Miss Memory: Bar Plans

Chapter 14

-This is to you Joelle. I happened to find half of this already on file, and was in the mood to write a little bit more.-

Harry Potter wasn't a really abused child. It was more like -a large batch of neglecting relatives that hated him and weren't afraid to say so- that he was hounded and forced to live with them. At eleven years old, he wished for many things. He wanted his parents alive from the car crash to take him away to live with them. He wanted someone who would love him to take him from this place and show him how to live.

He wanted a lot of things but at the age of eleven, ten years in this hell, he was beginning to see that wishes weren't horses and they never came true for freaks like him.

In his cupboard, he slinked out at 6am to make breakfast for the family that wasn't his. Eggs, pancakes and bacon for Dudley, with hash browns included for his cousin's father. His horse aunt demanded he make fresh orange juice and he was glad they had a juicer. He knew from experience juicing without one was quite tiring. The sun was barely up with him but he took the coolness gladly as he knew it would get humid later in the afternoon when he would be forced to trim the hedges again and weed the garden for the third time in a week.

Dudley rushed down the stairs at almost seven like a rampaging rhino, knocking him to the floor in the process. He didn't apologize, just said, "Watch where you're going, Freak!" He wished he knew why he was hated but he didn't.

His Aunt glared at him and scooted her 'precious Duddikins to his large seat where the legs whined in protest. "Apologize for getting in his way, Boy."

"Yes Aunt Petunia. I'm sorry for getting in your way Dudley." He did this on autopilot, his insides seething at her hatred and a little baby in him wondering whywhywhy she hated him and must not love him. He got out of the way and served his Uncle's food on the table before the man came down. He was out the front door before he could hear his uncle yell that his food was cold and barely worth eating.

Harry had no idea that his food was quite good but Vernon would shame the day anyone admitted it. If he had a choice he would have cooked for himself. He hardly got enough scraps as it was and whenever he was seen in the lunch room, the few little bits of money he could scrounge up were founds by Dudley those idiot boys that Dudley ran around with, that he ran away from. He had learned to eat the scraps from the Dursleys and anything he could nick from them. The nearby restraint gave him a free meal twice a week though. He had given a fifty back a man had dropped who turned out to own it. In thanks he was fed for free. He often went there when he could get away without being caught. It was either that or the library where the Dursleys would never step foot.

Dudley was out of school, it being summer and all. That meant there were no studies he had to do and no homework for either of them. He was always forced to do his cousin's homework as well as his own but he always made sure to fail the tests as he would get in trouble for doing better than Dudley. When he was praised he was in worse trouble because Dudley was in no way scholarly. He once loved the thought of school but it was just torture now. Without the reason for being out of the house, however, gave the Durselys more things for him to do.

He wasn't the only child bulied by Dudley and his gang. No matter what the elders at Number four preferred to believe, Dudley was not the 'perfect little angel' they saw him as and the neighbors knew it. For some reason though, whenever someone comlpained, the authorites just randomly forgot about. When he was expected to be away, he could go to some of the other houses and help around, something that he could snack and some little change for, as well as respect.

Still, this was the closest thing to hell he could think of. He wanted out and he was beginning to lose hope that it would ever happen. Another five years, that was all he needed before he could be out on his own. Another five years and then Aunt Petunia could legally sign the papers to make him legally an adult.

She stood over a table, classified maps laid out around her. There must have been twenty black and white muggle maps and another ten that were magical and showed where the Dementors were in Azkaban. She was planning how to break him out or get him out sane. He was one of the few she had considered really and truly one of her friends in Hogwarts, along with Moony, Alice, Frank, Severus, and Lily of course.

They wouldn't let him suffer.

In the meantime, Anne was on the Net. She was searching through personal files looking for any mention of Harry Potter.

"Got him!" she yelled through the hallway, bringing her friend's attention back to her. "Harry Potter, age eleven. Birthday, July, 31st. Dark shaggy hair, green eyes. Small frame… It says there is sign of neglect."

Over her shoulder, Buffy growled. "Where is he?"

"Surry, Little Whinging. In the care of his aunt-"

"Petunia?! What was Dumbledore thinking, putting Harry with Lily's sister. She hates magic." She started to go off in a rant, waving her hands about to express her distress.

"Buffy."

"It was probably directly in the will to. What was he thin-"

"Buffy!"

It got her attention. "Hm?"

"Why don't we go get him, double his body like that one time when you were here for their birthday with Dawn but both of you had to be in Sunnydale at the same time? That way he is still there for whatever reason and nobody will notice that he's gone, but you're teaching him as well?"

The slayer nodded. "Yeah, I should do that. I can keep doing it too so he can experience a family for once. I doubt Petunia," she spit that name out like it was something foul, "would care for him."

Looking at related records, Anne was nodding. "Yeah. Dudley Waldron Dursley, son of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, is overweight and a bully," which just sent the slayer into another furious rant. Instead of interrupting, the once-street girl just decided to let it run its course.

Ten minutes later, Anne had finally decided that maybe it wasn't such a good idea as the Slayer was still mumbling and pacing aloud. Her own finger was tapping warily as if trying not to pull the trigger on the gun.

She sighed though and busied herself trying not to flinch at the Slayer's extended vocabulary. At least she didn't talk like that around the kids, but that was very extensive language that made Anne feel sorry for anyone under Buffy's fury.

Anne glanced over at the table to the right side of the room. On it was a few pairs of black clothing laid out, ninja-esq. They'd be doing this off normal…

She grinned. None of them could ever remember being normal.

The Night

The bricked walls of Azkaban were a thick oily substance that seemed to flicker as if the very stone wanted to fall from its height in this pestilant place. The whole island itself gave off feeling of dread that often brought any normal person, and then some, to their knees. The dark sickness that permeated the building seemed to edge off and even touch through the water like claws of nature.

She knew this. She felt this. And she thanked the Gods that were out there that she had protection. A pepper-up could be traced, as could wand signatures to a point and charms on a person. But she was a Slayer, a person who knew much about magic that the wizarding world at large had no idea about.

As a phoenix, she slowly made her way to the island, hundreds of miles above it, she could feel the threatening presence she despised. As a phoenix, she had a much higher level of empathy than normal. And the fact that she knew one of her best friends were currently down there, feeding those awful creatures, with no idea anyone believed him… she wanted to cry.

No! I will not give in. Concentrate Phoenix! We need to hurry to Padfoot, the Slayer thought to herself, knocking her out of her funk.

The bird of fire swooped down as quickly as she could. Soon, she came upon the dark fortress infested with the vile Dementors. No one really knew what they were or where they came from. Not even the Watchers Council had that type of information. And before she landed, she changed. The only movement was a footprint upon the dark sand of the island. She gave no thought to that trace as the coming tide would surely wipe it away. She was proven correct as, just as the Slayer stepped silently on, the water splashed with a malicious shower of dark oozing sludge onto the sand.

It seemed that the water was infected with the demonic presence of pain and hatred as well.

Completely covered in a black cotton and leather outfit, she stayed to the shadows. She knew instinctively where the Dementors were for various reasons and was able to ward off the negative feelings with Wicca mental shields; Occlumency could only do so much. But still, her skin paled slightly from a cold draft. She ignored it.

She'd memorized the map, every cell and coordinate. She could not remember but a few names and didn't really need to. Even in the open light between cells, the Slayer moved covertly onward. Even if they had been awake or aware, the prisoners would not have seen her. She moved like a ghost, like an invisible wind though there was no feeling from her. There was no trace of her. She gave no shadow in the faded moon light that managed to arch through to the inside.

There was nothing there.

And that was just how she wanted it.

The Slayer was disgusted at the state of the prison. The muggles had it better. Dementors alone were cruel and unnecessary, something the Americans seemed to understand in a way that the Brittish ignored. Though she had little problem against this for true murderers, the Dementors made this torture for anyone; like the petty thieves and those that speak their minds.

And as far as she was concerned, no one deserved to be tortured. That would be saved for hell.

The walls she didn't touch as she had no wish to be slimed and leave any trace of it. She wore no shoes but the material at the bottom of the suit where her feet moved on protected the flesh while not leaving any sort of print. She walked on the front of her feet, her soles never touching the ground. The ends of her toes rarely had to make physical contact before she was moving.

Though she had always bested James and the other boys, save for occasionally Moony, becoming the Slayer and the mate of one of the most vicious vampires known had given her an affinity.

And she was using this for the benefit of the world. If Sirius were left in prison, she was sure society would be a worse place, though how much safer if on the outside she had no real idea. It was probably safer for her in fact if he was behind bars…. (lol)… but her conscious and soul kept her from doing anything. Sirius might have been very much a jackass, but he was Padfoot, the flirty Marauder, practically one of her elder brothers. God knows she had enough of that protectiveness in days of her schooling against the other guys at Hogwarts.

Her pulse quickened for a second before she forced it to settle. There were no wards protecting the place where she found Padfoot. For the first time since setting toe on this God-forsaken island, she stilled.

In his early years, he hadn't been a happy child. His family had belittled him for caring about muggles, though he had never met one as far as she knew. He had always been arrogant and a little conceited but had taken the muggle-lover jabs with pride and defended most others against more of the 'pure' part of society.

Dark hair and handsome features had half of the girls above twelve and a half tears nearly in love with him. Dark looks and eyes made him seem mysterious, though if you knew him, he was only slightly secretive. He rarely spoke about a) his family and b) prank secrets. It had been great fun trying to hardy some of his plans out of his trap. James had always been the easiest for her, seeing as how she used to be able to peak into his mind. Peter she'd left alone because he was like a kicked puppy, and Lupin quieted and then shut like the jowls of a wolf in full moon over prey when she pried.

She'd even perfected a spell to get certain information out of the others when they treated her too like a girl and not enough like one of the guys. She cared about her looks, though she wasn't nearly as vain as some of the other Gryffindors and many purebloods. It had been revenge in a form when she forced out little secrets like that every time they attempted to prank her overly viciously.

And that was a reason she was sure that Sirius Black had been placed in Gryffindor. James, Moony, Wormtail, and herself had always known that he could not hold his temper without someone there to hold him back.

Staring at this forlorn figure with hair as ratty as a spider's web and not nearly as provocative, she held back the urge to sob. This was a beaten creature, a man once great brought down without a reason.

This was an innocent man.

And with that thought, she readied herself for this…

Cliffhanger! But relax; I will do my best not to have you wait too long for the next chappie. Not nearly as long… -wince- Fixed one or two things. Added a line or two. Reaquainted myself with the story.