch of exasperation.
"Look," I say getting fed up with the direction of the conversation, "I don't have to take this bullshit. All I need is to find my brother. Do you know where he is?"
Sirius looks pained, "Yes, but I don't know if you should see him right now, he's doing some special training for the war." He says the last part in a low whisper, looking around for any eavesdroppers. While I don't mind the caution, no one will hear us over the loud squawking all around us, as it is his whisper is nearly drowned out by the noise and I have to strain to catch it.
"Look Sirius," I say in a more forceful tone, "Will came to see me yesterday, to ask for my help in the war, I'm just accepting his offer. Now, can you take me to him or not?"
Sirius looks conflicted now, "Why would he ask you to help?" He says unconvinced.
I look angrily at him, "Take me to him and you'll find out." I snarl.
Sirius looks startled at my anger, "Fine, fine," he says patronizingly, "don't get your knickers in a twist." I growl at him, and he almost grins. He's still not taking me seriously.
"There's an Order meeting tonight," he whispers, "I'll meet you at the Leaky Caldron, and we'll aparate from there."
I shake my head affirmatively and we make our way out of the Emporium. He heads towards Gringotts, while I make my way back to muggle London.
Done:
Just wanted to clarify some points:
-This is an AU so it won't really follow cannon.
-Both the Potter brothers are older than cannon and the war has been going on for longer.
-This also means the ministry is doing a better job against Voldemort
-Sirius never went to Azkaban since the Potters were alive and vouched for him.
I will try and incorporate all this into the story a little more but for now this will give you a little background.