The Outlaw

by Tellemicus Sundance

Abundant pride can destroy the world. The wizards neglect their duties, allow dragons to break free of control all across the Earth, destroying cities. Now fear and greed trigger civil wars throughout society. Who can endure in this savage new world?

4. End of an Era

The Outlaw
By: Tellemicus Sundance
Chapter 4—End of an Era

July 4, 1996
Thursday, 7:30pm
Hogsmeade Village, Shrieking Shack

Looking around the newly-renovated and converted dining room of the reportedly most haunted building in Magical Britain, Voldemort had to admit that he approved. Though the exterior of the Shack had mostly been left untouched for security reasons, the interior had been completely refurbished and repaired. It now appeared to be more of the inside of a majestic Pureblood estate, complete with Slytherin banners and colors proudly displayed in each room and hallway. It seemed much more fitting to call this the new secret headquarters of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and much better than living in the Malfoy Manor's basement. Its close proximity to the new Ministry of Magic was just an added bonus. Voldemort loved the idea of running his forces just under the Ministry's nose like that.

Walking over to the head of the table, he lovingly ran his hand over the top of the throne-like chair that was reserved for his use alone. Looking down the length of the dining room now converted into a conference room, he let loose a sneer at the thought of the great many meetings that were destined to take place inside this very room. It would be here that the real Ministry of Magic would make its decisions regarding the future of the entire world.

Taking a seat in the chair, Voldemort patiently waited as his inner circle filtered into the room. The first meeting of the Dark Council was about to take place.

"My lord," the twelve men intoned reverently as they stood behind their much smaller seats.

"Be seated," he ordered after a moment. Once they quickly complied, he said, "How is our new Ministry reorganizing?"

"We currently have as many ward masters, cursebreakers, and construction crews as we can spare working on the new Ministry, my Lord," Antonin Dolohov answered immediately. "We have had Fudge make them focus a majority of their construction upon your plans. We have also weeded out the majority of our opposition in the Wizengamot; all that remains is Headmaster Dumbledore, sir."

Despite scowling in anger at Dumbledore's continued evasion of his men, Voldemort decided to let it go. Dumbledore was simply an opponent that was too far out of his underlings' league to deal with.

"What of Potter?" he demanded.

"Fudge has been become absolutely zealous in finding Potter, my Lord," Lucius said. "I do not know if it's the effects of the Imperius on him or not, but he has taken to finding the boy, dare I say, even more passionately than you, my Lord."

Though quirking his eyebrow at that statement, Voldemort said nothing in return. Perhaps he needn't have ordered Lucius to curse him after all? Focusing again upon the meeting, he said, "Where are the Aurors during this search? Why haven't they been trying to find the boy?"

There was a noticeable shifting among various members of the council, notably those in significant charge of the new changes taking place. "My Lord, while we do have every available wizard searching for the boy, there are simply too few of us available," Lucius answered with a carefully respectful tone.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, Voldemort barked out, "Explain."

Taking a quick breath, the Malfoy patriarch hurriedly said, "There have been a great many things that need to done, my Lord. The Aurors are being run thin trying to contain the werewolves in Wales, important Diagon Alley shops need to be built and restocked, Ministry employees are busy trying to get their departments back up and running, many other wizards are being conscripted to protect cargo convoys from the Alleys to Hogsmeade from looters and Dark Creatures, the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is taking nearly everyone else to delay the dragons' arrival into London so the Goblins can finish their evacuation and relocation. Nobody has the time to spare to really look for the boy, my Lord."

He did have a point, several of them, Voldemort had to admit. But that still didn't mean that he approved. As he pondered this, Voldemort's eyes trailed over the gathered faces of his inner circle. With his Legilimency, he was easily able read the surface thoughts of those in front of him as they glanced his way. Many of them were indeed weary from a long, hard day of work and were eagerly looking forward to a chance to relax after the meeting. However, it was as he was reading their thoughts that he had a sudden idea.

"Lucius," he said silkily. "Tomorrow, you will have Fudge send a request for reconstruction assistance and aid for civil unrest to the International Confederation of Wizards. You will personally visit each country to select the guest list. I want more ward masters and construction crews to aid in the Ministry's efforts, specialized Magical Creatures executioners, and purchase a significant amount of detection amulets. However, I also want you recruiting new Death Eater candidates as well. We will bolster our numbers much more quickly this way."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Malfoy quietly asked, "My Lord, are the amulets to aid in temporarily replacing the Ministry's Trace range?"

"Correct," Voldemort answered. The detection amulets were relics of ages past when ancient wizards sought new apprentices and underlings. With the creation of the Trace charm, the amulets had largely fallen into disuse and as such there were precious few left anymore. Mirroring this descent, the knowledge of crafting them was almost extinct as well. "I know Potter is getting restless at this point. He'll soon discover that the Ministry's Trace has been destroyed and will start acting more impulsively with his magic. We will find him when he does."

"My Lord," Severus Snape spoke up respectfully. "I have some new information about Dumbledore's activities."

Focusing his attention upon the Potions Master, Voldemort 's Legilimency prodded into the man's conscious with a deceptively feather-light touch that none but the most achieved of Occlumency masters could've felt. He was always cautious around the younger Half-blood, constantly poking and prodding his allegiance. But the man's information proved reliable, time and again.

Though Voldemort didn't answer, Severus took his silent gaze as permission to speak. "Dumbledore and his men are suspicious of Fudge. They believe that he's responding too smoothly to these crises to be doing so under his own power. I suspect they think he's either allied himself to you or is under the Imperius."

"So what!" Yaxley barked from further down the table. "Let them think what they want. Do you have anything that's actually worth reporting, Mudblood?"

There were several disquiet murmurs of agreement among the various council members, but Severus wasn't the least bit phased by it. "The Headmaster has already gotten Potter's friends out of the country and is getting involved in some kind of secret project." That shut the various mocking voices as numerous heads turned towards Lucius Malfoy. "They were the ones who instigated the panic in Hogsmeade the other day."

To say Voldemort was disappointed would've been an understatement. He had been planning on using the images of Potter's starving, injured, tortured, and imprisoned friends to mentally attack the Potter boy. After the fiasco with the Department of Mysteries, the boy would've likely ignored Voldemort's illusions and not rushed to their rescue. Then, when he finally realized the illusions had been real, he would've been even more tormented than he had been after his godfather's death. It was a truly delicious and insidious plot that would've brought Voldemort a great deal of enjoyment. Sadly, it seemed he couldn't even use it as he'd originally intended to anymore!

"I would've informed you of this right away, my Lord," Severus spoke up, heading off the storm quickly. "But Dumbledore has been keeping a tighter rein of his men than he usually does." Glancing up and quickly spotting the still-unsatisfied Dark Lord's expression, he said, "However, I do have some information on what Dumbledore has planned later tonight."

Gazing critically at his inside agent, Voldemort seriously considered whether or not to hear the information before or after he'd suitably punished the Potions Master. Yet from a few of the phrases he could detect from the man's mind about Dumbledore's plans, he decided to save the punishment for later. "What does the Headmaster hope to accomplish?"

"Dumbledore wasn't very specific as to what he intended to do," Severus answered neutrally. "But he did say that he was hoping to retrieve something from Gringotts tonight while the Goblins were busy opening their new office."

"Dumbledore wants to steal from Gringotts?" Dolohov laughed, as did a majority of those at the table.

"Yes," Severus answered seriously. "And he's bringing a fair number of his precious Order with him. This would be a perfect opportunity to thin their ranks further."

Perhaps Severus had just earned himself a reprieve from his punishment. "Tell me more," Voldemort commanded.

Harry Potter – Reign of Fire

10:07pm
London, Diagon Alley

Diagon Alley, a name normally associated with a large street full of wizardingfolk, lively businesses with bright and amorous shops and displays that catered to the whims and needs of Magical Britain. A magical place that was unlike any other in the country and, in the English wizards' humble opinion, was the second most important location in the entire Wizarding Community. None of the many other magical alleys even came close to the splendor of Diagon Alley, as far as most English wizards were concerned.

So, the sight of it being little more than a charred ruin and all but abandoned was an extremely unsettling and saddening sight Bill Weasley. Many of the former shops and buildings of the Alley were nothing more than collapsed rubble, broken and burnt wooden beams, wind-swept ash coated the street and buildings in varying layers of dust, and there were scattered pieces of wood and glass debris littering the cobblestones of the street. The ruins cast odd shadows and shapes in the moonlight. For some reason that he just couldn't explain, even to himself, the dragon-burnt ruins of the once proud magical alley carried a certain significant symbolism.

It felt like…the end of an era somehow.

Shaking his mind back to present, Bill focused back upon his task at hand. Officially, he was standing outside of Gringotts at this late hour to aid in the final closure of the Goblin bank's front entrance and Fleur was there to 'keep him company.' After tonight, the bank would be completely inaccessible from this entrance by anything. Goblin magic, mixed with powerful wards and other defensive booty-traps that the Goblins had installed, made this entrance as impenetrable as the legendary Chamber of Secrets.

Unofficially, he, Fleur, Hestia Jones, and Dedalus Diggle were to stand guard outside while the disguised Dumbledore did whatever he needed to do inside Gringotts. Though no one would know it, Dumbledore would likely be the last person to use this entrance of Gringotts until the mess of the Ministry and the dragon swarm was dealt with.

Glancing over at his beautiful girlfriend from their position at the corner of the white stone steps that led inside to bank. He was making a noticeable effort of erecting and finalizing the last of an intricate series of wards, along with a trio of his fellow ward masters. Fleur stood a short ways away. Though she was keeping a fair amount of her attention focused on Bill and his work, she was also casting surreptitious glances down the burned alley and around her. Despite knowing of their presence, the blonde Veela couldn't spot the hiding forms of her two Order colleagues on the opposite side of the bank's entrance.

It was thanks to her surveillance that Fleur was able to notice something very suspicious as Bill and the others were just finishing their work. She watched as several men in black robes with their hoods up appeared partway down the alley. That alone was very suspicious since no one else should've been here at this time unless it was a Ministry official. Then they turned and promptly rushed towards Gringotts.

Fleur froze for a moment when she recognized the robes and skull masks, Death Eaters. There were at least a dozen of the Dark wizards and they quickly launched attacks at Fleur and the cursebreakers before her. Snapping back to reality, Fleur pushed Bill aside and shouted, "DEATH EATERS!"

Three of the Dark wizards turned and fired spells towards the pair. Red, green and purple lights lit the dark Alley. Regaining his balance and turning his wand to his enemies, Bill shoved Fleur out of the way as the green spell approached. Fleur landed in a clump between two buildings, hitting her head on the corner of the building. Fleur knew nothing else until she woke in the Burrow an hour later.

Bill saw her fall to the ground after he shoved her. He knew she was hurt, but he had no time to help her. Two of the Dark wizards were coming after them while three more focused on the ward masters near him, dropping them like flies with Stunners. The rest of the Death Eaters attempted to rush into Gringotts but were cut off by spellfire from the two hiding Order members on the opposite side. Bill swept his wand forward and stepped ahead and to the side of where Fleur lay. He didn't stand directly in front of her out of concern that spells fired at him might hit her if he dodged them.

Bill took the stance his teacher drilled into him and yelled "Reducto!" at the closest Dark wizard. Bill heard his opponent curse loudly in annoyance and anger as his wand formed a shield in front of him. However, Bill's spell was not fired at the wizard, at least not directly. The spell struck the cobblestones three feet in front of the front wizard. The stones exploded with the spell's impact, throwing stones like shrapnel into the legs of the approaching wizard.

The wizard dropped with a scream as his legs gave out from the stone shrapnel damage. Without waiting to allow his opponent a chance to recover, Bill followed it up with a Stunner. The Stunner took the wizard by surprise and he went unconscious.

The second wizard slowed as he approached his downed collogue, the scowl on the man's masked face was quite noticeable to Bill thanks to the man's body language. The Death Eater glanced down momentarily, but looked up too fast for Bill to take advantage of it. Then in a lightly French-accented voice, the Death Eater said, "That was somewhat impressive. You've got some talent, young man. I salute you." Without looking down, the wizard summoned the other Dark wizard's wand and placed it inside his robe.

Bill knew this one would not underestimate him like the other one did. He had to play for time. For the first time, Bill actually regretted that the Ministry was falling to pieces so completely; they'd have had Aurors here by now in any other situation! "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Aleron Delahaye," the Dark wizard answered easily. "Now, boy, I am not going to stand here and play with you. I am sorry, but I can't have you reporting us to Dumbledore," the wizard said in an oddly respectful tone as he raised his wand.

Bill dropped into a roll to his side away from his unconscious girlfriend. He never saw the spell fired but he heard it crack against something in the distance. Coming out of the roll, Bill started firing off Stunners, Bone-breaking Curses and Reductos as fast as he could.

The Death Eater was forced completely onto the defensive. Bill's rapid cursing prevented him from dropping his shield to curse the redhead back. However, he was willing to be a little patient. Bill soon understood why. Having spent a majority of his time working on the Gringotts' wards for the better part of two hours had drained a significant portion of his magical core. He no longer had the reserve power to go toe-to-toe with a fresh wizard in an endurance match, and the Death Eater knew it. Bill could actually feel himself weaken with each spell.

Suddenly, the wizard stepped to the side and fired a spell at Bill. The fireball came straight at him. The eldest Weasley son stepped to the side to allow it to pass. He failed to notice the spell following in its wake and was hurled back as the spell slammed into him, his wand flying from his hand as he was hit. A terrible agony flared up inside his chest, it felt like he'd just broken four ribs and it was getting difficult to breathe.

Bill lay helplessly on the ground, gasping for breath as his lungs quickly filled with blood. So he offered little to no resistance when a hand suddenly reached down and grabbed Bill by the front of his robes. He found himself being picked up and held face to face with his masked attacker. The wizard set Bill on his feet almost gently before he took several steps back. "You have been a good opponent, boy. You deserve to die on your feet."

Raising his wand in preparation, the wizard asked, "Is there anything you'd like to say before you die?"

From his position standing, Bill could see that Dedalus and Hestia were also being overwhelmed in their own fights, outnumbered three to one. He wasn't able to see any more as he suddenly doubled over slightly, weakly grasping his chest in a vain attempt to stop the pain. Raising his face again, Bill saw that the Dark wizard before him had been patiently waiting for his response.

"I wasn't…ready today," he said quietly, fighting against the pain and to get air into his lungs so he could get his words out properly. "…I had really wanted…to live with her…for the rest of my…life."

Though the skulled mask didn't respond, there was a noticeable glance to the side as the man looked at the unconscious Veela. "Life is cruel to those who are kind and gentle-hearted, boy," the man sounded…almost apologetic. "That is why we must be crueler to get what we want before it's gone."

"One day…" Bill said as he felt his strength perceptibly leaving him as his legs began to weaken. "It will be…a kind-hearted boy…who will stop all this."

"Perhaps," the man admitted neutrally. "But not today. Avada Kedavra!"

In a flash of green, he was gone.

Harry Potter – Reign of Fire

July 6, 1996
Saturday, 9:00am
London, 12 Grimmauld Place

The past week since his banishment to his godfather's house, which it was as far as he was concerned, Harry's life had fallen into a slight routine. In the early mornings, he'd wake up and go about his business of breakfast, relieving himself, and just waking himself up in general. Then he'd returning to his room of choice and sulk over Sirius' death, although these times were growing shorter with each passing day and due to his newfound 'research project'. It had been with the arrival of his beloved familiar, Hedwig, Harry's mood had taken a definite spike upwards.

After a small lunch, he'd set about beginning his research project. Despite himself Harry couldn't help but think that Hermione probably would've been torn between what he was doing. On the one hand, he was finally starting to take an active interest in his studies. On the other hand, he was desecrating several holy artifacts that probably would've had Hermione gunning for his life if there was a law against it. And each time that thought entered his mind; Harry couldn't suppress the small grin on his face, no matter how hard he tried to.

In the afternoons and usually well into the evenings, he'd bring out his Potions books, along with several other reference books and supplementary reading he found in the Black Library. The Half-Blood Prince's Advanced Potions book was full of notations on what to do instead of or in addition to the text's instructions. Harry knew he wasn't that good with Potions…well, maybe not by Snape's standards and mightn't ever be. But the idea of using scribbles in the margins as a way of preparing ahead seemed like a good one. So he dug out his First Year potions book and started at the beginning of the class text, with the potions he was already long familiar with, like the boil-curing potion that he vaguely remembered that had backfired on Neville. He wrote down all the significant things he could find on the ingredients and the process of using them in certain/specific kinds of brews that he found in the other texts.

It was slow going, but it kept him very busy and he found himself having a surprising amount of fun doing it. Even after a few days, Harry could already see that it would make a big difference. If he had done this years ago for each potion before they had to make it, he'd already have known which stages were the touchiest, requiring exact timing and number of stirs, and which ingredients and mixtures were a little more forgiving. It would've helped him to know when he had to really pay attention—and when the Slytherins had been likeliest to interfere. Harry didn't doubt for a second that Malfoy already knew half of it, else how did he always know when to throw something into Gryffindor cauldrons at the exact moment that could make things go hideously wrong? And the more he researched, the more he learned about each potion after he finished notating a new potion.

It was with one of the supplementary texts he'd stumbled across in the Black Library that covered, in depth, the magical effects different kinds of preparation could have on ingredients. It had never made sense to him why crushing versus slicing or finely chopped versus diced with different kinds of knives or pestles or whatever could have such different results—it never made that much difference when he was cooking at the Dursleys. He'd learned to do the how, but never really cared about the why. Making potions really wasn't as much like cooking as he'd always thought, though. There was so much subtle magic involved in the process, even without wands. It was no wonder he'd always struggled with it.

'It's because I am Muggle-raised,' he reminded himself. He'd done his best, he'd just never known which things were the most important to pay attention to amid the chaos going on around him, and Dumbledore's now-apparent hands-off way of preparing him for his fate hadn't helped him at all. It was the wizard-raised who cared about such things, anyway.

'Well, not counting for Ron at least,' Harry thought, smiling fondly to him as he ate breakfast that morning.

Looking at the pantry where a good portion of the food had been kept, Harry sighed in resignation. When Dumbledore had explained to Harry the importance of the prophecy and his destiny, they had inadvertently discovered through Kreacher that Harry was now the owner of Grimmauld Place, as it was discovered in Sirius' will that the house-elf had hatefully supplied them with. Of course, Harry had instantly ordered the treacherous house-elf to head to Hogwarts and work with the other house-elves there since he didn't desire the creature's companionship. And now, without Kreacher around anymore to do the chores, namely go grocery shopping, Harry was finding himself with a slight dilemma.

He needed food, but he couldn't go outside without the risk of running into a wizard who'd gladly turn him into the Ministry for a Knut. He had Hedwig so he could send messages to others, but Dumbledore had strongly urged against that. Hedwig wasn't exactly a subtle owl, given her unique coloring. So the Ministry, or Voldemort for that matter, could follow her back towards the area of Grimmauld Place. Plus, even if he could use her, Harry wouldn't have since he didn't want to bother the Order. From the few Wizarding newspapers and magazines that hadn't been destroyed with Diagon Alley and were now acting as the substitute Daily Prophet, he knew they were very busy and disoriented by the dragon crisis, strange disappearances, and other issues. He didn't want to add his problems to their own, however minor they might've been in comparison. Also, he really didn't want to part with her since she had been the only company he'd had since Dumbledore had left.

But despite his resolve to not interfere, Harry was fast finding himself growing increasingly lonely. Being shut up in a dark house with only an owl and rereading old school books tends to wear on a person pretty quickly.

Looking back over to where his school trunk lie in the corner of the kitchen, Harry gazed longingly at his Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak. The more he stared at the two items, the more he desired to use them, and the more difficult it became to convince him not to, especially with his food supply quickly dwindling away.

'I need food,' he kept telling himself. 'But I can't leave; Death Eaters or the Ministry might find me… But if they can't see me, it won't be a problem. Unless they have a means of detecting magical objects, then I'll be in trouble.'

Finally, with a sigh and a visible gathering of his famed Gryffindor courage, Harry stood. Depositing his dishes into the sink, he moved over to the trunk and grabbed his cloak. He needed food, and soon. But he couldn't be gone for too long since he might attract unwanted attention. His cloak would help with sneaking around, but maybe an extra change of clothes as a disguise might help as well. And a wide-brimmed hat to hide his thrice-damned scar.

Harry Potter – Reign of Fire

9:32am
London, Shoreditch

From under the shade of a small tree, a man watched the street in front of him with a careful gaze. He had a warm ebony skin coloring, wore a simple brown leather jacket, and well-used faded jeans. The man's face was obscured by the brown helmet he wore as he leaned casually against his black motorcycle. Given the fact that London had become literally a ghost town once it had been released to the public that a very large swarm of dragons were heading towards the city very quickly, the street the man was watching so intently was completely silent and void of any signs of life.

With many of the structures destroyed by the magical explosion during the original dragon attack, the eerie echoes of the wind blowing through the streets and sweeping discarded newspapers, wrappers, junk, and leaves, the once-thriving metropolis of Great Britain gave off the same type of image of an abandoned city left in ruins by the ancient people who once lived there. It would've been a very unsettling experience to those who were unaware of the situation.

And the lone boy that turned around the corner at the far end of the street was very much one of those people. He kept looking around the widespread destruction with a variety of expressions playing across his face, clearly expecting or hoping to run into someone. He was dressed in oversized rags; a heavily worn down and somewhat dirty tan shirt was draped over his lean frame, a pair of extremely baggy jeans that had needed to be rolled up several times around his ankles, a pair of filthy sneakers that were clearly on their last legs and seemed to be held together by magic, and a simple backpack hanging over his shoulders.

Still hidden under the protection of the tree's shade, the man watched as the boy slowly made his way down the street and towards the food store that was located on the corner. It wasn't until the boy finally reached the store that the man understood what was going on. The boy was either out of food or was pretty damn close to it, being cut off from the rest of the world tended to cause these little problems quite often after all. He watched in amusement as the boy tried to open the locked down to the store and found he couldn't, which put him in an immediate moral crisis.

But the man made no move to help the boy as he fought amongst his morals and his needs to make a decision. Whatever the boy chose here would give him a better idea of what the boy's state of mind was like at this point. Would he leave and try a different store? Would he break his promise to Dumbledore and use magic? Or would he break into the store Muggle-style and take what he needed? He watched with keen interest as the boy seemed to come to a decision.

Looking around at the outside of the store, he seemed to be searching for the security cameras. Seeing that they were all turned off, as evidenced by the lack of recording red lights, he turned and looked about on the ground around him. Finding a piece of a broken street sign, he grabbed it and stalked back to the door. For a long moment, he hesitated as he lifted the broken sign up in preparation for the strike. Then, after visibly steeling his resolve, he lashed out and struck the door. After several strikes, he finally broke the glass and crept inside.

Nodding to himself, the man stood up from his position and walked across the street to lean against the wall by the broken door of the food store. He waited with a strained patience for the young man inside to gather everything he needed. Though it wasn't really necessary for them just yet, he had learned early on that a little extra food could never be enough. Let the boy take as much as he wanted, the dragons weren't due to arrive for another five hours at most.

After fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes of waiting, the man was drawn out of his thoughts by the crunching of glass shards under Harry's worn shoes as he awkwardly slid out of the store with his bagful of goods. In a loud voice, he asked, "Where have you been, Harry Potter?"

Alarmed and spinning to face him at speeds that honestly surprised the man, Harry was immediately on guard as he crouched down slightly, one hand drifting to where he'd hidden his wand. The black man in front of him had a very stocky, muscular build. The motorcycle helmet, leather jacket, and dark jeans he wore gave Harry the automatic mental image of an American street hustler he'd seen in several television shows and movies while at the Dursleys. Though his hands were crossed over his chest and clearly held no weapons, Harry felt himself growing even wearier as he stared at the man.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "How do you know my name?"

"Harry," the man said chidingly. "There isn't a single person in the entire Magical World who doesn't know your name or face." This statement caused Harry to flinch out of principle. "I am Darius Stone formerly from the United States."

"And what do you want?" Harry asked, inching himself ever-so-slightly away from the man.

"What I want…is your help, Mr. Potter," Darius said as he reached up and took off his helmet so Harry could see his face. "But we don't have time to talk about that just yet. I need to get you out of here – right now. There's a horde of Hebridean Blacks heading this way. They'll be here in a few hours and they'll burn what's left of London to the ground."

"How do you know?" Harry asked, highly suspicious and confused for different reasons. He wasn't sure what to believe, but he did believe the part about the dragons at least. That explained why London was so deserted after all. "Why haven't I heard of this until now?"

"You mean no one's been checking up on you since Dumbledore put you into hiding?" Though he phrased and spoke it like an innocent question of confusion, Harry noticed that there was a certain expression in his face that spoke of a hidden agenda. He knew that no one had come to check up on Harry, maybe even was the cause of it somehow…

Pushing his suspicions to the side for the moment, Harry said, "I assume since you're here, waiting for me, you wanted to take me somewhere. Where, exactly? And does Professor Dumbledore know?"

"Dumbledore currently has his hands full trying to deal with the Ministry and Voldemort." The blatant use of the Dark Lord's name caused Harry to merely quirk an eyebrow in mild surprise. Aside from the man's obvious accent that was typical of Americans, this convinced Harry that Darius was at least not a resident of England, or Europe in general. "And like I said, I'll explain everything to you later. I need to you return to wherever you were hiding, get whatever you think is important to you, and meet back here in a half hour. Don't waste any time!"

"How do I know I can trust you?" Harry demanded as Darius turned to walk back towards his motorcycle.

Pausing, the black biker just glanced back at the teenager as he said, "You don't. But sometimes, to move forward, you have to have the courage to take a leap into the unknown." Without another word, he slid his helmet back on and mounted his motorcycle, starting it up and riding away at high speed.

Hurrying back to the now-questionable safety of Grimmauld Place with his mind spinning with many questions, Harry growled audibly as he tried to decide what to do. Was that man telling the truth about the dragons and Dumbledore? How had he managed to track Harry when not even the Aurors had clearly been able to? Should he trust this stranger with his life? What would Dumbledore want him to do?

As he was running, Harry's gaze drifted to the ground and something caught his attention. Skidding to a stop, Harry grabbed a newspaper that was wedged against a street lamp. As he heaved and attempted to get control of his breathing, he read what it was that had attracted his attention to the page in question. The headlines of the Muggle paper told him everything he needed to know.

Dragon Swarm Approaches London!
Thousands Flee the Cities!

As he slowly got his breath back under control, a startling question rose up in his mind. What if that man was being truthful?

Harry Potter – Reign of Fire

10:07am

Dragging his loaded trunk had never been one of Harry's favorite activities. Dragging his loaded trunk out of Grimmauld Place, across six streets towards the food store where he'd met Mr. Darius Stone, all the while hidden under the not-so-large-anymore Invisibility Cloak had quickly become an activity that Harry loathed almost as much as spending detention with Snape at Hogwarts. Who knew lugging around some much stuff could be so exhausting? Or was he just that much out of shape?

Upon reaching the corner of the final street, Harry stopped and peeked around the corner. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it hadn't been seeing a large gray and white motorhome vehicle (commonly called RVs by the Americans). Leaning against the open door was the black man who was watching the street where Harry had disappeared down earlier, with an occasional glance at his watch. The man had shed his leather jacket and was wearing a simple sleeveless white t-shirt. With the absence of the jacket, Harry could now see a pair of sidearm holsters that he recognized as what were typically worn by police officers with a pair of pistols visible under his armpits.

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but stare at the strange man. The man didn't seem like any wizard he'd ever seen before. He knew of Harry's identity as well as the Magical World, so he'd clearly had some kind of contact with it. Whether he was wizard, squib, or even just a simple Muggle remained to be seen. No wizard he'd ever come into contact had ever used a gun, much even knew how to hold one properly. And they certain didn't seem to care about cars, let alone motorhomes. Just how different were the American and European Wizarding Worlds?

Keeping his Firebolt handy as he removed his cloak, Harry rounded the corner and stepped out into view. Approaching the motorhome cautiously, Harry carefully watched the man as he turned to him and moved to help him, his hands never moving towards the guns.

"You're late," Darius said, disappointment somewhat noticeable in his voice. "Looks like I'm going to have to work on your punctuality as well."

Quirking an eyebrow, Harry said, "What is that supposed to mean? I'm only a few minutes late and it's not like I was taking my time getting here either!"

"A few minutes can mean the difference between life and death in this world, boy," Darius pointed out as he reached him. With one hand, he grabbed the trunk's front handle and threw it over his shoulder with all the ease of swinging a pillow around. Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but gawk at the obvious arm strength the man clearly possessed. Gesturing towards the motorhome, Darius said, "Get in, we're in a hurry as it is."

Nodding slightly, Harry stepped into the motorhome, keeping a firm grip on his Firebolt and his other hand drifting towards his pocketed wand. What he found inside wasn't necessarily what he'd expected. The interior of the motorhome, though largely unchanged from what he'd expected from such a vehicle, had obviously been magically expanded. It didn't have the typical cramped feeling that other Muggle motorhomes had. Instead, it was a respectably spacious interior with more than enough room to house several people comfortably.

Walking further in, Harry's wandering gaze quickly spotted the essentials of the room he'd entered into. It was clearly the living room of the motorhome. It was sectioned off into thirds. The central portion was lined with a pair of seat belted couches, one facing forward towards the front of the motorhome while the second was positioned against the wall. Nestled between the two was a knee-high wooden table that was clearly bolted to the floor. Against the wall next to where Harry had entered was a pair of chairs that looked as though they may have able to rotate to face forward towards the front. The front of the vehicle was clearly and obviously the driver's seat with a passenger seat and a small cooler wedged in between them. The left section was obviously the kitchen and dining area. It had the typical sink, refrigerator, a stove, microwave, various cabinets and cooking utensils littering the countertop. And there was also a long table with bolted down stools and chairs lining the opposite side of the cooking area, large enough to comfortably feed twenty or more people. Because he was looking in that direction, Harry could see an open doorway that had what was clearly a long hallway that led further back into the motorhome and out of sight.

A loud thumping sound quickly drew Harry's attention as Darius entered the motorhome and set the trunk down on the floor. Turning to face the man, Harry waited for him to speak. Gesturing towards the hallway that Harry had spotted as he closed and locked the door, Darius said, "There're several spare bedrooms down that way. Find one and make yourself comfortable. When you're ready, come on back here so we can talk. I'll be driving us out of here." Without another word, Darius turned and headed towards the driver's seat, quickly starting up the motor.

Seeing nothing else better to do as the black man made good on his statement, Harry grabbed his trunk and started dragging it through the motorhome, pausing only to set his backpack of groceries down on the kitchen countertop. Entering the hallway, Harry immediately noticed the next room. It had large windows lining the hallway, inside were numerous cabinets and several small beds and chairs. If he had to guess, Harry would've put good money on this room being the infirmary. It had the same clean, cold, and sterile feel that usually accompanied such places.

Moving further, Harry opened the next door and had to blink in surprise. What he saw was a staircase that clearly led up towards a second level. If nothing else, this feature clinched it in Harry's mind that this was a magical motorhome. From the outside, he'd have never guessed that this was a multi-leveled motorhome! Shaking himself of his surprise, he closed the door and continued on. Glancing out the window on the other side of the hallway, Harry saw that ruined cityscape of London passing by. But despite the relative speeds they were moving at, he didn't hear the sound of the road beneath him nor feel the bumps in the road. Perhaps the motorhome was lined with numerous Cushioning and Silencing charms to make the journey more enjoyable and bearable?

Moving the next door, he found what looked like some kind of laboratory. There were numerous potions supplies lining the tables and counters, more than a few Muggle devices like microscopes and heaters. Now what would a man like Darius Stone need with stuff like this? He struck Harry as more of a fighter than a scientist or researcher. Closing the door, he continued on towards the final door of the hallway. Opening it, he found himself in what was clearly a garage. It was littered with all kinds of Muggle tools and knickknacks, a black sports car with its hood opened, the man's earlier motorcycle was parked behind next to it, and Harry could see several different types of brooms hanging haphazardly upon racks near the back wall that was clearly some kind of doorway ramp.

Confused but not discouraged, Harry pulled away and closed the door. Turning around, he moved back to the doorway that hid the stairs. Clearly that was where the bedrooms were since none of the rooms on this floor were. Despite himself and the situation he was, Harry couldn't help but find himself already starting to like this motorhome. It was nice mix between the Magical and Muggle Worlds that he had never seen before in Wizarding Britain. Though he could understand the likely reasons, Harry found himself disappointed that he hadn't heard of anything like this during his time in Hogwarts.

The second floor was much like the first floor in that it was lined with a long hallway. Rather than lug his trunk throughout the hallway like he had on the first floor, he set it aside to walk down the hall and inspect each room himself. There were at least five different rooms on this floor. The front most room was obviously Darius' because of the 'lived in' feeling that it gave off. It had numerous clothes thrown about it, different kinds of guns and weapons lining the walls, and the bed sheets were wrinkled.

The other rooms were caught Harry by surprise in the fact that they were clearly modeled different than Darius' and each other. One room seemed to use the ocean, coral, and fish as a theme. It was covered in a soft, ocean-blue coloring, with magical pictures of the ocean and aquatic life. There was a quiet but noticeable noise that filled the room, instantly reminding Harry of the crashing of waves on the beach. And, much to Harry's pleasant surprise, the bed doubled as a water bed and a fish tank that housed several different kinds of fish. The next room used fire as a theme. It was a very warm room with gold and red being the primary color schemes with flame decorations covering the furniture. Despite the Gryffindor color scheme, Harry wasn't sure if he wanted this one and he was curious what the last two remaining rooms were like.

The next room used forests and the jungle as the theme. Predictably, it was filled with browns and greens and it had numerous plants growing throughout it. The walls were covered in a large, magical painting of a forest, complete with even different kinds of animals like deer, foxes, and raccoons. Though seemingly more peaceful, Harry closed the door after a quick inspection and moved onto the next room. This final room immediately caught Harry's interest. It gave the sensation as of living in the sky. The ceiling was the same as Hogwarts in that it showed the sky above and matched the walls to it. Thus, Harry suddenly felt as though he was walking through the air among the clouds above him. The primary color scheme of this room was currently sky blue and hazy white. Harry could see that even the bed sheets were magically charmed to match the coloring of the sky. With a small grin, Harry hurried back to his trunk and quickly dragged it into his new room.

If this was just a small sample of what he was could expect of the strange man named Darius Stone, Harry felt that his time with the man was going to be extremely memorable.

---

(Author's Note) Well, not much to say this time.

Although I have to admit that I'm very happy to have finally been able to introduce Darius Stone and his motorhome. Darius Stone in an interesting character to me because his identity has shifted so many times during my initial planning stages of who he was and what he did for a living. Suffice to say that I hope he'll become a character that many of you will grow to like as well.

Also, for those you who've read my other more recent fanfics, you'll likely notice the return of a familiar villain. Aleron Delahaye, who first appeared in GSD: Kira, then returned in Mirage, has once again shown his face. He is my way of adding balance to whatever changes I hope to make in this story. Alas, Harry Potter has gotten the American-born Darius Stone and Voldemort has recently enlisted the French-bred Dark wizard Aleron Delahaye.