Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Harry Potter and the Halcyon Phantasmagoria ❯ Plans ( Chapter 3 )

AN : A few reviewers raised some pretty good points, so I just thought I'd answer them. If you guys would read the whole note, it'd be appreciated.

 

Gah : You brought up some pretty good points. That `Hogwarts repells students during the summer' thing. It WAS kind of spur of the moment, so I'm planning on going back and editing it out when I update this.

As for the rest of your points, the Floo one is debatable. I mean, what if they just said that so as not to encourage Harry to leave that way? But, if not, good point. The Ministry of Magic…I believe they might make a few exceptions when it came to the Boy-Who-Lived. One example that comes to mind is third year, when Harry blew up his aunt. Nothing. Not even a slap on the wrist.

Of course, this could be argued that Fudge no longer likes him, and would not allow the wards any more. That's a bit of a flawed point. Look at it this way. Even if he's hoping Voldy isn't back, he still wouldn't be stupid enough to let the only thing that could beat him go unprotected. Fudge is a politician. You don't get up there without some brains, even if they might have dribbled out his ears a bit somewhere along the way.

The rest of your points were pretty good. I was just listing the major Harry Potter wards I knew. I'll edit out the Fidelus and Notice-Me-Not. Thanks.

And well, to mute a few more of the points…I DID say the wards were FALLING…

 

Bah (Who I secretly suspect is the same person, but don't really mind) : Er…If the `SR' thing bothers you so much, then I'll go back and edit it. But I think he did know about little Tom. Merope stopped giving him the love potion, right? She told him about her child, and all that, and he left her. Maybe he had to give his parents a explanation when he got home? Well, maybe not. Whatever. It's too little of a deal to make some big argument out of.

The Occlumency thing…you're completely and absolutely right. Wall=Occlumency is retarded. Which is why it's going to be much more complex than that. That was just the `simple' explanation Dumbledore gave Harry. Don't worry.

As for Voldemort…well, what do you think? He's an extremely Dark wizard, and maybe he knows a few shortcuts to muscle regeneration. Maybe he hooked himself up with some sort of natural regeneration a while back. Maybe that's just a bloop I'll also edit.

As for the `contacts' and `laser eye surgery' thing…this is for all the people who reviewed about it. Harry was just testing the Dursleys. He didn't get the contacts or the surgery. Still a glasses wearing hero.

 

For a few points that quite a few other readers pointed out…

 

This will NOT be a Harry/Harem. End of story. Get it out of your pervy minds.

There's a difference between having power, and controlling it. I brought up the finger immolating thing to show just how little control of it he has. Hell, he's terrified of it. He won't be getting that under reins for a long while. So, you don't need to worry about an overpowered Harry.

Luicus Malfoy was a bit random…I apologize. Sorry. But I needed to bring a conflict back, and he was the one I disliked the most. Sorry again.

 

I got a PM from a certain SeriousScribble that a lot of people at a site called Darklordpotter net are watching this fic…I got curious enough to look at the thread. I saw a couple of their points as well.

 

E1wasf : The wards were FALLING. Which was why they were able to track him there with the arrow. BTW, thanks for posting my story.

 

Sesc(Or SeriousScribble) : Yeah, that's kind of what I was inferring. Other than the aura, fire, and bird form, they're magic-less. Not to downplay those, of course. And if he' s swearing a lot, then, I could go back and cut a few of those, if that bothers you so terribly. I personally thought I was laying it on a little heavy, too.

 

Kensington : `sighs heavily' I didn't mean it as comically, I just put a little humor in there to relieve tension. They're a highly trained intelligence gathering squad. It's very serious. VERY dramatic. Or will be. Fufufufufu…

 

Nuhuh, Or Wash the Nailfiler : You seem to not like my writing style, setup, word choice, organization…hell, you seem to hate my story. But the point I thought made you sound like a complete retard was when you bitched about it being too dramatic for your tastes.

Okay, Wash, let's play a game. You look at the space right next to `Genre' on the description. Then you read to me what it says. Adventure/DRAMA. What you're moaning about is about a drama fic being too dramatic. That's like a guy complaining that he got poked after grabbing a barb wire fence.

And for the rest…well, I will dispense to you a very common piece of advice, which no one ever seems to listen to.

If you don't like it, then don't. Fucking. Read it. I failed to see a single piece of advice in that whole, long, pointless tantrum you left on the thread. I wouldn't mind the criticism if it was constructive, but what you did was the same thing a Ginny fanboy does when he sees a non-Harry/Ginny fic; you threw a screaming hissy. Give me some advice on improving it, or don't bother. I'm not going to tell this to anyone else, either, so I hope the bold attracted some readers to this reply.

 

Tinn Tam : Yes, to most of your points. I DO need a Beta. I DO delight in writing flowery sentences. If it seems overly wordy, then I'll work to make my words not as much of a mouthful.

I guess I`m also sort of gay for commas. Honestly, I've heard it before. Once again, Beta, anyone, please? Tinn Tam, you offering?

 

Well, that's all the responses I thought to answer, ignoring only the ones too small or just reiterating the points of others. Onwards to the chapter!

 

 

Harry Potter and the Halcyon Phantasmagoria

Chapter 3

 

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably, as Stan finished tying the second knot, made out of torn up sheets from the beds, around his fingers. It didn't hurt, so much as pinch.

 

It had taken them a good couple of hours to get to the nearest airport. Harry, for once, had had a bit of silence, seeing as Stan had gone from fearfully respectful to just plain fearful of Harry, with the Wiltshire Episode fresh in his mind. Harry did not have to put up with any annoying chitchat from him, a small mercy.

 

Harry had taken the hours to contemplate his plan. Or lack of one.

 

Do I even have a plan? Sort of. Bits and pieces of one. Get out of the country seems like the main one, right now. Harry frowned. Other than that…I haven't completed school. I only have four years of Hogwarts under my belt. The money's not going to last long. Is the trust vault all my parents left me? It's only about a year's worth of money. You'd think that with all the praises Dumbledore and Hagrid and McGonnagall sang about them, they'd be pretty, I don't know, rich, but they were actually just pretty normal people. A good bit better off than most normal people, but not mind-bendingly wealthy.

 

Dumbledore. That brought up another subject Harry had been avoiding. He cringed slightly. What's the Headmaster going to think of me now? I mean, if I had just stayed and waited for him, he probably would have understood. I was getting raped, for Merlin's sake! I killed Aunt Petunia in self-defense, hell, I don't even know how I killed her! But I ran. Only guilty people run. I bet he thinks I'm a murderer, now. I'm so stupid…

 

…but I can't dwell on that now. First things first, get on a plane. Try to think up some way to explain. Try to do…do something about this bizarre disease or curse that's been put upon me. One step at a time.

 

Stan finished, and leaned back, eyeing Harry a bit warily. Harry flexed his hands, and nodded. He picked up the owl cage, which he had covered with a sheet so as to be less noticeable.

 

“Thanks, Stan. I appreciate this, I mean it.” Harry told the bus driver sincerely.

 

All he got was a hunted look, and a glance towards the door. “Will there be anything else, Mr.Potter?” He asked, a bit hoarsely, not staring anywhere but ahead..

 

Harry sighed. This curse thing sucked. Badly.

 

“Yeah.” Harry replied softly, and a bit sadly. He pointed his free arm at the bus driver. “Obliviate.”

 

A silver flash issued out of the sleeve of his coat. Stan's eyes rolled up in the back of his head, and he slumped against the wheel, unconscious as Lockhart had been in the Chamber. Harry bit his lip in frustration.

 

“Sorry. I owe you a hundred Galleons.” Harry muttered, opening the door and letting himself out, leaving the man slumped over the driving wheel.

 

He stepped out onto the pavement, glancing around nervously.

 

There were Muggles everywhere. Loading trolleys, talking to bellhops, pulling various pieces of luggage. Harry looked down once, and after determining he didn't look terribly out of place, in his black coat and jeans, even though he may have looked a tad haggard around the eyes, considering it had been quite the long, stress filled day for him.

 

As long as the cloth bandages strapping his wand and Stan's wand to both of his arms held, he was set to go. They had been a rather inspired improvisation, in his personal opinion. He didn't want to muck with his hands any more than he had to.

 

This was the reason he jumped nearly a foot in the air, when a voice came in his ear.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Harry whirled around, his eyes wide and frantic.

 

He blinked, when he found not Death Eaters, fearful men or lustful women, but simply one plain blonde woman, who was blinking in surprise at his jumpiness.

 

Well, plain was a very poor description, to be fair. The woman was utterly gorgeous, an athletic yet lush body, with large doe-brown eyes and a slow, sultry Texas drawl. But that was it; just a very pretty girl, not acting in the least bit strange towards him.

 

“Y-Yes?” He stammered, still slightly bewildered by this woman. He could see the men around him glancing his way fearfully, and women hungrily, but this one female seemed completely normal.

 

“Well, I was wonderin' if you could help me and my girlfriends through the checkpoint. I know you speak the same language'n all, but sometimes you guys are just kinda hard to understand.” She drawled lazily, her eyes completely free of any heat or malice. She was just a woman asking a favor.

 

Harry blinked. “Er-well, I-“

 

“Christie!” A voice shouted from behind Harry. The accent was distinctly American.

 

Harry craned his neck to see three other girls trotting over. One was a tall, willowy raven-haired woman with her nose in a brochure, the other an exuberant pale skinned red-head who was trotting over, pulling along a suitcase by the wheels. A brunette trailed in back, wearing a fur-trimmed coat and looking decidedly snotty.

 

One other thing; they were all also completely knock-outs.

 

“Is this the guy? He's cute! Right, Vesna?” The red-head declared brightly.

 

Harry recoiled slightly from that. He waited tensely for some attempt at physical contact.

 

Which never came. She simply stood there, smiling brightly at him.

 

“I-I didn't agree to anything yet!” Harry stuttered. He was, for the most part, ignored by the four, something that was some mix of shocking, annoying and relieving.

 

“This von?” The fur-trimmed coat lady, Vesna's, apparently, voice was distinctly thick; something Slavic or Germanic. She sniffed. “He vill do, I suppose.”

 

“Hmm. Well, what do you think, Aveline?” The drawl addressed the tall, bookish girl, who jumped slightly at being addressed, before spots of color appeared in her cheeks.

 

“I-…” This accent was French. “I do not mind `im.” She replied meekly.

 

“Great!” said the red-head. She smiled at Harry, who was getting a tad dizzy from snapping his head back and forth to follow the conversation. “My name's Elizabeth; You can call me Lizzie!”

 

“Ho-Hold on, just one second!” Harry protested heatedly. They all turned to look at him, as if surprised he could even speak. “I never said I would do anything! And stop acting like I'm not even here!” He admonished them.

 

The red-head pouted, and hooked her arm around Harry's. “Aw, come on, ple-e-e-e-ase?” She batted her dark-green eyes, not too unlike Harry's own, shamelessly.

 

Harry began to jump back, shake loose, tell her down-

 

…and abruptly felt a rush of heat, like a warm breeze through his bones, pass over him. He almost immediately felt a small measure of calm. Why couldn't he do this? They were just asking for a translator. Besides, he had no idea how or where to buy a ticket in an airport. They could give him directions, advice, tips. And besides, it would be relief to have some pleasurable company instead of what he had been dealing with for the last twenty-four hours.

 

“A-All right.” Harry found himself agreeing. Elizabeth-or Lizzie-let go of his arm with a small cheer, and Harry felt slightly dizzy as the warm flush left his system, and a bit regretful for making such a snap decision. Well, I already told them I would, and there are some benefits to this. He mused, after a moment's thought.

 

“Thanks, stranger.” Christie drawled. There were murmurings of the same from the other two girls. Harry rubbed the back of his head with one bandaged palm.

 

“So, er-…where do you need me first?” He asked blearily. Lizzie very nearly squealed, and cuddled his arm a second time, bringing that strange rush of heat once more, and that small measure of calm and confidence.

 

“He's so cute! I love his accent, too!” She exclaimed, as she half-dragged, half-coaxed him through the doors to the airport.

 

None of them noticed the gaze of a single, normal looking man standing in the crowd, before he pressed a very special place on his forearm, shortly heading inside to tail them.

 

 

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, rubbing his temples while nursing a small glass of firewhiskey. He barely drank alcohol at all save at festivities such as the End of Year party for the professors, the Christmas feast (And only a single glass at that; it would not do to become utterly pissed in front of over a hundred impressionable young minds), and in very stressful situations.

 

This classified as one of the latter.

 

The whole situation was almost a complete disaster. Petunia Dursley's death had been rather gruesome; her face was nearly melted off, like Muggle plastic, and then they discovered that everything inside her head had been reduced to very fine ash, after Remus had commented that her cranium had felt a bit light and they had peeled it open to investigate.

 

Whatever had killed her had obviously been very Dark magic. Dumbledore doubted any normal spell could produce such a macabre effect. Dark magic, fueled by emotions of anger or hate or malice, was volatile and unpredictable in a way even he sometimes struggled to completely comprehend, despite a lifetime's worth of study.

 

And Harry was the only magical person in all of Privet Drive. Dumbledore had made quite sure of that. It wouldn't do for the boy to know that a few streets over, a girl and her brother, a normal pair of twins, had also discovered their potential, and had been shipped off to one of the other magical schools in Britain, their summer actually overlapping a few weeks of Harry's. Dumbledore didn't even recall her name, having moved the family by excuse of `winning' a new home just the previous year.

 

He had, as some form of penance, paid for it himself, a very nice house in the States, near one of the most prestigious schools the United States had to offer. It had taken quite the dip into his funds, depleting nearly half his quite full vault at Gringotts. Being Headmaster of the most famous school in Britain had it's perks, after all.

 

Harry, Harry, if only I could afford you companionship. The legendary wizard's eyes tightened sadly. But the risks are simply too great. You were, are our only hope, and you had to, have to remain untainted. As untainted as I can manage.

 

It was a difficult song he was forced to dance to; balancing Harry's childhood, growing up as normally as he possibly could to avoid bringing up another Tom, another Dark Lord, while keeping him safe from Voldemort. Dumbledore regretted the choice he made every time he looked at their young savior-to-be.

 

But now, it seemed he may have failed his task. Dumbledore could see no other path. Harry had killed Petunia using Dark magic. In vain, he had searched for motives, some reason other than the boy falling to his resentment and anger, some reason Harry may have murdered his Aunt other than the most dire one.

 

Could Tom have possessed him? No, he had triple checked the wards preventing spirits of any kind entering Little Whinging, that could not be. And most especially over that distance.

 

Could the curse scar be affecting him? The unwilling Horcrux, portion of the Dark Lord Voldemort's soul, be poisoning Harry's spirit, his mind, twisting it in terrible ways Dumbledore could not hope to fathom? If so, then the boy was an incredible actor; the Headmaster was not being arrogant when he called himself a good judge of character, and a master at reading people, not just through Legimency.

 

And he had always kept one eye on the boy. He assured Harry constantly that he was always open for talk, had the portraits of the school give reports to him every now and then on how the fledgling hero was faring. If Harry had been hearing voices inside his head, or felt sudden violent or dark moods, Dumbledore was fairly sure he would have told him. The boy had been thankfully forthcoming about the lightning bolt carved upon his brow, and several nightmares he occasionally had, but nothing he had not expected.

 

Then…what? What could have caused Harry to perform some powerful Dark spell Dumbledore was positive the boy didn't know (He had kept such texts and people who knew them far out of his reach, after all), and then cause him to run, without a word?

 

And there was no doubt of the spell's strength; oh, no. The whole house had reeked of Harry's magic, far more so than was normal, and the boy's room had felt as though a few Dark wizards had had an epic battle in it. The way the wards may have created a sort of greenhouse effect to the magic cast may have explained this, but it still did not explain how Harry would come upon any such spell of Dark origins, and perform it wandless to boot.

 

Vernon and Dudley had been incredibly hard to deal with. The elder had been screaming his head off about `freaks', and Dudley had been demanding to know where his mother was, so she could make lunch.

 

Unfortunately, this had forced Dumbledore to call in the Ministry Obliviators, since covering up a death like that in a person's mind was beyond Sirius's skill, which meant Cornelius had caught wind of it, and Dumbledore had had no choice but to explain the situation to him.

 

After about an hour long harangue about respecting governmental authority, Dumbledore was left to call up his contacts and spies to look for their runaway Boy-Who-Lived.

 

After this, Dumbledore had retreated to his office with the mug of firewhiskey. Had he said glass? He had meant mug. A very tall mug of strong firewhiskey.

 

Oh, my boy…why did you have to run? Why did you run? Fear? Anxiety? Or, as I fear, to escape me? Dumbledore peered into the crimson depths of his glass sadly. I knew the Dursley's were too much to handle. I should have listened to Minerva. I was a fool. I am a fool. An old, doddering fool…I suppose Tom must be right about some things…

 

About half of the glass remained, leaving the Headmaster's thoughts in a blissful buzz that he knew he would quite regret later. The magical world, for all of it's wonders, had yet to develop a perfect hangover cure.

 

Perhaps I shall set Severus upon that. Youngest Potions Master of the century, he should be able to whip up something to banish that headache like a pesky cobweb…but, no, I couldn't do such a thing. He hates it when I impose upon him, and he wouldn't let me live it down for years…

 

A sharp tapping interrupted his muddled thoughts, cutting through the haze like a knife.

Dumbledore twisted in his seat, and was shocked into action when he saw a quite familiar snowy-white owl scratching impatiently upon his window

 

He lurched from his seat, and his hands fumbled with the clasp of the glass for a moment, before the legendary wizard flung it open, rattling the casing with the force.

 

Hedwig flew a short distance to his desk, and held out her leg impatiently. Rather than trust his shaking hands, he drew his wand and preformed a quick cutting curse, slicing the ribbon neatly, even in his current state of mind.

 

He nearly tore the envelope apart, trying to bring the text to his vision, hoping for some explanation, some motive he had not thought of to rekindle his faith in the boy he so desperately wanted to believe in.

 

He slumped despondently as he read the perfectly normal letter.

 

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I'm afraid I have a problem. Ever since I got out of the hospital, and a little of the time in it, people around me have been acting weird. The blokes act like I'm some wrathful god of vengeance, and pissing me off means instant destructions, and all the women won't leave me alone! I need help. Do you think this is related somehow to the graveyard thing? You know, more accidental magic on my part? I've been keeping my temper, I haven't got angry once, and I haven't been feeling any extreme emotion. Do you have anything to make people leave me alone?

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

“My dear…” Dumbledore addressed the owl. “I shall assume Harry wrote this from Privet Drive?” He asked disappointedly.

Hedwig hooted an affirmative. Dumbledore sighed, and scanned over the letter once more.

It seemed that the boy was becoming aware of his fame, or infamy, with the recent Daily Prophet articles. Dumbledore was relieved to hear the boy keeping his temper, since he still hadn't discovered the cause of the strange fire Harry had seemingly been able to summon, to save himself, and he was slightly worried that the boy might see through the deception he had played at St.Mungo's. Harry was a bright boy, learnt quickly, and if he only applied himself, could likely become as powerful as Dumbledore himself. The way he managed to keep his above average grades while doing almost nothing but classwork proved this.

Harry taking awareness of the effects fame had on people made the constant gamble he was taking all the more risky. Because when one had such fame, it could be used to manipulate those around you ever so easily, as demonstrated by Gilderoy Lockhart. He would have to lecture the boy on keeping a level head and not becoming too arrogant once he found hi-

An iron cup on a rod on one of his shelves began spinning, creating a soft humming in the air. Dumbledore immediately summoned it so him, and watched quickly as the tracking charm, which leeched slightly off of Harry's magical core to run, did it's work, fiery words appearing on a plate slightly below the spinning noise-maker.

Dorset, England, Bournemouth Airport

Dumbledore nearly hit himself in his stupidity. Of course if Harry was seeking to run, he would use Muggle means! He had, after all, been raised by Muggles. Now, all he had to do was call up several Order members, and have them go retrieve him.

As if set off by these simple words, a short orb with a hole on it, not unlike a teakettle missing it's handle or lid, began whistling fiercely, a haunting gale, and Dumbledore did not need any words to know what that meant.

It was the Dark Mark proximity alarm. There were Death Eaters near Harry.

Dumbledore only tapped his wand on the silver phoenix necklace that hung around his neck all the quicker, before quickly grabbing Floo Powder and disappearing in a flash of green fire.

“Here, try these on!”

Harry blinked, and turned to the red-head scooting up next to him, holding out another pair of glasses. He scratched his head.

“Why? I mean, these glasses work fine.” Harry poked his round-rimmed spectacles to emphasize this point.

This was actually mostly a lie. His vision was blurry, ever so slightly, since he hadn't had a check-up in several years. But they had served Harry well through the years, and he was reluctant to let go of them.

Lizzie sighed dramatically. “But they're so boring! Just try these on, they used to be an old friend of mine's. Maybe it's better!” She pushed the pair of glasses forward a little more.

Harry plucked them out of her fingers and looked at them. They were different in style than his wide rims, being a little more curvish and oval, like the ones he saw on most adults these days.

Something on the end of one of them caught his eye. He squinted at the small sparkling thing, wedged at one of the ends, almost unnoticeable.

“Is that a…diamond?” he asked incredulously.

“What? Are you kidding?” Lizzie asked, in a disbelieving tone. “You think I would give away a diamond?” Her hand grasped his, gentle but strong, rushing his blood with heat. “Just try'em on. For me, `kay?” She asked brightly.

That makes sense, I guess. Harry mused. I mean, a diamond? It's probably just glitter or something. And maybe it is better than my old ones.

Harry slid his glasses off, and slid the new ones on.

For a second, his vision was even blurrier than before. Then, it got stronger, too strong, before it was suddenly perfect, bringing the world into perfect clarity. Well, that was queer. He thought. -but wow, what are the chances this friend of hers would have the exact same prescription as mine?

None. That sudden, cold epiphany struck him like a bucket of cold water. It was like his mind had focused straight with his vision. Something was definitely out of place.

For one, Vesna had introduced herself as a model, and introduced Elizabeth, Aveline and Christine as her friends who she had paid for to come with her. That meant she had traveled quite a bit, right? There was no reason for her friends or her to need someone with them to make sense of the British accent. She would be used to it, and besides, there would be people in the employment already capable of doing this!

And what were the chances of them being the only ones not affected, and everyone suddenly stopping acting weird as they walked him to their terminal? None at all.

This whole situation smelled wrong. Suddenly, Lizzie's curious eyes seemed all too sharp as they watched Harry from one side, just as Aveline did from the other side, peering at him from over her brochure while Vesna and Christie went to go and buy him a ticket.

“How are they?” asked `Lizzie'. Harry felt a cold sweat break out on his temple.

 

“Fine. I have to go to the loo.” Harry announced quickly, before standing up, and taking two steps to the right, the way he had came.

 

“Hey, wait!” She protested, grabbing his shoulder. Then, she stopped dead like a statue, her cheeks gaining an unnatural flush and her eyes locking on Harry's. Her hand tightened slowly on his shoulder as she licked her lips.

 

Aveline stood up fluidly, with a strange grace, and yanked her companion's hand from his shoulder. As soon as the red-head broke contact, she recoiled as if she had been slapped.

 

“There iz a bathroom over there.” Aveline informed him quickly, pointing just across the hall, where a `Men's' sign hung. There was no sign of the shyness she had shown before.

 

His thoughts were racing. I have no idea whether these women are dangerous or not. I have no idea of their power, or who they're working for. Or what they'll do if I try to run.

 

Harry, to his credit, only paused a moment, before nodding, and walking slowly over to the door, before letting himself in.

 

The loo was empty save for him, and a single man who walked slowly, as if in a daze, out the door. Harry ignored him, and leaned heavily on the sink, as he thought out his options.

 

Escape. I need to get away from these girls. They could be Death Eaters in disguise. Did I see any Dark Marks? A sleeveless shirt. Christie had been wearing a sleeveless tan shirt with a jean skirt. I'm nearly positive I didn't see one on her. Can you hide a Dark Mark? Probably, or all the Ministry would have had to do was check people's arms to find Death Eaters…Is there any way out of this bathroom other than the door?

 

Harry looked around. There were no windows. He saw an air vent, but Harry did not fancy himself some terribly athletic person. Not nearly enough to get up in there.

 

Even if they're not, I can't take that chance…Shit, I shouldn't have left my invisibility cloak at Privet Drive. In fact, even running in the first place was a stupid idea! I'm such a damned idiot! Harry took several more moments to berate himself, before taking several deep breaths, and setting himself on the task ahead.

 

Okay, Okay, focus. Eyes on the prize. Way to get away from them. Hungry? No, they can just come with me and say they are too. Thirst, the same. Harry binned that idea, remembering the vending machine not too far from where he had been sitting. Maybe a different flight from them…wait, where did they even say they were going? They didn't! They never said! They can just tell me they're going on the same flight as I am!

 

There was a thwack of wood on flesh as Harry's fist met the sink. Idiot! I am such a moron! I was too busy staring at their breasts and asses and bodies to notice what was coming out of their lips!

 

A sudden thought struck him, along with a wave of paranoia. Am I taking too long? Might they come in and get me if I do? He glanced at the door.

 

It was this paranoia that saved him, as a Death Eater walked in through said door.

 

 

“What is wrong with you, Elise!” Aveline hissed quietly in French, to the disguised Veela, who was still coiled up like a ball, staring at the door their target had disappeared through. “Grabbing him? Letting him see the inhibitor diamond I melted into the frame? You're going to spoil the mission!”

 

“Silence, Aveline!” Snapped Elise heatedly. “I am your captain, how dare you show me such disrespect!”

 

“Yes, you are my captain!” Avelina spat. “You are not supposed to touch him, supposed to enthrall him in such a manner! The Mistress wanted him untouched! You are supposed to be the person that Christiane and Veronique and I look up to as an example of perfect leadership, not a person who breaks the rules of capture!”

 

To this, the squad leader remained silent for a moment. Then, she shivered.

 

“You do not understand, Aveline. When I started this mission, I had wished…I had wished that if, perhaps, I imprinted myself, made myself remembered to this boy, perhaps when the Mistress takes him, she would perhaps let me have a turn.” The words came out in a rush, and Aveline gasped scandalously in response, as she had known he would. It was a most improper attempt at manipulating their Mistress.

 

Elise curled herself up tighter, shivering and sending a horribly longing glance at the door that Harry Potter had disappeared through. “I…we miscalculated. The inhibitor diamond was not enough. Usually, it simply binds the aura within the body, but…his aura, it is too strong. The diamond has only brought it to about skin level, and…intensified it.” She almost whimpered that last part. “It was…he was so strong, Aveline. It burned through my aura in a second. And then it…” A sharply drawn breath. “I have never felt such desire. Not ever. We have to get those glasses off. As soon as possible.” Elise replied flatly, her gaze locked onto the door.

 

Aveline opened her mouth, to reprimand, to scoff, to deny-

 

-…and felt her words clog in her throat, as she felt magic suddenly thicken the air. Elise felt it too, staring around, as Muggles suddenly lost coherency and started slowly getting up, and leaving the area, leaving baggage, jackets, valuables behind without a care.

 

“A Muggle-Barrier. And, if I'm not mistaken, a crude, but powerful anti-Apparation ward.” Elise worded out slowly, as if tasting the air. “But who?”

 

“But nothing. Get up. Stay with the crowd. Don't. Break. Cover.” Hissed Aveline, feeling none of the shame that should have come with ordering her own captain around like a fresh nestling.

 

“What about Veronique? And Christiane?” She asked, almost like a lost child, although following Aveline's orders, as they both stood and began to walk slowly and sedately out of the area.

 

“They know their jobs. Now shut up!” snapped Aveline quietly, suppressing the cold shock at the depth to which her captain had been shaken. Elise had always been the pillar of strength in the Doves, the cold flirt who used men without a care before discarding them like rotten garbage. But now…

 

She kept her gaze down, as black robed men swept past them, assuming that they were completely unnoticed due to the anti-Muggle ward now forcing them out. Elise was now almost shaking. She had lost her cool. The pillar was broken. And where there was an absence, there was always a need to fill it.

 

Well, the mission may be a failure, but at least we know who to tell the Mistress to ask when le Survivant goes missing. Aveline mused, as she gazed upon the impassive white metal masks of the Death Eaters, who were slowly moving towards the Men's Bathroom, wands drawn.

 

And perhaps, she might even help recommend a little change in authority in their little squad…

 

 

Harry threw himself back, one arm pointed, snarling. The red stunning curse sheared off several locks of his hair, and he landed on his back with a thump.

 

“Stupefy!” Harry cried.

 

Red bolts leapt from both of his sleeves, lighting the masked man up, as his back arched for a moment, before he crumpled to the ground.

 

Harry lay there, panting, for a single second, before he scrambled to his feet. Keeping both of his forearms leveled at the man, he slowly approached, kicking the man's wand into one of the stalls after a moment's thought.

 

Harry maneuvered his foot under the Death Eater's shoulder and pushed him over with a few choice kicks.

 

After another glance at the door, Harry knelt, and wiggled the metal mask off of his face.

 

It revealed an older man, with a trimmed goatee and rather severe eyebrows. No one Harry recognized, though he couldn't claim to recognize many.

 

He froze, and his head snapped to as the door creaked open. Another masked face poked it's way in, along with a wand at around waist level.

 

“Yaxley, do you-“ He stopped, and quickly flourished his wand at Harry. “Everbero!”

 

A purple hex whizzed past Harry's ear as he twisted violently to dodge. With a crash, it took a large chunk out of the wall, sending tiles flying. One sizable chip hit Harry in his arm, and another on his temple, sending Harry careening to the left, under one of the sinks.

 

The other Death Eater advanced, performing that violent twist with his wand once more. “Everbero!”

 

Harry pushed himself as far as he could from the wall using his legs, as the sink exploded in a spray of water and wood. One of the larger splinters jammed into his leg, and Harry let out a roar of pain, curling up in a ball instinctively.

 

“Everbero!”

 

The magical bludgeon rammed into Harry, blowing him across the small loo with the force of a sledgehammer. He slammed into the wall, and fell, spreadeagled on the floor, his vision filled with stars from the impact. He groaned, one hand rising to wipe feel a wet spot in his hair he was fairly certain was blood.

 

He saw dark boots obscure his vision, and a even darker voice fill his ears.

 

“The Dark Lord only wanted you alive. He was mute to as the condition you had to be in, however.” The voice was rather lazy, with an undercurrent of false cheer. “Crucio!”

 

Pain filled his body; pain became his entire world. He screamed himself hoarse as he felt a thousand hot knives stab him, and stab him again, and just keep stabbing…!

 

But more than that, pain became his focus, cleared the stars from his vision.

 

Harry locked onto the man's ankle with an iron grip, and glared up at the man with eyes rimmed red with pain and hate. “…Crucio.” Harry whispered.

 

The Unforgivable hit the man in the leg at point blank. He dropped to the floor, convulsing and howling in pain.

 

Unfortunately, this was right atop of Harry. But the pain was gone, and now they were on equal ground.

 

Harry fought like an alley cat; He kicked, punched, bit any part of the nameless Death Eater that he could, for as long as he could hold the Cruciatious Curse. Soon, however, he had let the curse go, and was simply pummeling the man in any way he could. Harry was pretty sure he got a few good kicks to the head and groin in.

 

The Death Eater, to his credit, recovered quickly. And due to his larger weight and strength, it was no surprise that Harry soon felt himself slammed against the wall by his coat lapels, a faceless mask so close he could almost taste the iron.

 

“…You…will regret that…little boy!” Hissed the Death Eater, in a voice thick with pain and rage.

 

Surprisingly, Harry felt no fear or anger or defiance at this. His hand moved, as if in slow motion, stopping calmly on the man's chest. It was almost gentle. He knew what he had to do. It was so simple, it was almost ironic.

 

“Listen closely, little Harry Potter…for I will-!”

 

“…Avada…Kedavra.” The words, so calm and sure, leaving his lips, like liquid platinum. Sounding so wrong, so out of place, like the destruction of a priceless masterpiece.

 

A green flash illuminated the depths of his coat sleeve, from the tip of his wand, issuing forth that so-familiar emerald bolt of death, entering the man's chest and ripping through whatever protections he may have had on his robes in complete whisper silence.

 

The grip on his coat loosened, before letting go completely, as the Death Eater slumped forward without a sound, sliding down Harry's torso cleanly. He actually knocked off Harry's glasses on the way down. He crumpled in a heap at his feet.

 

Harry stared down at the corpse, without a hint of emotion. I should feel something…right? I just killed him…with the Killing Curse. Unforgivable, right?

 

But there was no fear. No anger. No remorse. Just…sort of a feeling…a feeling of wrong-ness. That feeling seemed to hang in the air, like a heavy mist. It was easier, this time. Is it supposed to be easier? It is.

 

Harry, like a reflex, bent and pinched his glasses off of the floor, before settling them on his face. He stepped over the corpse, walking slowly but calmly out of the bathroom, his mind already having left the death behind.

 

Outside, he was confused to find positively no one there.

 

There was still the luggage and the bags, hell, even the tickets were still on the tables, but there was not a single person in sight. It was as if every single one of them had simply disappeared.

 

Harry looked around warily, expecting some sort of trap or ambush. He was not disappointed.

 

Slowly, as if in a rehearsed procession, Death Eaters appeared from both sides, in even lines, all wands drawn. Harry turned slowly, trying to keep them all in his sight, even though he knew it futile.

 

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Then-

 

“PROTEGO!” roared Harry, raising both his arms to bring two shimmering blue shields into place.

 

There were many other roars of spells from the Death Eaters, as well, as the bolts of light slammed into his shields. To Harry's credit, the shields actually lasted several seconds before giving way.

 

His left one was the first to go. Harry wasn't surprised, honestly, with it being Stan's wand and all.

 

Nearly a dozen curses slammed into his back. He saw the ground rushing to meet his vision.

 

And in the background, he could dimly hear a high pitched laugh, full of triumph.

 

 

Only two minutes later, Dumbledore rounded the corner with the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix at his back, all wands drawn and fully outfitted for magical battle.

 

All they found was Harry Potter's owl cage, sitting unattended next to one of the benches, and a crumpled piece of paper.

 

Said note, of course, sat on an overly elaborate silver pike driven into the ground, formed like a rising snake, with red eyes. The note lay in its fangs. Dumbledore sighed. Tom always had been rather blunt…

 

With a twitch of his fingers, the note flew from the snake's jaws. Several of the Order members, such as Remus and Sirius crowded around to get a better look.

 

They cringed in horror at what they saw. Some of them. Sirius let out a choked snarl, and Remus all but shook where he stood, looking fit to transform on the spot heedless of the fact that the full moon was over two weeks away.

 

Harry Potter is mine. Deliver the prophecy within two days, or I shall use my imagination to think up what to send you next. Portkey enclosed.

 

It was not the letter itself that scared them, despite the fact that the red ink it was written in was almost certainly blood.

 

No, it was the severed finger inside the paper that fueled their terror and rage.

 

Sirius let out a nigh animalistic roar of rage, before blasting one of the plastic chairs into slag. He didn't look inclined to stop any time soon, either. The other members wisely kept their mouth shut and stayed out of his line of fire.

 

Remus just slammed his fist into the wall, and leaned there, eyes tightly shut. He rather roughly knocked off the first consoling hand that tried to find it's way to his shoulder or back.

 

And Dumbledore? He simply pocketed the paper quietly, wrapping the finger delicately in it, wiping away the single silvery tear that streaked down his face.

 

“…so very crude…” He whispered, his blue eyes downcast. “…Harry, that I had even the arrogance to doubt you...forgive me...”

 

“…Dumbledore, sir…” Shacklebolt spoke up, his deep bass not quite as soothing as it usually was. “Orders?” He questioned, a tiny undercurrent of uneasiness in his voice.

 

Dumbledore hastily swiped his eyes. “…Of course, Kingsley. Arrange a meeting with the Minister, as soon as you possibly can. Tell him that it's a matter of extreme urgency, of…of…”

 

In his moment of complete defeat, words failed him. Dumbledore opened and closed his mouth, trying to deal with the sheer loss he had just suffered. The only thing he could possibly compare to this was the day he lost his dearest sister, Ariana, to his foolish ambition.

 

That could not happen again. Not again.

 

“Sir?” Kingsley queried after a moment's pause, quite unnerved by Dumbledore's own shock.

 

“…National security. Tell him it's a matter of national security.” No, that did not seem nearly strong enough. “Tell him his life and the life of every person in all of Europe, perhaps the world, hangs in the balance. Go, and tell him! Immediately!” Dumbledore snapped.

 

Shacklebolt nearly jumped, before Disapparating with a crack and haze of smoke. Dumbledore turned back, his eyes now glinting like two chips of hard blue steel. Had anyone seen them, they would have likely soiled themselves.

 

“Not again, Ariana. I will not let another innocent die because of my mistakes.” He said in a quiet voice. Quiet like the way that a tomb was quiet.

 

Dumbledore's hand almost unwillingly strayed to his wand, the wand that he was sure had killed her.

 

“Not again.”

 

 

Fin.

 

What can I say? Said most of it.

 

Once again, just going to put this out.

 

I Need. A. BETA READER!

 

Seriously.

 

Hope you enjoyed. Lots of badass!Harry, coming up next.