The Ever-Flowing Tide
A/N
Another chapter done and dusted as we now begin to slowly move towards the conclusion, though there is still a lot to happen.
Anyway, I have shifted the podcasts that are freely available to listen to on my page, so do check it out (Info on my profile).
TBR
This chapter is dedicated to John Hines. You support is much appreciated :)
It was late enough in the evening that the alley was almost empty. Only a few patrons of restaurants and the pubs in the area remained, and they paid him no mind as he made his way towards his destination.
The fallout thus far from the werewolf attack had been minimal, though, such bliss was not to last. Madame Bones had contacted him the next morning via Auror Tonks, informing him of the developments his excursion had unwittingly created.
According to the woman, he had killed perhaps the most prolific werewolf in recent memory and the public would demand he come forward, not only in Britain, but in many other European countries also. Any notion he had of remaining anonymous had been all but shattered.
The attention was not something he would relish, but the prospect of the sizable amount of gold heading his way was not something to turn his nose up at. He had never intended to begin filling his family coffers in such a way, but he was not going refuse when it was being offered so readily and for a deed he had done.
Those thoughts, however, were for another day. He needed to be sharp for the impending meeting and he patted his inside pocket to ensure the paperwork he had received from the head of the department of magical law enforcement was still there. Much hinged on what would happen next, and though he was not nervous about dealing with them, he felt unclean for doing so.
He pushed open the door to the offices of The Daily Prophet and spotted the very same secretary he had encountered the first time he had visited. She eyed him warily as he approached and he offered her a disarming smile, their previous conversation not having been so amicable.
"I have an appointment with Cuffe, he is expecting me," he informed her.
She tutted at him as she tapped the speaker system on her desk, her gaze never leaving him as she waited for her boss to respond.
"Mr Cuffe, Harry Potter is here to see you," she sighed.
"Ah, excellent, Janet, do send him up," he instructed.
"I suppose you remember your way?"
"I do, and thank you, Janet. It is always a pleasure to see you," he offered.
She scowled at him as he passed her by. Evidently, she was one to hold a grudge and his sarcasm was unlikely appreciated.
Still, he was not here to make pleasantries with the woman. He was here for something much more important and his thoughts turned to the task at hand.
Cuffe, to Harry's surprise, had immediately agreed to meet with him and had been more pleasant than expected given the circumstances of their previous meeting and how it had ended.
Perhaps he had learnt a lesson?
Harry was under no such illusion. People like Cuffe forgot lessons very quickly and soon reverted to the ways the were familiar with. He had no intention of threatening the man further but would do so if it became necessary.
"Mr Potter," the portly editor greeted him as he rounded the corner to his office. "It is nice to see you, please, come in and take a seat."
Harry did so, accepting the hand the man had offered and gave it a firm shake.
"Can I get you anything? Some refreshments perhaps?"
"No, thank you," he replied politely. "As I'm sure you understand, I'm here to discuss business."
Cuffe nodded as he took a seat behind his desk.
"I can assure you, Mr Potter, I have not rescinded on our ongoing deal. Rita has not written a thing."
"I know," Harry placated, "and I appreciate that, but this is something else."
Cuffe frowned.
"Then what is it about?"
"The truth," Harry answered simply. "The truth is being kept from everyone and they need to know."
Cuffe released a deep breath as he shook his head.
"You're referring to the rumours of the return of the Dark Lord," he stated.
"I am. I witnessed it, I fought him and as much as the Minister would like to, the statistics cannot be ignored."
"What statistics?" Cuffe questioned curiously.
Harry removed the wad of parchment concealed within his pocket and handed it to the man.
"These come from the most reliable source available, but her name is not to be printed. You're a smart man and can figure out who."
Cuffe's eyes widened as he took in the contents of the documents.
"And this is all real?"
Harry nodded severely.
"Every last bit," he confirmed. "As you can see, there is danger lurking out there and the public remains ignorant. This isn't about me or you but everyone else."
"Merlin," Cuffe gasped as he reached into his top drawer and removed a bottle of scotch. He poured himself a generous measure and swallowed it down, loosening his tie when he was done.
"How has this been kept hidden?"
"Fudge is doing all he can to make sure it is," Harry replied with a shrug. "There is something else too, another exclusive I will give you if you agree to help."
Cuffe shook his head.
"Fudge would ruin us. I can't print this, Potter, as much as I would like to."
"Fudge will do nothing," Harry countered. "He will be too preoccupied with saving his career."
Cuffe released a deep breath as he stared at him speculatively.
"I can't put my name on an article like that. I have a wife and kids at home…"
"Then you bring back your best reporter to do it," Harry urged. "Rita loves the controversy."
Cuffe chuckled.
"She would," he mused aloud before shaking his head once more. "I can't."
Harry huffed irritably.
"Bloody hell, Cuffe, grow a pair. This is a chance for you to print something that could help keep people alive. Fudge will not be in office forever, but the public will remember that it was you that gave them the information that was being held back by the buffoon."
The man poured himself another drink and gulped it down.
"This is a dangerous game you are playing, Potter. What is to stop me making this little meeting public?"
Harry chuckled.
"Because that's not the kind of person you are. You want to do this because underneath all your bluster, you're a decent person and know it is the right thing to do. What is stopping you?"
Cuffe deflated.
"The Ministry doesn't bother me, not really," he mumbled. "As I said, I have a wife and kids at home. I will not put them in danger. What if they come for me?"
Harry nodded his understanding.
"I respect that, I really do," he offered. "What if I was to ward your home for you? I can make it secure enough that not even a cursebreaker could get in."
Cuffe snorted.
"I do not need protecting. My home is sufficiently warded."
"Then why not print it?"
"Because that is admitting something is going on," Cuffe returned unhappily. "I lived through the last war, Potter. I lost loved ones because of it and do not wish to again."
"Listen, the war has already started and you trying to bury your head in the sand the same way Fudge is will not change that. People are dying," he added, gesturing towards the parchment the man held. "Wouldn't you want to know so you could prepare?"
Cuffe swallowed.
"I will not bury my head in the sand…"
"Because you're a better man than the Minister," Harry praised.
Cuffe offered him a half-smile and nodded hesitantly.
"I will make sure this is done, but I want Rita back."
"Consider it done."
"And I want an interview with you in the future," he demanded. "Whatever is going on, you're involved somehow."
"Fine," Harry agreed as he stood and approached the door.
"What about the exclusive?"
Harry offered the man a smirk.
"Fenrir Greyback is dead."
Cuffe's eyes bulged in their sockets.
"He's dead?" he whispered excitedly. "How did you come across this information?"
Amelia Bones had been very congratulatory of his achievement, and though she had been torn on how he had handled the situation, it was abundantly clear she felt a sense of relief.
Harry turned to face the man once more.
"Because I killed him myself, not that the public are to be made aware of it yet. It will happen when the time is right."
Cuffe coughed as he nodded and reached for a quill.
"I need details!" he sputtered.
"Page four of what I gave you. The unidentified werewolf is him."
The man rifled through the parchment until he came to the indicated page and his eyes trailed over the text. When he was done, his gaze flittered between what he held and the teen.
"He got what he deserved," he commented. "They will give you the Order of Merlin for that."
Harry shook his head, his thoughts far away from such an accolade.
"Remember, my name is not to be printed yet."
"It won't be," Cuffe assured him. "I'm sure you can see yourself out. I do have a lot of work to do, after all."
"Of course, and it was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Cuffe."
The man gave no reply, his quill already scratching away on a fresh piece of parchment and Harry took his leave from the offices, giving the secretary a respectful nod as he exited.
The meeting had gone as well as he could have expected. Soon, the Minister would find himself under scrutiny and not for the right reasons, but for the ones he sorely deserved.
(Break)
There was an undeniable shift in the mood of the castle this morning. The students, having been quelled by the presence of Dolores Umbridge over the past weeks were chattering amongst themselves in a mixture of excitable and nervous whispers.
He knew not what had caused this change, but for the first time since September, there was a semblance of normality about the Great Hall at breakfast time and it gave the headmaster an unexpected lift.
He despised how the once magical and happy atmosphere of the school had been reduced to one of misery, had been stamped out by a woman whom they had to endure.
It did not sit right with the man and he looked forward to the day she would be unceremoniously dragged from the castle, preferably by him. Such a thing was unlikely to be soon, but he would bide his time. The current state of affairs could not be ignored forever.
He shot a questioning look towards his deputy who holding up the morning edition of The Daily Prophet and his stomach sank. For months they had discredited him, had dragged his name through the mud and he could only wonder what else they could do to defame him.
"I don't suppose it is good news," he muttered as he took his seat and accepted the paper, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he began to read.
Fenrir Greyback Killed on British Soil: Minister Woes as Multiple Werewolf Attacks Exposed!
By Rita Skeeter
It is with a heavy heart that I return to my post as a journalist for our most revered tabloid but do so to deliver the truth to you, our loyal readers.
Unbeknownst to us, the wizarding public, our brave aurors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have been embroiled in a silent war against a pack of werewolves that arrived on our shores some weeks ago.
According to my very reliable source, there have been 23 attacks in the past month alone with a death toll exceeding 200. So, why have we not been informed of this present danger?
Some would say that because the victims have been mostly muggle, that it is not our concern, but they would be wrong. As part of the Statue of Secrecy, it is our responsibility to resolve issues where our muggle counterparts are attacked by magical creatures, whether it be as seemingly harmless as a bowtruckle or as dangerous as a dragon. With their current status, werewolves fall into this category. I ask again, why is this being ignored?
I spoke to Madame Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she had this to say.
" I can assure you and the wizarding public that this is not being ignored. We are doing all we can to tackle this issue and are working around the clock to bring these people to justice."
When pressed about the most recent attack in a village on the north of England, she was taken aback by my knowledge but confirmed what I had been told.
" There was an attack and, much to the relief of the residents, a wizard was in attendance to assist. During the ensuing moments before the Aurors and I arrived, several werewolves were apprehended, and I can confirm that Fenrir Greyback was killed. We would have preferred him alive, but we understand he was an exceedingly dangerous man, and one the wizarding world as a whole will not mourn. He was wanted in eleven countries for countless murders and we are grateful that he is no longer a threat to us or any other."
With the infamous Greyback dead, we can only hope these attacks will cease. When asked just who had managed such a feat, Madame Bones had this to add.
" I have identified the individual, and for now, they wish to remain anonymous, something I will respect until it becomes necessary to reveal them. All I will say is that we as a society owe them a great debt for what they have done."
When my time with Madame Bones was brought to an end, I could not help but wonder why dealing with a single pack of werewolves was proving to be so difficult. We faced a similar issue during the 1970's and it was dealt with swiftly, so why not now? Once again, I consulted my source and was shocked by what I learned.
According to them, the number of Aurors has been slashed by 60% since Cornelius Fudge took office and the yearly budget of the department by 70%. This alone begs an explanation from the Minister, who refused to comment, so I shall put the questions to him publicly; Why is arguably the most important department in the Ministry being so neglected? Where have the funds been placed?
As a fellow taxpayer, I believe that we, the wizarding public, are entitled to an answer and I eagerly await the words of our Minister on the matter.
What he had read was not what he had expected, and it raised numerous questions, all of he which he intended to have answered. For that, he may need to speak to Amelia to clarify his thoughts, though not before he held an order meeting. This was something that needed to be discussed with them.
He shifted his gaze towards Dolores Umbridge. She was quietly seething in her chair as pored over the article. That, he did expect. She had a rather unhealthy obsession with Cornelius and would not take kindly to the scathing article.
Allowing himself to indulge in a little self-satisfaction, his eyes roamed over the students within the hall, pausing on one who did not attend breakfast often. As they did so, Harry stood and offered him a knowing, short nod and many of his questions were answered with that simple gesture, though others remained.
Harry was the wizard mentioned in the paper, but how did that become so? Was he working with Amelia Bones or had he merely happened upon the scene?
Dumbledore shook his head at the ludicrous coincidence that would be. No, there was more to it than that, but would Amelia ally herself in that way despite her position.
The headmaster nodded thoughtfully.
Above all else, she was a caring woman and would not sit idly by whilst people suffered, though she was unlikely to admit that to him. They had never been at odds and she had never outright condemned the Order, but she had made her displeasure of them known during the first war before she had ascended to her position.
Whatever developments had occurred, the article could only prove to yield positive results. Cornelius would have to explain why the DMLE had been reduced and neglected under his leadership and would have to seek to make reparations. If he refused, his popularity would plummet and the wizarding public if deeply offended as Dumbledore expected, could well unite against him and insist upon his removal from office.
Regardless, the article would cause quite the stir and the Minister would have to act. As it was now public knowledge, it was not something he could sweep under the rug.
A slight smile pulled at his lips. If Cornelius were to be replaced there would be a large upheaval within the government, and if fortune favoured him, he would be rid of Dolores also.
With the smile still in place, he removed a phoenix pendant from within his robes and tapped it with his wand, setting up the meeting for that very evening.
After months, things were finally looking up.
(Break)
She awoke with a gasp, her chest heaving as she took in her surroundings, both relieved and feeling unsettled at being within her sister's home. How she had come to be here, she could not be certain. She remembered arriving at the village with the werewolves and everything that followed was vague.
She did, however, remember the pain, how it lanced though when she attempted to cast a spell. Instinctively, her hand trailed towards her stomach, that was free of thankfully free of it, but she could not help but wonder what the cause was.
She turned on her side and her breath hitched in her chest. On a bed next to her own, was the man that claimed to be her master, unconscious and unmoving. Taking in his waxen features and serpentine nose she shook her head. He no longer felt what he claimed to be, his presence only unsettling her further than filling her with delight as it once had.
No, something was very wrong, something was very different. She believed in him still, shared his vison of a world where those pure of blood would reign supreme but there were doubts that only grew stronger with each passing day. She could not shake them, and she didn't think she wanted to. She had always prided herself on her wit and intelligence and the latter was urging her elsewhere, a feeling she could not shift.
It was as though her own magic was telling her that she was in danger here, that she had done something that would see her end.
Her chest tightened at the thought.
As much as she prided herself on her intelligence, her sense of self-preservation was not something to be ignored. She would die here if she did not get out, of that she was certain.
Just what it was that would be her end, she knew not but it felt impending and inevitable.
Her breathing quickened once more as she felt the tips of the blades in the darkness press against her back. She needed to leave, to flee, but to where?
She wracked her brains for an answer, for a haven where she would not be found.
There was only one she could think of; an old family home she had visited once in Spain. She had to go there.
From what she had learnt, the Blacks had no lord, the last being her grandfather who had passed away before she had been captured. If that were so, she should be able to access the property and hide. The wards would keep her safe, but to live, she would need gold, something the family she had married into had plenty of.
Quietly, so not to wake the man seemingly slumbering on the adjacent bed, she left the room. She had much to do and knew not how much time she had to do it before he came for her.
(Break)
It was to excited whispering that Albus Dumbledore entered the kitchen of Grimmauld Place upon his arrival. Already here were Molly, Arthur and Bill Weasley, Sirius, the recently returned Remus Lupin and Mundungus Fletcher.
"Is it true, Albus? Is Greyback really dead?" Remus questioned before he could even take his seat.
"I have seen no evidence to the contrary, and if Amelia has confirmed it, then there is no reason we should not take her word for it."
The werewolf smiled, his features more relaxed than the headmaster had ever seen. Greyback had been the one to turn him as a boy and something he had never gotten over. Sirius patted him jubilantly on the back, pleased for his friend.
"Any idea who dunnit?" Mundungus broke in, ceasing his efforts to light his pipe.
"That is something I hope to clarify when Kingsley and Nymphadora arrive."
They did so only a few moments later along with Minerva, Severus and Alastor Moody who also wore a look of satisfaction. He had been one of the aurors tasked with hunting down Greyback many years ago and had ultimately come up short in his endeavours.
"Now that everyone is here, I believe we should begin by discussing the news that broke this morning. Kingsley, Nymphadora, do you have any insight for us?" Dumbledore questioned the two aurors.
"Not much, headmaster," Kingsley replied. "Amelia is keeping tight-lipped about what happened to Greyback, but I can confirm he is dead. I was one of the aurors on the scene after the attack."
Dumbledore nodded. It made sense that Amelia would not divulge much until she felt the time was right.
"Nymphadora?"
The pink-haired woman cringed at the use of her name and shrugged.
"She hasn't said anything to me, or anyone really."
"And has she done anything out of the ordinary recently? Has she met with anyone she wouldn't under normal circumstances?"
"You think she was in on this," Alastor accused, his paranoid mind leading him close to the mark.
"I believe she was aware of it," Dumbledore corrected.
Alastor nodded but was preventing from replying by Tonks who gasped in realisation.
"She did have me deliver a note to someone," she revealed nervously.
"To whom?" Moody asked.
Tonks shook her head.
"Sorry, Professor, she had me take it to Harry when he was at school. I snuck in to give it to him. I didn't expect anything like this."
Dumbledore held up a hand to placate those gathered around the table as they all began speaking at once.
"You were simply doing your job, Nymphadora and it only confirms what I believe Harry already did."
"You believe Potter is involved in this?" Moody snorted.
"I believe Harry is the wizard mentioned in the article," Dumbledore clarified.
He allowed them a moment to let the revelation set in and to vent what their initial feelings were about it. After a few moments, he held up his hands once more.
"You must be joking, Albus," Sirius denied. "How would Harry have known where to be?"
"Bones must have told him," Moody mused aloud. "It is the only thing that makes sense. That is if you're right," he added to Dumbledore.
Kingsley snorted.
"You expect us to believe that Potter killed Greyback and the other werewolves? Even us trained aurors would have struggled with what I saw."
Dumbledore released a deep breath.
"Harry is better prepared than I believed to deal with what is coming. Alastor, Minerva and Severus have all taught him the past five years and I had the misfortune of making a severe error where he is concerned. Needless to say, we came to blows and it is not a mistake I will make again," he assured them.
"You had a fight with Harry?" Sirius questioned before any other could speak.
"It was quite the spectacle and Harry bested me, despite giving it my all. He truly is an exceptional wizard and one you should not take lightly."
"What on earth provoked that? Why was I not told?" Minerva broke in irritably.
"The situation was entirely my fault," the headmaster admitted. "I made a poor decision and Harry showed me the error of my ways. We are on now better terms than ever; you can be sure of that."
Sirius chuckled and shook his head in disbelief.
"Harry beat you?"
"Too my own dismay, he did, but I am pleased. Had I have won, the mistake I made would have been considerably graver. That is all I will say on the matter. What is important is that a significant blow has been made against the Dark Lord."
Evidently, the members of the order had more questions, but they did not ask them once he had brought the topic to a close, not that he would have answered them. What had occurred between himself and Harry would stay that way, and he had no intention of breaking the teen's trust, not when things were tentative between the two.
"Is there anything else to report?"
"Only that all Ministry personnel have been banned from speaking to the media by Fudge," Tonks announced. "He's already trying to find a way to worm his way out of this."
"I fear that he will be unable to," Dumbledore replied. "I have today received no less than seven requests to call a meeting of the Wizengamot to discuss the article released. I will be answering them tomorrow for a meeting to take place next week."
"Will Fudge be kicked out?" Remus asked, hopefully.
"It is too early to tell what will happen. It is more likely that Lucius will find a way to spin this to look favourable, though I do not see how," Dumbledore answered thoughtfully. "I think Cornelius will have some explaining to do. What will happen next will be up to the Wizengamot to decide."
The members of the order muttered amongst themselves for a moment or so, none pleased by the prospect of the Minister retaining his post.
"For now, we can only see what happens, but I will of course keep you all updated and will now bring this meeting to an end. I can see that Sirius is itching to write to his godson."
"As am I," Remus declared as the group began to file out.
Albus watched them, his heart lighter than it had been in months.
With the sudden and unexpected developments over the past week, he finally felt that he could see a semblance of light at the end of the tunnel, and with Harry firmly on side, he believed that this war could be brought to an end before Tom could gain any momentum.
(Break)
With his NEWTs finally having been completed, Harry felt some of the burden he carried lifted from his shoulders and he planned to allow himself some respite over the weekend he was spending with the Delacours.
The exams went as well as could be expected for him and he anticipated that he would do well. He had managed to answer all the questions presented to him and had even completed all practical portions beyond what was expected. He had come away from his final efforts both pleased and exhausted, the assessments having lived up to their reputation.
Now, however, all he could do was wait for the results which would likely come shortly after Christmas. The papers needed to be graded and then, along with the notes on his practical work, had to be sent away to be ratified by the examinations board, something he wanted to put out of his mind until his results arrived.
This morning, he found himself seated at the kitchen table in the Delacour home drinking coffee and helping himself to the variety of pastries and continental meats that Apolline had provided.
It was these moments he enjoyed most where there were no expectations of him, where he was not tense, ready to strike out against an unseen foe and where he felt at ease. The Delacours could not have been more welcoming to him.
"What are the two of you planning for today?" Sebastien asked as he entered the room, his morning paper tucked under his arm.
"Well, 'Arry did promise 'e would 'elp me with my Patronus charm," Fleur answered, shooting him a questioning look.
He nodded. It was a promise had had made to her some time ago.
"You can cast it now, 'Arry?" the man asked, surprised.
"I can. All it took was a good enough memory to make it happen," he replied, a smile gracing his lips as he looked at the slightly flushed veela across the table from him.
"Say no more," Sebastien insisted, staring between the two, "I do not wish to…"
He paused as he unfurled the newspaper he had brought with him, the front page having caught his attention.
" Merde," he exclaimed, taking a seat.
" Papa? Is something wrong?" Gabrielle asked.
"Non, nothing is wrong. I am a little shocked and 'appy."
"About what?" Fleur piped up.
"Well, if the news it to be believed then Fenrir Greyback 'as been killed."
"Oui, 'e was killed in Britain almost a week ago," Fleur announced. "It was in the paper there."
Sebastien shook his head.
"Why did you not tell me?"
Fleur shrugged.
"I did not think you would be concerned about a werewolf being killed in England," she defended.
Sebastien sighed good-naturedly.
"My little flower, this is very big news. Fenrir Greyback was one of the most wanted wizards in all of Europe. Whoever it was who killed him will be an 'ero across the continent."
Harry's head thumped against the table as he cursed under his breath. Had he known his actions would have caused such an international stir, he may have reconsidered, though he was not to know. The only mention he had of Greyback before encountering him was a passing warning from Tom about how dangerous he was.
He was irritated but could hardly blame himself. It was not as though he was aware of the infamy of the werewolf and Greyback hadn't formally introduced himself. He had attacked, as was his nature and had finally met more than his match.
"Do you know something about this, 'Arry?" Fleur questioned, already suspecting the answer.
"I killed him," Harry huffed, his head still resting on the table.
"You did what?" Apolline gasped. "I think you need to explain."
He raised his before shaking it.
"I was in a meeting with Amelia Bones when she was notified of the attack," he began. "It's been happening for weeks and she explained they would be gone before she could arrive with the aurors. With a bit of prompting, she gave me the location and I went to help. I didn't know it would lead to all of this."
Sebastien released a deep breath.
"Well, they 'aven't mentioned you in the article," he offered comfortingly.
"Not yet," Harry sighed. "I agreed with Amelia that I would come forward when she needed me to. A part of me thinks she did this on purpose."
Sebastien grinned.
"You could always use it to your advantage. If you ever wanted to be a representative in the ICW, you've made a very good start."
Harry groaned and Fleur rubbed his back.
"Why did you not tell me?"
"It didn't seem important. I just thought I was helping out the muggles."
Sebastien laughed, eliciting a frown from the teen.
"Sorry, 'Arry, I just find it amusing that you 'ave spent your life trying to avoid your fame and now you 'ave only added to it. Almost every country in Europe will want to shower you with their gratitude."
"Bloody hell, I wish I hadn't have bothered now."
"Oh, 'Arry you silly boy," Apolline chided lightly as she stood and wrapped her arms around him. "I do not know whether to be angry or proud of you."
"It was a spur of the moment thing," he grumbled.
"I know but it could 'ave ended badly for you, non?" the older veela returned. "But it worked out for you this time. Do not make an 'abit of it."
"I won't," Harry assured her. "Do you think there's any chance I can get away with not saying anything?"
Sebastien shook his head.
"The truth will come out, 'Arry. It is better done on your terms," he advised. "You could use it to your advantage in some way, I'm sure."
Fleur offered him a smile of encouragement, though her eyes held a little sadness in them. Although she understood, she would never like the thought of what he had to do to have the freedom he sought.
"If it helps deal with Fudge, I suppose some good…will come of it."
He had paused, a deep frown marring his features as an almost foreign wave of magic washed over him and his eyes widened in recognition.
"'Arry, what is it?" Sebastien questioned, having not missed the change in his demeanour.
"There's somewhere I need to be," he announced. "It is nothing dangerous," he assured them as he stood. "I won't be long."
"Do you need me to come with you?" Fleur asked.
Harry shook his head.
"Not this time, it is family business," he explained, eliciting a frown from the girl who nodded after the realisation of what he meant set in.
"Family business?" Sebastien queried.
"Black Family business," Harry answered. "I'm sure Fleur can explain that to you."
He took his leave from the room and Sebastien turned towards his daughter.
"'Arry will be the next Lord Black," she revealed, "when 'e comes of age."
Sebastien snorted and offered her a sad smile.
" It seems no matter how hard he tries, he will always be in the limelight, non?"
Fleur nodded.
" Oui. I suppose the world will always want him in some way."
(Break)
She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the wards of her birth family wash over her. Here, she would be safe, and she needed that more than anything after the discovery she had made within the Lestrange vault.
The cup was missing, the very one her master had entrusted her with. She vividly remembered him explaining that is was amongst his most prized possessions and having placed it there personally. Gringotts had been the best place for it, or so she had thought.
She had been irate when the goblin had revealed that she herself had retrieved it only weeks prior, something she certainly had not done. She had been in Azkaban at the time and had not visited the alley since she had been freed. No, something else had happened, someone had tricked the crafty buggers into giving it to them, but who? And for what reason?
She shook her head as she removed the trunk she had filled with gold. Her husband would get quite the shock when he realised the family was now all but broke. They were not the richest wizarding family, but they certainly lived comfortably, and she had need of the wealth. When the Dark Lord discovered what had happened, he would come for her and she could only hope he would be unable to find her.
She took a seat on one of the sofas in the first parlour room. Life here would not be bad.
She remembered it well from when she had been a child and she had visited with her parents and sisters. Andi had not run away with the filthy mudblood and Cissy was still young enough to have her dreams before they would be torn away from her when it was announced she would marry Lucius. She could think of no other time she would like to relive, despite the unpleasantness of her father.
Life had not turned out the way she had hoped. She too had been married off to Rudolphus and she had lost who she was. It wasn't until the Dark Lord had come along that she found a purpose, found a man she could respect and one she shared the ideals of. As had been her luck, that too had gone up in flames and she had ended up in Azkaban. Now, she found herself fleeing from both the Ministry and her master.
Whatever was ailing her only added to her problems. She was sick, of that, she had no doubt. The pain she had felt when she cast the spell at the muggle was something she would never forget, and she did not even know what was wrong with her.
Much to her relief, she had not experienced such when she apparated to the alley nor when she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself when she snuck on to the muggle ferry but she could feel it within her, waiting to surface once more.
She placed her head in her hands and allowed herself to wallow in self-pity, but she would not cry. She had not done so since the night her father announced her betrothal and she would not now.
"Who's there?" she demanded as she heard movement coming from the adjoining room.
She stood with her wand in hand though it trembled in her unsteady grip.
"James?" she asked, confused by the appearance of her distant relative.
"No," the boy denied as he entered the room. "Now, drop your wand and take a seat."
It wasn't James but he certainly looked like him, though there were many differences when she looked beyond the first glance. This boy was too young to be him, perhaps eighteen at the most but he carried himself as one much older. He had the same hair, the same cheekbones but his eyes were not those of a Potter. These were an emerald green and there was something very familiar about him.
"I'm warning you," she said boldly, even if she didn't feel it.
He was unmoved by the threat and merely gestured for her to sit once more.
"I am not here to hurt you, but I will if you force me," he stated matter-of-factly. "So, take a seat and you will not be harmed."
There was something very unnerving about this boy, something callous with the way he spoke. He did not shout nor even raise his voice, but he did not need to. Almost instinctively, she lowered her wand and complied.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"My name is Harry Potter. James was my father and I will be the next head of the Black family when I come of age," he revealed.
Her eyes widened in recognition. She had heard that James had married and was having a child with the Evans girl. She hadn't paid it much thought, not until their son had arrived at the house.
"The next head of the family?"
He nodded.
"Sirius is my godfather and as he had no children of his own, I am the next in line, but that is not why I am here."
Her stomach sunk at the revelation. She and Sirius had always been at odds. He had despised their shared heritage and done all he could to escape the reputation of the family. They had even fought on opposing sides during the war and had crossed wands on more than one occasion.
"So, you're here to kill me," she accused, her grip tightening on her wand.
The boy snorted derisively.
"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be breathing now," he assured her. "No, I want you to live here and never return to Britain. I will kill you if you don't comply and you're going to help me."
She cackled at the hilarity of the threat. Did this boy truly believe he could defeat her?
"I will not help you," she denied.
An almost sinister smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You have already helped me more than you know, and you now find yourself in a position where I am the only one that can keep you safe. I imagine Voldemort will not be pleased when he finds out."
Her breathing stopped as she eyed the boy.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I mean when you gave me the cup that was in your vault. You saved me quite the trouble of having to break into it. For that, I am grateful," Harry offered with a slight bow.
"I did no such thing," she denied heatedly.
"Then how did it come into my possession?" he questioned. "I broke you out of Azkaban, you got it for me and now it has been destroyed."
Any rebuttal she had died on her tongue, the series of events sounding familiar.
"No," she whispered. "I don't remember that."
"Because I took the memory," Harry explained with a shrug. "I should have killed you that night. It would have made my life much easier but, you are family. It would have been wrong of me to do so."
"No," she denied once more, "I don't understand!"
"There is nothing for you to understand," Harry spat as he stood. "Your bastard master murdered my parents and has haunted me my whole life. I am going to kill him and that is all you need to know."
Bellatrix was taken aback by the venom in his voice but found herself laughing.
"Do you think that you can beat him?" she asked disbelievingly.
"I will beat him," Harry returned firmly, "and you had better hope I had because it is only me that can keep you safe from him. What do you think he is going to do when he realises you have gone? Who is the first person he will turn to?"
Her chest tightened as the realisation set in.
"Cissy," she gasped, eliciting a knowing nod from the boy.
"I doubt he will treat her kindly and even less so when he becomes aware of what you have done. Do you not think he will send Rudolphus or Rabastan to fetch it when he sees that you are gone?"
She looked at him, feeling the lack of warmth in his words and it angered.
"You did this on purpose!" she accused.
"I did," he confirmed unashamedly. "I needed you to understand that there is nothing I won't do to kill him. I used you to get the cup and now I am all you have. You played your part spectacularly, I must say."
"YOU FILTHY BASTARD," she screeched as she levelled her wand at him. "Crucio."
She screamed as the same pain she had already experienced brought her to her knees leaving her breathless and unable to move.
"That wasn't very nice," his muffled voice chided.
"What have you done to me?" she panted.
She almost felt the grin that adorned his features.
"I have made it so that you cannot harm any other, unless it is in self-defence. It is quite the ingenious ritual I found in the Black family grimoire."
She hissed in agony as she pushed herself to her knees.
"You did this?"
"I did," he answered.
"Bastard…Filthy half-blood," she seethed, her teeth clenched as she attempted to stave off the waves of pain.
He had the audacity to laugh at her and she wanted nothing more than to curse him.
"I find it rather amusing that you use my blood to insult me when you have followed another for most of your life. Your master is no more a pureblood than me, not that it makes any differences to the rest of your lot."
"My master is the heir of Slytherin…"
"And the son of a muggle father," Harry returned, "but let's not get caught up in blood purity. I find it quite a boring subject, especially when it means nothing. All that matters is that Voldemort will die by my hands and your fate depends completely on how much you help me. Either I win and you can live, or I die, and he will find you. Honestly, it makes no difference to me. I have tried to do what is right by your family and could just as easy kill you and be done with it."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because you can still be of use to me. If you tell me where the snake is and how to get to it, I will keep you safe from him. If you refuse, I may well just hand you over and explain exactly what you did."
Bellatrix pondered his words carefully knowing that there was little she could do. Her master would send one of the Lestrange's and it would not be difficult to ascertain that they had not touched it. She was the only other who had access and he would kill her even if she had given it up unwillingly.
"No, I won't help you," she growled, "not when Cissy will suffer because of what you have done."
The boy sighed and shook his head.
"The best I can promise her is a quick and painless death. I made a vow to Lucius that any with the Malfoy name will die. I will not go back on my word."
"Then you have nothing to offer me."
"I am offering you what remains of your pathetic life!"
"Then kill me," Bellatrix challenged. "I would rather die than be under your control."
Harry nodded.
"It's probably for the best," he mumbled as he flicked his wand into his hand. "Avada…"
"NO!" Bellatrix begged as the tip glowed an eerie green, "wait."
She had called his bluff and he had proven his tenacity. She had doubted he would do it and she did not want to die when she had barely lived and not when her sister was in danger.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
The boy snorted as he shook his head.
"This is not about you. This is about me and him, nothing more. As I said, you are a means to an end. Whether you live or die doesn't matter to me. If your life means anything to you, you will help me. All I want to know is how I get to his snake."
"Nagini?" she asked, wondering why the serpent was so important.
He nodded.
"He keeps her at Malfoy Manor, but you won't be able to get in, not without the mark. He set the ward up himself," she added smugly.
He was seemingly undisturbed by the revelation and merely grunted in response.
And what about him? Is he there?"
"Why don't you find out for yourself?" she bit back.
"I think I will, and I'll pass on my condolences to your sister for her impending death. I'm sure she will be pleased to know you're safe and well and will be more than happy to tell him where you are hiding. Maybe not happy with what he will do to her," he added. "Perhaps I'll drop the wards around here and make it easier for him."
Her eyes widened as he stood.
"No! Leave Cissy out of this!"
"Why would I do that? You've given me nothing and will only be a burden to me. If I let him kill you, it will solve that problem at least," Harry replied.
He exited the room and Bellatrix felt her world crashing around her. Cissy had never taken the mark, had never counted herself amongst his followers. She had been wed to a man that had done so, but she was innocent.
"YOU'RE JUST LIKE HIM!" she shouted.
He re-entered the room, his expression more severe than would have thought possible.
"You have no idea how alike we can be," he whispered dangerously, "but I can be very different also. I saved your life, did I not?"
"No, you have ruined it!"
He laughed and shook his head.
"I saved it," he reaffirmed. "If I had not done what I did, we would have met under very different circumstances and I would have killed you in a very unpleasant way. For now, you get to live and not be apart of the fight that is coming. That is a gift because I will win."
She felt the certainty in his words, and as she met his gaze, she knew he believed it himself.
"You can't beat him. You have no idea what he is capable of!"
"I know him better than any," he refuted, "and I will be the one to put an end to him with or without your help. If you help me, it will be done quicker, and I may even find enough kindness to spare your sister's life."
Bellatrix once more met his eyes and saw the truth in them. What choice did she have? If the Dark Lord were to discover where she was, he would find her and kill her along with her sister.
She despised the boy before her but knew he was her only chance and the only chance Cissy had. She had acted rashly, and he had planned meticulously. In truth, she had no choice and she knew it.
"If you promise to help her, I will give you all you need."
"Done," he agreed immediately.
He did not like the thought of going back on his word, but it meant more to him to kill Voldemort than it did to carry out a promise to Draco and Lucius. They would still meet their end and that was not something he would compromise on.
(Break)
He woke suddenly, the room he found himself within being one he had not seen in decades, though it was just as he remembered from the stained, damp walls to the itchy blankets pulled over him.
He frowned as he held his hands out in front of him; not the milky white ones he had become accustomed to but his own fifteen-year-old appendages, unblemished by the magic he had delved into.
He did not know what magic this, was but it felt real, his skin prickling as it had every time he had slept in this bed. The smell was there also, an unwelcome musty odour that lingered despite his best efforts.
Irritably he kicked off the sheets and took in the familiar sight out of the window. London was burning as it had many nights during the 1940's and he smiled. The muggles deserved what was happening to them. They were the cause of his misery so he would revel in theirs. Fair was fair, after all.
The smile, however, faded as a high-pitched whistle sounded and the building across the street was levelled by a German bomb. Instinctively, he reached for his wand, only to find it was not where he always kept it.
Panic began to set in as another building, perhaps the neighbouring one was reduced to timber and bricks.
"It's just a dream," he muttered, attempting to calm himself, though the pungent smell of sulphur said differently. "It's just a dream."
The world around him fell silent and he all but threw himself to the floor and rolled under the bed. The silence was the worst part of a raid. He had heard many people say that you do not hear the bomb that fell on you.
With that in mind, he closed his eyes tightly as he had done as a boy and his body trembled similarly. He hated the war, hated that he had to be here during the summer.
A sudden bang jolted him, and he hit his head on the metal frame of the bed.
Cursing, he felt something trickling down the nape of his neck and a stinging pain. If this was a dream, it was a horrible one. He felt the pain vividly and the blood that now coated his fingers where he had rubbed it was very real.
"Dreams can be very unpleasant things," a voice sounded.
Carefully, he peered from under the bed and saw a figure seated by the window in the rickety chair that had been placed under his desk. He recognised him, of course he did, he would never forget the boy.
"Potter!" he spat.
He smirked as he offered him a nod of greeting before turning his attention back to what was going on outside.
"I can imagine this wasn't very nice to experience. There's no shame in cowering under the bed as you are. I doubt there were few he did not."
"I am not cowering!" the Dark Lord denied.
"No, not yet you're not," Potter replied, meeting his gaze, "but you will."
Voldemort growled as he attempted to hurt his foe. He would not be belittled by the boy. However, his efforts were in vain as Potter simply laughed at him.
"If I had my wand…"
"Then you would kill me, yes, I know," Potter sighed. "You know, you're quite boring when I think about it, very one dimensional. Now, what I have done here is quite special. Here, you have fallen into my trap and it is my turn to make your life miserable for a while," he revealed as he drew his own wand.
Voldemort's eyes widened and he attempted to withdraw further under the bed.
" Crucio."
His body burned with agony. Wave after wave ploughed through him and he could not prevent the scream that escaped. It hurt more than he could ever have imagined, and he bit through his bottom as he tried to fend it off.
He could not be sure how long he was held under the curse, but when it was lifted, he could taste the iron that had filled his mouth and felt that his entire body had been engulfed in flames. He gasped for air as his limbs twitched uncontrollably and he held up a pleading hand.
"W-wait…"
" Crucio."
He screamed again as he was wracked with involuntary convulsions and his teeth cracked under the strain of his jaw. Once again, after an inordinate amount of time, he was released, and he found himself looking up at Potter from the floor.
"It's not very nice that one but I won't pretend I'm not enjoying myself," he mocked. "Those two were for my parents, and this one is for me."
He barely had time to brace himself before he found himself held under the curse once more. Desperately, he clawed at the wooden floor in search of relief, only to watch as his fingernails were pulled away under the force of his own grip. After a moment, blood began to pool around his hands as the spongey flesh continued to search for a hold.
After what felt an eternity, he slumped forward, spent from what he had endured.
"No, don't pass out on me now, Riddle, your journey is only just beginning," Potter declared, his voice muffled.
The crunching of bone sounded, and pain lanced up his arm, the adrenaline coursing through him pulling him back from the brink of unconsciousness.
He looked at his hand to see that it was now horribly bent and misshapen from where Potter had stamped on it.
"There's a good boy," Potter cooed, and the Dark Lord looked up at him with loathing.
"I'll kill you," he seethed.
"You will try," Potter conceded, "but you will fail. I may not be able to kill you here, but I will make your experience as miserable as you've made my life. Prepare yourself, Riddle, because this is only the beginning. When you eventually wake up, remember, your end will be much worse than this."
"WHAT IS THIS MAGIC?" the Dark Lord shouted, stilling Potter as he levelled his wand at him.
"This is some of the best the Blacks have to offer, and a little more of my own genius," the boy answered. "I knew you would figure there was something wrong with Bellatrix and your ego would not stop you from investigating, so, I created this little surprise for you. Now, do be quiet, there is much more for you to experience before we are done. How about we begin with my own childhood. You'll love my uncle Vernon."
The room faded and the Dark Lord found himself in an unfamiliar kitchen. Judging by how tall the cabinets were, he was now in a much younger body and could barely be older than four.
"There you are, boy," a voice addressed him, pulling him from his thoughts. "I told you I would beat the freakishness out of you this time."
Confusion plagued his mind as the enormous man descended on him, one he did not know. However, any protest he had died on his tongue as the buckle of the belt he swung thumped against his spine and he felt the skin on his back tear open.
In that moment, he did the only thing he could and screamed as the man continued to rain blows on him.