Chapter Three

"This plan of yours is quite complex."

"Well," Harry said, leaning back on the plush sofa as Sirius waved his wand and directed all the scrolls, newspaper articles and documents into a big cardboard box, "that's the beauty of it, isn't it?"

"No," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Let me tell you Harry, the simplest plans – and I can say from personal experience – usually work the best."

"Perhaps so," Harry agreed. "However, there are hardly any similarities between playing a prank for which you know you'll be blamed, and, say,assassinatingthe most important man in Wizarding Britain without ever being seen, let alone caught."

"Arogant," Sirius said, a crooked smile spreading across his face, "just like your old dad. Well, I've never assassinated anyone, so I'll just take your word for it."

"As you should," said Harry, quite pleased that he won that little argument.

"So," Sirius started casually, bringing about an uncomfortable knot in Harry's stomach, "I'd guess you know how to plan an assassination because you've done it before?"

"Yes," Harry simply answered, deciding that beating around the bush would only anger his godfather.

"I see," Sirius said, his voice adopting a thoughtful note. The last of the documents settled themselves in the box under the tip of his wand. "Was it anyone I knew?"

"Yeah," Harry answered again, "loads of people you knew. You've probably fought most them at one time or another."

"What, you mean Death Eaters?"

"Mostly Death Eaters. A few journalists and some random folk as well. Though those weren't assassinations."

Sirius turned around and gave him an inquisitive look.

"Well, they were more like murders in self defence. People really had it in for me, back home," Harry explained.

"What could they possibly want more from the man who saved them from Voldemort? Unless... The Hallows," Sirius asked.

"You wouldn't believe how sceptical you are compared to a bunch of 'I was under the Imperius I swear' Death Eaters. I started hunting them all down after a fifth one broke into Grimmauld Place and tried to kill me in my sleep."

"They tried to kill you in your sleep?"

"Yeah. I still can't believe that three out of the five that tried to kill me did it in the exact same way. Very unoriginal," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, they were all like that, even in Hogwarts. 'Slytherin, the house of ambition' I get. Butcunning? Bah," Sirius exclaimed, opening one of the closets and shuffling through several different robes. "So, how do you defend yourself from a nightly visit of a murderous Death Eater?"

"Simple. You give specific instructions to your house elf," Harry said.

"And what instructions would those be?"

"I quote: 'plunge knives in the back of the knees of everyone trying to enter my bedroom while I'm asleep'," Harry said.

Sirius sucked a breath through his teeth.

"Oooh, vicious," he said, turning around while holding a robe in front of him. "What do you think."

"A plain, light coloured robe, Sirius. Where we're going, there won't be a reason to dress up, unless you want to hook up with a goblin, that is."

Sirius grimaced.

"Very well, Harry. I'll take your word for it," he said, tossing the red and black robe with golden threading back into the closet. "So, where were we? Ah, yes. Death Eaters."

"Not to blow my own trumpet, but they were kind of scared of me. I mean, it would take an insane one not to be afraid, not that there was a shortage of those. After all, I did kill Voldemort and was proclaimed 'The Master of Death' by severalesteemedinvestigative reporters. One of which was-"

"-Rita Skeeter," Sirius said, finishing Harry's thought. "I can see why you decided to kill reporters."

"That's not the reason," Harry said, shaking his head. "As if it wasn't enough to declare to anyone who cared to believe the drivel she wrote that I had all of the famed Hallows, she also actually tried to kill me."

"She tried to kill you? Rita 'I'll fuck Filch to get a story' Skeeter?"

"The one and the same. During an interview no less," Harry said after he nodded. "Put poison in my tea."

"Let me guess... you switched the cups," Sirius said.

"Using a switching spell when she was scribbling in her little notebook. Very good Sirius. Of course, I snapped her Quick Quotes quill as soon as I noticed that she was staring at my cup a bit too excitedly," Harry said.

"So, you never told me how you wound up here. And please, for the love of Merlin, don't tell me that you were eating a sandwich and didn't see that you were walking straight into the Veil."

Harry gave Sirius a strange look, one which the latter didn't notice as he had his back turned to him.

"No. In fact, I was in the Department of Mysteries trying to kill Rookwood," Harry explained.

"Wait. He still worked there?"

"Yes. Apparently, his resume was good enough for the Unspeakables to dismiss the fact that he was leaking their secrets to the number one public enemy," Harry said sarcastically.

"So, how did he do it? Fired a spell at you and you dodged the wrong way," Sirius asked.

"I tracked him down into the Veil Room, and the bastard was ready for me with a vacuum spell, standing right behind the Veil. Sucked me right in," Harry said, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Couldn't you've predicted that? I mean, you did enter the Veil Room of your own volition," Sirius said.

"I thought he was going to try to psych me out. You know, fighting me in the exact same room you 'died' in."

"And you still went in?"

"Believe it or not, Sirius," Harry said, "I got over your death years ago."

"I know. I got over the fact that I'd never see you or Remus ever again too. That's why it's so... weird... I guess. Just standing here, talking to you," Sirius said solemnly.

"Feels a bit like a dream doesn't it," Harry asked him quietly.

"Yes. It does. And I just pray I don't wake up."

Harry aimed his wand at Sirius' crotch and fired off a stinging spell. It missed, hitting his thigh, and in an instant, his godfather was rubbing it, grumbling under his breath.

"Well, if that didn't wake you up, then this isn't a dream. So there. No need to fear waking up anymore," Harry said with a cheeky grin.

"Why you little-"

And so, the two engaged in a friendly duel with stinging spells, after which they were all properly bruised up.

"Sirius," Harry said from the chair he was resting on, trying to catch his breath, "you never did tell me how you escaped the Department of Mysteries."

"Oh." Sirius said, lying sprawled on the sofa, rubbing at his thighs. "Well, it wasn't that hard to be honest. They only brought in the securityaftermy escape."

"I guess that's why they caught me so easily, huh?"

"Yeah. When I woke up on this side of the Veil, there was no one in the room. I stayed there as Snuffles until one Unspeakable found me. She was quite nice to me; she fed me and took care of this nasty wound on my side – even ran some medical tests on me. She kept me for a whole day without anyone noticing. I don't think she even reported my appearance in the Veil Room," Sirius said.

"Lucky bastard. You get cuddled and I get bloodytortured," Harry said bitterly.

"I guess that's my fault. So, sorry," Sirius said, not sounding sorry at all. "But as soon as I got the chance, I turned back to my human form, stole her wand, set all her test results on fire, turned tail and ran like Snivellus out of a fair fight."

"So you didn't suffer any memory loss in the process," Harry asked curiously.

"No, and if this is one of your 'you're getting old' references, I must warn you – you're getting tiresome," Sirius said, offended.

"No no. It's just that I had memory problems when I arrived..." Harry said, a worried expression crossing his face, "and that could only mean one of two things. Sirius, do you have a pensive?"

Sirius gave him an odd look.

"You do know that pensives areraremagical items, right?"

Harry sighed. "Well, I need to get my hands on one. Find one. Rent it. Buy it if you have to."

"Buy it? Just renting it will probably cost me all the money I have left. Harry, be reasonable," Sirius said.

"Yoube reasonable." Harry shot back. "Come on Sirius, you know you won't need money were we're going. No. You know what? Just find one. I'll steal it if I have to."

Sirius gave him a long look and then shrugged.

"Suit yourself. I know there's one in the country right now." At Harry's raised eyebrows, Sirius elaborated. "Nicholas Flamel has one."

"Really," Harry asked, surprised. "Well then, where does he live?"

"Hold on," Sirius said, moving to a sitting position on his sofa, regarding his godson seriously for the first time since their reunion. "Tell me you're not seriously thinking about breaking into Nicholas Flamel's home and stealing his pensive?"

Harry gave him an offended look.

East of Saint Laon, in France, there was an isolated copse of trees. There wasn't an asphalt road that led inside the woods to the only residence in the vicinity, but there was a narrow beaten path to it. Harry Potter, written down in the Great Book of the French ministry as Harold Devereaux, walked this path one night. Not half way there, he could conciselyfeelthe layers of protective spells that seemingly hummed in the air, stretching across the path and through the woods on either side. Pulling a pair of used omnioculars, he pressed one button on the side and put them to his eyes.

Playing around with the focus and the zoom knobs, he finally tuned the lenses to filter the image into crisp detail.

His target was inside a two story house, modern looking and leech free, quite the opposite of what he expected. Putting the omnioculars back into his small leather backpack, he twisted his neck this way and that, eliciting several loud cracks from the top of his spinal column.

Looking about, he found one stump of a tree that had been cut quite recently, judging from the rough texture he felt as he ran his finger across its surface, and gingerly took a seat on it.

It was a beautiful night, he mused for a moment, tearing his thoughts away from his objective. The sky was clear, littered with thousands of stars. The cold, systematic mapping of stars during his Astronomy classes had torn him away from the beauty of the sight, and he could only appreciate the full splendour of the nightly heavens after he had a corrective laser surgery done two years before. It cost him a pretty penny, but now, he finally saw as man was supposed to see, and he could say that it was very well worth it. It was one of those sights that made you feel infinitely small, and yet instead of sadness at the fact, it made your heart fill with such extreme joy that it nearly welled tears in your eyes.

He blinked, and the magical moment was over. Once again, he was cold and calculating, his gaze not straying from the house at the end of the enchanted path.

Unlike most of the places he had broken into in the past, this was a house – a private place that rarely saw any visitors – and it was too well defended to take down the wards, even if the residents weren't in.

This called for an alternate entrance and exit route, but there didn't seem to be one. The wards spread all around the property in a semi-sphere that arched high above the house, even above the treetops.

On a whim, he stood up again and took the omnioculars out, placing them on his eyes.

The house was modern looking, too modern, in fact, to be built by magical folk. This meant that it was built by muggles. And muggles would put power lines, phone lines, plumbing and sewer access to the house. And since the wards were semi-spherical, it meant that the sewer lines weren't encompassed in them.

And that would give him safe entrance inside the house.

Turning back, he set towards the nearest town, Saint Laon, to find the nearest sewer access to the house. After a trek that took him more than several minutes, he finally stumbled upon a shaft. Pulling out his wand, he carefully levitated the lid, and while it was still in the air, he jumped down.

His feet splashed across the filthy water, his knees buckling under the impact as the smell of urine and faecal matter nearly overpowered his senses. Puffing a few breaths at the uncomfortable smell, he carefully levitated the lid down and set off in the direction he came from.

Not several meters away from the shaft, the pipe got considerably smaller, such that he couldn't go further without resorting to a spell. Waiving the wand above him in a complex pattern, he rapped himself upon the forehead, and with a flash of light, he disappeared, to be replaced by a small lizard.

The green lizard flicked is tongue once and immediately set toward the house, paddling with its short feet through the urine mixed water. A short while later, although it felt like a lot longer to the lizard, he reached the end of the horizontal pipe, but adjacent was a vertical one, which, he knew, would lead him inside the Flamel residence.

The smooth interior of the plastic pipe would have been a challenge to climb, and Harry knew this. In fact, that's why he transfigured himself into a specimen of a particular species of lizards called gecko. The smooth plastic surface of the pipe was no match for his padded feet, and once he got out of the water, he started climbing up effortlessly, as if gravity didn't affect him.

The U bend was a disgusting obstacle, one he dealt with quickly. After he got past it he climbed up the porcelain bowl of the toilet, almost wishing he'd forget all about that particular experience, but seeing as he was here to correct such a problem, he shook his lizard head. Jumping out of the toilet as fast as he could, which was not much, considering his long trek through the cold and dirty water had lowered his metabolism significantly.

He took a deep breath after he flopped down silently on the tiled bathroom floor, the sound barely registering in his amphibian mind, and closing his eyes, he let go of the spell that was keeping him in the form of a gecko. He could feel the magic shattering like glass and cascading like a row of dominos, and immediately the pressure on his extremities increased along with his weight.

When he opened his eyes again, the dim room swam in his vision for a moment, courtesy of the change from an amphibian to a mammal in the course of two seconds. Now on his hands and knees, he surveyed the bathroom of the famous immortal couple.

It was grand and lush, and had a bathtub as big as Sirius', and for a moment he wished he could simply peel off his stinking clothes and get inside to rinse himself clean. Unfortunately, the situation didn't allow for that. So, stinking and dripping with a combination of soap water, urine, faecal matter and what were probably poisonous cleaning chemicals, he stood up on his feet as silently as he could and immediately went to the door.

It didn't seem warded, but he could only guess how much paranoid the Flamels had to be to have the single source of both gold and immortality in the world and avoid getting killed by some greedy bastard for more than six centuries. So, he opened his backpack and produced a large metallic syringe from the inside, filled with a glistening yellow substance, its long needle protected by a long aluminium cap which he quickly removed.

Slowly, he brought the needle to the highest door hinge and sprayed the contents of the syringe. The yellow oily substance clung to the metal like it was magnetic, and after repeating the process to all the door hinges, he slowly pulled the handle of the door down and pulled.

The door opened completely silently, and while in the corridor he could hear the snoring of the ancient occupants of the house. Leaving the door open in case he had to beat a hasty retreat, he tiptoed down the hall, moving away from the snoring.

If he had the stone, he reasoned that he would keep it on the upper floor, as far away from the entry as possible and somewhere near the place he slept. Putting his syringe back in his backpack, he continued walking down the hallway, trying each door as he went. The first one opened easily, as did the second one, but when he went to open the third door, it wouldn't budge.

Kneeling down, he pulled a small penlight from his backpack, and turning it on, he put it between his teeth. Putting his hand to the front pocket of his shirt, he pulled out two long pins, inserting one into the lock and using the other one to prod the insides.

Seven almost silent clicks later, he twisted the pins, eliciting a rather loud clang from the lock, making him wince.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, his way illuminated by the light the penlight between his lips provided.

Scanning the room, he found that he was in a workshop of sorts, hundreds and hundreds of artefacts, devices and medallions hanging by threads off the walls and ceilings, some propped on shelves and others stacked unceremoniously in boxes, their purpose unknown to him. He thought he recognised several from the shelves of his former Headmaster, but he still had no way of knowing what they did or how they worked.

Tearing his gaze away from the contraptions, he gave the room another sweep, before noticing a small cabinet tucked away in a corner. Carefully stepping forward, he pulled the penlight from his mouth and pointed it at the glass case of the cabinet.

Red stones of all shapes and sizes littered the top shelf of the cabinet, and sensing the energy emanating from within, Harry grinned at the diabolical trap of the alchemist.

He of course, knew exactly what the stone looked like, and it was not among the dozens of cursed copies inside the cabinet. Wherever the man was keeping it, it wasn't here.

But on the lower shelf, he spotted his prize, the ancient looking stone basin, its rim and sides engraved with tiny little runes and symbols beyond his understanding.

Uncaring of the consequences, he jerked his wrist and his wand came, flying from his wrist holster and into his hand. With a single flick, the small lock clicked and the doors swung open.

"Allez-y, faites votre choix."

He turned around, wand aloft, but before he managed to set off a single spell, it went flying from his hand, clattering on top of the hard surface of the workbench on the other side of the room.

In front of him stood Nicholas Flamel, dressed in red one-piece pyjamas which, coupled with his snow white beard that almost reached his navel, made him look like Santa Claus. Except that Santa didn't point wands at people while staring them down.

"None of these is the Philosophers stone," Harry responded, raising his arms up, "although several of the bigger ones look like rubies. Probably pricy ones. Cursed though."

"Finally," the old man said, what Harry could only guess was a smile quivering under that beard of his, "someone with talent."

With a wave of his wand, a click sounded, and several neon lights flickered above them, the sudden illumination bringing tears to Harry's eyes.

"Thank you," Harry said, blinking and bowing his head slightly.

"I am curious though," Flamel said, stepping backwards and sitting down on a chair in the corner of the workshop, one which had eluded Harry in his quick observation in the darkness, "how did you get inside? This is the third break-in attempt this year, and in comparison, you've done an admirable job. Tell me, and I promise I'll let you go."

"It was easy enough." Harry said, putting his hands down slowly. "I noticed your wards and went underneath them, through the sewer pipes, transfigured as a gecko."

"Ah, yes. I thought is smelled something rank," Nicholas said, his nose twitching. With a wave of his wand, the terrible sewer smell disappeared to be replaced by a refreshing scent of lemons. "Funny enough, I thought it was my old brain playing tricks on me."

"I didn't come here for the stone though," Harry supplied.

"Really? I find that hard to believe," Nicholas said, raising his wand as soon as he noticed that his hand had started drooping down. "All the break-ins we've had in the past five centuries were directly associated with the stone. What makes this one so special?"

"Like I said, I'm not here for the stone," Harry said, and after seeing Nicholas' eyes narrow, he quickly added, "but to use this."

He pointed at the stone basin that stood innocently in the cabinet.

"The pensive? There are hundreds of those in the world. What makes mine so special?"

"It was the closest one," After seeing Nicholas' disbelieving look, the edges of Harry's mouth quirked slightly upwards. "I'm on a tight schedule."

Flicking his wand, Nicholas observed as the pensive rose from its place in the cabinet and soared across the room, before gently landing on the workbench. With another wave, the doors of the cabinet swung shut with a loud thud, and the miniature lock clicked.

Standing up, Nicholas approached Harry, before putting his wand to the latter's temple.

"Then by all means, don't let me stop you."

Sighing, Harry closed his eyes and remembered the night that he finally received confirmation that Rookwood was inside the Department of mysteries. Feeling a tug at his temple, he let the memory go, leaving only the cold, bare facts in his mind.

When he opened his eyes, Nicholas was already stirring the silvery strand inside the pensive.

"Well, don't just stand there, lad," he said, his beard lumping up and down as he spoke. "Let's go in."

"I need to see this memory in private," Harry said.

"My pensive, my rules," the old man rumbled. "Hop in."

Sighing, Harry bent over and let the murky liquid touch his nose. Immediately, he was sucked inside and landed in the murky expanse of the pensive. A moment later, Nicholas joined him, and with a wave of his wand, the memory started.

They bore witness as the grey mist parted to reveal a street in the city of London, the heart of the kingdom that pulsed with nightlife. The streets were wet, as it had rained recently, however, this didn't deter the people on the sidewalks that walked and smiled, some in love, some in triumph over a won football match.

However, one figure did not smile. Moving against the current of people, he shouldered his way through the crowd and ducked inside a telephone booth. Unnoticed while in plain view, the figure dialled four numbers on the phone. Only two people heard the ensuing conversation, and only one of them was there.

"You have reached the visitors entrance of the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and the purpose for your visit," a cold, detached female voice said, not coming from the earpiece, but apparently from the very space in the phone booth.

"I'm Harry Potter, and I'm here to kill Rookwood," the man said. Nicholas' eyebrows rose up in the air even as Harry smiled. Taking a closer look, he saw that the man was identical to the one standing next to him.

"This should be interesting," the old man said as a small plaque was spat from the coin return slot of the old telephone. 'Harry Potter, Assassin', it read.

There was a chime and the floor started moving down, and before they knew it, they were inside the Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic.

They observed as Harry's former self moved quickly to the desk of only guard in the whole Atrium, who was sitting in a chair, reading the Daily Prophet.

"Sorry, sir," the Auror said, not looking up from his newspaper, "the Ministry's closed for the night. Please come back tomorrow at eight."

"I have a useful piece of advice that will help you keep your job," he told the guard, his tone neutral.

"Oh yeah," the Auror asked, his eyes still not leaving the newspaper.

"Yes. When they ask you how it happened, tell them it was twenty guys with a Cerberus," Harry said.

The Auror had only enough time to furrow his brow in confusion before he was grabbed by the back of the head and flung down against the desk. His nose broke on impact, giving out a soft, meaty crunch, and before he knew it, his head was up in the air again, and then banged again against the desk.

They observed as the memory Harry pulled out his wand with a jerk of his wrist, and then fired a spell at the Auror at point blank range. There was a red flash, and the force of the stunner blew the Auror backwards together with the chair, which skid on the marble floor shortly before it hit the wall behind it.

The Auror slumped down, unconscious.

Stowing his wand in his holster, the memory Harry continued walking past the checkpoint and towards the elevators, his real self and the immortal alchemist close on his heels.

"Quite the maverick, Mr. Potter," the old man said.

"Thank you," Harry responded with a small smile, "I do try."

They followed his memory self down to the bowels of the ministry, and then down a staircase to a level where the elevators didn't go.

Up a long corridor they walked, only a single pair of footsteps echoing from the cold hard stone of the floor, ceiling and walls.

With a wave of his wand, the memory Harry opened the door, his stride not slowing down as he entered a circular room.

"Hey, you're not supposed to-"

The man in grey robes was cut off by a flash of red light which blew him backwards a few feet. He landed on the floor, unconscious.

"Are all assassins this considerate of life," Nicholas asked the lights turned off and the room started spinning.

"Not really. But hey, I'm here to kill one man, not for a massacre," Harry said.

"Rookwood," the memory Harry said, "point me to Rookwood."

The room started spinning and the lights went back on. One of the many doors in the room opened to a familiar looking corridor.

For the first time since the memory started, the assassin stopped and stared dumbfounded at the corridor beyond.

"Oh, Rookwood. Youbastard," he spat out, before continuing through the doorway, his pace a little slower this time.

Following the assassin to a twisting set of corridors, they arrived at a door. The memory Harry didn't waste a second, and with a sharp jab of his wand at the door, it exploded outwards in splinters. He didn't wait for the splinters and bits and sawdust to settle; he walked straight through the doorway and into a large chamber.

Down the grey steps, in the middle of the room stood an archway made of black stone, intelligible runes and symbols etched into it, a flimsy grey curtain in the arch flapping against a nonexistent breeze.

Suddenly they could spot a figure behind the curtain, dressed in grey, but before they could identify whoever it was, a strong gust of wind seemed to come out of nowhere.

In a second, it intensified a thousand fold, and they could see the memory Harry being flung through the air, flying through the Veil.

And then, the memory ended, leaving Harry alone with the wizened man, standing in the darkness.

"That's it," Nicholas asked incredulously.

"No. Roll it back," Harry said.

The room and the Veil materialized again, and memory Harry flew from the Veil, landing impossibly deftly on the grey steppes.

"Stop," Harry commanded, and time seemed to freeze. He ran down the steppes and around the Veil, Before he came face to face with Rookwood.

"Play it, half speed."

He observed Rookwood as he frowned in exertion, the wand in his hand moving in an intricate pattern. The wind picked up, and just as the memory Harry was in the middle of his arc, Rookwood's frown turned into a smile.

The unusual thing was that, even in half the real speed, the transition was far too fast.

"Amistake," Harry said.