Harry Potter and the Power of the Past
Disclaimer: All JKR's, not mine.
Summary: This is a complete AU- Harry Potter is a 21-year-old wizard, who's on top of the world. He's rich, in love, and loved by all, but his life is turned upside down as a spiral of events leads to the ultimate battle between good and evil. Can Harry lead the fight for the light, but yet manage to keep his life together?
A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody. Oh, and review again!
S/N: I hope you all remember Lilyre, Wayne, Terry, and Despereaux. If not, the first three were at Harry's bachelor party and Despereaux was mentioned there, as well. You might want to go back and read those chapters, because they're all making their appearances soon.
S/N 2: Now, this is the last chapter of the story that doesn't have a magical duel or fighting of some-sort, so the best is right around the corner, don't you fret.
Chapter 22: Hoarding the wizards and witches
And, with flash of green flames, he was gone, leaving Harry alone in his office. Sighing, Harry followed the old Headmaster to Grimmauld place, walking into the kitchen once he arrived; Sirius and Dumbledore were standing by the small table that was situated in the corner. "I think we can get started now, Sirius." Dumbledore said, taking out his wand: it was holly, 11 inches, supple, with a phoenix feather as a core—that feather happened to be from Dumbledore's very own phoenix, Fawkes. Even so, Fawkes didn't give Dumbledore the feather to be made into a wand personally; no, the pair's friendship happened after Dumbledore had received the wand when he was eleven years old.
Harry looked around, noticing that everyone had left, and it was just Sirius, Albus, and himself. "Harry, how about you go around and do the basic spells, while I speak with Sirius about being the Secret-Keeper for a moment." Dumbledore ordered, putting his arm around Sirius' shoulder, and guiding him into the sitting room as they conversed in whispers.
Harry nodded, taking out his own wand, and strolling all around the house: from the attic to the basement, from the front door to the back. "Salvio Hexia…Protego Totalum…Repello Muggletum…Protego Horribilis...Nullevanesco..." He recited, as little disturbances rippled in the air, as if he had cast a heat haze upon the house. "Cave Inimicum," He finished, with a skyward flourish. Then, pocketing his ebony wand, he headed back to where Sirius and Dumbledore stood, performing one of the most complex charms and wards magic had.
Dumbledore swished and swirled his wand, muttering ancient incantations. Harry heard a weird rushing noise, as though Dumbledore had unleashed the power of the wind into the house. For a brief moment, everything dissolved in Harry's eyes; he could see not the house he was just in, nor Sirius or Albus, but then, a second later, they reappeared, having not moved, neither seeming to notice what had happened. "The Order members will need to be told." Dumbledore said, looking slightly warn out, having finished the spell. His old body wasn't what it used to be.
"I know," Sirius muttered, flicking his wand out to the portrait of a troll that hung above the fireplace. It swung open, revealing a small safe-like cubby behind it. With another flick of his wand, the portrait dropped from the wall, and levitated towards him. He turned, and headed up the stairs, appearing in Regulus' room a second later. There, slumbering in the chair painted in the background was his brother, looking stately and aristocratic as ever, even as he slept. "Regulus, I'm moving you." Sirius said, flicking his wand, and switching Regulus' portrait with the troll that he had brought up from downstairs.
"Where to?" Regulus questioned, having awoken at the sound of his brother's voice. He watched as Sirius levitated his portrait down the stairs, and into the first floor sitting room that housed the floo connected fireplace; it was the main room of the house, being able to see it from the front door entrance. "Guarding the safe?"
"You're the only one I trust doing it." Sirius replied, hanging Regulus up onto the wall, making sure to cover the vault-like cavity that was in the wall. It was five feet high, five feet wide, and had five feet depth—though that could be expanded if needed. "Plus," Sirius added. "You can keep tabs on what's going on easier, right? Instead of needing to confiscate the troll's picture."
"Thank you," Regulus said, honored that his brother was allowing him such a privilege. He didn't know what Sirius was going to put in the safe, but he knew it was important if the wizard was going to such lengths to protect it. He nodded to both Harry and Dumbledore, who were off to the side, whispering amongst themselves, while they watched Sirius work.
"Presidium Verbum," Sirius muttered, moving his wand in a circular motion. Regulus' frame glowed dully for a few seconds, then Sirius said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
"Verbum?" Harry questioned, a wry grin on his face. "I would have used the Dictum charm." Harry said, shrugging a little.
Sirius smiled, shaking his head; his long black hair waved around in the air. "Dictum has more counter-spells and counter-jinxes than Verbum does. That's why we used the Verbum on the Marauders' map." Harry cocked an eyebrow, but stayed silent on the matter, content to argue the matter in his own head.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said, holding a piece of parchment and a quill in his hands. "I need you to write down the secret, I will personally deliver it to the old gang. Harry," He flicked his eyes over to the younger wizard. "I trust you can tell the people you recruited, yes?"
Harry nodded, wondering what it was that Dumbledore had in mind. He stood there, watching Sirius write the secret down on a piece of paper, and then handing it off to the Headmaster. The man left a few seconds later, never saying another word, instead just waving his goodbye. "We should go and tell people the secret." Harry said after a few moments of silence. "We should start with our spy, and for that we need to go to my den."
Together, they flooed to Harry's manor, walking up to Harry's den with a quickened pace, knowing that they would need to hurry. "I invented my first charm during my sixth year. Dumbledore challenged me to do it, and I did." Harry randomly said, as they neared their destination. Though it was random to Sirius, the wizard had a point in saying it.
"What is it?" Sirius questioned. He remembered back to his days in Hogwarts, when the greasy snake Snape had invented spells, one of them being used by the school as a whole after Snape had used it on James. James and Sirius, of course, had stolen it, and then bewitched it upon Snape whenever they got the chance.
"I call it the Appearian charm." Harry said, stepping into the room and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Let's say we have two pieces of paper, right? I have one and you have the other. Now, after charming the two papers, whatever I would write on my sheet would appear on yours, and vice versa. We could literally be across the world from each other, and be able to hold a conversation through writing quicker than it would take to floo to each other, and have the same talk in person." Harry answered, explaining his charm.
"And this is how you're going to contact your spy?" Sirius asked, rather impressed. It was a very clever charm, not unlike the charmed mirrors him and James had when they were in Hogwarts: they allowed them to see and hear each other, no matter where they were.
"Yes," Harry said, taking a seat at his desk and taking out his wand. He pointed it at the top drawer and whispered, "Aperio." The Aperio charm was a more powerful 'Alohomora', bypassing a lot more counter jinxes and curses that people put up to guard doors and such. The drawer popped open, revealing a single black leather journal: there was no title on it, and its pages were yellow and unmarked with writing. "This is one of two charmed journals that allowed us to talk."
"Clever." Sirius mumbled as Harry grabbed a quill and an inkbottle. The wizard turned, and strolled over to the windows: his gray gaze resting on the outside world. It was changing out there, he could feel it; a storm was coming, just like it had last time Voldemort was in power.
"Are you there?" Harry wrote in his journal, leaning back in his chair and waiting for a response. Sirius stood a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the window to the crashing waves a hundred feet below. The words shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished.
"Yes," A reply came oozing out of the pages in its own black ink, neatly scrawled a minute later; words Harry had never written. Like Harry's writing just seconds before, the response vanished after shining brightly.
"Just you?" Harry questioned in text, making sure the man was alone. If he wasn't, if there were other Death Eaters, other people in the room, his plan, his idea of having Sirius write the secret down would be null and void, and he couldn't chance it.
"Yes, I'm in my office; Queenie's out with Tracey, shopping." He wrote back, quickly. Then, as if added as an after thought, a word appeared, making Harry smile and sigh. "Snowpaw."
"Sirius," Harry said, out loud. Sirius turned towards Harry, crossing across the room to stand next to the desk; his gray eyes locked on the journal. Then, picking the quill back up, Harry wrote, "Good, Sirius is going to write where the headquarters is, make sure it disappears the second you read it: it's the Fidelius charm, and we don't want to risk it."
"Of course," He wrote back, understandingly. He knew, now that the line was drawn in the sand of who he was supposedly loyal to, his contact with Harry Potter would consist of talking through the journals and at the meetings; for Death Eaters would give their wand up for the chance to find out their secrets and betray one of their own to be in Voldemort's good graces. "When is the meeting tomorrow?"
"Twelve noon. Here he is," Harry scrawled, passing the quill over to Sirius.
Sirius' penmanship was sloppy and loopy as he wrote his message, passing the secret over to Harry's unknown spy; though Sirius did have a suspicion just who it was—Harry's animagus friend. "Sirius Black's house, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, is at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."
"I remembered it and wiped the message clean, but he's calling." Said the black ink, as it appeared on the yellowish paper. "I'll be there tomorrow." Came a last batch of letters before there was no more: the man having closed his journal, and disapparated to Voldemort.
"Good luck." Harry whispered almost inaudibly, closing the journal and tucking away in the top drawer of his desk, locking it shut with a simple reciting of "Colloportus". Then, he rose to his feet, gestured for Sirius to follow him, and strolled out of the room, intent on telling the rest of the Order the secret.
"Malfoy," Voldemort hissed, looking down at his Death Eaters from his throne. He was in a large room, stonewalls were all around him; a few torches were off to the side, not granting very much light, though it suited the Dark Lord. "Your son, Dracon or Draco or whatever, went to school with Harry Potter, did he not?"
"Yes, my lord, he did." Lucius nodded, gesturing to his son who was standing beside him; Draco's back was straight, showing his tall frame, and his hood was up with his mask on. His slicked back blond hair could barely be seen beneath the dark, shadowy cloak.
"Tell me about the boy, Draco." Voldemort sneered; scooting forward in his chair for a better viewing, as if what Draco was going to say was the most important thing in the world. The last time he had seen the boy, the night of his miscalculation, the little runt was but a mere toddler, halfway asleep in his blue pajamas, crying in his crib.
"He was an arrogant berk who thought he was better than what he really was: a stupid mudblood." Draco sneered, losing himself in the hot anger that rose inside of him at the name of Harry Potter. Back in Hogwarts, Potter had swooned and charmed everyone, and they all, teachers and students, saw him as a god, when, in Malfoy's eyes, he was nothing more than a wretched halfblood. Potter didn't deserve anything, let alone all the credit he got for being the wizard he was; Potter was highly overrated.
"You're a fool, Malfoy. You let your jealousy and hatred get the best of you." Voldemort hissed, turning to a group of four huge Death Eaters. "I believe your sons went to school with him, too, right, Crabbe and Goyle? But," He gave them a mocking smirk. "They're probably too stupid to give me any information. Hm, who else." His eyes swept over the group. "Ah, Nott, your son was the same year as Potter, wasn't he?"
"Yes, my lord." Nott nodded, pushing forward a tall and thin Death Eater that was next to him. The Death Eater lowered his head in both fear and respect, as he stepped closer to the Dark Lord.
"I did, my lord." The Death Eater said, slowly. "And, contrary to Malfoy's testament, Potter was a gifted student, and is known to be a clever wizard. Plus, he is regarded as a great Quidditch player. While at school, he was top of our class in all subjects, Prefect, Quidditch Captain, Head Boy, and was awarded the prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting. He was in Ravenclaw, too."
"Ravenclaw, hm?" Voldemort hissed, staring at the wall in thought; his crimson eyes glazed over in concentration. "I would have been in Ravenclaw, you know. If I wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, that is!" He laughed, his Death Eaters joining in with him a second later. Then, with a simple gesture from Voldemort, they stopped abruptly.
"He knows more than that; he went to Potter's wedding! He married my blood traitor of a cousin." Draco snarled, pointing a deadly finger at Nott. How dare Nott upstage him like that! Did he not know that it was dangerous to cross Draco Malfoy?
Nott, still a few feet inside the circle, threw Malfoy a dirty look, speaking before Voldemort could say anything. "Harry Potter, though I loathe to admit it, is a big name in the wizarding world. I knew there would be high status and powerful people there so I attended, wanting to mingle with them to create a name for myself. The great Salazar Slytherin prided students who were ambitious, after all. And, though I'm not related to him by blood for you alone hold that honor, master, I want to believe myself related to him by psyche, sir. I was, am, and will forever be a Slytherin, my lord. But now, my lord, my only ambition is to serve you."
Voldemort looked down at Nott with a calculating gaze before, after a few seconds, he smirked, liking the man already. The wizard had turned it against Malfoy, and now instead of wanting to torture Nott, Malfoy was in the Dark Lord's targets. "Very well." Voldemort nodded, then, turning to Malfoy, he hissed, "Watch your tongue next time, young Draco." His eyes flicked across the room, resting on Snape, who was behind his Death Eater mask like the rest of them. "Snape, what say you? You taught the boy, correct?"
Snape gave a small nod of his head, silkily and almost unnoticeably. "Potter is a surprisingly capable wizard: adept in nearly all branches of magic. His specialty is charm work and charms. He now works as a Hitwizard, if I'm not mistaken."
"Very well," Voldemort mumbled, more to himself than to the Death Eaters. He flicked his hand out, gesturing to the doors. "Leave, now. Crouch, you stay." The Death Eaters bowed, then turned and walked out, apparating back to their homes the second they escaped the wards. Barty waited patiently for Voldemort to speak; the Dark Lord sat in his chair, his chalk-like fingers tapping his pale chin. "We'll need a Wand maker." He said, after a few minutes of silence.
"Do you feel it? Do you feel the mark growing in intensity?" Bellatrix Lestrange screamed, maniacally, from her cell in Azkaban Prison. "Our lord has returned! And us, those who were loyal, those who braved Azkaban for him, will be rewarded like nothing we've ever seen." The group of eleven stirred, some of them for the first time in years. People like Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange had been broken to the point where they were nothing but husks of the men they formerly were; even so, they would get better after being freed from the constant attack of the Dementors. Then there were people like Bellatrix, who had broken to the point where they couldn't think clearly; that wasn't to say that Bellatrix wasn't crazy before she got into Azkaban, she just wasn't as crazy.
"Des…I'm…" Rabastan Lestrange muttered in a desperate and shaky tone, his first words in years. His brown eyes opened, and his body twitched, as if he was making to move. Then, just as he was about to rise into a sitting position, he fell back down, wasted, out of energy. "Soon." He whispered, slipping into slumber on the cold, dirty, and hard stone floor.
"Our lord will free us!" Quirrell bellowed, leaning up against the wall. He was one of the few, having been in Azkaban for ten years, that hadn't had a noticeable change in demeanor. He was loyal, comparable to Bellatrix, and would be willing to serve Voldemort to whatever end the wizard deemed. He crawled over to the cell door, waiting to leave when his master came and freed them. Through the slots in the door he could barely see Bellatrix's cell; she too was sitting near the door, aching to be let go. Then, suddenly, he felt a shiver run down his spine, as a group of black cloaks, vaguely humanoid, came floating down the hallway, making those who were in their range scream out as their worst memories rushed into their mind. He knew it was his fault, for he allowed a sliver of happiness at the thought of his lord enter his mind, giving the beasts known as Dementors reasons to come to him like moths to a flame.
The hall of Azkaban, the one that housed most, if not outright all, Death Eaters were filled with screams of horror and agony. The ones screaming were the more powerful ones: both in mind and body. The others, who just mumbled to themselves and rocked back and forth, were lost in their own little world, too weak to even notice how pathetic they were. Yet, still, even if you counted how many were sane enough to scream—Quirinus Quirrell, Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, and Peter Pettigrew—that was surely enough to cause the ruckus that was echoing off the walls. The screaming persisted for a few minutes longer, until it died down as the inmates passed out from the Dementor attack.
Noontime came around the next day, and wizards and witches arrived at twelve, Grimmauld Place in a flurry. There was Dedalus Diggle with his violet top hat and robes; then there was Elphias Doge, looking as wheezy and aged as ever; of course, Gaetana Robards, who dazzled everyone with her silk robes and long, elegant silver hair; Remus Lupin, looking worse for the wear with bruises and cuts on his face; Severus Snape with his patented sneer of contempt (him and Sirius had to be kept separate from each other); and Kingsley Shacklebolt, with his one hoop earring. They all filed into the basement, taking a seat at a long and ornate table; they were discussing odd things amongst themselves, the meeting not having started yet. "No, I can't, Charlie. I have dinner plans for that night already." Bill said, as he entered the room, talking with his younger brother Charlie; they both took a seat at the end, away from the front of the table.
The room's usual furniture had been removed or otherwise pushed up against the walls, away from sight. Illumination came from a great roaring fire, large and enchanted, at the far end of the room. Dumbledore sat at the head of the table: Sirius was to his immediate left, with Harry to his right. Then, with a burst of the door, a tall, stout man entered the room; the hood of his blue cloak blocking his face from all to see. Immediately, half of the Order jumped up, taking their wands out and pointing them at him, defensively and aggressively. "Sit down," Harry said, softly. "He's a member of the Order. He's a spy for us."
"Now that," Dumbledore looked pointedly at the spy, cocking an amused eyebrow. He didn't know what to call him, since, after all, if he were to call him by his own name, they'd immediately know who it was, and his cover would be blown.
"Kylie." The hooded man said, his voice smooth and silky; it was unlike his natural voice, Harry noted. It was different, charmed somehow, preventing anyone from hearing what he really sounded like.
"Right," Dumbledore nodded, smiling briefly. "Now that Kylie's arrived, we can get started. Severus," His eyes shifted over to Snape, who sat halfway down the table, his arms crossing his chest, as if he was bored. "What news do you have on Voldemort?"
"The Dark Lord was asking about Potter." Snape said, looking from Dumbledore to Harry then back again. "He asked Malfoy, but Draco was so caught up in his hatred that he couldn't answer properly. Then he moved onto Nott."
"Nott?" George, (or was it Fred?), Weasley gasped. "He's a Death Eater? I thought he was an okay bloke."
"What did Nott say?" Cedric questioned, wanting to know what it was that the man had said. He felt a little betrayed, to be honest: sure, he wasn't best friends with Theo, but they were friends, and he had given the man, who had been in Slytherin when he was at Hogwarts, the benefit of the doubt all of the time. Now, upon finding out that he was a Death Eater, it stung; it was like a stab in the back.
"Nothing much, really." Snape shrugged, indifferently. "Just that Potter was an excellently clever and smart wizard, and a good quidditch player. Said that he had received perfect OWLS and NEWTs, and was regarded as one of the finest students in Hogwarts; top of his class, too. That Potter's best subject was charms—that he exceeded in space charms—and then said all of Potter's Hogwarts titles—like Quidditch captain, Prefect, Headboy, etc."
"I believe," The hooded man said, silkily. "That you, yourself, added that he was a 'surprisingly capable wizard'." Snape narrowed his eyes at him, but stayed silent.
"To think I actually liked Nott." Fred, or was it George, muttered, shaking his head.
"Theo should know more than that." Cedric said, looking at Harry—who, up to this time, had stayed silent on the matter. "Maybe he was trying to protect Harry by just telling him the basics, but nothing too deep." He hoped, being overcome with memories of Harry's wedding, when the pair had laughed and partied together, having a wonderful time.
"Nott," The hooded man replied, shifting his shadowy gaze to Cedric. "Is a coward. The reason why he didn't say anything more than that was to make sure he didn't anger the Dark Lord. He did it to save himself, not Harry. Trust me, I know Theo, and he wasn't acting, he really did show contempt for Harry."
A brief smile flashed across Harry's face for a moment, unnoticed by all but Sirius. He had remembered Nott—the man had attended both Harry's bachelor party and his wedding, plus the wizard had gone over to Harry's house for lunch and dinner a few times a week during the summer while Sirius was there. But, by the way Harry was acting, it was as if their friendship wasn't important. Until that small smile appeared, Harry's face was stoic, unemotional, and indifferent. But why was that? Then, the smile disappeared and a frown came onto his face, and Harry's brows were furrowed, as if angry by something.
"Very well," Dumbledore nodded, moving on. "What do you think will be Voldemort's first plan of action? He's already sent envoys to the giants and werewolves, as have we, but what's next?" The aged wizard inquired, wanting the Order's opinion on things; he was too old to make every decision by himself, he needed their help, their input.
"The werewolves, Albus." Remus reminded, tilting his head to the side. "As we discussed this morning, Greyback was able to get a few of them, but not all: some have yet to make up their mind, still."
"It seems," The hooded man said, making everyone turn towards him. "That the Dark Lord is only trusting Barty Crouch with his plans, as of yet." He stated, looking over to Snape in anticipation of a response.
"He's right." Snape agreed, nodding. "When he told us all to leave, he made Barty stay: whatever it is that he's doing, he was only talking about it with Crouch."
"The Ministry, Albus." Broderick Bode, an Unspeakable, said, making his presence known for the first time. He sat down at the end, in the last seat, on the right side of the wooden table. "Don't you think we should alert them?" He had a sallow, mournful face, and his voice was raspy and grinding.
"I have discussed it with Amelia," Dumbledore replied, staring at the wall across from him. "We both agreed that, for the time being, it's best if we use this time to plan, instead of alerting Voldemort that we know he's back. Rufus Scrimgeour, Pius Thicknesse, and your father, Gaetana," He looked at the witch who sat ten people down: the daughter of Gawain Robards. "Have been told, but those are the only people within the Ministry who know—other than those of us who work there, that is."
"Scrimgeour told Dawlish and I to be in his office first thing tomorrow morning. That's probably the reason why." Shacklebolt said, and then looked over to Harry. "What about the Hitwizards? Has Thicknesse said anything to you?"
"No," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I doubt he will. They want to keep this knowledge under wraps, after all. Having Dawlish know is pushing it, I think, but having Hitwizards know, too? Too much." The wizard said, giving a mocking grunt.
Then, suddenly clutching his left arm, Kylie lurched in his seat. He quietly rolled up his sleeve, and grimaced as he saw his Dark Mark, which was usually a bright red, burning black. His eyes snapped over to Snape, who was cocking an eyebrow, apparently not being summoned. "The Dark Lord calls," Kylie sneered, disgustedly, standing up. He gripped his wand, flicked it towards his robes, and they turned black: like a Death Eater's, they were dark and shadowy, forming against his figure indistinguishably. Reaching into them, he pulled out a mask, it was bony and skull-like, and placed it onto his face, blocking out his identity even more. "I'll keep you informed." He said, exiting the room in a hurry, his robes billowing behind him—the others watching him with their eyes as he left.
"The Dark Lord called him personally." Snape muttered, furrowing his brow. Who was that? Has he gained favor of the Dark Lord already? If that were the case then he would have to be a Death Eater from the first war, wouldn't he? Perhaps Yaxley? Maybe even Rosier? What about the name 'Kylie', what did that have to do with anything? He'd get to the bottom of it, he was sure of that.
Appearing on a small, narrow lane, the Death Eater walked towards a large gate, raising his hand in a kind of salute and walking straight through the metal, as if it were smoke. He continued up to the large manor house, entering the home, and strolling towards the meeting room. Voldemort soon appeared in his throne, as the Death Eater inched towards him. Then, moving swiftly, he got down on one knee, putting his gaze on the floor. "I bet you're wondering why I called you." Voldemort said, looking down at the bowing Death Eater.
"No, my lord." He answered, shaking his head slightly. He didn't dare meet the Dark Lord's gaze, however, instead keeping his eyes strictly on the ground beneath him. "I'm here to serve, and you called me to serve. It matters not the reason."
"Good, good." Voldemort replied, liking the man's servitude; a vicious smirk formed on his pale face. "You are to go with Barty here," He gestured to the wizard next to him. "And kidnap Ollivander, the Wand maker. Make sure no questions are asked, understood?"
"Yes, my lord." The Death Eater nodded in understanding, and rose to his feet. "Shall we?" He questioned Barty, who scowled and walked out of the room. The Death Eater bowed, and left, following Barty closely. "Not that I'm questioning our lord, of course, but why does he need a wand maker?"
Barty gave the man a sideways glance, looking at him with quizzical eyes. "For the Death Eaters in Azkaban." He said, after a moment's silence. "Those who, like me, were loyal to him all this time."
Kylie nodded; knowing that to say anything on the subject would be risky. "Do you have a plan? Because, if you don't, I think I do: we apparate into the work room, wait for him to come back, put him under the Imperius, tell him to close up the shop, then we leave."
"As if we were never there." Barty nodded, a cocky grin forming on his face. Getting past the wards, they nodded to each other and apparated out, appearing in a dusty room: Ollivander's workroom. The room had various tools spread about on the workspace, with the distinct smell of wood lofting about the air. Barty leaned against the wall in the corner, the shadows blocking him from view; Kylie sat on the counter, casually glancing around the room. "Surprising that he doesn't have anti-apparation wards on this place." Barty mumbled, conversationally.
"Arrogant, I imagine." Kylie said back, shrugging. Then, as if he had heard them talking, the door busted open, revealing an aged, white-haired man, with silver moon-like eyes: Ollivander.
"Death Eaters!" Ollivander gasped, his eyes darting around the room as he reached for his wand. Kylie, however, was quicker on the draw, and had it out seconds before the older man.
"Petrificus Totalus," He said, making the old wand maker's body freeze stiff. It was as if time was stopped in Ollivander's mind; his eyes and lips could move, but his body, his arms and legs, were frozen solid.
Ollivander's eyes flicked to the wand, noticing the kind of wood and length. "Eleven inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring. You're…" before he finished, however, a purple gag had been conjured into his mouth by Kylie, stopping him from saying anything else.
"Ah, ah, ah, Ollivander. Can't have you go blabbing all of my secrets away, can we?" Kylie laughed behind his mask, moving his wand in between Ollivander's eyes. "Imperio," He whispered, feeling the effects of the spell overtake Ollivander's mind. A curious sensation shot down his arm, a feeling of tingling warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse it had just cast. "Good, now go and close your shop: board it up, pretend that you're going away on a business trip or something." Then, with a flick of his wand, he released the old man from the body-bind and watched as he unemotionally walked out of the room, doing as he was told.
"Good work." Barty nodded, impressed. They waited silently for ten minutes before Ollivander came back in, his work completed. The windows of the store had been boarded up, and a sign hung on the door, saying Ollivander would reopen once he returned from a business trip. The doors were locked, and the candles and torches turned off. "Shall we?" Barty questioned, grabbing Ollivander's hand and apparating out. Sighing, Kylie took a last look around the room before he, too, disapparated.
"Who do you think he is?" George asked; his brows furrowed in thought. The meeting had ended, but being an hour or two before dinnertime, Dobby had served up some food: it was light, with tea and cookies, and other pastries.
"Isn't it obvious?" Roger drawled, rolling his eyes. He tossed a cookie into his mouth, munching on it before going on. "Come on, it has to be Wayne, why wouldn't it be?" He said, confidently, knowing that the spy was none other than Wayne Hopkins.
"Vhy vould it be Wayne?" Viktor questioned, wondering what proof Roger had. Harry, having heard the conversation, tilted his head closer, wanting to hear what they had to say.
"He's not here, is he?" Roger answered, smiling, knowing that he was right. Wayne was the perfect candidate; someone who was a good enough wizard so he could protect himself, was loyal to his friends to a fault, and could hide behind his relationship with the pureblooded Spungen girl.
"Neither is Theodore or Lilyre or Terry." Fred rebutted, cocking an eyebrow.
"Theodore is a Death Eater, he wouldn't be here." Roger scowled, anger rising in his belly. He couldn't help but admit, however, that Terry Boot or Lilyre Moon were both good guesses at who the spy was: Moon was a pureblooded name, and Boot was an able wizard in his own right.
"Stop talking, all of you." Cedric muttered. "It's Lilyre, end of story."
"Can I come by?" Appeared in Harry's journal later that night. The black ink glowed for a second, and the title-less journal now read: The Writing on the Wall. Immediately, Harry (who was sitting at his desk, going over some things) opened it, reading what had been wrote.
"Yes," Harry scrawled back, unsurprised that the fireplace on the far side of the study bursted in green flame and out came a wizard. "That was quick." Harry said, closing the journal back up. The wizard just shrugged, taking the seat in front of the desk. "So, how did you come up with the name Kylie? I assume you meant the family Kylie, right?" Harry grinned, biting the end of his quill.
He grinned back, shaking his head. "It was my mother's maiden name. She was a Kylie, so I guess I am a Kylie, too." He answered easily with a shrug of his shoulders; his demeanor was calm, cool, and collected.
"There aren't any Death Eaters from the Kylie family, are there?" Harry questioned, curiously. The Kylies were a pureblooded family that was known for going to the new world back in the sixteen hundreds, and becoming some of the leading figures in the New World's wizarding community.
"No," The wizard replied, furrowing his brows. "Maybe distantly related, but none by name, that's for sure. The Kylies really aren't that big in Britain anymore, you know?"
Harry nodded, changing the topic of conversation. "And? Any news?"
"Ollivander was kidnapped today…by me." He said, giving Harry a small, sad smile. "Apparently I'm high on the food chain for some reason."
"I see, I see." Harry muttered, frowning. Then, looking into the man's eyes, he said, "You don't have to continue, you know. I feel bad, making you do this."
"You're not making me do anything, Harry." He responded, an edge to his voice. "I chose to do this. I chose to take the mark. I chose to help the side of the light—and I'll be damned if people take that away from me."
"Does she know?" Harry asked, wondering if his wife knew about the Dark Mark that was on his left forearm. "Did she blast you to…" He gave the man a sly smile. "The moon when she found out?"
"Have you eaten dinner?" The man questioned abruptly. "I was wondering if you and Nymphadora wanted to come over and eat with us."
"Haven't told her yet, have you?" Harry chuckled, getting up from his chair. Then, heading over to the door, he said, "We'll be over in a few minutes." Harry walked out of the room, and down the stairs, to where he heard voices coming from the sitting room.
"I want you to move in with me, Andromeda: you and Ted." Sirius' voice rang through the air, Harry entering the room and seeing Ted, Andromeda, Nymphadora, and Sirius sitting on the couches, deep in discussion. "Harry was going to ask you, too."
"Just do it, guys." Nymphadora ordered, looking at her parents with both worry and sadness. She just wanted them both to be safe, away from harm, but their egos and courage were getting in the way.
Ted turned to Harry, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow. "And you agree with them on this?" He questioned, somewhat angrily. He was no coward, he wasn't scared, and he didn't need to hide.
"Yes," Harry agreed, nodding his head. "That way we'll all be together, protected, and most of all, safe. Voldemort," Everyone in the room, except Sirius and Harry, gave a small shiver at the name. "Will be coming after you; not only are you a muggleborn, but you're also connected to me. I think of you as a father, Ted, Voldemort will surely learn that from either Malfoy or another Death Eater. I can't risk that."
Andromeda and Ted gave each other a look, as if they were having a silent conversation between themselves. A few moments of silence passed before Ted gave a small, almost unnoticeable tilt of his head. Then, looking up at Sirius, Andromeda said, "We'll do it."
The next day found Andromeda and Ted moving into one of the guest rooms of Grimmauld Place, while the Order of the Phoenix had their meeting in the basement below. More than half of them sat in silence, not knowing what to say or do. With Voldemort's return being a secret, the spies in the Ministry (Hermione, Broderick Bode, Shacklebolt Kingsley) felt rather out of place and useless. Meanwhile, it seemed like only Snape and 'Kylie' had any information at all, with both of them being the only two to actually see Voldemort in person yet.
"He plans on releasing the Death Eaters in Azkaban soon." Kylie said, grimly, saying what all occupants of the table expected to come: the Death Eaters within the confines of Azkaban were his most loyal and powerful, and Voldemort's army would be severely lacking without them. "That's why he needed Ollivander: to make them all new wands since most of theirs were either snapped or lost."
"And it was you who did the kidnapping?" Dumbledore inquired, looking at Kylie with his twinkling blue eyes.
"Yes," Kylie nodded. "Me and Barty Crouch, jr. I made sure he wasn't hurt, and that it looked like I actually wanted to do it to make sure my cover wasn't blown."
"If he's going to be able to stage that massive of a break out, what with twelve of his people in there, that means he'll have to recruit the dementors." Harry stated, biting his lip. He looked over to Dumbledore, wondering what it was they were going to do. They couldn't pull the dementors from Azkaban, because then Voldemort would figure out they knew and he would start a war in earnest, killing innocent people in the process. Then again, they couldn't just sit and allow him his most loyal, his most powerful Death Eaters, could they?
"If he hasn't gotten them already, that is." Shacklebolt said, then, looking around the table, he noticed the only empty seat. Hagrid was the only member of the Order missing from the meeting, being on a mission assigned by Dumbledore. "Any word on the giants yet?"
"I sent them, Hagrid and Olympe, the first gift: Gubraithian Fire. Tomorrow I'll send them another gift then the last one the next day." Dumbledore replied, and looking over to Bill he continued, "What about the goblins, Bill? Any word if Voldemort has approached them?"
"No," Bill shook his head, speaking up for the first time. Him and his brother, Charlie, felt rather useless, not being able to contribute anything to the Order yet. I guess it comes with the territory of being out of the country for so long, he thought to himself, having not been able to recognize some of the names of the Death Eaters that Snape and Kylie had said. At last count there were around thirty of them, almost the same number of Order members. "I'm pushing my transfer to the main Gringotts building in Diagon Alley through, however. Once I get that done, I'll be able to keep better watch on the goblin end."
"Good, good." Dumbledore whispered, shuffling his eyes around the table until they fell on Mundungus. "Mundungus, any news on your end? Heard anything?" He questioned, interested in what the smuggler had to say.
The ginger-haired wizard, who was sending up puffs of smoke from his pipe, shook his head, barely awake. "Not that I've heard. He likes keeping quiet, that you-know-who, he does."
Snape sighed, as he felt his forearm burn: he was calling. Looking over to Kylie, he noticed that he, too, was being summoned. "The Dark Lord wants us." He told the group, rising slowly. Kylie rose too, changing his robe color to black, and placing his mask on his already shadowy face. "Till tomorrow." He said, spinning around and strutting out of the room; Kylie following close behind.
Dumbledore watched them leave, before saying. "That is all for today."
Immediately, Dobby, who had been waiting in the corner, snapped his fingers, and plates of sandwiches and jugs of pumpkin juice appeared on the long, polished table. The Order enjoyed their food, making idle conversation to each other. Most of them were friends in one way or another, though there were a few strangers in the group.
"So you mean to tell me that the Italian Ministry is in Genoa, rather than Rome?" Cedric grinned, leaning on his elbow, looking into Gaetana's light green eyes. They had been in Hufflepuff together, albeit she was two years older, but he had always been enamored with her beauty. She had an easy, casual look to her, with her light green eyes, long silver hair, unblemished face with an olive skin tone, and her tall and thin frame; she was truly an Italian beauty.
"Why does everyone think Rome is the only city in Italy?" Gaetana rolled her eyes. "I'll have you know that Genoa is just as important and beautiful as Rome is." She muttered, taking pride in her home city. Her father was English, her mother Italian, so she felt both countries were her home. She took a bite out of her sandwich, shaking her head slightly; though, the small grin that was forming on her face betrayed her seeming annoyance.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, another conversation was happening. "Our brother, Ron, is a big fan of yours. Back in Hogwarts, he had all of your posters on his wall." Charlie said, staring at Viktor. "I would get them being that I was around that area due to my work, so it was easy."
"He's captain of the Catapults, isn't he?" Viktor questioned back, remembering Hermione telling him about Ron Weasley; the pair hadn't gotten along in Hogwarts, though it was just teenagers being teenagers, and not a real problem. Upon hearing a familiar name, Viktor turned his attention to the redhead sitting next to Charlie: Bill Weasley. "Did you just say Fleur Delacour?"
"Yeah," Bill nodded, cocking an eyebrow. "She's my, well, my girlfriend I guess you could say." He laughed, almost nervously. "Her friend, Despereaux, is coming to stay with her for a few days tomorrow."
"Despereaux Barnaud?" Roger asked quickly from across the table, a few feet down.
"Yeah," Bill replied, biting his lip, his brows furrowed. "I think that's his last name, why?" He questioned, confusedly.
"Ugh." Roger sighed, getting up from his chair and walking out of the room. Cedric laughed, having seen Roger leave, then turned his attention back to Gaetana. He gave her a charming smile, his gray eyes fixated on her, and she just rolled her eyes, though a small blush was playing on her rosy cheeks.
The rest of the day passed with relatively little information. Snape and Kylie had both come back from their meeting with the Dark Lord saying that Voldemort had only laughed and said the circle was complete, before dismissing everybody. No one knew what that meant, though Dumbledore and Harry had a semblance of an idea, a sneaking suspicion of what the Dark Lord's intentions were when he said it.
AN: Spells
Presidium Verbum- Guard Word in Latin. It basically only allows a portrait or some other spelled objects to open or reveal its secrets if the correct words are spoken. The Fat-Lady in front of the Gryffindor Common room has this spell in my story.
Aperio- Open in Latin. It's just a more powerful unlocking charm.