CHAPTER 19: THE SECRET OBSERVER
Harry lingered on his balcony, concealed within the dim recesses, observing as his father barked orders to the Death Eaters. As they apparated away with resounding pops, vanishing to the raid site, Harry cautiously stepped into the glow of light. Catching his father's eye, he received a subtle nod, granting him permission to emerge from the shadows.
"Father," Harry greeted tersely. His father reciprocated the greeting, his countenance void of any discernible emotion. An unintended snort escaped Harry, shattering the facade as a smirk played on his lips. To his surprise, his father emitted a soft chuckle, conjuring a chair beside him.
"Take a seat; I suspect you'll find yourself rather bored of late," his father began cryptically, leaving Harry perplexed.
"Pardon?" Harry inquired, seeking clarification. Unperturbed, his father reached for a newspaper at his side, presenting the headline to Harry, prompting a mixture of shock and surprise to wash over him.
Meanwhile, in the dimly lit chamber, a tension lingered as the unspoken conversation unfolded. Harry, now seated, cast a questioning glance at his father, who, in a rare display of transparency, finally broke the silence.
"Times are changing, my son," his father remarked with a measure of gravity. "And it seems the world around us is shifting in ways we might not have anticipated."
The atmosphere crackled with uncertainty as Harry delved into the details of the newspaper, the printed words hinting at a series of events that promised to reshape their reality. His father's stoic expression concealed a depth of contemplation, and as the gravity of the situation sank in, a dialogue unfolded between them that extended beyond the spoken word.
"Prepare yourself, Harry," his father advised, his tone carrying a weight of responsibility. "Our journey is about to take an unexpected turn, and the choices we make will shape the course of our destiny."
The headline, "Death of the Dark Lord's Son?" screamed from the newspaper, capturing Harry's attention. In a swift motion, he seized the paper, his eyes locking onto the image of a confident Daemon and Albus Dumbledore, flanked by none other than Lily and James Potter.
"Coilis had mentioned something about me being dead, but I had no idea it would end up in the headlines," Harry mumbled, his eyes lingering on the title before summoning the courage to read the article.
The printed words unfolded a tale of intrigue: "Last night, The Dark Shadow, also known as the He-who-Must-Not-Be-Named's dark son, attempted to steal an ancient artifact from the dungeons of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Harry's brow furrowed as he delved into the details. The narrative painted a picture of a clandestine mission, one that involved the enigmatic Daemon and the formidable Dumbledore. The ancient artifact, shrouded in mystery, now became the focal point of the unfolding drama.
As Harry absorbed the words on the page, he couldn't shake the realization that his life had taken an unexpected turn. The news of his apparent demise added a layer of complexity to the already intricate web of secrets and deceit that surrounded him.
"Well, well," Harry muttered under his breath, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Seems like I've become quite the sensation."
His father, observing Harry's reaction, leaned back, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Welcome to the theatre of shadows, my son. It appears the world is not done with surprises, and neither are we."
The ancient artifact lay concealed behind an array of intricate challenges, meticulously crafted by the professors of Hogwarts. "The Dark Shadow managed to conquer lethal vegetation, dark creatures, poisons, and mind magic. Each task, a formidable obstacle, fell effortlessly before him," proclaimed Albus Dumbledore, the venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts. As he marveled at the exploits of Daemon Potter, a sense of awe and concern played across his wise countenance.
Meanwhile, Daemon, in synchronicity with Dumbledore's announcement, felt an ominous disturbance enveloping the school. Sensing the impending threat, he swiftly traced the destructive path left by the Dark Shadow and embarked on a journey to intercept the malevolent force and secure the artifact.
Accompanied by the Muggleborn witch Hermione Granger and the Pureblood Ronald Weasley, Daemon traversed the remnants of destruction. Ronald, nursing a minor concussion from a task set by the formidable Transfiguration professor, Minerva McGonagall, expressed his exhilaration. "It was brilliant! So many chambers!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm undeterred.
Hermione, on the other hand, provided a more measured perspective. "It was very challenging. Many of the rooms required experience rather than mere knowledge," she declared, having deciphered a riddle involving the choice between drinking a poison or wine.
Albus Dumbledore, ever vigilant, followed in the wake of the trio. After dispatching Ronald and Hermione on a separate mission, he entered the final chamber just in time to witness Daemon Potter locked in a fierce battle with the scarred and burned Dark Shadow. The once enigmatic figure now bore the gruesome evidence of a savage encounter, with arms and face mangled to the extent that muscles were visible through the peeled-off flesh.
The air crackled with tension as the confrontation between light and shadow unfolded, and Dumbledore, with a heavy heart, prepared for the climax of this mystical duel.
"I'm not sure what I did, but the next thing I know, he's screaming and bleeding," Daemon added, a shiver coursing through him as he recounted the chilling event. Before Albus Dumbledore, James, or Lily Potter could cast a single spell, the Dark Shadow swiftly employed a form of dark Apparation, vanishing into thin air. Depending on the power exerted and the blood spilled in the process, he would have materialized in an unconscious state, teetering on the brink of death. The question lingered: Was the Dark Shadow truly gone?
"Rite Skeeter, ironic, isn't it?" Voldemort mused, casting a gaze at his son's masked face, though the crumpled newspaper hinted at a hint of anger. "I won't be able to go on raids."
"Not until we are ready to say that you are alive," Harry replied grimly.
Harry's frustration mounted, and he couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability without his cloak, exposed and susceptible to attack. "So I'm trapped here in the manor?" he spat, anger evident in his tone. His father sighed, fingers tapping against the armrests of the throne.
"You, Shadow, are confined within the manor. But who said anything about Harry Obsidian?" Voldemort's words hung in the air, leaving Harry to grapple with the implications. The idea of a dual existence, a dichotomy between Shadow and Harry Obsidian, sparked a newfound sense of intrigue and apprehension. The manor, once a refuge, now felt like a cage, and Harry contemplated the complexities that lay ahead, both within himself and the tumultuous world beyond.
A mere ten minutes later, Harry found himself strolling along the bustling alley of Diagon, having traversed through the Leaky Cauldron to reach this familiar magical thoroughfare. Although the crowd wasn't as dense as it was during the onset of the school year, the alley remained decently packed, with witches and wizards engaged in the preparations for the impending summer vacation.
Harry navigated through the alley with purpose, his steps quick and deliberate. As he passed by the pet shop, a fleeting curiosity overcame him. A mischievous thought crossed his mind, envisioning how Coilis would react if a tiny cobra were to awaken next to him. The mental image brought a smirk to Harry's face, but the realization dawned that such a prank might have fatal consequences – Coilis, after all, wasn't one to tolerate surprises lightly.
Discarding the playful notion, Harry continued his stroll, his feet leading him towards the enchanting ambiance of the bookshop. Unbeknownst to him, two pairs of eyes, one brown and the other blue, tracked his every movement from a discreet vantage point.
Meanwhile, in the shadows, a mysterious observer observed Harry's progress with an intensity that hinted at a hidden agenda. The magical resonance in the air hinted at something more profound, a convergence of fates set in motion by forces yet to be revealed. The intricate dance of destiny continued, and Harry, oblivious to the subtle machinations around him, delved deeper into the heart of Diagon Alley.
Daemon Potter reclined comfortably inside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, sharing laughter and smirks with Ron Weasley. The vibrant atmosphere was accentuated by the presence of the other Weasley siblings, who had gathered to celebrate the apparent success of their first year at magical school. Fred and George wore knowing smirks, having pulled off a few pranks on unsuspecting shoppers. Percy Weasley disapproved, his frown deepening as he distanced himself from their antics. Ginny, preferring the company of her mother, opted to stay back as Lily and James tended to the younger boys.
"Blimey, Daemon, that's incredible!" Ron exclaimed, wide-eyed, as Daemon regaled him with tales of his encounter with a Seeker at a Holyhead Harpies Quidditch game.
As the animated conversation unfolded, a subtle shift in the air caught their attention. Fred and George, always attuned to mischief, turned their focus toward a familiar figure. Harry Obsidian, the Slytherin First Year who seemed to defy the conventional order of magical schooling, walked by the Magical Menagerie, his thoughts concealed behind a smirking facade.
"Hey, isn't that—"
"—The Slytherin First Year—"
"—Who should really—"
"—Be in seventh?" Fred and George finished each other's sentences, their gazes fixed on Harry Obsidian. He stood near the pet store, Magical Menagerie, an enigmatic aura surrounding him as if he were privy to some hidden truth. The convergence of these magical lives hinted at a future entwined with mystery, as Diagon Alley bore witness to the interplay of destinies.
"Yeah, now what is that slimy snake up to…" Ron mused, his gaze following Harry Obsidian as he spun on his heel, striding purposefully toward the bookshop.
Fred and George wasted no time seizing the opportunity. They exchanged sly smiles before turning their attention to Lily Potter, the matriarch of the Potter family.
"Mrs. Potter—"
"—Hope you don't mind—"
"But we were wondering if we—"
"Could show Daemon—"
"And Ickle-Ronnykins—"
"Some perks of the alley," Fred concluded, his eyes wide and innocent. The mischievous twinkle in their gazes didn't escape James, who shot them a knowing grin.
Lily, well aware of the twins' penchant for mischief, regarded them with a raised eyebrow. "Perks, you say? I hope they're nothing too trouble-inducing."
The twins shared a conspiratorial glance, their grins widening. "Oh, just a bit of harmless fun, Mrs. Potter," George reassured, though the mischievous glint in their eyes suggested otherwise. With Lily's reluctant nod, they set off, determined to introduce Daemon and Ron to the intriguing facets of Diagon Alley, leaving the adults to their own musings about the enigmatic Slytherin First Year.
"Sure, kids, be back by two!" James called, giving the go-ahead, and the four youngsters raced off, quickly disappearing from view and into the book store.
Inside the store, Ron voiced his curiosity, "You know, I've always wondered what a Slimy Snake does out of school," glancing at Daemon, who wore a scowl on his face.
"Probably eats little kittens with all the vampires," Ron added, eliciting a chuckle from Fred and George.
Silently, the quartet slid into the store, shadows in tow as they observed Obsidian's movements. Their stealthy pursuit led them to the very back of the store, where Obsidian browsed through thick tomes and volumes of special books.
"Who on earth could read such books?" Fred muttered to George, both of them peeking out from around a shelf, their eyes wide with curiosity. The clandestine operation unfolded, and the quartet found themselves immersed in the mysterious world of obscure literature, their imaginations running wild with the secrets these ancient volumes might hold.
Harry gently trailed his finger down the spines of a few books, eventually pulling out a black-bound book with bright red font that had faded over the years. Ron frowned at the title, attempting to decipher the words.
"Runes of the Ancient? What type of book is that?" Ron asked Daemon, who merely shrugged. Harry Obsidian, seemingly drawn to the mysterious tome, swiftly made his way to the front of the store and purchased the book, much to the surprise of the shopkeeper. As Harry exited the store and rejoined the crowd, the four boys kept a discreet eye on him.
"Wait, he's moving towards Knockturn!" Ron hissed to Daemon, fear evident in his wide eyes and trembling arms. The mischievous twins, seizing the opportunity, grinned and grabbed Ron's arms, leading him in a skipped journey toward the alley, much to Daemon's amusement.
Undeterred, Harry continued to slide down the main path, drawing only a few curious looks. Some shopkeepers, unfortunate enough to cross paths with him, exchanged wary glances, unsure of what to make of the enigmatic Slytherin First Year. The air in Diagon Alley crackled with a sense of anticipation, and Harry's every step hinted at a path laden with secrets and intrigue.
Harry sensed the presence of someone tailing him, prompting him to pull the top of his hood up, shielding his features from prying eyes. Unaware of the identities of his followers, he navigated through the crowded streets with caution. Unseen by Harry, Daemon Potter slipped out his invisibility cloak, trailing after the three Weasleys, their hoods also pulled up in an attempt to blend into the shadows.
Harry veered left, slipping into a dark and foreboding tavern, its atmosphere thick with unpleasant odors. The air made Daemon gag slightly, but Harry merely wrinkled his nose, pressing forward. In the dimly lit establishment, an old wheezing shopkeeper behind the counter with orange cat eyes peered at Obsidian.
"Ah, little boy, why are you in Knockturn?" the shopkeeper inquired, his eyes glittering. Obsidian betrayed no emotions as he calmly responded, "I'm sure you meet many children younger than me, old man," earning an airy chuckle in response.
The tavern, a haven for the shadowy and mysterious, bore witness to the convergence of these enigmatic figures. The secrets concealed within the depths of Knockturn Alley whispered, and Harry's presence hinted at a purpose known only to him. As the encounter unfolded, the air crackled with tension, and the unfolding events promised a tapestry of intrigue woven with dark threads.
"Aye, that is, child. But many are not human." The shopkeeper grinned, and Harry's eyes flickered upward as he examined a jar filled with crushed moonstone.
"Demons, Goblins, Vampires, Nymphs, and Merfolk, am I right? Many come to supply for potions, which is why I am here. I know you have what I need, don't send me away because of my age, old man," Harry stated without hesitation. The Weasleys looked surprised, and under the invisibility cloak, Daemon narrowed his eyes at the bold proclamation.
"Smart child you are, what do you need?" the shopkeeper chuckled, moving among the shelves.
"Three Bicorn Horns and a pint of Swedish Short Snout dragon blood," Harry calmly stated, flicking away a small beetle that tried to scuttle up his arm. The shopkeeper looked surprised but sighed, opening a glass jar and removing a short stubby copper horn with long metal tweezers.
Ron wore a confused expression, but the twins' eyes were wide with awe. They had been searching for a Bicorn horn for years, and now, this man had the mother lode for all pranking dreams!
"Is that all?" the man asked, blinking in surprise as he caught the exact amount needed—twenty Galleons. Harry was already moving out the door, and the four boys followed after, leaving the mysterious tavern behind them.
As they reentered the bustling Diagon Alley, the air crackled with a newfound sense of anticipation. The transaction had revealed a glimpse into a clandestine world, one that hinted at the convergence of magical beings and dark arts. Harry's purpose, obscured by layers of secrecy, left the Weasleys and Daemon pondering the enigma that surrounded the Slytherin First Year.
"I don't get why we're following Daemon; this guy's just running errands for his parents," Ron argued, perplexed, as they observed Harry looking down at two hissing Goblins, who quickly fell silent.
"He's got to do something dark! He just w—"
"He's turning!" Fred mumbled to Daemon, grabbing his twin's arm and slipping inside the store Harry had entered. Ron and Daemon wasted no time following.
"What the Merlin is this place?" Ron exclaimed in a hushed whisper, as Fred and George shrugged simultaneously, surveying the bizarre scene with strange skins hung from racks and walls.
Harry turned, trailing his fingers down a thick midnight black fur. It was too thick, too hot to wear here; it was probably a species accustomed to the arctic.
"Excellent eye you have," the shopkeeper purred, the 'X' in his pronunciation overemphasized, giving the illusion of a flicking tongue. Harry smiled slightly, turning away and looking at the seemingly young man.
The strange shop held an air of mystery, with its unusual wares and enigmatic proprietor. The convergence of the Weasley twins, Ron, and Daemon within its dimly lit confines hinted at a brewing adventure—one that promised to unveil secrets darker than the alley itself.
"Morning Kacel, wonderful afternoon we're having," Harry noted, exchanging a smirk with the enigmatic shopkeeper. The greeting left the Weasley twins puzzled, and Fred muttered to George, "How is that possible?" The twins attempted to decipher the hidden meaning in Harry's words.
"Ah, you have heard of me then?" Kacel asked, his tone carrying a sense of pride.
"Who hasn't? The great hunter of Knockturn Alley, able to find any beast," Harry drawled, turning around and breaking eye contact slightly. The twins exchanged curious glances, trying to piece together the puzzle that unfolded before them.
"You are also a tailor, able to fix magical pelts and clothing," Harry stated, prompting a smirk from Kacel. With a hint of hesitation, he reached into the silky smooth black bag and retrieved something a shade darker. The tailor frowned, gently taking it and stroking his fingers over the cloth.
"Acromantula silk," he murmured, his voice carrying a mixture of admiration and respect. He gently set down the fabric on the counter, recognizing the rarity and significance of such a material. The air in the strange shop crackled with an unspoken understanding between the two, leaving the Weasleys and Daemon on the outskirts of a mysterious exchange that hinted at a deeper connection between Harry Obsidian and the enigmatic shopkeeper.
"It is a cloak, actually. I have large holes on the sleeves, and the trimming needs to be redone. You should be able to get all needed materials with ease. Owl me if any problems occur," Harry stated calmly, the man nodding as he examined the damaged garment. His eyes ran once up and down Harry.
"Ah, no offense, child. But owls are not keen to help my kind," he mumbled back, slightly embarrassed.
Harry couldn't help but smirk at the confession. "There is a woman in this alley that goes by the name of Carpatha. She will be able to assist you. Tell her I sent you—for her, my name is Obsidian, Harry Obsidian," he replied, raising the hood of the black cloak and slipping out of the door. Once outside, he spun, wand raised, and seemed to look directly at the Weasleys, who had frozen behind a few clothing racks. Even Daemon had stilled, not daring to breathe, as Harry's gaze appeared to lock onto him.
The alley buzzed with an otherworldly energy, secrets hidden within its shadows now intertwined with the mysterious exchange between Harry and the tailor. The Weasleys and Daemon, caught in the crosscurrents of magic and intrigue, felt the weight of the unknown pressing upon them as they continued to observe the enigmatic Slytherin First Year.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Obsidian?" Kacel inquired, his flawless skin observing silently, his nostrils flared. Harry shook his head, and Kacel smirked once more, this time revealing long canine teeth—fangs. Luckily, Daemon was smart enough not to gasp.
"Not at all, Kacel. Farewell," Harry nodded, gracefully moving out onto the street. He immediately took a left down an alley. This time, the boys didn't even attempt to follow.
"Merlin! I thought he saw you, Daemon!" Ron gulped, his eyes wide as he scanned his friend. Fred and George looked around with interest, drawing a few hisses from passing women and glares from men.
"Looks like we aren't welcome here, Ronnikins. Best be on our way, Daemon," Fred declared, and the four boys practically dashed towards Diagon Alley. The air around them seemed to release the tension that had built up in Knockturn Alley, and the familiar magical ambiance of Diagon Alley greeted them as they retreated from the shadows. The enigma of Harry Obsidian, the mysterious tailor, and the secrets that lurked within the darker corners of the magical world lingered in the air, leaving the Weasleys and Daemon with more questions than answers.
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