Make A Wish: The Legend of Mister Black

Original Story by Rorschach's Blot

Rewritten by CassieAsterisk

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any related properties. If I did, I like to think I'd be a bit more careful about what I say on social networks.

This is a REWRITE of the excellent story by Rorschach's Blot, readable right here on FFN. I started this as a bit of creative writing practice and found that I quite liked the result; so after asking the almighty Blot themselves for permission, I decided to cast my doggerel into the sea of the Internet for others to enjoy. If the Blot or others tell me I can no longer do so, then I shall stop.

That being said... enjoy!

Chapter 2: The Legend Begins

The general state of things outside Number Four, Privet Drive could charitably be described as 'complete gibbering pandaemonium', after the Dursleys- well fed at a London restaurant- arrived home with a glaring lack of nephew.

Within minutes of the Order member on 'Harry Duty' reporting this fact, Albus Dumbledore was at the house with several other Order members and wondering just what had happened to his young charge.

"The Dursleys say that he asked to be let out in the outskirts of London, sir," Hestia Jones reported. "Apparently just decided out of nowhere to up and run, and the bloody idiots let him!"

"Albus!" another voice yelled- that of Remus Lupin, who strode up to the Headmaster holding a strange brightly coloured pamphlet. "Found this in the car. It has Harry's scent all over it; I dare say he was reading it before he left."

"Thank you, Remus," the Headmaster said, taking the offered pamphlet and perusing it briefly. "I admit that I don't understand the relevance of this… but I do believe I know who may."

A turn and a crack later and Dumbledore was stood in front of a small suburban home in an upper-class section of Crawley. Striding up to the door, he rang the doorbell.

"Hello?" Emma Granger asked, blinking as she took in the sight of Dumbledore wearing his trademark, ridiculously lurid robes. "Can I help you?"

"Greetings," Dumbledore smiled as he took a short bow. "I am Albus Dumbledore; the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I apologise for the unannounced visit, but we are in need of your daughter's assistance in a rather serious matter and was wondering if I could speak with her?"

"Ah," Emma nodded. She'd heard from Hermione that Dumbledore, while an oddball, was a good and powerful man. If he was here, then it was indeed serious. "Please, come in. I'll fetch Hermione." She'd barely turned towards the stairs, however, when a voice called from their summit.

"Headmaster!" There stood Hermione, her mouth agape in shock. "But I only just sent you a letter a minute or two ago!"

"I have received no letter, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied, "this is merely fortuitous timing. May I ask the purpose of your missive?"

"I… I got this strange note from Harry earlier," Hermione explained, "and Hedwig is refusing to leave or take a reply to him. I was hoping you could check on him or something."

Dumbledore's face fell. "I fear I bring only ill tidings, then," he said, his voice low. "Harry did not come home with his aunt and uncle. He requested to be dropped off in the middle of London several hours ago, and has not been seen since."

"Oh, God," Hermione whispered. "You don't think-"

"He has not been captured by the forces of Voldemort," Dumbledore hurried to reassure, "or at least, I have no indication of such an occurrence. Alas, the only clue we have is this pamphlet that we believe he was perusing just beforehand." Dumbledore pulled from his robes the brightly coloured paper with Harry's scent.

"A pamphlet… Oh! Some charities were handing these out in the Muggle section of King's Cross earlier. I guess Harry's uncle took one," Hermione muttered, a sense of unease growing within her.

"Remus- your old Professor Lupin- seemed to believe that Harry was reading this quite intently, given the scent he left behind," Dumbledore explained. "Do you know of any reason or connection this might have to his disappearance?"

"Well, this charity in particular, the Make-A-Wish Foundation, is basically built around bringing happiness to terminally… ill… children…" Hermione trailed off as she made the horrible connection between this new information and the note she received earlier from Hedwig.

"Oh, no," she whispered as she paled. "No, no…"

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked, worry lining his face.

"Harry thinks… he must have learned something… that makes him believe he doesn't have long to live," Hermione babbled, trying to hold back tears. Dumbledore's eyes widened as he realized just where the boy might have gotten that notion, replaying the rather volatile conversation they'd had a few days prior.

"That would explain why he didn't return with his relatives," Dumbledore noted morosely. "Oh, Harry, I have failed you most grievously…"

"Please, Professor," Hermione begged. "Please help him."

"I assure you, Miss Granger, I will do all in my power to ensure his safe return," Dumbledore soothed. "Thank you for your aid thus far, and please do continue to let me know of any further developments. Good evening, Miss Granger."

A turn and a crack and Dumbledore disappeared once more, leaving a distraught girl to return to her bedroom where a note and a snowy owl waited. As tears fell freely from her eyes, she re-read the note for what felt like the thousandth time and hoped that she would be able to see him again.

Hermione,

I'm going somewhere nobody can follow for a while. Please, look after Hedwig for me while I'm gone. She just needs a perch and some fuss now and then.

I want to live before I die.

Harry

As Harry landed on his feet, his hand jumped to his wand out of reflex. He forced himself to relax as he realised that he was safe; in fact, he was in what looked like an airport customs desk.

"Welcome to Amsterdam, kid," the strangely uniformed man behind the desk said with a smile.

"Er, hello," he replied somewhat dumbly. "Amsterdam, you say?"

"Yes, sir," the clerk confirmed as he held out his hand. "If I may have your papers, please?"

"Ah, yes, one moment," Harry stalled as he realised with some concern that the travel agent hadn't mentioned any papers. Hopefully they're in the bag, or something, he thought worriedly.

"Take your time," the agent said patiently. Tourists- all the same, never prepared when they enter the country.

Reaching into his pack while desperately thinking of anything resembling identification papers, his hand brushed against something small and booklike with a leather binding. It wasn't his travel guide- that was in his back pocket- so he pulled it out, wondering what it was.

Before he could investigate, the agent reached over and took it.

"Thank you, sir," he said. Evidently it was the paperwork he required, Harry realised with a sigh of relief.

The clerk's eyes widened for a moment as he read the details within. This explained why the boy before him was so obviously stalling; if he had a name like that, he would be reluctant to show people too.

"Ah, I understand, Mister Black," he told Harry. "Rest assured nobody will think twice if you choose to go by only your last name here."

"Er… yeah," Harry replied, not having the foggiest idea what to say. Thankfully, the clerk simply stamped a couple pages and handed the booklet back to him.

"Uh, before I go," Harry asked, given the lack of any tourist information stands in the room. "Have you any recommendations for a place to stay the night?"

"Ah, yes," the clerk said. "Head outside and to the right, walk about two blocks and right again. Can't miss it."

"Thanks," Harry said, bidding the clerk a good day and walking outside onto the Amsterdam street. Before he did anything else, though, his curiosity demanded to know exactly what the clerk meant about his name; so he opened the identification booklet and flipped to the page with his details. Several seconds passed before he found the relevant details.

His name according to the ID papers was apparently "Padamus Da Grim Nomed Black". Harry resolved there and then that as soon as he saw fit to return to Diagon Alley, he would have a few words with the old man with an odd sense of humour and way more knowledge than he should have.

But that was for the future. For now, he had a hotel to find, and find it he did. Swiftly booking himself a room, he walked in and immediately faceplanted the soft bed intending on a nap, before remembering another oddly specific bit of advice the old shopkeep had given him.

Pulling the travel guide from his back pocket, Harry turned to the foreword, intending to see what the old man was trying to warn him of.

A Warning To Parents of Young Wizards and Witches:

It is a little known fact that the Trace- the tracking charm designed to ensure that the wands of underage magicals are not used irresponsibly outside of exclusively magical areas- is only effective within the borders of the country in which it was applied.

Harry applied palm to face as he realised that he hadn't spared a single thought for whether he could safely perform magic while outside the UK. Apparently, he groused to himself, living in the Wizarding World for six years wasn't enough to impress upon him the importance of the Statute of Secrecy.

For example, if a wand is Traced in Great Britain, then upon leaving the country, the wand in question will no longer be monitored and its user is free to cast spells with no fear of reprisal.

Further exacerbating the problem is the Ignotus Charm; a charm that removes all monitoring and locator charms from a chosen object, including the wand it is cast with.

If you are the parent of an underage magical, you can check your child's wand at regular intervals to ensure the wand has not been tampered with; however, take care that the child does not cast the Dolus Charm; a charm designed to retroactively render a wand or other object impervious to all known tracking charms and methods.

Please see below detailed incantation instructions for both charms. These are for informational purposes only and are not recommended for actual use.

Please also note that at the beginning of each country's section in this book, there is a short index of spells deemed illegal by that country. Again, this is for informational purposes only.

A smile spread across Harry's face as he realised why the shopkeep was so insistent he read this section before doing anything else. Barely a couple hours into his world tour, and things were already starting to look up for the Boy-Who-Lived. He quickly cast the two charms on his wand, himself, and all his possessions, before lying back on his bed with a contented sigh, closing his eyes for a few hours of naptime.

After all… even a socially-stunted kid who'd spent most of his life in an under-stairs cupboard knew that Amsterdam was best explored at night.

Hours later, Harry realised the error of his thinking as he walked through the Red Light District, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds, the smells, the people. His head was almost spinning off his shoulders as he learned more about the world in twenty minutes of walking than he had in his past sixteen years of life.

Especially when he dared to peek inside a window, and found himself thoroughly educated in matters of the human body and the contortions it was capable of.

With a face redder than the lights and a head full of experiences, Harry beat a hasty retreat back to the relative safety of his hotel room. Perhaps it was a bit too quick to dive headfirst into the nightlife of Amsterdam; maybe it was in fact better to start in daylight and ease oneself into the night.

It was with this new resolution that Harry awoke early the next morning, washing, dressing and strolling down to the hotel's lobby. There, he caught the eye of a pair of rather buxom blonde Swedish backpackers hanging around near the front desk.

"Good morning," he said courteously to the two women, who giggled in response.

"Hi," one of them replied. "First time in Amsterdam?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, wondering how they knew.

"Overwhelming, isn't it?" the other girl commented. "We've been here so many times, but it never gets any less exhilarating."

"You have experience with the city, then?" Harry questioned the buxom twosome, seizing the opportunity. "Where would you suggest a newcomer should start with it all?"

"Well, this time of the morning, the coffee shops are always a good bet," girl one said, finger on cheek.

"And the special brownies will be fresh out of the oven, too," girl too concurred, a grin on her face.

Harry nodded. "A cup of tea and something sweet would really hit the spot right about now, actually. Thanks for the tip, girls."

The two backpackers giggled again as they waved goodbye, and Harry walked out into the fresh morning air, taking a deep breath. Something unidentifiable was in the air, and Harry was curious as to what it was. Following his nose across the street, he found the source; a pleasant looking coffee shop.

Walking inside, he was greeted by a friendly looking barista.

"Morning, friend," the man said, waving gaily. "What can I get for ya?"

"I was advised that I should come here and try your baked goods," Harry explained. "And I do believe I smell some fresh out of the oven."

"Good nose, man," the barista laughed. "You want a drink, too?"

"Please," Harry nodded. "Tea if you have some, splash of milk."

"You got it, man," the barista confirmed. "Go take a seat, I'll bring them out to ya soon."

Harry chose a comfortable corner booth next to the window and began to relax, watching the world go by. He couldn't remember the last time he was able to just sit and enjoy a bit of quiet contemplation; after the harrowing year he'd had so far, he found he rather enjoyed the experience.

All too soon, his thoughts were interrupted by the clink of crockery hitting the table in front of him. A large mug of tea and a plate of delectable-looking brownies had been placed in front of him by the barista.

"Enjoy," the man smiled at Harry, winking knowingly before returning to the counter to serve another customer.

"Thanks," Harry replied, as he reached for one of the chocolatey treats, still warm from the oven. He immediately knew why the Swedish backpackers had recommended them; they were simply divine. Rich and sweet, with a hint of something herbal that he couldn't identify; Harry had barely washed down the first with a gulp of tea before he was reaching for the next.

A strange sort of calm settled over him as he ate; not quite a stupor, but something deeper, he mused. He felt… normal, for once; like he didn't have the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders. Like he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Chosen One, or anything the Daily Prophet had seen fit to label him in the past couple years. Here, in this cafe, he was Just Harry, and he found that he liked the feeling very much.

Several hours passed, and several cups of tea, before Harry decided that one could not live on baked goods and tea forever, no matter how good they tasted. Rising to his feet, he decided that some lunch was in order at the tasty looking restaurant he'd been staring at on the other side of the avenue.

Alas, it was not to be, for just as Harry took a seat and made to pick up a menu, the peace was shattered by four loud cracks. Looking outside, he expected to see the red robes of British Aurors, or perhaps one of Dumbedore's special (i.e. eye-melting) getups.

Unfortunately, what he saw were long black robes and an all-too-familiar skeletal white mask.

Before the first scream rang out, Harry was halfway to the kitchen, a plan already forming in his mind. Once there, he grabbed the arm of one of the kitchen staff working oblivious to the carnage about to unfold outside.

"Where do you keep your cooking oil?" he demanded, his voice oddly calm.

"What?" the chef blinked at the boy. "I-"

"No time," Harry yelled as a distant scream tore through the air. "Oil! Where?"

"O-over there," the cook babbled and pointed, not wanting to anger the strange man that had invaded the kitchen. Grabbing two large heavy bottles and casting a hasty weight reduction charm on them, he ran outside as quickly as he could.

Meantime, the Death Eaters had wands out, pointing at the Muggles in the street.

"Potter!" the leader called out loud and clear- probably using a Sonorus charm, Harry mused. "We know yer around here somewhere. Come out 'n' die, and nobody else needs to get hurt."

In lieu of a reply, Harry just frowned, and chucked the big bottles of oil into the air, before bursting them both with a Reductor Curse, showering the Death Eaters' vicinity with the slippery substance.

"There he is!" one of the Death Munchers yelled as he swiveled around to curse the boy along with his compatriots. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on the slick of oil at his feet, and the sudden movement made him spin, lose his balance, and hit the ground with a thud.

Harry watched impassively. At one time, he might have felt elation or mirth at the obvious incompetence of his opponents… but after the Department of Mysteries, all he felt now was grim satisfaction.

Before any of the skull-faced shitheads could react, Harry had sent a well placed Reductor at each, doing enough damage to at least keep them down, and slowly made his way to the one he assumed to be the leader- the one that had made the initial threat earlier. Any sign of movement was met with a stunner and a summoning charm on their wands.

After doing a quick headcount and ensuring each man's wand had been summoned and snapped, Harry reached down and lifted the leader's head off the ground. This one at least had the competence to have a shield up as the Reductor hit him in the face; still, it did plenty of impact damage to the bastard, knocking him out, cracking his mask and scorching his hood trim.

Ripping off the mask, Harry stared down at the man's unconscious face. He didn't recognise him- Voldemort had obviously been recruiting.

"Enervate," Harry intoned, restoring consciousness to the idiot. Before the Death Eater could make any threats, Harry grabbed him by the throat.

"What are you Shit Eaters doing in Holland?" he asked, voice cold.

"I ain't saying nothin'," the brutish lout growled. "I know my rights. You can't do nothin' to me."

"Not strictly true, I'm afraid," Harry smirked icily. "Despite what the Quibbler might say about me, I'm not a representative or employee of any governmental body."

"So?" the Dark bastard said, struggling to comprehend the long words the boy was using.

"So," Harry grinned mirthlessly, as he pressed his wand to the pinky finger of the criminal. "Until the local Aurors get here, I can do whatever I like to you."

Harry's bone breaking hex shattered the small bones of his finger, and as the Death Eater screamed in pain, he wondered who the hell this guy was. Most Aurors shot to stun; his interrogator, however, would have happily killed him with that earlier Reductor had he not been shielded. His blood ran cold as he recognised the look on the guy's face; it was the look of a man that knew there were worse things than death. It was a look that made him almost wish he'd let the Reducto go through.

Harry changed position slightly, placing his foot on the man's freshly mangled digit and ignoring the howls of pain it elicited. "Now, back to business. Are you going to talk to me, or do I have to crack a few more bones?"

"We- we were here to capture Harry Potter," the Death Eater cried. Harry hesitated for a moment, wondering why the man had referred to him in the third person, before realising that the S.E.P. field from his bracelet was most likely obscuring his identity. Another thing to thank that old man for, he supposed.

"How were you tracking him?" he ground out.

"Ch-ch-charm," the bastard gasped, "on something of his- I don't know what. P-please," the guy begged. Harry looked down upon his defeated foe in disgust and stunned him. Evidently he wasn't thorough enough with the Dolus Charm yesterday; a misstep he intended on fixing as soon as he got back to his hotel.

At least he had some insight on the current quality of Voldemort's forces- and he wasn't impressed.

"Staatstovenaars!" shouted a voice immediately amongst a chorus of pops. "Stay where you are. Put your wand on the ground and your hands up."

"I'd like to comply but I'm not certain all of these morons are unconscious," Harry said calmly, being careful not to make any sudden movement. "And I'd rather not put my wand within their reach."

An intimidating looking woman in tactical robes regarded him with an impassive glance. "Understandable. Hold your wand by the opposite end, hold it above your head, then walk towards me," she commanded.

Harry did so, and once close enough, allowed the Dutch witch to take his wand. "I don't suppose you'd believe that I had nothing to do with this?" he asked.

Silence was his only answer. He sighed. "Yeah, didn't think so."

Once he had been frisked and deemed no danger, the beautiful-yet-formidable witch allowed Harry to relax and lower his arms.

"Thank you for your cooperation so far, sir,' the officer said. "May I ask you to give me a statement of your version of events?"

"Uh, sure," Harry acquiesced. "Though, would you mind terribly if you took it while I got something to eat? I was just about to order lunch when all this went down."

The woman nodded. She herself had been pulled away from lunch by all this and could empathise. "As long as you're not with these idiots, I don't see why not. Just a few questions first so I can properly direct my squad."

"Sure," Harry nodded.

"Your name?" she asked first.

"Black. Just Mister Black," Harry explained. He didn't want to use his full fake name if he could help it; obscure as it was, if the Order caught wind of it they would probably get the reference. Plus… well, it was embarrassing.

"I'm Annie- Staatstovenaar Annie Van Der Mijer," she said, returning the favour. "Could you outline what happened here?"

"Well, I was just sitting down to eat in that restaurant there," he explained, pointing at the shopfront, "when I heard the sound of Apparition- you know, that pop that people make." Annie nodded.

"When I saw who exactly was dumb enough to Apparate into a crowded Muggle street, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed some cooking oil- that's the goop we're standing in right now- and broke it over their heads," Harry shrugged. "Once they lost their footing, a few Reductors kept them down and that's about it."

Annie, usually quite good at keeping her features schooled, couldn't help but raise her eyebrows. "Did you have any assistance?"

"No, but I don't think I needed it anyway," Harry said, not missing the shocked look on the Staatstovenaar's face. "I had the element of surprise and a bit of luck. Plus, these guys must be the worst Death Eaters Voldemort has to offer- definitely not inner or even outer circle."

"I… see," Annie muttered. "Any other points to add?"

"No, but if I could ask a favour?" asked Harry. "Before I, uh, incapacitated the leader, he mentioned using a tracking charm to find somebody," Harry conveniently left out how he came across such information. "I don't think it was me they're after but I also don't know the charm to detect such spells. Could you give me a once over to make sure?"

"Certainly," Annie said, as she raised her wand to perform the checks. A few complex wand movements later, she was done.

"There's definitely a tracker on you," Annie noted. "I've taken it off. Thankfully, I don't think it was a Death Eater job."

"What gives you that impression?" Harry asked, curious.

"It was amateur work," Annie shrugged. "Barely hanging onto you. Whoever placed it couldn't have been out of school long, if at all."

"Well, thanks for that," Harry grinned, relieved. "Probably just a prank or something. One can't be too careful, as I imagine you'd agree."

"Indeed," Annie nodded. "If you could stay put for a short while, I'm just going to confer with my colleagues and make sure everybody's story lines up. All being well, you'll get your wand back and can go find something to eat shortly."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Oh, one more thing before you go?"

"Yes?"

"Attacks like this, from Death Eaters… are they common in Holland?"

"No," Annie said with certainty. "This is probably only the second time we've had them cause trouble in the past twenty years. Usually they keep to themselves within British borders."

"Well, with any luck it'll be another twenty before the next one," Harry quipped.

"I'd rather not deal with another at all," Annie groused. "Anyway, bear with me while I pass this along to my colleagues and then we can get going."

"Righto," Harry said, as he planted himself on the curb and waited.

Favouring Harry with one last smile, Annie turned around and once again became Staatstovenaar Van Der Mijer, her face hardening and gaze sharpening.

"Report," she ordered as she rejoined her squad.

"All witnesses accounts agree on the general state of things," her second in command piped up. "Men in black robes Apparated onto the street and began yelling something in English before being engaged by our man Black. He came out of the cafe, covered them in oil, then used Reductors and stunners to neutralise them." The lawman shrugged. "All told, it was barely a fight. Over in less than a couple minutes."

"That matches what he told me," Van Der Mijer confirmed. I thought he was exaggerating at first, but if everything matches…" She exhaled heavily. "Whoever this guy is, he does not fuck around."

"So," she continued, whipping out her notebook. "We have a male of unknown nationality, unknown age, speaks perfect Dutch with traces of a Haarlem accent. He has some kind of magical effect on him that makes describing him difficult."

She took a pause before continuing. "He's friendly, cooperative, and by all accounts he defeated four Death Eaters- albeit new, unskilled recruits- before they could get off a single spell." She sighed. "Anyone have any idea just who we're dealing with here?"

"Whoever he is, he's good," one of the older, more scarred policemen muttered, biting his lip. "I know most of the Staatstovenaars in Holland and he isn't any of those. Perhaps one from overseas? One of the survivors from that war the British had?"

"No," another man interrupted. "I can count on a single hand the people that are good enough to do this kind of damage when outnumbered four to one, and most of them are missing so many body parts that not even Polyjuice could help them blend in."

"And the ones that aren't?" Van Der Mijer asked, never one to miss a weak spot in a statement.

"Are terminal cases of Cruciatus overexposure," the man replied, his face falling. Van Der Mijer couldn't help but feel sorry for whoever it was; the madness brought on by the Cruciatus was worse than death. "Whoever or whatever he is, I can't say."

Van Der Mijer nodded and paused for thought before looking up at her crew once more.

"I'll go talk to him some more," she said. "He's hungry, so I'll join him for lunch, get more info out of him. Hopefully he'll let something slip."

"Don't count on it, Annie," the older man said. "Men like him don't just slip up… because when they do, they die."

"Can't just wish me luck, huh, Wikus? You old pessimist," Annie quipped, lightly punching the scarred Staatstovenaar on the arm. He let out a hearty guffaw and returned the favour before returning to his duties, while Annie moved back over to her own charge.

"That was quicker than I thought," Harry said in greeting, standing up.

"Well, your story checks out," Annie said, and handed Harry's wand back to him handle first as one would a knife. Harry accepted it gratefully and stowed it in his wrist holster. "So, you want to go eat? I missed lunch too and I wouldn't mind talking some more with you."

"Sure," Harry said excitedly, happy to have made a new friend of sorts. "Any suggestions?"

"Magical or non?"

"Either works for me, as long as it tastes good and there's lots of it," Harry chirped. "I could eat an Erumpent."

Annie snorted. "Tell you what, then, let's head over to the Kalverstraat's magical section. There's all kind of stuff there- even a restaurant that claims to serve anything you could possibly think of."

"Oh, man, their menu must be interesting," Harry joked. "Is it close by?"

"Just around the corner."

"Then lead the way, my good Staatstovenaar," Harry laughed, eager to finally get some lunch.

Harry followed the Dutch officer through a short, but twisted, set of alleys; this, Annie explained, was the equivalent of Diagon Alley's brick wall portal, keeping the magical section of the Kalverstraat separate from the rest. Soon, they were in, and Annie led him to a cafe near to the entrance.

"Here we are," Annie announced. "Quite plain for a wizarding place, but their food is frankly phenomenal."

Indeed, the smells coming from the place made Harry salivate. "Excellent," he said in approval, "let's find a table."

After being shown to a table and given menus, Harry looked up at Annie sheepishly. "I admit, I'm not familiar with Dutch cuisine. Any recommendations?

"If you've not much experience, then I'd say… the zoervleis." Annie decided after a quick perusal. "It's the quintessential food of the Netherlands, in my humble opinion."

The two placed their order, and got some drinks in the meantime. While they waited, Annie pulled out her notebook, hungry for more information.

"So, Mister Black," she began. "You said those Death Eaters were new recruits, yes? What exactly gave you that idea?"

"Experience, unfortunately," Harry sighed, as he sipped at his drink. "I've faced a few of Voldemort's inner circle in the past, and none of them would have waited so long to throw curses."

"Really?" Annie gasped, writing furiously.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Most of the Dark Lord's flunkies are low grade thugs. Hell, even some of his inner circle tend to substitute sheer sadism for actual skill. The four I took down earlier didn't even reach that low standard."

"I see," Annie replied, her respect for the man growing with each morsel of information he let her have. "Do you believe we'll see more of them anytime soon?"

Not now you've taken that charm off me, Harry thought to himself. His expression, however, betrayed none of his inner monologue.

"Honestly, with how disorganised these idiots were, I'm not sure they were actually here on actual orders," Harry shrugged. "And if that's the case, they're not important enough for Voldie or his bootlickers to risk leaving the country for."

"Why do you think that?"

"They were looking for somebody, by the sound of it," Harry sat back, folding his arms. "And any sanctioned hunting party would have at least one mask of decent rank leading them. If the target was important enough, Voldie would send one of his inner circle to supervise…"

Harry trailed off as the waiter approached with their food, and waited to speak again until the man was out of earshot.

"Wow, this zoervleis is great," he said, happily chowing down on the beef and gravy covered fries. "Thanks for the recommendation. Where was I… ah, yes, the hunting parties. Yeah, the group we saw today was all brawn and no brain. If I had to guess, I reckon they were doing something on their own initiative in order to curry a bit of favour with Ol' Snakelips."

"I see," Annie said, and indeed she did see. Definitely a professional, she thought. Nobody else could take down four killers and speak about it so casually. "So about your spell choices… I note that you started out with some rather lethal spells and only switched to stunners after they were downed. What was your rationale there?"

"Ah," Harry replied, his face crestfallen. "Yes, my spell choice was a little extreme, I admit, but it was a lesson that I learned the hard way." He looked away from the woman, as if ashamed. "Stunners can be shielded against, and countered, but broken bones take your opponent down and will keep them there."

Annie had to agree. She'd almost lost a friend once because of this exact scenario, he chose to stun, was countered, and lost his leg in the reprisal. "I can understand that," she reassured. "Any other advice for dueling?"

"Evaluate your enemy based on fact, not reputation," Harry advised. "One of the big reasons the British MLE department is such a shambles is that they're so focused on the reputation of their foes, that they forget just how well trained and organised they themselves are."

"Really?" Annie gasped. Yes, criminals could have fearsome reputations indeed, but to let them run roughshod over the country merely based on hearsay was unconscionable!

"Yes," Harry stated simply. "Most of Voldemort's current forces are like the men we saw earlier; rank amateurs using their 'lord's' power to intimidate their victims into surrender without a fight. But by that same token, do not underestimate them either."

The tone of his voice shifted and his expression hardened, and Annie knew that he was speaking from hard experience now; he looked just like Wikus did when the old Staatstovenaar told some of his war stories.

"I said earlier that most of them liked to substitute sadism for skill… and sadism has a quality all its own," the man explained. "They can be unpredictable… tricky. Always take them seriously- no matter how crazy they seem- and when you take one down you need to make absolutely certain they're neutralised before you let your guard drop. I lost one good friend because he didn't heed that first warning, and I almost lost another because she forgot the second."

Annie was amazed at the sorrow in his eyes. It was almost as if he'd suffered these losses just yesterday; but surely that couldn't be right? Either way, the two sat in silence for a few moments, Annie not wanting to badger him with another question so soon.

"I… I'll keep all this in mind," she said, tremulously. "Thank you… for sharing this with me."

Harry looked up with a sad smile. "Nothing would please me more than to know that somebody actually learned something from my experiences," he said. "I suppose it allows me to pretend that some good came of it all..."

Unsure how she could respond to such a statement, Annie paused once more before changing tack.

"Going back to our earlier topic- as one professional to another, just in case this happens again… what would be your suggestion on dealing with any future Death Eater activity in Holland?"

"Review your prison security methods," Harry said almost immediately. "Despite what they would have you believe, Britain's magical prison- Azkaban- is not nearly as escape proof as you'd think."

"Oh?" Annie had heard of Azkaban, the inescapable island prison. The British Aurors were insufferable about its unbroken record whenever they came to the ICW.

"I know of at least two breakouts, and both of them were because the British Ministry trusted the prison to dark creatures," Harry explained. "Dementors, on top of being abhorrent things, are all too easily bribed."

"Much like their Minister, if rumour is to be believed," Annie joked. Harry laughed shortly; you have no idea, he thought.

Before Annie could ask another question, her eyes caught a nearby clock. "Merlin, is that the time? I have to get back and file my reports," she exclaimed.

"Yes, and I should probably get going. Plenty more of Holland to see, and only so long to do it," Harry agreed.

"Any plans in particular?" Annie asked, knowing that once she filed her report, Vermeer would be chomping at the bit for more investigation into the enigmatic Mister Black.

Harry rubbed his chin in contemplation, noting idly the short stubble gracing his face. "Well, I was thinking of visiting some of the museums- especially the art galleries- and perhaps a trip to the tulip fields," he explained. "After that, well, I'll probably get a portkey somewhere else."

"Mind leaving some contact details?" Annie asked. "I do believe the Hooft van der Staatstovenaars would want to meet with you- oh, not because you're in trouble or anything," she rushed to clarify as a look of panic shot across Harry's face, "just to get more advice from someone seriously experienced."

"I don't see why not," he admitted, as he grabbed a napkin and a pen, scribbling down his name and hotel number on it. "This is my hotel room while in Amsterdam. I'll be back probably around eight; between now and then I'll probably be visiting a museum nearby."

"That will be fine, I'm sure," Annie said, as Harry reached for his Gringotts pouch. "Oh, don't worry about the bill, please. The department will take this one; call it thanks for your service earlier."

Harry thanked the officer, and made to leave. Before he could, though, a call from behind him made him pause.

"Who are you, Mister Black? I mean, who are you really?" Annie asked, unable to let her curiosity remain unsated.

Harry turned his head to her and smiled sadly. "I'm just a guy on vacation, hoping to regain something I'd lost long ago."

"What is it?" Annie whispered, the sincerity of Harry's response touching her somehow.

"Life," Harry replied simply. "A life of experience and adventure, denied to me by fate and the plotting of old fools."

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