Chapter Three
Bound for the USA
Harry Potter glanced down at the piece of parchment that Kingsley had given him less than one week ago. On it was scrawled in Kingsley's surprisingly tidy and artful script the address for a particular organization that had ties to some sort of international defense association dedicated to fighting the dark forces. Curiously enough, the group consisted of muggles, which Kingsley had assured him was a good thing, since it meant that Albus would have had little contact with them. As such, Harry would not have to worry about counteracting the old man's influence.
Still, Harry was dubious as to the effectiveness of a group of muggles. How could they go about fighting dark creatures like vampires and demons and dark wizards? They wouldn't have a chance. Shaking his doubts aside for the moment, Harry marshalled his Gryffindor courage and crossed the dreary London street as the drizzling rain slowly transformed into a downpour. Stupid English weather, he thought, absently casting the Impervious charm on himself to ward off the rain.
The interior of the building was completely muggle, and was decked out with overhanging lights, a reception desk with a prim and proper young muggle woman manning the counter, business-style pen in one hand, telephone receiver in the other. There were lifts off to the left, and a lobby area to the right. All the exterior walls on the first floor seemed to be made of glass, which meant that the entire floor was bathed in the diffuse morning light of the cloudy day.
inNot bothering with the reception desk, and not really being sure what warranted such a thing in what Harry thought to be a standard office building, Harry simply continued on to the lifts, where he took one to the top floor.
After five tell-tale pings, each one signalling the passage of another floor for the benefit of the blind and visually impaired, the lift came to a stop. Doors opened and Harry stepped into a large front room that was dimly lit with soft Persian carpeting, the faint music of Puccini's Turandot, wafting through speakers embedded in the walls. Harry went to what was yet another reception desk, this time occupied by another young lady.
"Er, hi," Harry said.
"Good afternoon, how may I help you today?" responded the girl in a cultured accent.
"I'm here to talk to a fellow by the name of Giles. Rupert Giles." Harry had a sudden feeling of dread that there was in fact no Rupert Giles and that, somewhere along the way, he had been taken for a sucker.
"Just one minute," she responded pleasantly, consulting some sort of scheduler. "May I ask your name?"
"It's Harry. Harry Potter."
"Right then, you're a little early, Mr. Potter, but no matter. I believe Mr. Giles is available to speak to you shortly." The receptionist then paged the fellow known as Rupert Giles. "Please have a seat."
Harry obliged and soon found himself waiting for the muggle that would send him off on an adventure of a lifetime. Or so he hoped.
"Mr. Potter?" came yet another cultured British voice from somewhere overhead. Harry snapped his head up and found himself looking into the wizened grey eyes of a gangly looking male who seemed to have aged in the same way that Remus Lupin had aged: in the throes of poverty and under a great deal of stress.
"Hello, Mr. Giles," Harry said as formally as he could, standing up and shaking the man's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
"No, no, none of that sir business," he said, already walking down toward his office, Harry falling into step next to him. "I'm old enough as it is, I say. No need to make me feel any older."
"Sorry, sir," Harry replied instantly.
Giles just smiled at him. Once inside his office, they both took a seat and Giles began, "So what can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"
Harry took a deep breath. This was it - the moment of truth. "I'm here because I am searching for an opportunity to contribute to the fight against the dark forces. My mentor suggested that your organization - the Watcher's Council - might be able to provide such an opportunity."
"Hmm, interesting," replied Giles. "Two questions come to mind. Why are you interested in committing yourself to fighting the dark forces, and what do you feel you can contribute to the endeavour?"
"Er, well, I'm a wizard," Harry supplied. "I've been trained in combat magic and stealth. As well, I have experience fighting dark wizards and dark creatures." Harry inwardly smiled at the thought of putting the phrase 'killed a basilisk' on his resume. Any job where that was a credit was a job worth having, he decided.
"A wizard?" Giles repeated.
"Well, yes," Harry said. "A wizard."
"Tell me about that."
"Er, what would you like to know?" Harry asked, not entirely sure where to begin.
"What kind of magic have you performed?" Giles asked, narrowing his question.
"What kind of magic?" Harry echoed, trying to puzzle out what exactly this Giles character was looking for. Did he want to hear about transfiguration? Charms? Defense spells? Harry decided to open with the big stuff. "Well, I've learned a number of auror caliber defense spells, like disillusionment, obliviation, etc. I am competent with my transfiguration and I excel in charms and defensive magic. You know, shields, curses, the such."
"I see," Giles said, stroking his chin thoughtfully and leaning back in his chair. However, Harry got the distinct impression that Giles really wasn't seeing at all, and Harry began to wonder if maybe these people had never actually heard of wizards before. Maybe they were just a bunch of muggle clods running around doing the best they could with muggle technology. Maybe they knew nothing about magic. Oh crap, he thought, a cold fear creeping up his spine. Now I can add violating the international wizarding secrecy statute to my list of offences. But before he could go down that road very far, he reminded himself he was casting the Imperius curse on humans without a license, and that warranted an automatic life sentence in Azkaban. Secrecy statutes paled somewhat in comparison.
"What deities have you invoked?" Giles asked, deciding to narrow his interrogation even further.
However, Harry clearly didn't understand the question. "Deities?" he once again echoed, only this time with even more mystification.
"Well, yes, deities, Mr. Potter. Isn't that how you go about casting magic? By drawing on the energy of mystical beings?"
"Er, no, not really," Harry said lamely. He was starting to realize that this meeting was a colossal bust. I'm going to kill Kingsley for this, he thought irritably. "Sir, I think that perhaps I might have wasted your time. I think maybe I'll just be going on my way. I'm terribly sorry." Harry stood and drew his holly and phoenix feather wand. "Again I'm terribly sorry. Clearly, I was mistaken as to the nature of this organization. I'm sure you'll understand that I simply can't permit you to have knowledge of this conversation." Why am I telling him this? Harry wondered. Christ, it's not like he's going to remember it.
"Mr. Potter," Giles began to say.
"Obliv-" Harry was cut off by a deep tingling sensation that was working its way through his body. What the hell? he thought, never before having experienced the effect. Do they have some sort of ward set up? While, he couldn't claim to have understood the feeling that was working through him, he did understand on some visceral level that it was warning him about imminent danger, and as such, it put him on maximum alert.
In the next instant, he saw the door crash open and he felt rather than saw a dark being of immense power. Something tainted. Instinctively and wordlessly, he erected a protection shield made of shimmering blue light and he did so not a nanosecond too soon, for immediately he felt an incredible force impacting with his shield. To his surprise, that force was a roundhouse kick ending in an Adidas cross-trainer and had enough force to punch through his shield and impact on his chest, causing him to stagger back, thankful that the immensity of that blow had been cushioned by the shield. Otherwise, his internal organs would have been sprayed out the back of his torso and all over Giles copy of Monet's Nympheas. As such, Harry was still very much alive and able to fight. The magical backlash of the shield that would have downed a competent auror only served to stun the dark being momentarily. Harry had a moment to comprehend that the "dark being" was in fact a girl in her late teens, maybe early twenties and that she had long black hair and Snape-like foreboding black eyes that promised certain doom for any poor soul that crossed her path. In this case, that poor soul being Harry. All the while, that strange tingling sensation that he could not place was going haywire and telling him in no uncertain terms to flee.
Not that Harry was going to flee. He had a middle-aged muggle to protect, after all.
"Faith!" Harry heard Giles say, not that he paid any attention to it. If the old man wanted to pray at a time like this, well, more power to him. The girl was already sending a dagger whistling through the air at high velocity at Harry's neck, to which Harry responded by apparating with an uncharacteristically loud pop, only to reform behind her, where he sent a stunner her way. Already, she had whirled around, as if expecting him to have apparated, which, he knew, was rather silly. Still, she was not quite fast enough for Harry's Quidditch and war and training honed reflexes, which managed to place a powerful stunner right in her mid-section, causing her to stagger and fall over backwards. Phew, he thought, taking a breath. "Mr. Giles, are you okay?" he asked, turning to the muggle, who was eyeing him speculatively.
However, before Harry could receive a response, he felt his legs pulled out from under him, and was only barely able to glimpse the girl getting to her feet, having downed her opponent with a sweep-kick. Harry tried to roll out of the way of her incoming form, but it was simply not possible for him to move with the unnatural speed and power and grace of the girl before him, and, as such, he found himself pinned and beaten before he could blink an eye. Thankfully though, her initial plan to kill him had apparently been abandoned since she seemed content to simply keep him pinned, though she was clearly not averse to inflicting pain, as she made sure his body was contorted in a rather awkward angle.
"Faith, let him go," Giles said tiredly, absently wiping his glasses and putting them back on his head.
"He attacked you," Faith responded, not breaking eye contact with her prey.
"Ger off!" Harry wheezed. "You're breaking my ribcage!"
"And I care because?" Faith asked, smugness evident in her tone.
Harry continued to struggle futilely against his captor, desperately wishing he hadn't dropped his wand and wondering why it was that, despite his fiercest efforts, he couldn't managed to make her arms budge even a little bit. Finally, he gave up and went limp in her arms. "You've got superstrength," he concluded dully.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Faith responded and, in one fluid motion, lifted herself to a standing position and releasing Harry. He rolled over onto his stomach and let out an audible groan. Before he could get up though, he felt her foot come down on his back and plant him firmly against the ground. "Now, tell me what you were going to do to Giles," she commanded in an imperious tone.
You're so busted, he thought grimly. You may as well tell them everything.
However, Harry decided not to tell them everything, for the simple reason that he was hands down the most stubborn human on the planet. Besides, he had a plan brewing. Now able to see that his wand was just a few feet from him, and remembering that he had been able to cast spells through it from a distance, Harry tried to open up his magic and cause something to happen. Unlike last time, however, he wanted something a little more amazing than a bit of light. Aware that even if he could pull off a powerful stunner, it wouldn't work, on her, not that it was aimed in the correct direction anyway. Most likely, any spell he managed to cast would be aimed in his direction. In a flash of inspiration, he willed the wand to conjure a creature. A very particular one. "Serpento sortia," he wheezed, gritting his teeth as Faith pressed down hard on his back.
When he looked out of the corner of his eye, he saw that, in fact, a one foot long garden snake had emerged. Crap, he lamented, a bloody garden snake. How lame is that? Hissing, he instructed the snake to sit tight while he forced a second spell through the wand - this time, an Engorgement charm. Sure enough, the garden snake expanded to three feet in length, and, despite not being poisonous, was much more daunting.
"Stop her," he hissed.
Being significantly larger, the snake drew the attention of both Faith and Giles, who were stunned by the appearance of the creature where before there had been none.
"What the-?" Faith asked as the snake lunged for her.
"Aah!" she cried out, deftly evading the lunge and whirling around on the creature while simultaneously drawing a spring-loaded switchblade. The snake never had a chance.
However, the momentary distraction was enough for Harry, who had crawled to his wand and aimed the only thing he could think of that would be a surefire solution to his problem. Briefly he sent a thank you to Kingsley for having made him practice this particular spell. Wingardiem leviosa!" he cried, throwing wordless casting to the wind in his desperation. Faith had no room to dodge and instead got lifted into the air to her shock.
"Hah!" he said triumphantly. "BOOYAH, BEE-ATCH!"
"Let me down!" she exclaimed, struggling with all her might against the spell.
"I don't think so, supergirl," he said tauntingly, enjoying his moment of superiority while the bruises on his arms and back were still fresh. He was careful not to move her too close to any object that she might have been able to pick up and use as a projectile. Deftly, he moved her up to the ceiling where he held her for a full second before realizing his mistake. Faith, having been a professional hunter and not some newbie, had learned to use everything in her environment, even herself. She swiftly oriented herself so that her feet were planted against the ceiling and then, deploying her superior strength, she propelled herself in Harry's direction at high speed. Too astonished to move, Harry was impacted by two flying fists right in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and flattening him to the ground.
"ENOUGH!" Giles barked. "Faith! Get off him, right this instant!"
"Do I have to?" she whined, already disentangling herself and smirking at Harry, who was still trying to regain his senses.
"Yes," Giles replied, already relaxing as he saw that neither Faith nor Harry had been seriously injured.
Harry picked himself off the floor and flopped into the chair farthest from where Faith stood leaning against the wall. He eyed her suspiciously for a moment before focusing his attention on Giles.
"So tell me," Giles said in a serious tone. "What was it that you had been planning to do to me?"
That's a good question, Harry thought. What had he been planning to do to the old man? It seemed so far away with his head still fuzzy from being knocked about. Eventually it came to him. Obliviation. Deciding that the jig was up and not wanting to incur muscleheads wrath, he decided to just come clean. "It was a memory charm," Harry confessed.
"A memory charm?" Giles repeated, prompting Harry to continue.
"Yeah, well, it started to look pretty clear that you'd no clue what I was talking about. I mean, really. Invoking deities? How stupid does that sound? Why don't we all just run around naked praying for fire from the Sun God or some other such rubbish. Clearly you've no clue what it means to be a wizard or a witch. Besides, I'd get in some serious trouble if I just let a muggle know about us. There's laws prohibiting magical folk from telling muggles about ourselves."
"Hmm," Giles said, considering Harry's words. "I can't begin to tell you how many questions your words have invoked, though I also understand you would be terribly hesitant to continue discussing this. You are correct that I know nothing about what you speak, nor do I understand how it is that you did half of the things you've just shown you're capable of doing. Certainly I've seldom ever seen it done with such ease..." Giles trailed off, lost in a memory of a certain spunky witch gone postal. Shaking his head and returning to the issue at hand, he went on, "Nonetheless, I have seen people levitate one another before, as well as use magic to call the elements, conjure objects, inflict grievous bodily harm, so on and so forth. It seems to me that there are two distinct vehicles for magic that are being utilized. Despite all this, I can hardly condone the use of these memory charms, Mr. Potter. It is something of an insult, actually, since you have come here looking for support from me and this organization."
Harry nodded, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. "Yes, sir. It's just that non-magic folk are really not supposed to know about us. Surely you must understand. If you truly do fight vampires and other dark creatures, then you must know the dangers involved with the general public becoming aware of their existence."
Giles nodded. "I do concede that." He then sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I suppose it's just that I have never been on the receiving end of that sort of treatment."
Harry smiled. "Nor have I, but I imagine it's rather unpleasant."
Giles smiled wanly. "Indeed, I can now testify that it is."
"And you?" Harry asked, turning to the dark haired menace. "What's your story?"
"Just passing through, squirt," she said nonchalantly.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who're you calling a squirt?"
"If the shoe fits." Faith made a show of looking at her nails.
"Settle down, you two," Giles said, cutting off the escalating argument.
Harry turned his attention back to Giles. "So, if you really do fight dark creatures, how do you go about doing so? Do you have witches and wizards? Is she one of them?" Harry pointed to Faith.
"No," Giles said, shaking his head. "Faith here has very special powers. She is what we call a slayer."
"A slayer?" Harry repeated, tasting the word. "Sounds... nice."
Giles grinned. "Faith here, in particular, is one of a kind."
That was the beginning of the story on how it came to be that Harry would end up boarding an airplane bound for the U.S. of A. With Faith at his side, no less.
No Silencing or Imperturbable charm in the world had the power to block out Mrs. Weasley's shouts.
"YOU WHAT!"
Not ten minutes ago, Ron and Hermione had been sitting down to a nice cup of tea at the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. Everything over the summer for the pair of them had been coming along rather smoothly, all things considered. Hermione had spent the first part of her vacation on a trip to Greece, where she learned about the vast and rich history of the classical world, not to mention its magical counterpart. Coming back revitalized and with a healthy tan and with not a single scrap of evidence that she had been severely injured near the end of June, she swiftly became aware of the unusual laxity in Harry's correspondence, which had been stored on her bedroom window sill in a charmed little drop-off pouch.
Dear Hermione,
it's great that you're going on a vacation. I hope you have a wonderful time and learn many great things about the Greeks. Be sure to send me a postcard.
Harry
And that had been all. One measly note. Her first response had been to feel indignant at the dearth of material he had supplied her with. Surely he could have found something worthwhile to write about, even if it were simply his own feelings. During the previous summer, Harry's letters had possessed a kind of desperate, yearning quality that was distinctly lacking now. She supposed Sirius's death must have hit him rather hard. Still, Harry was the type to bounce back and not give up. She had shrugged it off at the time, but, after consenting to an invite to return to Grimmauld place and having consulted with her other best friend, Ronald Weasley, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Harry's letters to Ron had been completely bland and uninteresting, even more so than usual. Harry often took to writing about his horrid relatives, but this summer, he hadn't mentioned them a single time. Ron, as always had been clueless, more so after Hermione had pointed out the few subtle clues. Harry had taken care to delay his responses just long enough so that people wouldn't get worried, but also as though he had wanted to minimize his relationship with them. That was rather odd in and of itself, because he had always been prompt about responding, as though he couldn't get enough of his correspondence.
Not long after, Hermione dared to try phoning him in an attempt to ferret out the problem. Was he hurting for some motherly love? Did he need companionship? Had her best friend in the world given up on life without the aid of his two best friends to be there to support him in his greatest time of need? Well, Hermione Granger, amateur detective, was on the case.
"Hello?" Hermione asked in her most polite tone.
The overly saccharine voice on the other end of the telephone instantly put Hermione on edge. "Hello?"
"Er, yes, may I please speak to Harry Potter? I'm a friend of his from school."
Click.
It took Hermione Granger, smartest witch of the age, a full minute to comprehend that the Dursley on the other end of the line had hung up on her. "Well, I never," she started, glaring at the receiver in her hand as though she could melt it into a puddle of plastic goo with simply her eyes. "Of all the nerve." Hermione shook her head and tried again.
Ring, ring.
"Hello, listen, I want to talk to Harry Potter, you old hag, and there's no force on-"
Click.
"ARRGHH!" Hermione slammed the receiver on the cradle in a fit of rage before, not a moment later, snatching it back up and dialing once more.
And so it rang and rang and rang still more. But Hermione did not stop. She merely persisted on continuing to phone. Every time the answering machine came to life, she would simply hang up and drop another quarter in the payphone and try again. On the four hundredth ring, Mrs. Petunia Dursley finally answered.
"What is it?" she asked in a weary tone.
"Where's Harry?" Hermione demanded.
A pause. And then in an even wearier tone, "He's not here."
As bright as she was, Hermione could not manage to grab this concept. "Not here? What does that mean?"
Another pause. "It means he's not here."
""Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"When will he be back, then?" Stupid muggles, Hermione thought scathingly. What horrible people the Dursleys are.
"I don't think he's coming back at all, actually. He's taken all his things and left with that tall foreign-looking queer fellow with the gold earring. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my normal life."
And once more, Petunia Dursley dropped the receiver, letting a click travel through the phone line and vibrate against Hermione's cochlea. Hermione dropped the receiver so that it hung limply from the payphone and, in a daze, she wandered back to Grimmauld Place. Foreign-looking queer fellow, she mused, translating Petunia's words from Toryism to liberalism. It could only mean one thing. Kingsley Shacklebolt.
From there, it should be fairly easy to see how we got to the present.
"YOU WHAT!"
Down below, in Grimmauld Place's kitchen, Kingsley was in the process of being hauled up onto the red carpet.
"Where d'you suppose he took Harry?" Ron asked, apparently completely unable to fathom where Harry could have gone. "You suppose he's a Death Eater?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't." She then proceeded to chew on her lower lip as she contemplated. "Harry's stuff was taken as well. I imagine he left voluntarily."
"Maybe he's been moved to some sort of a safehouse," Ron suggested dubiously.
"I don't think that even you believe that, Ron. Harry would have been brought here, if anywhere, and certainly Mrs. Weasley would have known about it. Or at least Dumbledore, who's apparently coming to interrogate Mr. Shacklebolt personally. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't take time out of his schedule to do that if Mr. Shacklebolt had been working under his orders all along."
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered before noticeably perking up. "Care to have a game of chess?"
Hermione sighed. She supposed she couldn't ask for anything more from her other best friend. Resigned to worrying about Harry on her own time, she acquiesced. "Sure, what the hell. Got nothing else to do."
Meanwhile, downstairs, Molly, Moody, and Remus were all warily eyeing the auror that had grown close to Harry over the last six weeks. Remus in particular was rather agitated and appeared to be itching to reach over the kitchen table and start strangling Kingsley until he confessed to being a Death Eater. Kingsley, on the other hand, merely sat in his usually formal position, quietly sipping on tea in a manner that could only be described as delicate. He chose not to respond at all to Molly's comments and instead stared toward infinity, letting his mind and his vision go blank, all the while one hand close enough to his wand that he could snatch it up in a flash and raise a shield and a curse. Inwardly, he smiled at the memory of how quickly Harry had learned to double-cast. It was a critical skill in combat where time was so precious, and Harry had learned it with hardly any effort at all. Kingsley had no doubt the boy would go on to triple-cast and possibly even quadruple-cast, as rare as that was. Especially when coupled with double-arcing. To date, only Albus Dumbledore could quadruple-cast while double-arcing, effectively launching eight spells nearly simultaneously. Kingsley wondered if Harry would be the next wizard to achieve that level of magical and mental control. All of Snape's snide comments over the years at the various meetings proved over the last six weeks to be completely baseless, as Harry showed a preternatural mental control. Almost as though he were simply re-acquainting himself with forgotten memories as opposed to mapping uncharted territory.
Then again, Kingsley had no clue that Harry had been prophesied to be the Dark Lord's equal, and that he would come to be much, much more.
The fireplace roared to life momentarily, the burgeoning fire flashing green and then purple before settling back down to green again. Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the flames, his signature twinkle gone as he surveyed the four occupants of the kitchen.
"Let us move straight to business," he said, drawing out his wand and conjuring a pot of tea and some biscuits. The gesture seemed somewhat at odds with the idea that they were supposed to be engaging in a quasi-interrogation. Dumbledore took a seat and, with a serious expression, looked intently at Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Please, Kingsley, explain everything you know about Harry's whereabouts, including any preamble that you feel would aid us in understanding Harry's behaviour, knowledge, attitudes, etc. I imagine there's more to this story than a simple retrieval."
Damn, Kingsley thought, double-checking his occlumancy shields. Though they were meager, they were enough to ensure that he would know if an intrusion were taking place. Still, nothing was ever certain with Albus Dumbledore. He always seemed to know things he shouldn't, and it was one of the reasons why so many people trusted him. Apart from the fact that he was insanely powerful, of course.
"Of course, Albus, I will tell you as much as I can. I should let it be known, however, that I made a pledge to young Mr. Potter, and I fully intend to keep it. Therefore, there will be gaps in my story which I will not be able to fill in for you," he responded in his deceptively calm, 'I'm a bad-ass auror and you better watch it' tone.
Albus merely nodded and made a staying gesture to Remus, who had been about to speak.
Kingsley went on, "Several weeks ago, during my shift guarding Mr. Potter, I observed him leaving his aunt and uncle's home. I followed him to the end of the street, having fully expected him to head to the Little Whinging park, which he is known to commonly do on nice days. However, that is not what happened. He surprised me by drawing his wand and summoning the Knight Bus. Having little time to react and not having any effective means of detaining him, I simply made my way onto the bus so that I could continue in my role as guardian. I elected to strip off my invisibility cloak and speak to Mr. Potter. if he were attempting to evade me, I would have rather simply known about it than try to tail him at every turn. While I doubt he could have outmaneuvered me, I did not think it would be conducive to a good working relationship if we were hostile to one another. In particular, if we met resistance from death eaters, I would most likely not be in a position to defend him, as I would be busy with my attention focused on my target."
Albus nodded, his calmness never wavering. Remus and Moody and Molly, however, appeared to be growing rather impatient. Kingsley just tried to ignore them.
"I took a seat next to Mr. Potter and asked him a few simple questions in the hopes of gauging his level of cooperativeness, emotionality, etc. He surprised me by replying in a very neutral, matter of fact way. His words, surprisingly enough, were very thoughtful, and they inspired me to question certain things."
"Like?" Remus asked quickly, not wanting to skip over this. He himself, had had his own doubts in the past and was now hoping for some confirmation. "I don't think it's entirely necessary to go into that," Kingsley replied evenly. "Suffice it to say, I conceded to Mr. Potter's request not to get in the way of his endeavours. I even went so far as to make suggestions as to the kinds of things he should focus his attention on."
"What was he planning to do?" Albus asked.
Kingsley directed his gaze to Albus and said two simple words, "He studied."
Remus furrowed his brow in contemplation as he tried to figure out what it was that Harry felt he needed to study. Molly simply looked blank, as though she couldn't comprehend the statement, and Moody was appraising Kingsley. Albus looked thoughtful in his barney old grandfather sort of way.
"What was he studying?" Remus finally asked.
Kingsley nodded to himself, as though he had struggled to find an appropriate answer, before saying, "He didn't want to have minders anymore. He wanted to learn enough that he could go out on his own. He felt that others were major targets in the war, and they were not relegated to having guards following them. He cited you, Albus, as an example."
Albus chuckled. "True, true." By now, Albus had already gathered the pieces together and had formed a fairly strong picture of where the story was heading. Remus seemed to be on the same track and Moody was nodding in approval, clearly satisfied that the boy was learning combat magic. Moody probed, by asking, "What exactly was he learning? What did he think would be a good repertoire of spells to make himself independent?"
Kingsley took a deep breath. This was going to be one of the two rough patches in his explanations. He had been contemplating whether to outright lie or to tell the truth in its entirety. He decided on a compromise. "I informed him of a list of standard items that would be useful to have proficiency in. Beyond that, it was his responsibility to understand how each one would play a role in his survival. Much of it was related to stealth. I felt that, for Harry's purposes, spells designed to create heavy assaults on his opponents were irrelevant to his circumstances. I believe he concurred. He never once asked me about it. Instead, I pointed him to certain magical strategies that would allow him to make the most creative use out of his surroundings, often for defense, but which also could be used for creative offensive strategies."
"Yes, but what did you teach him?"
"I didn't teach him anything, Alastor. I simply informed him of what things were out there. I included occlumancy, legilimancy, illusionment, disillusionment, magical detection, wandless magic. I also told him he should have a strong grip on certain key transfigurations and charms. He should be able to comfortably transfigure wood to steel, reshape blunt objects into sharp ones. Cause growths on the surfaces of objects, etc. I also advised him that the Levitation charm would be particularly useful, and that he should seek to strengthening his magical output. I also told him to pay closer attention to spells that manipulate earth, air, fire and water. In almost any given situation, these elements will be around in abundance and can be manipulated to serve a variety of needs. I told him to study them and to think up different ways of using the elements."
Moody was nodding in approval.
"Anything else?" Dumbledore pressed.
"I told him to look into his animagus form."
"BUT WHY?" Molly burst out, clearly unable to restrain herself. "HE'S JUST A BOY! A YOUNG, NAIVE, INNOCENT LITTLE TODDLER WHO NEEDS CONSTANT CODDLING AND MOTHERLY AFFECTION! AND FOOD! LOTS OF FOOD! THE POOR BOY IS SO MALNOURISHED WITH THOSE RELATIVES OF HIS! FOOD WILL SOLVE ALL HIS PROBLEMS! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT?"
Kingsley briefly considered avada kedavraing her right there on the spot, but managed to restrain himself. He merely raised an eyebrow in Albus Dumbledore's direction, silently asking, Why is that woman here?
Dumbledore shrugged and responded with an expression that said, You try and keep her out next time. It was clear to everyone in the world except Molly herself that she had a very important role in the world, but that role clearly did not involve her presence at a strategy session for a vigilante group, even if that strategy session happened to take place in a kitchen.
Kingsley continued as though she had never spoken, "Harry had the presence of mind to ask me to give him a run-down of what kinds of tactics he can expect his enemies to use. I told him that, in addition to what I already suggested, the Obliviation charm and the Imperius curse were both prime candidates. I would not be surprised if he learned them."
At this proclamation, Albus remained passive, while Remus jerked visibly as if spasming. Moody just grinned an evil, toothy sort of grin while Molly simply looked resigned.
"I do not need to tell you, Kingsley, that the number of things you have described would take a competent magical individual at least a year of dedicated study to become proficient in. How could he have possibly learned disillusionment? Or at least, to such a degree as to make it useful? Albus asked.
Moody, however, cut in with another question, "How'd he get the trackers off his wand?"
Kingsley smiled and said with perfect sincerity, "I have no clue. Just as I have no clue how he fixed his vision."
"Fixed his vision?" Remus asked. "You mean his near-sightedness?"
Kingsley nodded. "I said it before, and I will say it again. I did not teach that boy anything. I simply told him what is important for stealth magic and combat magic."
"Did you tell him about the Constriction curse?" Moody asked.
Kingsley nodded yet again.
"Good."
"Surely you must have at least tested him?" Albus said carefully.
"I did," Kingsley conceded. "And, truth be told, I did assist him a little bit with learning about his magical output. I don't think he really understood the concept at first."
"Few do," Albus agreed. "Mr. Potter had never seen the need for theory."
Kingsley shook his head. "It appears he develops a quick learning curve when he foresees practical uses for the magic he is taught. Transfiguring teacups into hamsters is useless, so he puts in only enough effort to pass. Conjuring a silver shield, on the other hand, he learns with amazing speed, because he intuitively understands how useful it can be. He told me he saw the Dark Lord use such a conjuration to block one of your spells."
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, he did. Interesting. Your explanation accords with what we know of Mr. Potter. It appears that our curriculum may not have exactly suited his needs."
"What's the boy's magical output?" Moody asked.
"Base 4," Kingsley replied. "His defense spells are naturally higher, tending to be around the 5 mark."
"That's solid," Moody said, approving.
"Yes, it is."
"That still does not bring us to the current situation," Albus said, gently prodding the discussion back to the original point."
"No, it doesn't," Kingsley agreed, and, then, taking another sip of his tea to wet his throat, he continued. "During one of our last conversations, I told him that I would not be able to test him any further. He has demonstrated proficiency in all the areas that I know. He also took it upon himself to learn apparation and portkeys."
"But that's illegal!" Molly cried out.
Kingsley just looked at her with a withering glare. "Because the rest of it isn't?"
"Please, Kingsley, continue."
"All right, Albus. As I was saying, there's not much left I could teach him. At least, in terms of new areas of magic. Certainly, he could improve his knowledge of what he has already learned in order to achieve true mastery. I'm also sure that experience has allowed me to develop a few tricks. I doubt Harry has thought to use the Obliviation charm in a duel, for example. At any rate, I advised him that perfecting his skills would come with practice, and that his time would better be spent delving into new areas, such as warding, enchanting, complex transfiguration, developing his animagus form, etc. I'm sure he could learn a lot in the area of wandless magic as well, judging from what I had already seen. I also suggested combat healing."
"Did you suggest any instructors?" Albus asked.
Kingsley shook his head. "No. The only ones I can think of are at Hogwarts, and Harry expressed his concerns over their teaching methods. No, he wanted something else. He wanted to become an expert in these fields as they related to defense, not for general purposes."
"I imagine Bill Weasley could do a lot for him in the area of wards," Molly offered tentatively, having decided to give in.
"That is true, but Harry latched onto a different track by this point. He asked me if he would be able to take an active role in the fight against the Dark Lord. To become a member of the front line."
"And you said?" Albus prompted.
"I had no answer for him," Kingsley replied. "It's not really my decision. I told him as much." At this point, Kingsley paused. Here they were coming to the conclusion of the story, and he knew none of them were going to like it. It was one thing to teach him illegal magic. At least he was still stuck like a mushroom in one place. He was still protected by the innumerable wards, still under watch, still controllable. Now, having gone AWOL, he had eluded their grip entirely. Finally, Kingsley continued. "I suggested that there were other organizations that fight dark forces. I suggested he look into it."
"Exactly which organizations did you refer him to?" Albus inquired politely, though there was an undercurrent of disapproval.
This is one of those few points in the conversation where Kingsley lied. "I did not refer him anywhere. Whatever organizations he found out about he did so completely on his own."
"And where exactly would he do that?" Remus asked.
"Where he did everything else, I imagine," Kingsley replied evenly. "In Knockturn Alley."
With that proclamation, a dead silence fell over the interrogators. Knockturn Alley was well known to be a dark arts hub. A place where aurors who went in, did not come out.
"Knockturn Alley?" Albus asked in a quiet, deadly voice.
Kingsley simply nodded. "I have no proof, of course. He told me he learned of these things in Diagon Alley, but I have trouble believing he could truly find out about legilimancy from a place that is so... safe. And if he learned Obliviation and the Imperius, he would definitely have had to have gone to Knockturn." Seeing the disbelieving faces and the frowns, Kingsley was thankful he disavowed knowledge of Harry's activities in Knockturn. In particular, Kingsley knew the boy had been taking a number of illegal potions to do some of the things he had done. Such as the animagus revealing potion. Even worse, Kingsley had suspected that Harry had used the rage potion to develop his wandless abilities. Kingsley also knew that Albus knew these things also. It was just a matter of figuring out what Kingsley's hand in it all had been.
"Very well," Albus said finally, leaning back in his chair and appraising the Order member before him. "I believe that is all. Thank you very much, Kingsley. I'm sorry to have troubled you like this, though I am certain you knew we would have to discuss the matter when you took an active role in assisting Harry."
Kingsley nodded. "Of course, I understand."
"It is not my business to meddle in people's affairs or to use my position as leader of the Order to hand out punishments. I must say I am disappointed in you, however. Assigning a guard to keep watch over Harry is not a right that Mr. Potter has. it is a courtesy that we extend to him in exchange for his prospective role in the war. I can only assume that he told you key things about the war that persuaded you to assist him. I am concerned with some of the activities he has engaged in, but I do take heart that you have surely trained him well. I am confident he will return to us eventually. While he is not an Order member, nor do any of us have guardian ship over him, he does bear a certain responsibility to some of us. To Molly and the rest of the Weasleys, as they are his friends. To us, for having aided in his protection in the past, despite the formidable efforts that have been made against him. Also, you made an oath to the Order. I do not expect you to violate your moral or ethical code for what I or any other Order member thinks is correct. I do, however, expect you to trust us enough to not withhold information such as this. I should think that having fought together and protected one another would give you a sense strong enough to not be swayed by the words of a sixteen year old boy. An important boy, no doubt, but just a boy nevertheless."
Kingsley nodded. "You're right, of course. I did not see where his training would lead him. However, even I could sense Mr. Potter's alienation. I did not think it would do for him to feel betrayed. Some things need to be done on their own. As such, it was my conscience that instructed me to withhold the information from you. That is, until Harry gave me tacit permission to disclose it. I suspect that gaining his trust has been more important than anything this last six weeks. It does not seem as though he has anyone he can go to. He did not have me, really. I just happened to be convenient at the time."
Kingsley's words about Harry having been alienated seemed to strike a chord within Dumbledore, for the sternness melted away and was replaced with a look of defeat. And so, Dumbledore simply nodded. "Understood."
Deciding that the inquiry had pretty much come to an end and not wanting to be subjected to the scrutinizing gazes of the four very different people arrayed before him, Kingsley stood and took his leave through the fireplace.
"You aren't really planning to simply leave Harry be, are you Albus?" Molly asked, her voice subdued as she was still trying to process everything that she had heard. Moody seemed to be weighing the pros and cons of leaving Harry to fend for himself while Remus looked strained. Albus shook his head. "I am not Harry's guardian. As much as I or you or Remus here might care for him, he has the right to do what he wishes. If I understand Kingsley correctly, Harry has gone and broken so many wizarding laws that no force on the planet could keep him from being incarcerated for life, or possibly even executed outright. I can't honestly say."
"What is that boy thinking?" Molly said exasperated, her typical fervor working its way back into her voice.
Dumbledore just looked incredibly sad.
Remus, on the other hand, had taken to watching Albus's demeanor and piped in by saying, "This has to do with something other than Sirius's death, doesn't it, Albus? There's something else going on here."
Dumbledore neither rejected nor affirmed the assertion, which was an affirmation in and of itself.
"I fear I have made yet another error," Dumbledore sighed. "I can do nothing right by Harry James Potter, it seems."
Remus sat in contemplation, trying to figure out what sort of motivation could drive Harry to this sort of behaviour. "It's almost as though he has a death wish. As though he no longer sees death as a cost."
This comment only seemed to deepen Dumbledore's sorrow, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the others.
"Albus?" Moody asked tentatively. "This must be related to the reason why we're all jumping through hoops for the boy, isn't it?"
Strangely enough, it was Molly who seemed to piece it together. She gasped with dawning comprehension, having understood the psychology of a person in a way only an experienced mother could. "You told him you intended to pit him against You-Know-Who. You've always treated him as though he were the number one threat to him, as though You-Know-Who would make Harry a prime target. And now he's obsessed with combat training. To the point where if he fails, it will cost him his life. And it's because he now believes that if he fails in these small things, he certainly cannot win against the big ones, and so his imminent death would be a foregone conclusion."
At these words, Albus simply sank further into his chair, like a reprimanded schoolboy trying to shrink out of view. He simply nodded and said, "It is his destiny."
The three made a collective gasp, now fitting together the pieces of the puzzle. "The prophecy," Remus breathed. "Good God, Albus. It says he will have to fight You-Know-Who."
Albus nodded once more. "It says much more than that, I'm afraid. It says that Harry will be our only hope in the war. That only he has the power to vanquish Voldemort."
After that proclamation, a pall fell over the occupants of the kitchen.
"Well, doesn't that just suck," Moody commented dryly. "Our fate is in the hands of somebody who wears glasses."
"Alastor!" Molly exclaimed. "Wearing glasses is perfectly normal!"
"Has the boy ever bothered to even charm them against summoning?" Moody asked. "Or breaking? Any death eater worth his weight in salt will simply shatter them. He'll be lucky not to be blinded by the fragmenting glass. No wonder he needs constant protection. He hasn't been trained to defend himself from the simplest of threats. The Dark Lord will never strike directly. The boy will have no ability to detect a trap, or any sort of incoming threat. He will always be blind-sided. He needs to learn to erect wards, perimeter charms, develop magical sensitivity. He needs to be trained to carry dark detectors everywhere he goes, to always have his wand readily available. He needs to develop mastery of two or three key spells, like the stunner and the shield and apparation."
The others simply remained silent for a long time before Dumbledore said, "Well, Alastor, it appears that Harry fully agrees with you, given his recent actions."
Just outside the door to the kitchen, unbeknownst to the four occupants, Ginny Weasley was hanging around testing a new and improved version of the twins' extendible ears. Ears capable of wiggling through the Imperturbable charm. At the outset, she hadn't really expected to find out much. After all, she was only being paid a couple of sickles for the work. Fred and George had wanted to know whether the ears were tough enough to push through Dumbledore's charm, and Ginny had elected to attempt the task. She had been surprised when the charm had been erected, and had swiftly moved closer to the warded area. She certainly had been surprised, since Order meetings took place in the evenings, and so she certainly hadn't expected to hear anything of particular interest.
Oh how she had been wrong.
Harry defeat You-Know-Who? It sounded as ludicrous to her as it apparently was to the occupants of the room. For a moment, she gave serious thought to ditching the Order and joining the Death Eaters. After all, what chance did any of them really have? This was You-Know-Who for God's sake. However, not a moment later, her Gryffindor side reasserted itself for the simple reason that she knew she could never raise her wand against her family. As long as they were with Dumbledore, so too would she. Besides, maybe her childhood idol did have some sort of secret weapon he would pull out of the proverbial hat right at the last second. Stranger things had happened. Still though, she had trouble seeing it, especially after the DOM. It wasn't so much that she hadn't been aware of the very real dangers involved in heading out to the Ministry. It wasn't even so much that she thought she wouldn't get into a brawl with death eaters. She had been prepared for that. What galled her to no end was that Harry had been spectacularly duped and not only that, he simply didn't have the magical braun to get out of the mess he dragged them all into. He was pretty average, all things considered and it was truly disappointing. She understood then that he had nothing going for him save a plethora of bravery that bordered on stupidity. Worse yet, his continued survival for his entire existence has been because others were prepared to die for him. In all likelihood, whatever happened in the final battle, if Harry did manage to defeat You-Know-Who, it would most likely be due to the skill, courage, strength of someone else, like Dumbledore, or his true love or something. Frankly, Ginny was not quite prepared to be that person. No, she wouldn't go to the evil side, but she wouldn't exactly stay close to Harry James Potter either. Some other sucker could have that privilege.
Relieved that a chapter in her life had finally come to a close, Ginny skipped upstairs to go file her report with the twins and decide how she wanted to spend her accumulated summer savings.
Harry briefly took a moment to look up at the clear blue California sky and ask to whatever deity was listening what he had done to deserve having Faith foisted upon him.
With a spring in her step, Faith bounced along next to him, momentarily leering at some half-naked blond guy with biceps the size of watermelons as they passed by one another. "That is one hot, hot - ooh, the things I'm thinking of!" she exclaimed, a bag of deep fried onion rings in one hand, a double whopper dripping mayo and beef fat onto the hot pavement in the other.
Even having just exited what was an abnormally large airport, Harry could still hear through the glass wall that separated the outside world from the inside one, the muffled sounds of a voice over the intercom system instructing anyone with unguarded baggage that they would be flogged alive if they tried to check it in. Despite having commuted through London to get to Hogwarts every year for the past five years, Harry still had difficulty adjusting to the magnitude of size, business, apathy, etc. that these mega cities were steeped in. As the pair rode a large, 47-seater coach to the heart of Los Angeles's downtown core, Harry couldn't help but gawk at the multi-level highways, the enormous pillars that held up roads in the sky, cars zipping by at alarming speeds. It was like the Jetsons, he decided finally. Too surreal.
Nor could he quite comprehend the dense layer of smog that swam overtop the city, hovering like a cloud of death. Ew, he thought. That's gross.
Surreptitiously glancing about, Harry dismounted the bus, his belongings charmed to be featherlight, Faith sidling along next to him, carrying her belongings with even greater ease than he was carrying his. Curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, "So exactly how strong are you?"
Faith glanced his way and then shrugged. "Never really tested it out, to tell you the truth, squirt. Enough to break a vamp in half, if it helps."
"Er, not exactly," he muttered. He supposed it didn't matter anyway. As long as he had his trusted wand, he would be fine.
Giles had set them up with a pair of rooms in a nondescript little hotel room outside Disneyland. Why Orange County was anybody's guess. From there, Faith had procured a rental car from not too far away, though Harry wondered as he repaired the glass on the driver's side with a flick of his wand, just how many laws she broke to get it. Not that he cared that much. As a bona fide fighter of all things dark, he felt entitled to a few perks. Much as he suspected Faith did. Not that he wanted to contemplate parallels between himself and the unclean creature he had had the misfortune of sitting next to for the entire trip between London and L.A. While he had been able to suppress the feeling of unease that continued to tingle through him, he had not been able to clear it away completely. As such, he found himself viscerally repulsed by her, though for what reason God only knew. He had never before experienced such a thing in his life, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. Certainly it had not gone unnoticed that she was both fit, and lithe and toned and all those other good things that made girls stunningly beautiful. She was dangerous to boot, and, if Harry were prepared to admit it to himself, she was dangerous in a seductive sort of way.
Two days later, the intrepid, investigating duo found themselves muddling their way through the isolated, rocky terrain of Sulfur Mountain, a particularly nasty mountain with steep slopes and loose gravel. They had just cleared the tree line and were blanketed in the intense heat of the mid-afternoon sun, deerflies and mosquitoes the size of hornets buzzing about them hungrily. Harry found himself continually applying the Impervious Charm to ward them off. To his dismay, they were so single-focused, their constant attacks tended to wear down the charm's effects. Worse yet, they seemed to understand on some sort of deep, visceral level that Faith was strong and fast and her skin was impregnable, and, as such, devoted their efforts to eating Harry's flesh and drinking his blood, the mere thought of which made him queasy, such that he couldn't even muster up the necessary, catalyzing emotions that could bring his wandless abilities to bear. He briefly considered taking another vial of the rage potion that he had purchased in Knockturn Alley. The potion had the effect of inducing a controlled rage that allowed wizards and witches to call upon vast reservoirs of magical energy, often for the purpose of executing feats of wandless magic. He had already tried blasting the creatures out of midair but found that, even despite his superb marksmanship, he was simply too slow to get them. Some wizards were apparently able to drive spells at higher speeds or to control their direction, even going so far as to smear spells across wider areas, or fragment them in mid-flight. It was an area of magical control that he had found difficult, to say the least, and had gone above and beyond the call of his mentor to master. Similarly, wandless magic was out of his capabilities as well, as it was for every other witch and wizard on the planet, save for the most powerful of them, like Dumbledore, who could perform minor feats, like a magical shield or a summoning spell. With the rage potion, he could unleash enough magic to fry them all for quite aways and do it with a mere wave of his hand, calling upon enough energy to hunt the little buggers down and incinerate them. That would teach the little fuckers.
It also didn't help that he didn't have sunscreen, nor did he know of a related charm. As such, he resorted to conjuring a large umbrella and charming it to float overhead, creating an umbra oasis that acted like an insect lightning rod.
All the while, Faith smirked at him. She did so in such a way that Harry knew with every fiber of his being that, if she had ever went to Hogwarts, she would have been sorted into Slytherin.
Harry's tutelage under Kingsley had been directed almost exclusively to stealth, combat and evasion. It had not even occurred to him that he might end up having to learn how to track his quarry. He had been the prey so long, it had been simply ingrained in him that trouble would find him and that he would never have to go out looking for it. The unlikely duo, after several hours of hiking, in which Harry had to constantly down pepper up potions in order to maintain the strength to keep up with Faith's ceaseless stamina, happened upon the remains of a campsite. They both walked about it for a long time, staring at the sleeping bags and burnt out fire that remained. Whoever had set up shop there had used a pair of boulders to either side to keep out the chilly breeze. The sleeping bags were all huddled close to what would have been the fire. A couple of jerry cans and some extra gear were lying uselessly about. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it, but Faith seemed entranced by the scene, and that at least gave Harry an inkling of being on the right track. Still, they were clearly days late.
"So now what?" Harry asked, breaking the otherwise preternatural silence. Faith did not seem to be listening. Instead, she had knelt down and was scrutinizing something on the mountain floor. When Harry approached, he saw that there were a series of markings on the stones. After peering at them, he began to see that the jagged lines formed crudely drawn words. After a moment of peering over Faith's shoulders, he snorted. "Five by five?" he asked incredulously.
Faith did not respond. Instead, she looked off into the distance, her eyes fixed on infinity as she clearly went through the process of reliving some memory. Harry, however, was not feeling too charitable. Here they had come and trudged brutally up a bloody mountain, after having driven for hours on end, with darkness now just on the horizon and all for a cheesy message that wasn't going to do them a bit of good in finding dark forces for him to tackle. "What a Goddamned bust," he muttered, kicking a loose pebble so that it rolled down and over the edge of the cliff face not five feet from him. "Of all the mentally retarded things I've done in my life, this has got to take the cake." In a dramatic gesture, he threw his arms into the air and looked up at the sky as though he were in religious ecstasy and called, "WHY? WHY MUST I LOVE?" He did not notice that Faith had stood up and was now studying him intensely. Oblivious, he just continued to call out to the vast open space before him. "What the fuck am I doing running around with some steroid bimbo on an American mountain top searching for a bunch of useless, drugged up teenage muggles? Goddammit. Thanks a lot Giles, you fucker. And thank you, Kingsley, for sending me out here on this wild goose chase. I bet all you Goddamned Phoenix club flunkies are sitting around with your posh little mead shit having a good laugh about how Harry's been jerked around and's gonna have to come crawling back on his hands and knees looking like a total dweeb! WELL, FUCK YOU ALL!"
Before Harry could get out another word, a fist collided with the side of his face, sending him sprawling to the ground, his body skidding on the sand-covered rock so that he came perilously close to the mountain's edge. His brain fuzzy from the punch, he absently spat out a spray of blood from where he had bitten his cheek. "Oof," he wheezed belatedly as his senses returned to him. Did Faith punch me? he wondered.
Before he could turn around, however, he felt himself bodily lifted into the air and hurled what must have been ten feet so that he came crashing to the ground near the foot of one of the boulders. "Aargh," he gurgled, instinctively rolling to one side and hearing the skid of a boot on the rocks. "What the fuck?" he managed, scampering away from Faith, who was stalking him menacingly. He drew out his wand reflexively, but with that same inhuman speed, now fueled by an unleashed rage, Faith snatched it out of midair and snapped it like pencil lead and tossed the smoking, fizzling pieces over the mountain's edge.
"You-" he began, falling onto his buttocks and staring wide-eyed between Faith and the edge of the mountain where his wand had went over the edge. "You broke my bloody wand!" Even as he said it, he couldn't quite believe the truth of the statement. His wand - the one thing that had been with him through thick and thin since he had turned eleven. The thing that filled him with warmth every morning, whether it be a conscious or an unconscious thing. His lifeline to magic. Already, he could feel the usual coldness enveloping him, dulling his magical sense back down to its innate level. The act kindled a fire of indignation within him, one which would soon make him very angry.
"You whiny little bitch," Faith growled in low tones. "You don't give a fuck ass about anything but yourself. My friends are dying out there, and I've had to practically carry your worthless hide up this mountain. Fuck, I would have been here by lunchtime if I hadn't had to patiently wait for you to tag along, you good-for-nothing little freak."
"My wand," Harry repeated in a daze, his anger working its way through his brain, entwining itself like a cancer. "You had no right."
Faith laughed bitterly. "The last time I killed some little jumped up fucker who thought he was better than the rest of us..." she trailed off, struggling not to reach down and strangle Harry Potter.
Harry raised his hand and pointed it directly at Faith's heart. Reducto, he thought, willing enough energy to come forward so that he could send her heart and ribcage exploding out the back of her torso. A thin blue beam of energy jetted forward and struck Faith in the chest. Despite its power, which was fueled by Harry's drive, it only had the effect of causing Faith to stagger backwards and stumble and fall. Within a second, she had righted herself, as did Harry, who stared at her. He knew, somehow, that he was in a losing battle. That he simply could not call up enough energy to do damage to her and that the truly useful spells required precision that could only be achieved with a focus, like the Obliviation charm. Worse, he felt his anger subsiding, as though that one curse he had hit her with had somehow drained him of his self-righteousness, leaving him feeling acutely the weariness from the day's exertions.
Faith charged and Harry simply raised his hands, desperately willing a shield into existence. To his amazement, he managed a thin blue sheet of shimmering energy that Faith rammed through, flinching only mildly as burns and blisters formed on her hands from the impact. Not able to hold it, the shield flickered out and Faith lifted Harry into the air with both her hands so that he was struggling feebly as the oxygen was being cut from his brain. She spoke in a dangerous whisper, "I've held my punches with you, kid, but no more. I hate you prissy types. You don't know what real suffering is. You just show up looking for a bit of action and then taking off when things get too tough. I hate your kind."
Harry didn't have the time to contemplate the irony of her words. He simply wheezed pathetically, additional burns forming on her wrists and forearms where his magic desperately fought to repel her. He begged to be elsewhere, anywhere, even and then, in a flash of inspiration, willed himself to apparate to the base of the mountain, hoping that he could manage it. With a slight popping sound, he disappeared from her hands and reappeared five feet away, his limbs just inches from being splinched with the mountainside. Harry staggered about drunkenly and trying to gather his bearings. Belatedly, and to his dismay, he realized that he hadn't managed to apparate nearly as far as he had needed to. Once more, he found himself being slugged in the face and falling to the ground, only to be lifted up once more and pressed against the boulder, his feet still off the ground as his ribcage was slowly being crushed.
He beat his hands futilely against Faith's head and shoulders. "Please," he begged, "please don't." For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of mercy dance across her features, but now, in the twilight, it could have been his imagination. Certainly, she did not let up on the assault. And with his body pressed against a boulder and being so high up and being so unfocused mentally, he knew he could not risk apparating a second time. Instead, he simply continued to struggle, knowing that it was futile given Faith's strength and endurance. Harry resigned himself to die, for he could see that Faith was certainly going to kill him. She had the same crazed light in her eyes that Bellatrix Lestrange had had when Harry had tried to torture her. Strangely enough, it didn't bother him so much. Maybe it was because he wasn't leaving family behind, or because his life had been so shitty anyway, or maybe it was because he was on a cold, desolate mountain with some crazy steroid spawn, and, while it wasn't exactly the coolest place in the world, or the most noble way to die, it was his way, on his terms, while he was living his own life and by his own rules.
As tough as Faith was, and as hard and bitter a life as she had led, she still wasn't hard enough to overcome God and Fate and Destiny. Oddly enough, it was Harry's peculiar aversion to her that ended up saving his life. Being so close to her, feeling her skin on his skin, her breath on his neck, her unrestrained malice, the slick feel of her sweat in the otherwise cold, nighttime air, incensed that part of him that desperately begged to be away from her. With his own consciousness fading, that undercurrent of instincts was left to fill the vacuum, which it did gleefully. In a flash of light and energy that propelled them both from the boulder, Harry transformed, instinctively emitting a blood-curdling scream as his clothes were virtually shredded by the explosion of blood and skin that flew from his back, leaving large white wings in its wake. Wings with faintly luminescent, shimmering white feathers the texture of rose petals. Faith was hurled five feet to one side so that she came crashing down against the ground from the momentum of Harry's body, which half-rolled about flailing as Harry only partly made the animagus transformation, leaving him a disturbing mockery of himself. It was like a really nasty splinching accident. Parts of him were human and other parts were horse-like. Once the initial thrust of the transformation had been completed and the worst of the spasms had passed, he lay simply twitching and moaning, tears oozing out from underneath his tightly shut eyes.
Faith, once having picked herself off the ground, stared at Harry's form with horror. "Holy fuck," she muttered, her gaze raking over his half-transformed body. In addition to the wings, one leg and one arm had turned into horse legs. There was also a unicorn horn sticking out of his forehead. "Paint Jesus white and call him a saviour. You really are a freak."
The fervor that had spurred her on to try and kill Harry had left her now, and in its wake she felt more shame than anything. Shame for having let her sadistic tendencies get the better of her. Normally, she might have elected to put such a creature out of its misery, but feeling the backlash of self-recrimination, Faith, for the moment, resolved to help Harry Potter survive whatever it was his body had done to him. As such, she went about starting a fire near to where he lay, and also arranging his limbs in a position that she hoped would be more comfortable. His hind leg looked to be broken, if the odd angle that it was bent at were any indication. Don't think about that, she told herself. You're hardly in a position to be performing surgery on it. His magic got him into this, it'll get him out. Carefully, Faith poured a bit of water down Harry's throat, hoping he wouldn't choke. "You gotta be pretty thirsty after that shit," she said quietly, unable to pull her gaze away from the train wreck that was his body.
She waited there in the dark, occasionally re-stoking the fire, gently running her hands over Harry's hair, saying soft things to him, tentatively touching his wings out of curiosity. She noted that the transformation of the wings had left large gouges in his back that were drying and leaving heavy scarring. Clearly, it was a bad transformation.
She slept little that night, instead reflecting on just how young Harry looked now that he was in peaceful repose. Occasionally, he would whimper and shift about and sometimes his eyes would open, but not for long. She could only assume that the pain was so horrendous he was simply blacking out from it every time he tried to wake up.
The sun rose late in the mountains, for the horizon line was so much higher. Steeped in the deep shadows of the monoliths, Faith and Harry slept in later than they otherwise might have. Having had years of constant danger and fighting, Faith had trained herself to be a light sleeper, much like Harry had.
As such, she was awakened by the scuffle of boots on the rocks, and the low rumble of an animal. Faith's first instinct was to think bear, and then possibly mountain goat, though she had been fairly certain that neither existed around those parts. Slowly, she rolled over and looked up into the hazy blue Colorado sky. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, though her acute hearing was now picking up the distinct sound of a large animal. I wonder if I can handle a bear, she mused, lifting her head up slowly and peering about. At first she saw nothing, save Harry's malformed body.
Brushing away the grogginess and pinpointing the sounds she could hear, she identified it as coming from behind the boulder. Slowly, she picked herself off the rocky floor and stretched her muscles. Vaguely, she recalled someone telling her to be loud and obnoxious around bears, because it would scare them away.
"Oy!" she called. "Beat it the fuck out of here!" Faith wondered if that was loud and obnoxious enough.
The scuffling and the grunting stopped and Faith wondered what exactly was going through the creature's mind. However, before she could do anything else, she saw a large, blurry ape-like figure come flying out from behind the boulder right towards her.
It should be noted that Faith was not exactly the learned type, though she had been around the block a few times. Still, she knew that whatever that creature was, with its mutilated body and matted fur and bared fangs and its creepy ability to jump really high - whatever that thing was, it was not exactly the National Geographic type. In the blink of an eye, it landed right before her and shot out one clawed hand which, if Faith were still standing where she had been, would have taken her head completely off. Fortunately, being gifted with superhuman speed, she managed to duck out of the way and do the first thing she could think of. She shoved the creature as hard as she could.
To her credit, she managed to knock all six hundred pounds of it off its feet so that it landed squarely on its ass. All right, she thought, taking a step back and reassessing her position. So you probably can't kill a bear. Not that the freaky ass fucker in front of you is a bear. No, of course not. That would be too fucking easy.
The creature, once having gotten over the shock that somebody was strong enough to knock it over, narrowed its eyes and gazed at Faith in a disturbingly calculating way before lunging forward and emitting a piercing shriek.
Faith barely dodged a swipe of its claws and managed to give it a direct punch in the head, jostling its brain about inside its skull. She followed with another lightning strike that forced the creature to take a step back before recovering and managing to grab her with one of its clawed hands and lift her into the air. Thinking fast, all the while oxygen being cut off from her brain, she focused her attention on grabbing one of its fingers and prying it lose with all her strength and then, in a show of strength, snapping it so that the creature wailed in anger. Faith found herself carelessly hurled to one side so that she slammed face first into the mountain side. Already, she felt the creature coming up behind her, and it was all she could do to parry another vicious swipe that had her seeing stars. Acting on instinct, she managed to deliver a flurry of bicycle kicks to its abdomen, whereupon she distinctly heard the sound of ribs cracking.
The creature did not even seem to notice, though its face contorted into a scowl of fury. It swatted down on her face and smashed her head into the mountain side once more, and leaving claw marks on her cheek. Still, Faith did not relent and instead, sprang to her feet while delivering another sharp kick to its abdomen, before dodging another swipe and roundhousing the creature clean in the head. "Gotcha, fucker!" she said as the creature's head snapped to one side with the sound of its neck breaking.
Faith wiped the sweat and blood from her brow as the creature fell to the ground. For the first time, she had an opportunity to look at the creature with an appraising gaze. She was fairly certain that she had never heard of any creature quite like the thing in front of her. Its face looked as though somebody had smashed it up and then did a really poor job reconstructing it. As though the creature were a mockery of an ape. Some sort of German art expressionist version of what an ape would look like. And if she had any doubt that the thing in front of her were a freak, they were quickly extinguished as it let out a another growl and then got to its feet.
"No fucking way," Faith breathed, taking an instinctive step back. She felt as though she had deployed all her adrenalin stores and was now feeling the dizziness and nausea that accompanied the aftermath of a fierce battle.
The creature swung its head from side to side before settling on Faith. It sneered, or possibly smirked before charging yet again.
Faith did the only thing she could think of that would keep her from being completely pummeled. She jumped. The creature must not have been expecting that, for it simply continued onward at full speed, never realizing that it missed its quarry and hurling itself clean over the edge of the cliff, hopefully never to be seen again. Faith immediately ran to the edge and peered down to see how far the creature had fallen and whether it was planning to get up anytime soon. It had dropped a good thirty feet before its body had impacted with the side of the mountain whereupon it rolled to a stop at the base of a tree. Faith stared at it for a long time. Several minutes in fact, all the while keeping her keen eyes trained on it for any sign of movement. When she saw none, she finally let herself relax. It was dead.
However, before she could have a chance to crawl back next to Harry and lick her wounds, her gaze fell upon the sight of a medium sized town sprawled out near the base of the mountain. Faith pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She estimated the town's size to be somewhere between one and two hundred thousand people. Not very large, but large enough to have all kinds of amenities at their disposal. And large enough to be on a map of the area. Still, she could not recall seeing any such thing when she had gotten directions to the area. Nor had anyone mentioned such a place. Normally, she wouldn't have cared, but coincidences were starting to aggregate and Faith didn't like it. A deep sense of foreboding stole over her, despite the looming warmth and brightness of the sun. Somehow, she knew that all her answers and all her troubles would come from that place. Despite how high up she was, her enhanced vision allowed her to spy the large welcome sign that was conveniently pointed upward and in her direction. On it, she could just make out the words: RACOON CITY.
All her answers, and all her troubles. She let herself muse about the town for a moment, her gaze flickering to the carcass of the strange creature. The sound of Harry whimpering drew her attention, and she resigned to put thoughts of Raccoon City out of her mind for just a moment in order to see to her companion's needs.