A.N: So it has been over three months since I've last updated. I've been busy with writing a novel in three days and then ridiculous amounts of school work, as well as my writing spirit dying for a while. Two things: one, I cannot promise frequent updates, though I am not abandoning this story. Two, my friend and I are going to be writing a collaborated HP fanfiction on this profile. If that interests you, click on the 'Follow Author' button to be able to read the story once it comes out in a few weeks (I hope).

Chapter 17

"What now?"

It was a good question, raised by many voices in varying levels of volume. They've made it safely to the apartment building, missing the arrival of the Death Eaters by a matter of seconds. Harry could only hope that they wouldn't be on the newspapers tomorrow, he has faced too many manhunts as it is.

Without counting the four of them, the building housed twenty two people; there was a total of six families and some stragglers along the way. Four of the rescued prisoners refused to even stay for refuge, claiming that they had a better chance to survive on their own. Harry felt like he was letting them walk to their deaths, but he had no right to stop them. Fourteen of them were willing to fight, even though Harry wasn't sure about the younger ones. He felt like a hypocrite, but there was something wrong about allowing fifteen year olds fight a war. In total, there were seven underage children with them and five parents who were not in the condition to fight.

They gathered in one of the bigger living rooms of the building, where an appreciated fireplace burned merrily in the darkness of the night. Most of the gathered people looked exhausted, but they have insisted to know his plan.

Isaac, the man who spoke out before, established his presence already.

"While I admire your search for justice and I am grateful for the timely rescue, you must understand that we need to know that you have some sort of plan. I don't want to make my family a bigger target than it already is for some senseless chase."

It struck closer than Isaac knew, but Harry was able to hide his wince behind the mask.

The kids were put to bed, but the two older ones had to be chased away when they tried to sneak back in. The whole situation felt like a surreal déjà-vu. The look of frustration that lighted their faces triggered the sight of the twins' faces.

And yet, George had only one ear.

"Right now, the Death Eaters think that they won the war. They think that England is in their grubby hands, that there is no one to oppose them." Harry started, looking at each of the occupants of the room in turn. Some couldn't handle the eye contact with the lifeless black eyes of the raven, but a few refused to look away.

"For them, a little group of muggle-sympathisers isn't worth chasing. They consider us lower than scum; they don't see scum as a threat. We can strike them numerous times, free as many prisoners as we want before they do anything about it."

"And when they do?" A red-haired woman asked from her chair.

Valravn regarded her gravely.

"We will be too powerful to stop."

It was clear that the others had more questions to ask, but fatigue from all of the excitement has caught on to most of them. Harry assured them that he'd be more than happy to keep answering tomorrow, after a good breakfast. That sent all of them to bed.

They were an eager bunch. Harry could see that most of them were excited about the whole prospect of fighting the bad guys. All of them have been mistreated by the Ministry and were ready to tussle. Why did it feel like he was going to be sending cubs against fully grown nasty wolves?

He sank down into the armchair, not addressing the three remaining people in the room.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Remus asked tentatively.

His masked face rose from his crossed arms.

"Valravn." He corrected sharply.

The werewolf frowned but didn't argue, preferring to keep his silence.

"We need to start training them as soon as possible. While they won't report about the whole incident in the newspapers, the Death Eaters will take notice. King, Remus, I want you two to be the instructors. I'll attend the sessions, I need the training as well. It's been a while since I've been in a magical fight." Harry admitted reluctantly.

They nodded hesitantly, not sure how to react to that piece of news.

"How can we have a leader that can't even hold his own in a fight?" A voice came from behind of them, which caused a chain of reactions. Four wands were drawn in a matter of a second, pointing at the newcomer while they leaped out of their seats. The man drew his hands up, Harry identified him as Isaac.

"You can start with not sneaking behind people's backs. That typically ends up with pain and agony." Valravn replied coldly, keeping his wand up even when the other three lowered theirs. Isaac looked at him, unwilling to back down. There was a light of revelation in his eyes, as if the man has just figured out a big secret.

"You're lucky that I didn't say anything in front of the others. If I did, we would be sitting here up till sunrise." Isaac informed them, his stance tense with anticipation of an attack.

His heart beat picked up in anxiety, has he already exposed himself?

Isaac stepped closer to the group, eyeing each one of them with clear mistrust.

"You're Remus Lupin." He finally declared, turning towards the surprised werewolf.

The four of them exchanged a quick look, evidently not having expected that.

Remus cleared his voice uncomfortably, "well yes, I am."

"Weren't you with Harry Potter and that auror when they died?" The way Isaac stretched the word died worried Harry. The older man wasn't looking at him, but he still got the feeling that he addressed him as well.

"Yes I was," Lupin said carefully, "I was the only one who escaped. That newspaper got it all wrong."

It wasn't the best sort of lie that Harry has heard, but it was good enough. Unless the man was going to ask specific questions.

"It is very easy to get details like that wrong." Isaac agreed with an undertone of sarcasm.

"As for my fighting skills, I've been travelling these past few months on an important quest. It didn't present me the opportunity to exercise my magic as much as I would've liked." Valravn intervened, feeling that they were heading towards dangerous territory.

The older man turned towards him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Of course. I'm sure there are many things that are more important than the war that is going on, I completely understand."

Why did he get the feeling that they were going to get along famously?

XXXXXXX

A single knock.

The door opened just enough for a pair of hard eyes to peek through the crack, staring at the man mistrustfully.

"Are you a muggle?"

There was no reply from the man, who chose to blankly stare at the door. It unnerved the person behind the door, causing him to shuffle uncomfortably.

"Hey, are you a muggle? I'm going to call the peacekeeping force, you hear me?"

That snapped the man out of his daze. He blinked a couple of times, as to clear away any cobwebs that invaded his mind. This behaviour did nothing to assure the person behind the door. After having a quick confused look around, the man finally focused on the pair of eyes.

"Hello, I'm Animus, I ordered an appointment with Dr. Lockhart." Animus said in an uncertain voice, already feeling foolish about the whole thing.

The eyes stared at him for a few more moments in suspicion, weighting the risks of letting him in before disappearing as the door opened.

Animus moved hesitantly inside of the house, feeling the comfortable weight of his wand against his forearm.

House elves provided refreshments of all sorts as they settled in the living room of the man. He didn't live in such a big house, and Animus got the impression that he lived alone. The presence that a partner established in a house was missing.

Dr. Lockhart was a wizard that must've been edging on his sixty or even seventy years. It reflected very clearly in his weary posture. If Animus wasn't as distracted as he was at that moment, he might've wondered if it had anything to do with his possible link to Gilderoy Lockhart. Was it living in the shadow of a celebrity or his unfortunate accident that happened at Hogwarts?

Wasn't Harry Potter with him when it happened? Was it a reoccurring thing for the teenager?

The man sat down heavily on his armchair, not offering Animus the same courtesy. It was fine, the younger man didn't feel inclined to sit either way.

Lockhart gazed at him, his hard eyes projecting a general aura of mistrust.

"I think that I've been obliviated." Animus blurted out after a few moments of silence. He winced, realizing just how silly the proclamation sounded.

It has been a week since he stood before the Dark Lord to proclaim Potter's death. Since then, nothing felt right. He couldn't recognize the people who were once his comrades. Waking up every day was like the morning after a one night stand; there was no love or affection for his wife, just the sensation of an outsider. It became too much too quickly. Animus has spent the last three nights on a dirty hotel mattress, tears of frustration running down his rough cheeks.

All of his memories, even the ones from his early childhood, were cast in a shadow's shade. He could hear them crying out for him, begging to be remembered. Names came and went, leaving sinister carving on his sanity. One sole memory remained standing in his mind, jumping before his eyes every time he closed them.

Streaks of colours flying before his eyes, adrenaline rushing through his veins as the grip on his wand tightened. The hunt finally has come to an end, their prey had nowhere to run. A flash of terrified emerald green eyes, and then... darkness.

Potter did something to his memory.

That was the only conclusion that Animus was able to reach. His memories defied the logical order of nature, which meant that a human hand manipulated them. But how could it possible when he brought the dead teenager to Voldemort?

It was then that Animus realized that he was speaking out loud to Lockhart who was still looking at him. Animus recognized the look and he didn't like it.

"Please, can you just check it?" He asked, knowing that he was a hairline away from being kicked out. He was out of options. There was no way that he was going to talk to anyone else about it. Very few people had patience for crazies, especially during wartime.

Lockhart sighed finally, muttering under his breath while waving his wand in various patterns in front of Animus. The tip glowed softly, pulsing in different colours that told him nothing. All it did was pull him into a trance; he couldn't tear his eyes away from the shining tip.

"I cannot detect anything that would suggest that-" The old man stopped midsentence, a frown settling on his ancient features. A look overcame his eyes of a blinded man touching his son's hand after decades.

Animus' patience did not last for long. "What is it?"

"The work of this wizard is very subtle, he must've been a master; your memory has been altered." Lockhart confirmed after lowering his wand.

A sigh escaped from his lips, Animus did not know how to feel now that his suspicions have been established as just.

"Is there any way to reverse it?" He tried to keep out the hope out of his voice, with little success.

The older wizard hesitated to answer, preferring to look elsewhere. Animus wondered how it felt to live alone at such an old age. Did the bed get any less colder as the years passed? Or did the man still held the impossible hope of finding another partner before time came to pay its due?

"With such craftsmanship, I cannot promise you anything. The only thing that I can offer you is my attempt." The man finally replied, letting the younger wizard fill in the blanks.

It was going to hurt.

"Let's do it." Animus said with a measure of bravery that he lacked.

Lockhart did not warn him, probably with the experience of dealing with jittery patients. The pain was horrible. It was unexpected, intense, mean. Animus felt every nerve in his body flare up in angry response. The backlash sent him flying towards the floor, a scream ripping itself out of his throat.

He thrashed on the floor, faintly hearing Lockhart's quiet muttering above him.

Animus could feel the memories' presence, but they refused to reach him. Instead, he could make out a firm whisper in his ear through the haze. The pain stopped, but the whispering did not. His eyes were shut, but he could see the words carved into his eyelids.

Find Harry Potter.

"Are you alright?"

Find Harry Potter.

"Damn it, as if I needed another crazy to deal with."

Animus wept on the wooden floor, his memories still locked away from him.

A.N: Feedback and criticism are always welcome!