Big thanks to Cordelia Rose and EternallyBellaCullen for BETA'ing this chapter.
The Minister of Magic cut an imposing figure, sitting behind a desk made of pure marble. It was adorned with phrases written in Latin that Hermione understood perfectly.
Magic before blood.
He wore a completely white suit, with a red rose in his breast pocket. His hair was gunmetal grey, but styled in a way that gave him a youthful appearance. His cheekbones were high and poignant, and his chin was long and pointed. His blue eyes complimented his appearance, which combined with his natural charisma and charm created a Minister who could captivate his citizens and garner their full support.
He was a man who prided himself on his Wizarding heritage, but also respected the achievements of Muggles, and so strived to keep the Wizarding world prosperous and Muggle world safe from dangerous influences. A popular notion to have, and though the pure-blood aristocracy had vehemently protested at the beginning, his ability to always fulfill a promise when he spoke about furthering the development and capabilities of the Wizarding world eventually quelled the protests. The pure-bloods simply deluded themselves into believing that by keeping the Muggles safe they were making a statement that they were more powerful, and this satisfied them with the Minister.
That wasn't to say that he didn't have his flaws. He had a tendency to drawl when addressing his co-workers and his people formally. He was extremely racist towards other magical races, and vampires and werewolves were constantly being regulated. This was done under the disguise of "brokering peace" that eventually the species could curtail their dangerous habits and in doing so amalgamate into Wizarding society, but it was all too clear that the magical races were suffering. The crime rate for magical creatures had increased almost tenfold. Powerful and populous races like the Vampires and Werewolves constantly held vast protests against the Wizarding World.
But it was effective. And it was this quick and effective enforcement that, no matter how brutal, kept the Minister's popularity rating high. Actions were performed, promises were kept and the people were happy. In their eyes, the end justified the means without question, and the brutal murder of innocent members of magical species different to their own was just ignored in light of victory.
Dominic Lazar had been a popular choice for the Minister of Magic, but obtaining the power he had currently hadn't been through honest and decent means. Twenty years ago he had strolled onto the political scene under the guise of a foolhardy young man. Little did people know that his cunning and his mind embodied the beliefs of a pure Slytherin. People had tried to manipulate him, and in turn he had manipulated them and gradually morphed them into his own pawns, to gain political support and power. He still had them wrapped around his finger.
Ten years ago, he had become the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It had been a surprise to everyone for somebody so young to be given a senior position, but with a silver tongue and underhanded manipulations, Dominic Lazar was not only popular but he produced results every single time. Of course, many political bridges were burnt and he was trusted by almost nobody in his own department, because he exuded a false charisma and charm that disappeared the moment someone slighted him. But he was respected for his unwavering ambition and motivation, and seemingly never failed in fulfilling a promise.
Five years later, at only thirty-five years of age, he had been appointed the role of Minister of Magic. For someone without a distinguished background, a muddied ancestry and next-to-no political connections when he had first begun, his rise to power and his success had been a matter of debate between pure-bloods for a long time. Some believed that he was lying about his background and actually had many connections whereas others believed that his rise could be attributed to sheer luck. It was unanimously agreed upon that he certainly knew how to manipulate people.
Hermione had been debriefed back in England about her potential ally. Asking for help was not something she had been happy about, as asking other Ministries for help was a sign of weakness. Yet weakness was an understatement to what the English Ministry was experiencing.
A mere year ago, a new Dark Lord had begun to surface. It had been quiet at first: whispers and rumors with no substantial evidence or tangible proof that they were true: tales to scare small children around campfires.
Then the killings started, by an unknown assailant. Nobody knew the name, power or the motives: people of importance to the Ministry were found murdered without a single trace. People didn't even know the assailant's gender.
Kinglsey Shacklebolt, the previous Minister of Magic, had been found murdered in his own bedroom surrounded by defensive runes and enchantments. There hadn't been any magic involved, merely a surgical incision across the throat that had choked the Minister in his own blood.
There had been no evidence to suggest an assailant had even been in the room, let alone murdered the fucking Minister of Magic.
A meeting was convened before the murder reached the press, and Hermione suddenly found herself as Minister of Magic. The reasoning behind the appointment had been that she had proven herself capable during wartime and had played a major role in the defeat of Lord Voldemort ten years ago.
The pure-bloods had been less than amused at a muggleborn being appointed Minister, and constantly called for Hermione to be removed from her position. They would burn her at the stake if they got the chance. The Daily Prophet constantly printed derogatory articles about her and her decisions and, should she ever made any attempt to dissuade the accusations, she would be blatantly accused of abusing her power against the media and labelled a dictator for restricting freedom of speech. She felt powerless in what was meant to be a powerful position.
And the murders continued. Twice a month, a popular and influential person at the Ministry would be found inside their bedrooms, with eyes open and unseeing. People had started to become afraid, and while there had been no public and widespread attacks something even more devious had taken its place. Paranoia.
People at the Ministry had been terrified of the attacks, and were either leaving their positions or doing them to the worst of their abilities and instead focusing on protecting themselves. Duty to the people had been forgotten as the workers aimed only to protect themselves, and Hermione grew more and more restless as the Ministry she had been trusted to govern grew more and more incompetent.
Wizards had begun to doubt the English Ministry, and instead decided to trust the papers. The Ministry was seen as the enemy, and the murderer was being hailed as a hero for taking action against the 'corrupt agencies' within the Ministry. People didn't realise that if the Dark Lord decided to attack, the Ministry would be borderline powerless to protect the people. Even the Aurors had started to doubt the words of Hermione, being brainwashed by the constant media intervention.
Another war had started, only this one would be lost before the Wizarding world realised it had begun. A war not won through senseless violence, but through planting the seeds of uncertainty, then reaping the rewards as the Ministry collapsed in on itself. In fact, had Hermione not gotten wind that the vampire population had suddenly decided to band together she probably wouldn't even have branded the assailant a Dark Lord: this was the work of an anarchist. But with a powerful race seemingly banding together for no reason, Hermione had to assume the worst. It was her duty to do so.
Dominic Lazar was the type of man she hated. He was a smooth talker, a chauvinistic pig who could sweet-talk his way into the riches of the world. Normally, she would have refused to ever degrade herself to asking assistance from such a man. But the dealings between England and other countries had been under strain lately, and America had become the country most likely to provide aide.
So, after much debate, Hermione decided to swallow her pride and ask the Minister for help. Manpower, promises or even just reassuring words, the more the situation escalated and the Ministry faltered, the more chance the Dark Lord would emerge victorious. And that was not a chance Hermione was willing to take.
"You have come to see me rather abruptly, Ms Granger," Dominic said. "What is the reason for this visit?"
Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Surely you know by now, Mr Lazar."
"Humour me."
Hermione fumed. She was being taunted, and there was nothing she could do about it. If she wanted his help, she needed to gain his good graces. And with his shit-eating grin, it was obvious he was fully aware of that.
"There have been several murders of late in the English Ministry," Hermione began. "The frequency and ease of these murders is disconcerting to say the least, but it has started to pose a bigger problem."
"Which would be...?"
"Fear. My Ministry has lately started to ignore their primary duties to the Wizarding community and have instead chosen to spend their time protecting themselves. It has developed to the point where almost no work is being done: partly due to the fact that officials believe that the murderer targets people who are hardworking, and partly due to the fact that they are preoccupied with the pretences of keeping themselves alive. I have neither the time nor the people to replace my officials who are not performing. Everyone is wary."
"Understandable."
"Understandable but not acceptable. The Auror department is the only unit of my Ministry that operates anywhere near the levels that it should be, and even then productivity is declining at a rapid rate. The Ministry will be in shambles soon."
Dominic eyed Hermione carefully. He sat perfectly still, grin intact, but silently contemplated the best course of action to take. He had known her Ministry was in trouble, but not to the extent she had described. She was here to ask for help no doubt, but assistance such as providing manpower was expensive and there were seemingly no benefits whatsoever apart from improving the relationship between England and America and opening future possibilities for trade or assistance. However, the connection already existed to a certain extent and asking for large international assistance was only used in dire circumstances, and even then sparingly. He needed more information before he could make a decision.
He spoke, choosing his words carefully. "I assume that is not the extent of your problems."
"Unfortunately not," Hermione said, frowning. "I have reason to believe that a Dark Lord has surfaced in England yet again."
Dominic's grin disappeared. "I thought those were simply rumours."
"Unfortunately not. I have my theories, but the one I believe is that this Dark Lord is weakening the Ministry."
"Explain?"
"Our previous Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was found murdered. He was an extremely capable duellist with survival instincts dwarfed only by the deceased Mad-Eye Moody. I was immediately put in a position of power without preparation or warning, and have been for approximately half a year. I have been vulnerable this whole time. Why have I not been murdered in this time? Surely I would be an easy target."
Dominic remained quiet, so Hermione continued. "This new Dark Lord did not kill me because he or she doesn't need to. I am a Muggle-born, I am unpopular because I am neither sociable nor charismatic, the pure-blood population views me with as much contempt as the Muggle population and the media has decided to crucify me due to my Ministry's ineptness, to the point where Wizarding Society believes it is a good thing that my officials are being murdered, because they were viewed as corrupt.
With each murder, in my already unpopular state, the Wizarding World turns against me. They do not listen to the warnings I give, and any rule registered and implemented by the Ministry has come to be perceived as a joke. Our prisons are undermanned, understaffed and were it not for the tireless workings of Head Auror Ronald Weasley there would be escapes nearly every day. We cannot protect the people, as they do not want to be protected by us, and the time is fast approaching when the Ministry collapses and the Dark Lord has unprecedented reign of Great Britain".
"I do not want to sound harsh Ms Granger," Dominic interjected. "But I do not see how this concerns me."
Hermione's eyes grew cold. "Mrs."
"Excuse me?"
"Mrs Granger. And you, Mr Lazar, are an ignorant piece of shit! People are going to be suffering under oppression, with a Dark Lord they do not even realise is there attacking them, then shifting the blame onto the Ministry. There shall be blood and brimstone the moment the Ministry collapses, and nobody realises it. The war has already begun."
Dominic went to speak, but Hermione cut him off. "The vampire population has suddenly grouped together, ending ancient disputes, in what appears to be an army. Should Great Britain be conquered, there is no guarantee that the Dark Lord will stop. America is famous for abusing vampires: what's to say they won't attack you? You can handle your own infestation due to one man's efforts alone, but the population of two countries, plus dark wizards seeking blood and power, will be too much for your pathetic Ministry of practically one to deal with. You will lose your life, you will lose your people and you will lose your country! Is that what you really want Mr Lazar, simply because you want to pretend that this problem doesn't concern you?"
Hermione suddenly grew very silent, trying to regulate her breathing to calm herself down. Silently, she cursed herself. She was always so headfast and strong, willing to solve problems on her own without any assistance, but the one problem she couldn't solve would mean the end of Great Britain and consequently the world. She had lost her composure in front of the one man that could prevent the whole situation.
Dominic was furious. How dare anybody address him like that? He was tempted to hex her into oblivion, to teach her a valuable lesson in life; never badmouth your superior. However, the more he pondered her words the more he realised that she was correct.
Vampires did not settle blood feuds easily, and contrary to popular belief they did not enjoy the company of other vampires. They had a unified sense of identity against the Wizards, but after that they would gladly rip each others throats out at the smallest sign of aggression. For them to somehow forget all past transgressions and band together was devastating news should the vampires decide to attack America.
While the American Ministry was fairly stable, the transgressions committed and unfair regulations imposed against magical creatures were well known, and the vampires currently residing in America would no doubt jump at the chance of a legitimate opportunity to massacre both the Wizarding population and muggle population. This was the nature of such bloodthirsty creatures.
"I do not appreciate your mannerisms Mrs Granger," Dominic said, stressing the 'Mrs' and making his contempt fully audible. "However, I do see that if the situation escalates in England it may become a problem for us in America. What is it you propose?"
Despite hating the man, Hermione jumped at the chance of an olive branch. "I need manpower I can trust. Somebody who can work in the Ministry, whoever you can spare, that can make my officials see that in their hands they hold the lives of the many. Trust needs to be re-established between the Wizarding Population and my Ministry, and to do that I need hardworking people who aren't afraid to die."
"Everybody is afraid of death, Mrs Granger."
"There are those who would face it without fear. I once knew an extraordinary man who would have given his own life just to save his friends and the Wizarding World when he could have ran away so easily. They are the people I need Minister. They are the people I can trust."
It was obvious whom she was referring too. Dominic wondered how she would react if she knew Harry Potter worked under the roof she was currently under, that they might even meet each other in the corridors? Actually, he would much rather see Harry's reaction. No doubt there would be a body count.
Who should he send? Dominic was acutely aware that Hermione was practically asking for his whole Ministry, but that was never going to happen and she knew it. He needed to send people, who would not only have a profound impact in England, but wouldn't detriment the American Ministry in any way.
But if he did that, then there would be no doubt that no progress would be done in England. Those who he had in mind would no doubt lose their focus at the first sign of danger. The situation that Hermione described had been dire, and if he wanted to bring the English Ministry back up on its feet then he needed to send in the heavy hitters: those who could get the job done.
Could he do without Harry for a few months? The vampire-related incidents had risen, and it was the Reaper's duty to deter the violence. In other words, massacre those filthy beasts that killed. He would have to give up his largest weapon simply on the pleas of a Minister he had never previously met and had come to detest. She could be lying to him in an attempt to garner more power. It was a possibility.
The choice was there: either give up his biggest weapon to a woman he neither knew nor trusted and hope that he could fix the situation, or retain said weapon and send someone who was good but ultimately expendable.
Yet the doubt lingered in his mind. For if she was telling the truth, and the situation in England was bad, as she had described there was every possibility that the imaginary Dark Lord could mount an attack on America. Should that happen, there was no doubt that the magical creatures wouldn't side with the Ministry. He had the chance to cut the weed at its roots before it spread and killed every fucking thing.
He came to a decision. "Mrs Granger, I will accept your request but I will only send one person to your aide. He is extremely capable, is not afraid to die and will do what you wish him to. However, he is required at this Ministry."
"One person? Lazar, has everything I've told you been a joke?"
Dominic ignored her impoliteness. "Mrs Granger, this man is the equivalent of a one man army. His name is the Reaper." Hermione's eyes widened.
The Reaper. Ten years ago, coinciding with Lazar's rise, the Reaper had suddenly stormed into the Hit-wizard world with death following him like a shadow. Nobody survived the Reaper's onslaught, and almost all the countries had heard rumours of his feats,
Etched with runes and twin blades, he had quickly gained a reputation as a merciless and coldblooded killer who took orders from no operators. Nobody in the Ministry could tell him what to do, and any Hit-wizard who tried to do so quickly found himself in the hospital with numerous knife wounds. Put quite simply, nobody fucked with the Reaper. He listened only to Lazar.
And now he would also listen to her. "Is he as dangerous as the rumours say?"
"If only you knew, Mrs Granger. Now, if you excuse me, I have a few important matters I have to attend to. This meeting has severely derailed my schedule. The Reaper shall arrive tomorrow at this exact time. Be prepared."
And with that, Dominic Lazar left his office leaving Hermione Granger to pray that she had finally found a solution to her problems.
Harry Potter trained in a simple room. The walls were made of brick, and the room was adorned with equipment useful for honing both physical and magical prowess.
Sweat dripped down his well-toned chest as he pounded at a punching bag with vigour. The dull thud of flesh on leather created a hypnotic rhythm. Three jabs, then an uppercut. Rinse and repeat. He added in variations, such as kicks and elbows, but every fighter had a fundamental pattern that they followed in a fight without question and Harry was following his. After years of training, it had become an instinct.
That wasn't to say he ignored magical training: magical training was important, but it was all too easy to find yourself in a position without a wand, and there were only two practical solutions when such a situation arose.
Wandless magic, which required the utmost precision and concentration to perform even the most minute of tasks, was one possible solution and Harry had called upon it many times. But unexpectedly getting up close and personal against your opponent, especially against pureblood aristocrats who hadn't ever thrown a punch in their lives, was as effective as it was satisfying. Extremely.
"If only you had taken that approach against Lucius. That would have been the definition of satisfying"
Cedric stood beside Harry, leaning casually on a practice dummy. He was grinning cheerfully, as though he was experiencing the happiest moment of his life right there. Harry poignantly ignored him, having past knowledge that if he didn't give the fire any fuel to burn it would slowly fade. Ignoring his personal ghosts may have been unhealthy, but it was the easiest way to get rid of them.
"You can't ignore me forever Harry," Cedric said with his Cheshire smile. "That's another three vampires you added to the pile today. Three vampires starving because of unfair laws, but you just go and butcher them. Bravo, my friend, bravo. I wonder if they're waiting for you in the depths of hell, waiting to string up your flesh or rusty hooks as you sizzle?"
Harry pounded the punching bag harder, gritting his teeth. Cedric sighed, moving slowly and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. Should anyone else have seen the proceedings, they would have simply seen Harry standing alone in the room. But the weight of Cedric's ghostly hand made Harry's muscles freeze, and he could see it perfectly fine.
"Would you mind kindly removing your hand?" Harry asked, his voice as cold as ice. Cedric laughed, but did as was requested.
"But of course, Harry. You and I, we see eye to eye. Except for this one little problem."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Care to enlighten me?"
"You've changed Harry. You can feel it, can't you? All your emotions, all the things that weighed so heavily upon your consciousness, suddenly making one hell of a racket inside your head. You locked them away, only they want to be free. They want you to return to the person you were."
"I'm sure you're aware that I left my life to change the person I was."
"Yes, but at the end of the day you're not the Reaper. You're Harry Potter. You can't run away from that fact, no-matter how many people you slaughter in your stupidity."
"I'm becoming something else, you said it yourself. I have been for ten years. This world doesn't need Harry Potter, Cedric. Just look at what it did to you."
Cedric grinned, causing Harry's anger to rise. "I'm not Cedric. You can't lie to me Harry."
"I made my choice a long time ago."
"No. Your choice was to run from your name, not become a remorseless murderer. You could easily have been Hadrian Evans; started a new peaceful life; met a nice muggle girl, but no. You, Harry Potter, went seeking out the bloodshed. Remind you of anyone?"
"Bite your tongue," Harry said, visibly shaking with anger. "Or else I'll remove it painfully."
Cedric persisted. "What's your body count now, hmm? How many people have you slaughtered over the years? You used to keep count, do you remember? You used to mourn over every soul you were forced to kill; it would keep you up at night: now it's just another faceless body to add to the graveyard. Voldemort was a creature of pure evil, but you're worse. Because you were Harry Potter, child of the light, and now you're something worse than the person you defeated. You are a Dark Lord, Potter."
Harry went deathly silent. "Shut up."
"Every vampire cowers when you enter a room. Every mercenary wouldn't even dream about taking you on for all the money in the world. They fear your name, Harry, the name you took when you decided to run away. I hope even your thick skull can see the resemblance."
"I'm not Voldemort. I did not choose my name, it was given to me."
"But not once did you protest, did you? You just accepted it. Look at you Harry-you're a miserable failure, a creature that nobody could love. You tried to run from Harry Potter, and you ran right into the arms of Voldemort. He beat you Harry: his ultimate victory was your downfall. Even in death he is victorious."
Quicker than lightning, Harry had Cedric pinned against the wall. Fully aware that he looked utterly insane, Harry's eyes bore into Cedric's with pure hatred as he squeezed thin air.
"Go on Harry," Cedric said with a raspy voice. "Kill the spare!"
The muscles in Harry's body froze and his arms went limp. He had been about to kill Cedric, despite longing for years to have him back. It was his fault that Cedric had died, and instead of being thankful for his return Harry had been about to take his life all over again.
He had lost too many people: too many people he cared about. Cedric, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Moody, Dobby, Fred: even his own fucking parents had died for him. The name Harry Potter wasn't a blessing; it was a curse. And had he not fled, it would only have been a matter of time before one of his friends lost their lives again because of him.
There hadn't a moment that went by that Harry hadn't about those he had lost. There hadn't been a moment where Harry wasn't grieving. In his nightmares, he could still hear them calling his name; asking him why he hadn't saved them? Asking him why they had to die while he got to live?
He couldn't bear the nightmares back then. Another person he held dear to his heart added to the pile would have been too much.
So he ran from the voices. He locked away Harry Potter into the deepest, darkest depths of his mind, sealed the door and threw away the key. The Reaper was born that day; a man who was prepared to kill everything in his path to achieve his goal regardless of morals; a man who repressed all positive emotions; a man who was feared by all who crossed his path.
But now, the voices inside his head were knocking on his door and it seemed like they would keep knocking until he unlocked the door and let Harry Potter live again.
Fuck the voices.
Harry looked at Cedric, eyes momentarily filled with pain, before he straightened and composed his facial features.
There was no room for weakness.
"You're still in there Harry," Cedric said, with his infuriating grin. "You couldn't kill me. I'm going to keep knocking until you realise who you truly are. Realise that the Reaper is a fallacy."
"I don't need to listen to you. I've gotten over you Cedric: accept that fact and leave me in peace."
"Why do you continue to lie? You may have locked up who you are, but I can still see deep inside your mind. In the darkness, you still see us. You still mourn for us. You still hear us, calling out and crying for help. No matter how fast you want to run, you can't outrun who you really are. You need to face your ghosts Harry: only then can you be at peace."
Harry was about to reply, but was interrupted when an owl entered the training room. The brown-feathered owl gazed at Harry with piercing blue eyes, before hissing and dropping a letter in the room. It fluttered erratically, as if struck by lightning, and fled the room. Harry wasn't disgruntled; it was actually a reasonably friendly reaction. Owls, being creatures of wisdom, didn't enjoy being in the vicinity of demonic energies. It was too volatile for them, and Harry was the definition of volatile.
Harry picked up the letter, examining the eggshell white parchment. There were only three words on the paper, written in thick black ink: "Come see me".
Only one person knew of Harry's location, and even then letters were only sent on the most urgent of occasions. Shit must have really been hit the fan if Lazar was summoning him outright. Usually, the Minister would just Portkey to Harry's hideout.
Harry turned to Cedric, incinerating the letter with a quick flick of his wrist. He didn't need a wand to do so. "I'm on a mission. If you would be so kind as to leave me alone, it would be much appreciated. If not, keep quiet and stay out of my way."
Without a second glance, Harry left the training room leaving Cedric alone. Cedric's smile vanished instantly.
"Harry, Harry, we both know who you really are. You may have locked the door, but it's going to come crashing down sooner or later. And I promise, I'll be the one kicking."
Lazar had his back turned to Harry. He stood rigidly, looking outside a window into the sprawling suburban cities built by Muggles. The lights twinkled against the black canvas of night, but there were no stars to frame the picture. Pollution was rife.
Harry remained silent, awaiting orders. He reached into his left pocket, and pulled out a lighter and a cigarette. He promptly lit the cigarette, idly watching the smoke float upwards. The taste of nicotine filled his mouth as he took a long drag, and pocketed the lighter. The Minister's flare for the dramatic, while amusing, was time-consuming and due to the apparent promptness of the letter Harry wondered why he wasn't speaking.
After what seemed like an eternity, Lazar turned to look at Harry with tired eyes. His words, however, betrayed no lack of vitality whatsoever. "Reaper, I have a very important mission for you. It's...an unconventional case, but extremely important."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should tell me the mission then, Minister."
"Perhaps..."
Harry waited for more, but Lazar simply continued to look at him with a blank look on his face. Harry stared back, taking another drag of his cigarette, causing Lazar to sigh. "If you wish to continue smoking such vile materials, you shouldn't do so in my office."
Harry got sick of waiting. "Stop procrastinating Minister. What is the mission?"
Lazar sighed again, rubbing his eyes. "Today I was contacted by the English Minister of Magic. It appears that she is having trouble with a potential Dark Lord on the horizon. During a meeting, she convinced me that it would be in America's best interest to lend assistance. So I decided that I should send you."
Harry just stood there, looking at the Minister with an incredulous expression. Send him to England? Was the Minister out of his fucking mind? Lazar knew why Harry had fled England: Lazar was the one who had granted Harry political asylum and then changed his identity, and now Lazar was sending Harry back to the place that he had been avoiding for the past ten years.
"Minister," Harry said through gritted teeth. "With all due respect, you can go fuck yourself."
Lazar's eyes narrowed, and he not so subtly placed his hand on his wand. Harry knew the man didn't like to be talked down to, and he most certainly didn't like it from people who weren't his equal. But Harry didn't care, and his hand slipped down to one of his blades to match the gesture.
"If you think you can beat me Minister, do so", the cigarette fell as Harry spoke and snuffed it beneath his foot. "But we both know you can't so tell the English Minister of Magic that she can jump off a bridge."
Lazar barked a laugh, and then backed down. Though he considered himself a competent dueller, he knew that in a magical fight he was no match for Harry. "Do not think this is me turning on you Harry. From her explanations and extra background research, it does seem as though the situation in England is quite dire and could very quickly spread to America. This is a case of needing to send in my best operative, not goad the Reaper into returning to England."
Harry considered the Minister's thinking pattern. If there was a situation that needed to be solved through...undiplomatic solutions, then he was the one to send in without question.
Yet what happened if he saw his friends again? How much would it affect him in a life-threatening scenario? Emotions long repressed would come to the fore causing Harry to be in the worst possible state should a fight arise. What happened if another one of the people he once held dear died while he was there? That was what he had been trying to avoid in the first place.
But those were the thoughts of Harry Potter, and he was no longer Harry. He doubted his magic even recognised him as the man he used to be. If he encountered his old friends, they were simply acquaintances that he could interact with but never fully form a connection. He needed to stay unbiased and without any liabilities: that was the code he lived by, and the code that had led him to isolation.
This was just like any other mission, and it was finally Harry's chance to prove to himself who he really was. Was he still Harry Potter, or was the Reaper in charge? He honestly couldn't tell anymore. But he knew who he wanted to be: and committing the same atrocities that he had in America in England would be the best way to prove it to himself.
He could finally get over his friends, and shut up the guilty voices that crowded inside his head every time he closed his eyes. Perhaps this mission was a blessing in disguise. Besides, Harry had no idea if he would see his friends again. Perhaps Ron and Hermione had ended their fleeting relationship and decided to live their lives in other magical communities far away from each other; perhaps Neville had been eaten by a gigantic magical plant; perhaps Ginny could have found some exotic stranger and eloped to another country. There was no guarantee he would see them.
Not that he wanted to see them. They brought back memories he would rather forget. But he would have to deal with those memories if he wanted to forget Harry Potter completely and reduce him to a mere whisper on the wind.
He would have to stop running.
After much deliberation, Harry spoke. "What exactly is the mission?"
Lazar smiled thinly. "Officially, you are there to help the Minister regain footing in her Ministry. Due to constant murders of her officials, including the previous Minister of Magic, her staff would rather protect their own necks than do their jobs properly. Coupled with trial by media, and constant pure-blood slander, the current Ministry is perceived as a joke by witches and wizards and their rules are almost never followed. After doing further research, magical crime-rates in England are sky high and in Knockturn Alley people have been reported to go missing on a regular basis. Your job is to aid the Minister by getting her Ministry back on track through any means necessary, and work closely with the Aurors to lower the crime-rate."
"Unofficially?"
"Powerful vampire families, who have held each other in constant contempt, have been rumoured to have suddenly united. I don't know how much truth there is, but I've heard the same rumour from more than one source and that is extremely troubling."
"Do you want me to eliminate them, Minister?"
"No, no. I may hate the creatures, but there is no substantial evidence that they have done something wrong. If you can find substantial evidence that something is amiss, report back to me immediately and we'll form a plan of attack. Should these vampires attack America, it would be extremely difficult to deal with them."
Harry nodded, prompting Lazar to continue. "I have arranged a Portkey to activate in 6 hours; that should give you enough time to prepare. It will take you to your meeting destination: a Muggle airport, to hopefully not arouse any suspicion. It's in a secure location, away from Muggle eyes. There, you will meet with the Minister and she will explain things to you in further detail."
It was a shame things had gotten so bad in England, Harry thought. Then again, the people who had condemned him when he was competing in the Triwizard Tournament and the masses that had flocked against him and called him a liar when Voldemort returned were in power now. It wasn't a far stretch of the imagination to imagine them fucking everything up with blindness and stupidity.
It always came down to him having to fix people's problems. Only this time, he wasn't being manipulated and he could do things the way he wanted to. Unconsciously, he ran his hand through his unkempt hair. This would be interesting, to say the least.
Lazar offered Harry an aeroplane ticket. Harry grasped it, immediately feeling the magic imbedded deep within the inanimate object. This was the Portkey. Harry pocketed the ticket, and began to walk out of Lazar's office.
"Harry," Lazar spoke, causing Harry to stop mid-stride and turn, "I don't want people to know what you look like. Make sure you use a really strong glamour charm, or at the very least a mask."
Harry didn't bother to reply. He simply turned and walked out of the office. If he was going to complete this mission, then he would need to stock up on supplies. And hopefully get rid of a pesky voice inside his head that had a tendency to wear Cedric's face.
The door closed behind Harry, and Lazar let his facade fall. The blank look on his face had turned into a frown, and uncertainty had entered his eyes. Harry was a wildcard, and he hoped that his mercenary had his emotion affairs in order.
"It's a pity," Lazar mused, talking to no-body in particular. "That he didn't ask the name of the English Minister of Magic.
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