To Kill A King

Chapter One

He slowly woke up, sitting on a chair, feeling disoriented. That wouldn't have been so unusual, as his spine hadn't protested about its bent position. However the ropes that were wined tight around his torso and the spine of the chair spoke differently. He could barely feel his arms, the ropes were so tight, and the bright white light that shined in his face was so strong that he felt his retinas burn.

He could see the dark silhouettes of two men standing above him, the light in his face conveniently preventing him from seeing their faces.

A thud and a dull pain in his abdomen later, he realized that he was being interrogated. He hadn't even heard the question.

"Who do you work for?" One of the men, the one of the left, asked him through what he assumed were gritted teeth.

"Where am I?" The captive's question only earned him another punch in the stomach.

"I ask the questions here," the interrogator said, swinging another punch to his face. The world swam around him, and he could hear another voice now. Looking up, he could see the other interrogator holding the arms of the one that hit him.

"... man. The veritaserum will be here shortly. There's no use in breaking his jaw."

"Fuck you, alright," the rather violent one said, ripping his hands away from the other man's hold. Before he could prepare himself for impact, the man's fist landed squarely on the his jaw. Incredible pain surged from his cheek, jolting his brain to complete awareness. On instinct, he immediately slumped in his seat, slackening every muscle in his body.

"Great. Now look what you did," the other man said, clearly upset. His eyes closed, the captive didn't move, just listened to what information would leak from the conversation that he suspected would follow. Ceasing to be a punching bag was just an added bonus.

Hands travelled across his face, and he felt several gentle slaps across his cheeks. Soft fingers pressed below and above his left eye, and as the man stretched the skin to open his eyelid, he rolled his eyes upwards into his skull. It was an uncomfortable move, bordering on slightly painful, but compared to the punches he received earlier, it felt like nothing but a tingle.

"He's out cold," the man said, taking his hands away from the captive's face.

"Nothing a quick rennervate wouldn't fix," the other one said.

"You're out of line, Gibson," the other man said shortly after what the he assumed was a brief struggle. "The veritaserum will be here any minute now. What you did was totally unnecessary."

The violent man snorted. "For all we know, he might be one of them. If it's true, a few punches is just a drop in the bucket."

"And if he's not? What if he's not even human? The head of the Unspeakables clearly stated that he is to be unharmed," the other man said. "I will give a full report about this Gibson."

"But-"

"Erm... excuse me. I was told to bring this vial of veritaserum here," a third voice said.

"Right. Well, give it-"

Thud.

"What the-"

Thud.

The captive cracked one eye open and observed another silhouette wave a wand toward the blinding light, the other two sprawled before his feet. A fizzling sound echoed in the room and the light died instantly. Darkness overwhelmed his eyes for a second, before they got used to the new luminance level in the room. He saw the man that downed the other two clearly now, pointing his wand at his still figure with a look of triumph on his face.

Sandy brown hair glistened with grease on top of a pale face, two black eyes staring at the captive with the intensity of alumosspell.

A bright flash of light escaped his wand, and just when he thought he was about to die, the ropes relaxed around him, releasing him from his seat. He wasted no time in getting up.

"What's going on? Who are you," the prisoner asked.

"We've no time to chat. Spellfire is strictly prohibited in this section. They're coming," the other man answered hurriedly.

"They? Who... what-"

"Silencio," the other man said, and bright light blossomed from the tip of his wand, striking him in an instant. "Now move."

Unable to ask any more questions, he let the other man push him toward the exit of the room, and out into a cold hallway. The grey stone corridor was familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where he had seen it before. With a brief jolt, he realized that he couldn't remember anything. Not even his name.

"In here," his brown haired rescuer said, using his hand to pull the bars off what seemed to be a ventilation shaft. From within the shaft, he pulled a tick cord with a hook at the end, which he secured to the captive's thick leather belt. Using his wand, the rescuer lifted him up and into the shaft, resealing the bars back.

Ding.

He heard a soft, meaty thump, accompanied by a rather loud crunching sound, and then loud footsteps approaching.

He heard his rescuer moaning and mumbling curses under his breath.

"Please, help me! The bastard broke my nose." It was the voice of the brown haired man.

"Where did he go," a gruff voice asked.

"He went that way. I think he took the stairs," he lied, moaning.

"Stay here. We'll have someone come down to help you soon," a younger voice said.

The footsteps moved, quickly and loudly towards where they came. He breathed a sigh of relief as the bloodied face of his rescuer appeared on the other side of the bars.

"Stay in there and don't make a sound. I'll go outside and pull you up."

He could hear his rescuer's footsteps fading away, and after another ding of what he assumed was a lift, he was left in complete silence.

He waited for nearly ten minutes in the silence before the cord started moving and pulling him up. He tried to help it as much as it could, but the vents were too narrow for him to move his arms. The silencing spell seemed to have worn off, seeing as he could hear his grunts of effort echo in the vents. After several tricky turns and intersections, and a long trek through a vertical shaft, he was greeted by an apartment building roof awash with red sunlight. The brown haired man, now sweating with fatigue, the grease from his hair smeared all across his face, pulled him up from the shaft with one final tug before he collapsed in exhaustion on the gravelly rooftop.

"Can you now tell me what the hell is going on," he asked the man who lay on his back down on the ground, panting.

"Not yet," he said, gasping for breath, "gather the rope... into the bag. Hurry!"

He did as he was told, his hands quickly gathering the thick polymer cord, coiling it between his palm and his elbow, before stashing it into the small rucksack.

"Done," he announced, turning to the man who was still catching his breath.

"Great," the brown haired man said, before he grabbed him by the ankle. A sudden pressure enveloped him, making his ears ring and his heart pump maddeningly fast. Seeing nothing but darkness, he shut his eyes tight before they decided to leave his skull. His head started pounding, as if someone had thought it was a good idea to whack him on the head with a hammer repeatedly. He heard a loud crack and someone scream 'traitor' before unconsciousness took him again.

Harry Potter woke up in a dimly lit room, recognizing it by the ceiling alone as a bedroom in Gimmauld Place Number Twelve, the ancestral home of his late godfather, Sirius Black. Sighing he turned to his side and tried to go back to sleep, burying his head in the oversized pillow.

A dreadful cold feeling enveloped him in an instant, and for a moment he thought there was a Dementor in the room, before he realized that someone had torn away the sheets that covered him.

"Wakey-wakey, little Harry," a familiar voice said, making anger rise up in him. Why couldn't his godfather just let him…

Waitaminute!

"Sirius," he nearly shouted, jumping up from the bed, his bloodshot eyes wide open.

"The one and only," his godfather said, taking a mock bow. He was wearing elegant black robes that fit him snugly, with intricate silver designs at the cuffs, the collar and the button line. His long black messy hair was no more, replaced with a short haircut that accented his grey eyes. His cheeks were fuller and had more colour to them than the last time he had seen him.

"But- You're dead! You fell through the veil," Harry said, jumping out of bed.

"And you didn't," Sirius asked.

"No, of course- Okay, so maybe I did. A little," Harry said, remembering the... accident at the Department of Mysteries.

"Just a little, huh," Sirius asked, grinning.

"Look, it's not like it's my fault! I was pushed, okay," Harry said, taking a defensive tone.

"Admit it, Harry, you landed in the same pile of shit I did," Sirius said, opening the closet and throwing a robe at Harry. "Here, put this on."

Sirius walked to the door as Harry started to get dressed.

"Oh, and Harry"

"Yes?"

"Try to act like a Malfoy in front of Kreacher, will you," Sirius said, mischief evident in his eyes.

Harry frowned as Sirius left the room.

A few minutes later, after having refreshed himself, Harry was trying to strut imperiously down to the kitchen. The place was squeaky clean, unlike the last time Harry was there. Opening the door, he stepped inside the kitchen and sat himself on the chair opposite of Sirius.

"Okay, do you mind explaining what the fuck is going on," Harry asked, leaning forward.

Sirius smiled.

"Kreacher," he said, and the named elf immediately materialised by his side.

"What is the Great Master Sirius wanting- oh. We have guests, Master? If Kreacher knew, Kreacher would be making a grand feast for-"

"I'm afraid there is simply no time for a feast, Kreacher," Sirius said in a monotone voice, not looking at the elf. "Just give us the usual and the Daily Prophet."

From one of his pockets, Sirius drew a silver coin and tossed it to Kreacher. The demented elf caught it and immediately disappeared.

"He's acting a bit odd," Harry said.

"No, he's still the same mad idiot he was," Sirius explained, "the only difference is that I was a bad boy in this universe."

"This universe?"

"We're not home, Harry. This is a whole new world. And, believe it or not, it's a lot shittier than the one we left," Sirius explained.

"So, what's different," Harry asked.

"Well, for starters, the prophecy was resolved," Sirius said, and at Harry's hopeful look, he shook his head. "Voldemort sent two hit teams – Bellatrix and the Lestranges to kill the Longbottoms, and me and Malfoy to kill the Potters."

"Wait. You?"

"Like I said, I was a very bad boy. Apparently, I was the traitor in this one," Sirius explained further.

"Who survived?"

"From the targets? No one. Malfoy lost a few fingers, and I was killed by Moody and Dumbledore the same evening. Bellatrix lost her brother in law, and that about sums it up," he said. Kreacher popped in with a copy ofThe Propheta second later, and handed it to Sirius.

"Kreacher will finish lunch now," the elf announced before disappearing again.

Sirius tossed the newspaper at Harry. He experienced a bout of nausea and disgust as the title "The Wizengamot applauds King Voldemort's new Security Reform" greeted him. In the photo, the whole Wizengamot was on their feet, energetically applauding at the figure in the middle of the room. There, surrounded by seven black clad people with white masks on their faces, stood the snakelike figure of Voldemort, his eyes literally shining at the camera.

"Well, fuck," Harry said, dropping the paper down on the table. "Why isn't the Order doing anything?"

"The Order's gone, Harry. Dumbledore's been dead for more than a decade; killed in Hogwarts for resisting arrest," Sirius said softly. "The only surviving members of the Order we knew are Dung, Tonks, Sprout and Bill."

"So who's Headmaster now," Harry asked.

"Amycus Carrow was awarded with the posotion. Antonin Dolohov is Deputy Headmaster. He killed McGonagall. Sprout and Flitwick are still there, keeping their heads down."

Kreacher was back again, snapping his long gnarled fingers at the table. Several dishes appeared; a bowl of mashed potatoes, soup, lettuce salad, a plate of sausages, sconces, tea, and two small servings of chocolate ice cream.

Harry immediately filled his plate with food, his mouth filling with saliva as soon as the smell of the fresh sausages hit his nostrils.

"So, you have any plans?" Harry asked while cutting up one of the sausages.

"Well, we're already wanted men, even if they only have your description. So we have two options. Fight or run. I'm leaning towards run, seeing as you don't even have a wand," Sirius said.

"I figured as much," Harry said, swallowing. "My only question is, where to?"

"France," Sirius said. "I've been spending most of my time in a family estate there. People think Samuel Dunham bought it from the Blacks."

"Samuel? Your fake name is Samuel?"

"It's not like I could pick it. There are only some many people that look like youandgot lost or killed while travelling in some obscure part of the world," Sirius said. "Besides, it starts with an 's', and that's good enough for me."

"Riiight. So, when do I get my papers," Harry asked, taking the desert.

"I know a guy who knows a guy in France. But we will need to... liberate your account at Gringotts first," Sirius said.

"Liberate," Harry asked through a mouthful of chocolate.

"In the absence of a will, or in the case the benefactors of the will are dead, the account sits frozen for twenty five years," Sirius explained. "If it's not claimed by an heir apparent by then, the Ministry takes it, and the goblins get twenty percent."

"So, yours was claimed by Bellatrix, I reckon," Harry asked.

"No. It was claimed by me," Sirius said. At Harry's dumbfound expression, he elaborated. "It can only be claimed by a wizard older than seventeen. And LeStrange is a witch... and barren, most likely."

"Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Don't ruin my dessert," Harry said, munching his ice cream rather forcefully. Sirius chuckled.

Scraping up the last spoonful of ice cream from the small bowl, Harry stood up, swallowing the last of the delicious desert. He couldn't honestly remember the last time he had such a filling meal.

"All done? Good," Sirius said, approaching him. "Now let me have a look at that."

He took Harry's face in his hands, his fingers prodding at the younger man's bruised cheek.

"Well, he didn't break your cheek bone, so that's good," Sirius said, lifting up his wand to his face.

"Episkey." Before Harry could react, the tip of Sirius' wand burst with white light, blinding him. He felt a burning sensation on his cheek, making his eyes water, but it was over in a second. Lifting up a hand, he touched his cheek, checking if Sirius had put a nose there or something. Confident that his face was alright, he blinked a few times, trying to get the massive black spot out from his sight.

"You could've warned me," Harry accused.

"Eh," Sirius said, a grin on his face, "you'll live." He patted Harry's shoulder and offered his hand.

"Truce," Sirius asked, a small smile on his face.

Harry sighed. He could never hold a grudge against his godfather for his little pranks. The man needed a bit of cheering up now and then, after all he went through in Azkaban. So he took Sirius' hand and shook it. He felt something cool inside Sirius' palm.

"Bishop," Sirius said with a widening grin, and just as Harry cottoned on to what was going on, he felt a force pulling at his navel.

"Bastard!"

He could hear Sirius' laughter echo in the strange, twisted and multicoloured expanse one sees when travelling by portkey. Once they landed, however, the laughter stopped abruptly.

The shops of Diagon Alley stood where they always were, their rooftops baking in the hot summer sun. However, the endearing view ended there. Many of the shops were closed, plain wooden planks on their windows instead of quality wares. The ones that weren't closed hardly had any customers at all. Indeed, only a few wizards walked the alley, quickly conducting their business before departing. The only ones that strolled leisurely had black robes and masks on their faces.

"Don't lose it now, Harry. Keep your head down," Sirius whispered, all the mirth from before gone in a split second. Pulling their cowls over their heads, they started navigating the nearly empty alley.

With quick strides, they ducked inside a dingy shop, idly looking at the several items of questionable quality on display. As soon as the patrol passed the shop, they went out in the alley, leaving a scowling shopkeeper in their wake, and quickly went between the tall columns into the white marble building across. The grumpy goblins guarding the entrance didn't nod in greeting.

Instead of a crowded hall, there was only one witch inside, talking to the single teller in hushed tones. They patiently waited to the side for money to exchange hands and the witch to leave the bank.

"Let me handle things," Sirius whispered while they waited. Harry nodded.

Once the witch left, they approached the teller.

"We need to speak to the bank manager," Sirius said just as Harry opened his mouth.

"I'm sure we can conduct business-" the goblin started saying.

"The bank manager. Now," Sirius cut him off, speaking quietly but forcefully.

"Alright." The goblin scowled. "But this better be worth his time."

He climbed down from the stool he was using to be on eye level with his customers, and quickly sauntered off towards a door to the side of the hall. Harry and Sirius followed the grumpy flatfooted creature through the open doorway and down a long corridor.

Silence reigned in the hall, and barely any noise left the rooms adjacent. Business was rather bad, it seemed.

Finally, they arrived at the end of the hall, and both Sirius and Harry straightened up as the goblin knocked on the large wooden door.

"Enter." The response was muffled, but it was unmistakably the voice of an elderly goblin. The teller opened the door slightly and stuck his head through the gap.

"There are two wizards that insist on seeing you in person, sir. What should I tell them," the teller asked. A long, suffering sigh came from the other side of the door.

"Let them in, Brickclaw."

Brickclaw nodded once to the person inside the room and opened the door wide, admitting entrance to Harry and Sirius. Once the three were inside, he closed the door behind them.

It was a rather large and ornate office, expansive even for a human. To creatures as short as goblins, it had to look gargantuan. Bookshelves filled with books lined the walls to the left and the right, two narrow ladders propped on each side, and a row of filing cabinets stood against the wall in front of them, their flat surfaces stacked with scrolls of parchment. On the wall above the filing cabinets was an ornate shield with two rather large halberds crossed behind it.

In front of the filing cabinets, in the middle of the room was a desk, its smooth mahogany surface stacked with parchments, scrolls and papers of all sizes. An old goblin was seated behind the desk, dressed in a fine acromantula silk robe, flanked by two heavily armoured goblins of impressive size, each carrying a sword and a halberd.

The old goblin's black eyes travelled across the room, his gaze searching the faces of his two guests. He couldn't recognise Harry, but as soon as Sirius removed the cowl from his head, the goblin's eyes shined with recognition.

"I see," he said, as if there had been an interesting exchange of unspoken words. "Brickclaw."

"Yes sir," the younger goblin responded immediately. Rather too eagerly, if you asked Harry. His gaze travelled between the two armed guards, sizing them up. It was a reflex, unwittingly honed for years. He knew he didn't stand a chance against them. Not without his wand.

"Leave the room, please," the old goblin said.

"But-"

"There might be customers waiting for you at your post," the bank manager cut him off impatiently.

The teller grumbled under his breath and quickly left the room.

"Now that we have our privacy, and I assure you that we do," the goblin said as soon as he caught Harry's eyes shooting up at the guards that stood watch over him, "let us get down to business."

"I won't waste your time," Sirius said, not taking the seat the goblin offered with a gesture, "same deal as before, only this time it's the Potter accounts that are in question."

"I see," the old goblin said. "And this is?"

"Harry James Potter," Sirius said.

"Curious. Another one awoken from the eternal sleep? What are the odds of that," the goblin asked one of his guards. His face impassive, the guard recognised the rhetorical question for what it was and said nothing.

"I never went to sleep," Harry said, speaking for the first time since they arrived in the alley. "It's all a big misunderstanding. And I like to keep it that way."

"A misunderstanding you say? Pardon the pun – but it's understandable," the goblin said, his lips curling back to reveal a set of crooked yellow teeth as sharp as daggers. Harry hoped it was a smile, so he grinned back.

"Right. Well, the same deal as before, five percent of all liquid. All we'll need is an account number and to check your identity," the manager said, pulling up a folder and several other strange items from one of his drawers as Sirius handed him a slip of parchment.

"Right," the manager said, writing down the bank account number on several places of what seemed to be the transfer documents.

"Is this really necessary," Harry asked with a sigh.

"Mister Potter," the goblin said, a rather menacing looking scowl replacing the unnerving grin he wore, "to keep a transfer like this under the table, on a frozen account no less, is highly irregular and unorthodox. But to just give away the money without checking if it's really yours to begin with... well, I hope you don't really take goblins for idiots."

"No, not at all," Harry said, trying not to aggravate the goblin further, "it's just that... Urgh. Never mind."

The goblin harrumphed. Waving Sirius away, he set about the several instruments on the table as he waited for the older man to leave the room.

By now, Harry was quite uncomfortable, sitting in a room with two heavily armed goblins and not a toothpick of a wand on him, and his backup on the other side of a locked door.

After several tests, some of which were quite painful, and all of them uncomfortable, his identity was determined without a shadow of a doubt. Harry signed some papers, carefully reading for any discrepancies that could rip him of his money.

"I figured as much," the manager said, sprinkling some kind of dust on the remains of Harry's blood test. "You are who you say you are."

With the touch of the manager's finger, the steel dish filled with Harry's blood ignited its contents. This gave a semblance of relief to Harry, for he knew how much one could do with a wizard's blood. Murder was just the tip of the iceberg, provided you had enough knowledge and imagination.

"I also see the reason for your previous reluctance," the goblin said, noting Harry's relieved expression as he saw his blood burn, "and I am no longer offended. I also want to... apologise."

The words sounded like someone was pulling them from the old goblin's mouth with a pair of pliers.

"For what?"

"The tests. They needn't have been so... excrutiating," the old goblin said, a manic grin spreading across his leathery face. Harry had to restrain himself by this point, but if it weren't for the two guards, he would've definitely jumped from his seat to strangle the blighted creature.

Shaking himself awake from the fantasy of murdering the old goblin with his bare hands, he stood up shakily.

"Well, I guess I'll be going now," he said, walking to the door.

"Farewell, Mr. Potter. It was a pleasure doing business with you," the old goblin said.

"I wish I could say the same," Harry responded before he closed the door.

"You look a bit pale," Sirius said as they walked away from the manager's office.

"Of course I look pale. They took half of what blood I had in me in there," Harry responded sarcastically.

"It serves you right. I told you to leave the talking to me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well,Iwould've done things differently," Sirius said, before a grin spread across his face. "But noooo, you just had to infer that the manager of Gringotts was an idiot who justhandedover money to anyone that justhappenedto walk into his office."

"Right, right. I get your point. Just... knock it off, will you?"

"Okay, but only because there are Death Eaters in the alley. This is not over, my little dogson, not by a long shot," Sirius said, putting his cowl back on and prompting Harry to do the same.

"Dogson?" Even after ten years, Sirius," Harry whispered, "you're still just one lame son of a bitch, aren't you?"

"Lame? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't... Oh Merlin. In what hole did you live in for the past several years?"

"Number Twelve."

"Point taken."

Successfully evading the patrol of Death Eaters yet again, they reached the Apparation point and Apparated to the afore mentioned address.

"I'm gonna go lie down for a bit," Harry said, feeling a dizzy spell coming on.

"You do that. We'll leave after dinner," Sirius said.

His short nap seemed like a blink before Sirius woke him up for dinner.

"Wake up, dunce! It's dinner time!!!"

"Urgh," Harry moaned, his head spinning, "do you know how annoying you are."

"Sure I do. Being annoying and not knowing would be... well..."

"Lame. There, you learned a new word. So, what's for dinner?"

"Spaghetti," Sirius said.

"Isn't dinner supposed to be a light meal or something?"

"Sure," Sirius said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "if you're a ninety year old squib with no teeth."

"Well, you do look like-"

"Come on, get up already! Dinner is getting cold."

With a grin, Harry got up from the squishy sofa in the drawing room. Following his godfather down the stairs, he entered the kitchen and sat down in front of a plate full of pasta.

"Sirius, I wanted to ask you something," Harry said as he twirled the pasta around his fork.

"Oh, my god, Harry," Sirius squealed like a nine year old girl, "are you going to pop the question."

"I'm being serious-"

"No, I'm Sirius."

"Who was your friend?"

Sirius gave him a funny look.

"Harry, I don't have any friends in Britain. People think I'm dead."

"What about the guy who bust me out?"

"Well, try to keep up for fuck's sake," Sirius grumbled, "that was me under Polyjuice, you ingrate."

"Oh. Well then-"

"I broke my own nose for you, and you don't even thank me? I knew you were an arsehole, but this-"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay. And thank you for busting me out."

Sirius started laughing.

"What? What's so funny?"

"I was just messing with you. Merlin Harry, try to have some fun in your life."

"I do have fun. I just don't take it to extremes like you do."

"Quit talking and eat up. We're going to be late," Sirius said as he glanced at the clock that hung in the kitchen wall.

"Late for what?"

"I scheduled a meeting for you papers and for a wand while you were sleeping," Sirius explained.

"Right," Harry said, slurping his last mouthful of pasta and picking up the dish.

"What- just leave it Harry," Sirius said, "Kreacher will take care of it."

Harry left the dish on the table and joined Sirius in the hallway.

"Come on," Sirius said, revealing a small metal coin with the Black crest etched upon it in fine detail, "grab the portkey."

"What," Harry asked in fake astonishment as he placed his palm on the ornate coin. "You're not playing a prank on me? Sirius, I'm touched."

"Don't flatter yourself," Sirius said with a smirk. "I never play the same prank twice,mon ami."

And they were off.