Sitra Ahra

Third Movement: Surth Lit the Earth

August 27, 1990

With the verbal exchanges over, the most powerful Light wizard in Britain, Albus Dumbledore, stared down Harry Potter, who by some unknown means had been possessed by the supposedly vanquished Lord Voldemort. With a hundred year chasm between the combatants, the future of the Wizarding world at stake, it was Dumbledore who cast the first spell.

Dumbledore led off with a lightning-quick, silent Expelliarmus. With unnatural speed, Harry dropped to the ground and rolled backwards, disappearing under the bed. He popped up on the other side, and banished the bed at Dumbledore.

All signs and limitations of age forgotten, Dumbledore jumped over the rapidly approaching bed, Harry’s Parseltongue chants ringing in his ears. The incantation died away as his boots hit the floor with a loud clack. He felt a huge surge of magic from the other side of the room, and hurricane force winds battered at him. The heavy winds picked him up and threw him against the wall, where he hit with a painful thud. He deduced his opponent had set up runic carvings across the room, activated by Parseltongue, as to not tip him off as to their effect, never intending to cross wands.

He brought up his wand just in time to swat away Harry’s two cutting curses, and jumped up off the bed as Harry began another Parseltongue incantation. He felt a slight magical disturbance on either side of him, followed by the faint aroma of ozone. With a quick wave of his wand, he peeled up the floorboards on either side of him, and turned the warped wood into copper on the down-swing.

A mighty crash echoed through the room as lightning erupted from either side of the room, striking Dumbledore’s makeshift shields with a violent flash, showering him with bright sparks. He squinted as minor spots danced across his vision, trying to compensate for his dilated pupils.

Harry quickly began spraying jets of oil at Dumbledore. He responded by jabbing his wand forward, and transfigured the oil into water. From that position, he swished his wand down, and snapped off a wordless silencing spell, followed by a stunner.

Harry spun around to the left of the silencer, then dropped to the ground to avoid the second crimson spell, all while chanting in Parseltongue. Dumbledore couldn’t help but marvel at the speed his adversary wielded. It was completely unnatural, which led him to the conclusion he was using some sort of speed-enhancing artifact. He quickly deduced a change of tactics was in order.   

“Solis exarsus!” Dumbledore yelled while slashing his wand vertically and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Harry let out an inarticulate cry of pain and rage as the “Solar Flare” spell burned his retinas, interrupting his current chant.

Eyes shut tight; Dumbledore heard the charged runes begin to emit a high pitched whine, indicating the Harry had gotten the activation off, but not the release. He conjured a physical shield seconds before another blast shook the room, as the overloaded runes detonated. Bits of wood and plaster bounced harmlessly off his shield, and he heard Harry start up another incantation.

He felt plaster dust enter into his lungs, eliciting a deep cough. Gasping for air, Dumbledore blindly cast a silencer at the direction of the chant, and heard it deflect off a shield. The spell interrupted Harry’s incantation, allowing Dumbledore the time to cast a few quick filtering charms. With his air intake free from particulate, he opened his eyes, to find small yellow dots dancing across his vision. Cold liquid stuck his body, and the thick stench of oil assaulted his nostrils.

Through the retreating yellow haze, he spied Harry blindly conjuring oil in every direction, thoroughly soaking the room. He transfigured the oil seeping into his clothes into water just as Harry finished the incantation.

A thick column of flame shot from the ceiling, igniting the large pool of oil on the floor. Dumbledore quickly began casting flame-freezing charms at the spreading column of fire, preventing the spread. Through the rising flames he saw Harry cast a healing spell upon his right eye, which negated the advantage Dumbledore currently held, but he needed to make sure the orphanage didn’t burn down.

The fire contained, he took aim with his wand, and began to vanish the oxygen fueling the flames. Within moments, the oxygen-deprived fires faded down to smolders, unable to sustain themselves. Harry took the opportunity, and flung an off-target blasting curse, which missed him and impacted into the wall behind him, blowing a hole into the hallway. However competent his opponent was, he was no Mad-Eye, and was not used to fighting with one eye. He smiled slightly, realizing that Harry’s aim was probably going to be horrible from now on, which called for another change in strategy.

With a wave of his wand, he began to banish large pieces of flaming wood at Harry, who dodged out of the way of the first two. The third piece struck Harry in the chest, knocking him backwards, into the opposite wall. Just as he thought, Harry, one eye still shut tight, was having trouble tracking the fast-moving projectiles. He began to banish another piece when he saw Harry’s open eye widen, at something behind him.

“What’s going on?” a small, timid voice asked from behind Dumbledore. He whirled around to see a slight little girl with blonde hair taking in the devastation of bedroom with a wide-eyed curiosity, through the large hole in the wall. He heard the slight movements of a wand slicing through the air behind him, and threw up a magical shield in front of the wall. Harry’s cutter bounced off the shield, mere feet from the girl’s neck.

A cold rage descended upon Dumbledore as he turned, and began to banish more debris at Harry, with a higher velocity than previous. Harry responded by immediately throwing up a physical shield, which the debris harmlessly impacted off of. Dumbledore realized he’d have to go harder than he wanted to on Harry, as he couldn’t risk innocent muggles being dragged into their conflict.

He brought his wand backwards, and levitated the bed. Harry only had time to widen his single eye as Dumbledore banished the bed at him. It struck his physical shield at high speeds, driving him into the wall with a loud crunch. The shield dropped away, and the bed collapsed on him, leaving a deep, boy-sized imprint in the sheetrock. Only his unmoving feet stuck out from under the lip of the upturned bed.

Satisfied, Dumbledore turned and surveyed the frightened looking girl.

“It’s okay, what’s your name, little girl?” Dumbledore asked, grandfatherly smile upon his face.

“Amanda,” the girl whispered in response.

“Well, Amanda, it’s very dangerous in this part of the house right now, so Harry and I are trying to fix this. Can you go tell your friends that it’s not safe here, and that they should go down to the first floor?”

The girl nodded once, before turning and bounding ungracefully down the hallway. He let out a sigh of relief at her departure, and cast a muggle-repelling charm on the hallway, to prevent any more curious parties.

He heard slight scuffling behind him, and whirled around quickly. Nothing seemed amiss, as Harry’s feet, clad in black sneakers, were still unmoving. He aimed his wand at the feet and cast a stunner, not wanting to take any chances. The red spell struck the shoes with a minor detonation, spraying wooded splinters, just as an arm snuck around the mattress and fired of a killing curse. He dove to the side, the sickly curse missing him by inches, Harry’s hastily transfigured foot trick almost successful.

He hit the ground ungracefully, feeling every bit his age, as the sound of Parseltongue struck his ears. He noticed the slight smell of ozone again as he jumped to his feet. With a deft movement, he jumped through the hole in the wall, as a solid column of lightning arced behind him with a deafening thunderclap.

He landed hard on the tiled hallway floor, and rolled to the side. He came out of the roll with wand raised, and cast a complex illusion of himself, sending it through the hole he had come from. He then turned to the bedroom door, and blasted it inwards, off its hinges. The door hit the ground with a mighty crash, just in time for him to see a green killing curse pass through his unfazed illusionary doppelganger.

Harry had only the time to register brief surprise upon his bloodied face, courtesy of his still dripping, smashed nose before Dumbledore banished the door at him. He deftly jumped over it, but Dumbledore summoned it back immediately. It crashed into the back of Harry’s calves, cutting out his legs from under him. He landed on his back with a crash, sending forth a bloody mist from his lips, causing Dumbledore to wince. He was hurting Harry’s body worse than intended.  

Harry, still on his back, began another Parseltongue activation. He rolled in the opposite direction of Dumbledore’s stunner, and completed the incantation. He felt thick waves of magic emanating from the ceiling, and mentally called out to his familiar. He heard Harry give out a cry of rage as Fawkes appeared next to him in a flash of flames, and teleported him out of the room just as many sharp spikes of ice descended from the ceiling.

He reappeared at the start of the hallway, far from Harry’s room at the end. He mentally thanked his familiar through their bond, which Fawkes responded to with a short burst of song. He cast a modified one-way muggle-repelling charm on the staircase, which would keep any more from ascending to this floor, but allowed for escape from the destruction and mayhem.

With the hallway secured, Dumbledore took off towards the other end, his familiar gracefully flying beside him, all traces of age forgotten. Due to the complexity of the attack, with each ice spike needing its own carving, Dumbledore was fairly sure that was meant to be Harry’s final runic attack. He was feeling rather good about the chances, now that his opponent’s main offensive weapon had depleted itself, and it seemed ill at ease using Harry’s magical core, with no access to the Dark spells Voldemort favored. Right before the door, he cast a magical shield, and walked into the room, shield held aloft. He slowed as he entered the room, and fear replaced his earlier resolve to strike down Harry, his earlier confidence evaporated.

The floor separating the two was completely shattered from the last runic attacks, like the surface of the moon after a meteor shower. Voldemort, wearing Harry’s body, stood against the far wall, a taunting smile upon his face. His arms were extended to either side of him, wands grasped tightly, both pointed slightly downwards. On the floor, in the direct trajectory of his aimed wands, were two children. At first glance they seemed dead, but a second revealed the engorged veins, which was a tell-tale sign that the Draught of Living Death had been employed. Dumbledore was fairly sure these were the two missing boys Mrs. Cole had spoken of.

“Dumbledore, I’m pleased to have you back.” Harry mockingly welcomed, blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth. He must have internal injuries from the banished bed, which caused him to wince mentally.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come back, and miss out such a unique chance to catch up with an old student?” he asked in a level, conversational tone.

“Yes, I suppose a scholar such as yourself would never pass up such an opportunity,” Harry answered.

“Yet, we have so much to catch up on, why bring two Muggles into our reunion?” Dumbledore questioned.

Harry let out a cold laugh. “I’ll give you points for demanding nothing of me, but as it stands, I’ll require something from you before freeing the muggle children. And yes, your assumptions are correct; I have not harmed them at all, but they have ingested some Draught of Living Death. I knew I shouldn’t have just left it on my desk.”

“What would you require of me, to let the muggles go?”

“Oh, a small gesture of goodwill.”

Harry paused long enough to throw an evil smile in his direction, before continuing.

“Just your wand.”

Dumbledore rather expected those terms, but had no intention of doing as he was asked. One doesn’t ascend to be such a respected wizard without having to make some tough decisions in their lifetime, a fact he was well-acquainted with. While his heart ached, in some situations reason must overrule emotion. If he parted with his wand, everyone died, and an incarnation of Voldemort had free reign.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Dumbledore answered, all traces of joviality gone from his voice. He contacted Fawkes through their bond, and told him to be ready.

When Harry replied, it was not with words. Two bright green curses erupted from his pointed wands, and Dumbledore sprang into action. He wordlessly summoned the boy on the right, while Fawkes intercepted the other killing curse, disintegrating in a flash of fire and feathers.

He began to slash his wand to the right to conjure a shield, but Harry’s Expelliarmus struck him in the chest, knocking him backwards slightly and sending his wand flying into the middle of the room. The spell didn’t delay him long, but enough for Harry to jump forward and snatch up his left hand, his spare wand already returned to his back pocket.

Dumbledore looked on helplessly at the young child raised his own wand against him, a look of satisfaction upon his face.

“I’m see you warmed up to my idea, and relinquished your wand, Dumbledore,” Harry stated, glee written across his features.

He remained silent to his adversary’s taunts, as he knew Voldemort could never be reasoned with.

“As much as I’d like to taunt you about being beat by a ten-year old, the Aurors and Obliviators are probably on their way, since I’m sure the perimeter runes for my magic suppressing field were destroyed during the fight. Farewell, Dumbledore.”

Time seemed to slow for Dumbledore, as he stared into the cold, dark eyes of the child that was supposed to save them from the Dark Lord. As green light began to gather at the tip of his own wand, he saw Harry’s eyes change from their dark green, to the bright green that Lily Potter had been so well-known for.  The green glow at the end of his wand faded, before it was lowered.

-

Harry, once again in control of his body, lowered the wand and tossed it to the old man, who was apparently called Dumbledore. He reached behind him and gathered the spare wand sticking out his back pocket, and threw both of the wands into hallway. All weapons accounted for; Harry raised his hands in the universal signal of surrender, which took a lot of effort on his behalf. His whole body hurt, it seemed like the asshole that possessed him had been really careless with his body.

More than anything, he wanted to fall down at this wonderful, strange man’s feet, for giving him a chance to escape his mental captivity, but he was painfully aware that time was short.  

“Dumbledore, I don’t have much time. I’ve taken back control, but he’s stronger than me,” Harry rapidly spoke. He noticed that despite the shock, Dumbledore’s face was filled with hope, and even more useful, comprehension.

He outstretched his left hand, which was bare to the naked eye.

“It did something to hide it, but there’s a ring on my left thumb. I think that’s what’s been possessing me.”

Dumbledore quickly pointed his wand at his left thumb, and started whispering unintelligible words. After several seconds, the cloaking disappeared, revealing the cursed gold ring. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Dumbledore upon seeing the ring. Much to Harry’s surprise, the old man seemed to recognize it.

Before he could react, he felt the presence take control. He fought back with all his might, but it was like holding back the tide. The feeling in his legs slipped away, and he clattered to the ground, his nerves dead to any impact with the floor. He tried to open his mouth to warn Dumbledore, but the presence completed its takeover, and he felt himself pushed back into his mind.

He was thrust back through the hole he had created in his Occlumency shields, landing awkwardly upon the grass. His childhood home loomed directly in front of him, about thirty feet away. The hungry sound of crackling flames tore his eyes from the house, to the breach in the shield. Green fire began to stream through, ignoring him. He watched helplessly as it advanced upon the house, torching everything that it touched. Within moments, the entire house had become a giant pyre.

Warm liquid formed at the corners of his eyes at his childhood home burned, but no tears actually fell. When he crossed through to regain control of his body, he knew this was going to happen, but it was a sacrifice he had to make if he were to have any chance to free himself. At least he had been afforded the time to take some precautionary measures.

He saw the green fire move away from the burning house, and rush towards him. The huge, fiery mass then began to contract into itself, shrinking in size until it was vaguely man-shaped. Without warning the flames disappeared, leaving behind a being humanoid in shape, but seemingly reptile in ancestry. It was tall and thin, with skin so pale it was almost white, in sharp contrast to the dark robes it wore. Its eyes were the color of blood, more akin to something out a nightmare. It didn’t really seem to have a nose, just flat slits that would be at home upon a snake.

Harry took an unconscious step backwards. When he had dreamed of confronting his captor, he had assumed a man of some sorts, whom he would vent his frustrations upon. This thing, whatever it was, scared the fucking shit out of him, and drained him of any bold thoughts he may have once entertained.

It sized him up for a second. Harry could almost feel the malevolent gaze crawling across his body. He saw it began to open its mouth, and began to involuntarily shiver. This thing looked like evil incarnate, and dread built within him at what venomous words it would spew forth.   

“I must admit, Harry, I am most impressed by your Occlumency shields. Weak things that they were, you must possess an almost unparalleled drive and determination if you’ve delved into the mental arts at such a young age,” he stated in a voice that was high and rasping, almost alien in its sound.  

The creature paused then, as if expecting a reply from Harry, who had none to give.  

“I, Lord Voldemort, value that type of person. I would be more than willing to spare you, as with time you could become a formidable ally, if you would supply me with the combination to the safe,” it said, eyes almost curious.

Once he had found out he was possessed, he had taken every single memory that resided within the house, and stored it within the large vault in the basement. He knew that someone had constructed it within his mind, but no longer knew whom. All memories prior to his arrival at the orphanage had been purged from mind. While he didn’t know what they were, he assumed the memories must have been fairly important, if he went to the trouble of hiding them.

Harry didn’t answer, which caused Voldemort’s face to darken.

“I need to know what happened that Halloween night, and how a mere child managed to defeat the greatest sorcerer who ever lived,” Voldemort spat, eyes awash with malice.

Harry had no intention of giving anything to this “Voldemort”. He failed to see why anyone would ever cooperate with this evil entity, regardless of how badly they may have been threatened.

“I don’t even know the code,” Harry whispered.

“What?” Voldemort questioned, his voice indicating massive pain to an unsatisfactory answer.

Harry swallowed deeply, before replying, “I locked the code inside.”

Voldemort focused his intense gaze upon his eyes after his admission, searching from some hint of a lie. His search was in vain, however, as Harry had indeed done just as he had said. He couldn’t risk anyone finding the code, and finding the knowledge contained within. Harry supposed that he must have had some sort of contingency before the purge, which would allowed him to access the code without his former memories.

He hoped.

Voldemort eventually came to the conclusion that he had told the truth.

“Well, Harry, it seems you threw away your only chance to save yourself,” Voldemort said, as his body began to disappear into a column of green flames.

He turned and ran, back towards the breach in his shields. He didn’t know what Dumbledore had been doing since he’d lost control, but had hoped he had found some way to separate him and the ring.

With the breach mere feet away, Harry felt the hot breath of fire upon the back of his neck. With a mighty heave, Harry jumped through the breach, and entered back into control of his body.

As his earthly senses returned, he saw Dumbledore pointing his wand at the ring, whispering. “Shit,” Harry thought, he probably hadn’t figured out how to remove it yet.

“Dumbledore!” Harry yelled, breaking him from his investigation.

The old man’s head immediately flew up in response.

“He’s coming, you’ve got to get rid of it, he broke through m….”

Harry’s last words trailed off into a scream as the flames caught up to his consciousness. A blinding agony wracked him as the green wrapped around him, consuming him.

-

The shock of seeing Tom Riddle’s ring, the same one he had stolen from his uncle, Morfin, hit Dumbledore like a bucket of cold water. It also provided the context he needed, bringing some sort of order to the situation. While he was curious as to how it exactly possessed him, and who sent it to him, other matters took clear precedence.

He glanced into Harry’s eyes, and while they retained their green vibrancy, they were dull, glazed over. With a heavy heart, he surmised that Voldemort must have pulled his consciousness back into his mind, but hadn’t bothered to come forth and take control. For whatever reason, Voldemort must have found that whatever resided in Harry’s mind to be of more urgent attention.

Dumbledore moved closer to Harry’s still, upright form, and pointed his wand at the ring upon Harry’s left thumb. He had to figure out what exactly the ring was before he could attempt to remove it from Harry’s hand. He sent a very thin, opaque blue ribbon of magic form his wand, which almost functioned as an extra appendage. It moved toward Harry’s hand, and he tried to snake it under Harry’s thumb. He felt the ring contract against the appendage, and immediately canceled the unique spell. The display suggested that the magic governing the ring was far stronger than anticipated, if it could change its shape.

This development worried Dumbledore deeply; as it was apparent this was no simple Dark Artifact. A Dark Artifact typically only had a single charm or spell cast upon it, as most inanimate objects had no active magic, and couldn’t handle the magical stress of multiple enchantments. Since it could change its shape, possess people, and contained very detailed memories of Voldemort, he could only deduce that the ring contained active magic.

Active magic was only present in Wizards, magical beings, and the soul itself. The ring clearly could not have been a magical being, even though it did possess the memories of Voldemort. Could Voldemort have imprinted his memories upon the ring? After a moment of thought, cold dread spread across his being, as an old memory surfaced from the depths of his mind, an incomplete one that he had coaxed from Horace Slughorn.

“Sir, do you know anything about Horcruxes?”

While he only had his direct observations to go on, based upon his knowledge of Horcruxes, he felt sure his hypothesis was correct. Voldemort had seemed to become less human as the years progressed, so it was more than conceivable that splitting one’s soul caused a degenerative condition where the Wizard who created the Horcrux would gradually transform from their human form into something evil. It made sense, as with all Dark Arts, there was always a price attached, which was usually proportional to the power granted.

Dumbledore let out a deep sigh of discontent. If it indeed was a Horcrux, as he now believed, then he was far out of his league. His knowledge of the evil artifacts was limited to the few books that mentioned the subject, which usually offered conflicting information. One of the few tidbits that seemed consistent with every book was that the Horcrux would be completely aware of its surroundings. Also, most of the books seemed to agree that since the soul contained active magic, many different charms and protections could be placed upon the ring, and could be activated by the consciousness inhabiting the ring at any time it wished.

This information suggested to Dumbledore that he wouldn’t be able to simply pry the ring off Harry’s finger. It had changed its shape when he had merely tried to move it. What would it be capable of if he tried to remove it?

With a heavy heart, he moved backwards out of the room, keeping a close on Harry, who still seemed to be comatose. He picked up the ash wand that Harry had flung into hallway, and returned to the room. Any alternative to the idea he had in mind was preferable, but he just didn’t want to risk the ring killing or permanently harming Harry if it sensed him trying to remove the ring. If Harry began to thrash, the severing charm he wanted to use may hit a vital organ. He resigned himself to the fact he may have to use an alternate method.

Dumbledore began whispering random snatches of incantations from traditionally Light-sided rituals, to see if any of them reacted with the ring, to give him a better idea what sort of protections were on the ring, and if he could disable any of them.

“Dumbledore!” Harry yelled, panic evident in his voice.

His investigations were broken by the sudden outburst from Harry, prompting him to level his wand at the child. He was relieved to note the eyes were still bright green, suggesting Harry was in control.

“He’s coming, you’ve got to get rid of it, he broke through m….”

Harry’s warning dissolved into a scream of agony, an anguished cry that penetrated him to his core. He dropped to the ground, and began to thrash wildly, as if under an invisible Cruciatus curse.

All indecision dropped away as Dumbledore raised both wands. He banished Harry’s hand with his wand, and summoned his left thumb with the spare wand, pouring forth all his magic into both spells.

His thumb was ripped from his hand in a small glut off blood, while his body was pushed backwards with the force of the banisher. He flopped ungracefully to the floor, making no effort to hold himself up. The severed thumb hit Dumbledore in the chest, and bounced off, landing on the floor.

He ignored the Dark artifact for the time-being, and rushed to Harry’s side. Relief washed over him as he observed that Harry was still breathing, if a bit raggedly. It seemed that the sudden disconnect from the invading presence had knocked him out, which was probably for the better, considering the state his body was in. The air intake through his crushed nose was ragged, and his irregular breaths through his mouth, along with the blood that continued to seep from the corners of his mouth, suggested more severe internal injuries than he originally thought.

The thumb looked the worst, however. He had never tried to simultaneously banish and summon something at the same time. The crimson-stained bone of Harry’s thumb stuck out from his hand, torn flesh and gristle hanging down. He had always been told attempting to summon body parts was a fickle exercise, but he never had any practical experience with it, until now.

With a complicated wave of his wand, he transfigured some of the surrounding wood shrapnel into a wooden box. He levitated the rest of Harry’s thumb into it, which looked like a half filled, bloody sausage without the bone frame. The flesh touching the ring had already begun to scorch, which increased his confidence that he had made the right decision. He sealed off the box, and placed it into his pocket.

He then turned to his fallen familiar, who hadn’t hesitated before throwing itself into the path of a killing curse meant for an innocent child. Fawkes rested upon the floor, surrounded by ashes, in its admittedly ugly newborn form. He carefully picked Fawkes up, and uttered a single “Thank you” to his longtime friend, before placing the newborn phoenix in a velvet lined pocket inside his suit.

With a slight movement, he summoned the third wand to himself, and stuck in his back pocket, along with the ash wand Harry had predominantly used.

When he moved backed to Harry’s side, he noticed a small pool of blood forming where Harry’s thumb had been torn off. Guilt assaulted him for a moment, before he shook it off, not having the time for such a useless feeling right now. He cast a numbing charm on the hand, before cauterizing the wound with a brief blast of flames from his wand. In all probability, Harry wouldn’t have felt it, but he didn’t want to take a chance. There was no way for him to tell just how deeply Harry’s consciousness had been damaged by Voldemort’s final attack, and Dumbledore wanted Healers there when Harry finally did awake.

Dumbledore considered for a second summoning a Healer here, but with the apparent depths of Harry’s injuries, he was going to need some serious work, that only St. Mungo’s could provide. He had been told by trained Healers that if it’s absolutely necessary to move an injured person, it was preferable to do so via Portkey, being less exertive on the body than Apparation.

The young muggles he felt he could safely leave behind. He was certain that their earlier battles had shattered the wards Voldemort had most likely placed to mask all magical activity, and the Aurors and Obliviators would arrive at any moment. While he didn’t feel good about leaving the two innocent boys under the thrall of the Draught of Living Death behind, they were in no immediate danger.

Harry, however, was.

He summoned a shredded pillow from the far side of the room, which flew to him, trailing feathers down behind it as it traveled. He quickly transformed it into a Portkey, and placed his hand upon Harry. In a flash of light, both of the wizards disappeared from the ruined room, leaving only an oppressive silence in their wake.

-

The evening proved tense for Dumbledore. After confirming that Harry was in stable condition, he used one of the owls that St. Mungo provided for emergency use, and sent a letter to the head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones. While the majority of the Ministry had become an all-encompassing bureaucracy since the events of Voldemort’s demise, its only production being vast amounts of useless paperwork, there were still a few quality witches and wizards who held roles of importance within the Ministry. The letter apologized for the disaster at the orphanage, and requested an audience, as soon as possible.

While sitting in the waiting room, several hours after sending his letter, a tawny owl arrived with his reply clutched in its talons, the letter bearing the tell-tale crimson of a Howler. This wasn’t exactly unexpected. He cast a quick muffliato around him, as to not disturb the rest of the building. He then applied a quick sound-dampening charm on his ears, as to retain use of his hearing. With the preparations complete, he opened the letter.

“Strange as it may sound, Dumbledore, I want to talk to you. I, however, will not request an audience. I demand a fucking audience. In fact, if you and your fruity robes don’t show up here tonight, I’m pulling all the Aurors off their current cases, and sending them after your ancient, wrinkled ass.

You must be completely fucking senile if you think you’re wriggling out of this one. I don’t care if you’re the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot or not. You could be tossing Fudge’s salad for all I care, and even his impotent ass wouldn’t be able to save you from my wrath.

It’s entirely your fault that I’m here instead of at home, so if I’m going to suffer from lack of sleep, I’m going to spread the joy to you. Get down here. Now.”

The message completed, the Howler immediately began to shred itself into pieces, which in turn caught fire. Within moments the only remnants of the scathing message were ashes on the floor.

It seemed that Madam Bones had loaded the Howler with every ounce of frustration she had encounter during the last day, and wished to adequately convey it. He expected this from her. A proud Gryffindor, she was prone to large temper tantrums when given bad news. She would be fine though by the time he reached her office, most of her initial anger spent.

He hoped so anyway.  

A few minutes later found Dumbledore striding through the halls of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement purposefully. The halls were almost empty, as most of the DMLE staff worked the day shift, other than an occasional Auror working a case late into the night.

He passed through the cramped rows of enclosed squares that passed for the offices of the low-level Aurors, and entered into the hallway that house the offices of the higher-ranking DMLE officials. Portraits of former prominent members of the department lined the walls, slumbering within their frames. At the very end of the hall lay Amelia’s office, which he stopped at. However much she may rage at him, he knew he had to convince her that his actions were not irrational, but backed by logic.

In the new Ministry that had risen over the past ten years, so many new departments had been created, that the actual chain of command was very unclear. If one of Dumbledore’s many political enemies tried to make a run at him, it would be very helpful to still have the Head of the DMLE on his side.

Beyond the simple political ramification, however, it was undeniable that Madam Bones was a good person. While she did possess a rather abrasive disposition when at work, it was all a smoke-screen, a persona she put up to intimidate the weak-willed hacks that currently infested the English Wizarding government. However, she had never stooped to the depth of political backstabbing and dishonesty that most politicians succumbed to. It also didn’t hurt that she was aligned to the Light.

They had been allies during the first Wizarding War. The inside tips provided by Madam Bones to Dumbledore had saved many lives, the crowning achievement being the prevention of the poisoning of Hogwarts students by house-elves owned by Dark families. He had repaid her in turn, helping her to rise to the head of the DMLE.

The sudden appearance of Nymphadora Tonks also weighed heavily upon his mind. While he hadn’t a great deal of contact with the bright Hufflepuff, his few interactions had painted him a specific picture, one that clashed with the young woman that had visited his office earlier that day. The fine young woman who had attended his school had possessed a child-like, endearing lack of composure when in the presence of authority figures. She had always been unable to hide her nervousness, and usually distracted herself with a repetitive movement of some sort. Lightly tapping her feet upon the floor, rolling a quill between her thumb and forefinger, it was always something.

The harried-looking young woman who had entered his office showed none of these nervous character traits. It had struck him as strange at the time, but he hadn’t spared much thought to it, since it was easily explained away by the shock of her discovering the whereabouts of Harry Potter.

Now, he was far less convinced. The more pieces of information he received, the worse it looked. The elaborate attacks that Harry used against him would need significant time to be carved and formed, and had clearly been premeditated. Furthermore, runes of that complexity needed specialized magical materials to function correctly, materials that were unavailable to a child at a muggle orphanage. While he could envision Harry adorning a cloak and venturing into Knockturn Alley to acquire the materials needed, there was no way he could have acquired a spare wand from Ollivander, as he wouldn’t sell spare wands to minors.

If Nymphodora had indeed been put under the Imperious Curse, and ordered to lure Dumbledore into a trap, who had cast the Unforgivable? Harry, possessed by Voldemort, certainly had the ability to cast it, but who had provided him with the wand in the first place?  It pained him to admit it, but it seemed like there was another, third person involved in all of this. Considering that Nymphadora and Harry were both certainly not Death Eaters, and Severus’ claim that the Dark Mark had become active again, it suggested that Voldemort had managed to make contact with a Death Eater. As much as he hoped otherwise, he couldn’t help but think that dark days were once again upon Britain.

With a heavy sigh, he knocked three times upon the heavy mahogany door, each impact echoing through the silent halls. He would have more time to follow his own thoughts later, as the Director deserved his full attention at this time.

“Come in,” implored a tired-sounding voice from within.

Dumbledore did as instructed, and entered the office, closing the door behind him. Amelia Bones sat behind her desk, her mouth a single horizontal line upon her face, as if she were forcefully holding back volatile retorts. Her short gray hair was mussed, and her eyes were bloodshot, indicating an unpleasant mix of fatigue. Her trademark monocle was even missing, and she did not seem very pleased to see him.  

“Good evening, Madam Bones,” he said to the exhausted woman. He waited for a moment, but no reply was forthcoming. He pressed on though, determined.

“I realize the hour is late, but thank you for agreeing to see me. I apologize for all the inconveniences I’ve caused-”

He was cut off by her raised right hand, imploring him to stop, which he did. She let out a heavy sigh, before addressing him.

“Dumbledore, do you have any idea the shit I’ve had to wade through to clear this situation up?” Amelia asked, her voice full of displeasure.

He stayed silent, as she really wasn’t looking for an answer, but looking to vent. He was more than happy to indulge her, as he imagined her day was very stressful, and he really was partially to blame, even if he was left without any alternative.

“Well, since you really don’t seem to have any idea, I’ll tell you. The warning of lethal spell-fire being exchanged in a muggle location was broadcast to every sub-department of the DMLE, even the fucking useless ones that have popped into existence over the past ten years. Muggle Relations got there first, seeing as they usually don’t do a solitary fucking thing anyway, and were currently free. Once the bureaucratic twats showed up, every single one of those Ministry hacks, that don’t give a flying fuck about muggles at all, they started handing out memory charms like candy. The Obliviators arrived next, and were understandably livid that Muggle Relations was attempting to do their job, and just creating a larger clusterfuck. It almost came to spell-fire between the two departments, over jurisdictional bullshit.”

She stopped her rant for a second, to give Dumbledore another glare, which he felt he weathered quite well. Unfazed by his lack of response, she continued.

“It gets even better. The Aurors arrived on scene next, and started to clear the area, to make sure everything was alright. Whomever had fought on the second floor, had put up Muggle-repelling charms. Well, the brain-donors in the Muggle Relations department decided to dispel the charms, without locking down the area. Minutes later, a girl comes running down, screaming something about two boys being killed. This spread like Fiendfyre over the already frightened children, and before we know it, we’ve got an ocean of kids thinking they’re going to be killed. The Aurors lose their composure at this point, and begin threatening the Muggle Relations assholes, with good reason. They, of course, choose not to let themselves be bullied, and hold their ground, and start talking jurisdiction again. I had to go down there personally and set them straight.”

She paused for a second, catching her breath, before continuing.

“I had some of the Aurors check out the second floor, to see if anyone’s actually dead. We find there’s two children that had been dosed with Draught of Living Death, within a room that’s been extraordinarily fucked up by some powerful spells being exchanged. Looks like maybe someone else might have been hurt, since there’s blood on the floor, and these kids don’t have a mark on them. So, we figure we’ll talk to the head of the orphanage, see if she can provide a roster. Well, apparently Muggle Relations was hell-bent on ruining my day, since they Obliviated her as well, only she now doesn’t really know what an orphanage is, let alone how to operate one. Of course, no one’s owning up to doing it. For some unfathomable reason, the paperwork from the office had been confiscated, and no one knows where it went. For fuck’s sake, it was like Muggle Relations was intentionally trying to fuck this all up!”

Amelia deflated as she finished her rant. All her venom was spent, leaving behind only a tired woman at the tail end of a horribly busy day. She almost seemed to age before his eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long, very trying day. However it occurred, you probably had a good reason for doing whatever you did.”

“That’s quite alright.” Dumbledore replied.

“So, Albus, care to tell us why we needed three teams of Obliviators dispatched to a muggle orphanage today?”

If he were dealing with anyone else in the Ministry, he probably have kept Harry’s reappearance in the Wizarding world secret, and not have bothered to contact the DMLE in the first place. However, Amelia was an ally, and he felt she deserved an explanation for the hubris of today, as well as some good news to end the day.

“Earlier today, I was contacted by a member of the Office of Muggleborn Education. They had made an interesting discovery at a muggle orphanage in London, and this person told me about it, against the wishes of their department head.”

He could see that the vague terms he spoke in were not endearing himself to Amelia’s agitated frame of mind, but wanted to ease into what would be a large shock.

“This situation required my immediate attention, so I set out. After a quick meeting with the director, I went up to the room of a supposedly muggleborn orphan. Amelia, it turned out not to be a muggleborn child at all, but one from our world, with magical parents.”

Amelia perked up from her barely concealed contempt at this statement, eyes alert once more.

“Albus, do we know who the parents are?” she asked.

Dumbledore let out a small smile.

“James and Lily Potter.” Dumbledore replied.

The head of the DMLE was known for being utterly unflappable in the face of the unexpected. It was said it would take an earth-shattering revelation to get her to even bat an eye.

Amelia Bones’ jaw dropped at his explanation, hope shining in her eyes.

“Dumbledore…are you sure it’s him?” she asked in a low whisper.

He gave a hearty chuckle.

“Yes, I’m sure. He has Lily’s exact eyes, James’ exact messy black hair. You can rest assured, it’s definitely him. Somehow…he survived.”

His voice was heavy as he finished, which she picked up on.

“Dumbledore, what happened there today?”

He had decided, long before arriving, that he wouldn’t be hiding any information from the Director. If the tide had begun to change, he wanted the branch of the Ministry that would be at the forefront of battle well-informed.

“When I met Harry Potter for the first time, he began speaking in familiar words that I had not heard for a long time. He was, somehow, possessed by Lord Voldemort.”

Amelia looked absolutely horrified by this revelation.

“Dumbledore, how is that possible? Is Voldemort even dead?”

“Answering your second question first, I’m not sure. Based on what I saw today, there’s a very good chance that he’s still around, somewhere. Before I continue, though, I need you to understand that what I’m about to tell you can never leave this room. Can you do that?”

She looked hesitant for a while, but her trust in Dumbledore, despite her earlier ranting, prompted her nod her head quickly in agreement.

“Amelia, have you ever heard of a Horcrux?” he asked.

Her face immediately drew into a disgusted grimace.

“That’s terribly dark magic, but I have heard of them. Did Voldemort create one, and that’s why you think he may still be around?”

He nodded in response.

“Yes, he definitely made one. Sadly, it came into Harry Potter’s hands, and up until today, he had been possessed by it. It drove him to try to kill me today, and he came very close to accomplishing that goal.”

She covered one mouth with her hand, in disbelief. She held it there for a second, before slowly lowering it to the desk.

“Do you mean to say that Harry Potter had been possessed by a fragment of the Dark Lord’s soul?”

He nodded solemnly in response.

“Will he ever recover?”

“Yes, I think so, physically anyway. I had to hurt him severely to separate him from the Horcrux, sadly, but the Healers informed me that all of his injuries were on the mend, and he should be fine within the week.”

He paused, trying to find the right words for the hardest part.

“Mentally, we just don’t know. Odd as it may seem, Harry seemed to have mental training. He was able to keep the Horcrux from devouring his mind and soul, which is a huge accomplishment for a ten year-old. Right before I separated him from the Horcrux, Voldemort struck one final time, and managed to do severe mental damage upon Harry. The Healers haven’t been able to determine the extent, but they think he’ll still be comatose long after he’s physically healed.”

Amelia looked crestfallen by the news, which prompted him to shine a ray of hope.

“However, I think with time, there’s a possibility his mind well mend itself. Once he’s physically healed, I plan on taking him to a secure location, and having Fawkes sing for him. If there’s any traces of Voldemort still in him, continual exposure to the phoenix song should help out, hopefully reversing the damage done.”

“Albus, what do you think the odds are of him recovering?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I had brief contact with him, when he had momentarily broken free of Voldemort’s control. He seemed to have a conscious idea of what was going on, but he didn’t spare a second on self-pity and did give me the information necessary to ultimately save him.”

While far from reassured, slight relief flitted onto her features, since Harry had a chance of recovery. After a moment of thought, her face grew grave again.

“If Fudge discovers that Harry has re-surfaced, he’s going to want to parade him around, and stick him with a politically aligned Pureblood family.”

Dumbledore sighed at her deduction.

“Yes, I fear that you’re absolutely correct. Right now, we’re the only two people in Wizarding Britain that know that Harry Potter has returned. I would like to keep it that way until we’re able to move Harry. Can I count on you to keep silent about this?”

Amelia was silent for a second, before adding in her own deep sigh.

“I don’t like it, keeping the Wizarding World in the dark about this, but I don’t see any other satisfactory way to go about doing it. Will you agree to at least inform the Daily Prophet once he’s been released from St. Mungo’s, and you’ve found a suitable home for him?”

He inclined his head.

“Certainly, but it has to be written to my specifications.”

A grim smile found its way onto her face at this provision.

“I assume you’d like to keep the fact he was possessed by Voldemort under wraps.”

“Indeed. The Wizarding world can never know of this. When he does attend Hogwarts, he’s going to already face a great deal of suspicion, since we still don’t know what happened that Halloween night. I think we’ll just say it was a case of a former Voldemort supporter sending him a cursed artifact, which caused the mayhem that transpired that day. How much can your department keep under wraps?”

Amelia thought for a second before providing an answer.

“I think we’ll be okay. No one there ever saw Harry, and all that was left behind were two muggles under the Draught of Living Death. No one really would have cared if they were hurt, but the Draught of Living Death might be suspicious. However, I don’t think any of the agents from Muggle Relations saw anything, and they’re the main pain in my ass. The Aurors I can keep under control. The only real problem I see, is with yourself. What are you going to do when the Minister demands to see Harry Potter?”

Dumbledore let out a chuckle.

“I’m not really too concerned about Cornelius. I have a very secure place where Harry will be safe from harm, and Fudge will never find him. Besides, it would hurt Fudge too deeply to take a run at me on the heels of such good news. He’d have to wait until the tide changed before he could even try. And even in that scenario, Amelia, I do not like our Minister’s chances of finding me if I do not wish to be found.”

Amelia let out her first genuine smile of the night at his declaration.

“Where do you plan to take him, once he’s healed?” she asked, a hopeful curiosity in her voice.

The smile faded a little from Dumbledore’s face at her question.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to tell you. Fudge may deduce that you know, and try to ask you. He may pass some obscure law authorizing his right to use Veritaserum in the interests of security, so you need to be able to answer truthfully.”

She didn’t seem happy with his decision, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

“I’d like to fight you on this one, but you do have a point.”

She paused for a second, before continuing.

“There’s still one thing that doesn’t make sense to me. Based upon the strength of the spell damage around the room, Harry was throwing off some extremely powerful spells. Even possessed by Voldemort, Harry’s magical core would still be relatively small and undeveloped. How was he able to cast such powerful spells?”

“Well, I believe there’s two reasons. Firstly, and more importantly, his main method of attack were runic carvings activated by Parseltongue command.”

“I didn’t even know that was possible. Is there a Parseltongue runic set?” she asked, slight fear in her voice.

He shook his head.

“No, all of his attacks were elemental based. I assume that Parseltongue is a very basic language, mostly comprised of terms that a snake would be familiar with, such as fire, lightning and wind. I assume he sacrificed variety for the advantage of me being ignorant of the attack before it happened, as he knew of my wide knowledge of Ancient Runes.”

His statement absorbed, a look of confusion settled upon her face.

“Albus, how does a child, even if he is possessed by Voldemort, gain access to all the materials needed for the runes?”

He took a deep breath before replying.

“Sadly, I’m almost certain he had an accomplice. Probably a former Death Eater, most likely the same one that sent Harry the ring in the first place.”

Amelia reacted to this news by rubbing her temples vigorously.

“Are you implying that one of, if not more, of Voldemort’s former servants are aware that their master still exists in some form?” she asked, her voice heavy with dread.

“I’m sorry to say, but yes.” Dumbledore said softly.

“Well, then we obviously have to find out who aided Voldemort. Any ideas on where to start?” she asked.

One of his favorite qualities about Amelia was that she spent little time moping on a situation, instead opting to find a solution.

“My source was Nymphodora Tonks. She told me Harry’s location, claimed that her boss, Charlotte Lewis, was keeping the discovery of Harry under wraps. I’d say those two are where we should start.”

Amelia sighed heavily, again.

“Great, our top two leads are witches that I’m very fond of. Are you thinking that perhaps one, if not both of them, were placed under an Imperious by our mysterious accomplice?”

Dumbledore let a wry smile.

“Unless young Nymphodora has seriously fallen astray, and joined the Death Eaters.”

She let out a small snort of laughter at his statement.

“Yes, not too likely. I’ll send out some Aurors to gather the two of them, see what we can find out from them.”

She was silent for a moment, in apparent contemplation, before deciding to ask the question.

“I don’t want to belittle your magical skill, but how was he able to almost kill you with mere runic attacks?”

Dumbledore chuckled lightly in reply.

“While I wouldn’t refer to a solid column of lightning as a minor obstacle, your point is well taken. Even though young Harry appears to only be about ten years old, I believe that wherever he was before he was found wandering on the side of the road, he had been practicing magic. This put him ahead of most children his age, and strengthened his magical core. Thankfully he hadn’t any exposure to the Dark Arts, so Voldemort was limited to neutral and Light spells, but even that was enough to give me quite the challenge.”

 

“Albus, wasn’t he using Unforgivables?”

He sighed deeply in response.

“Yes, Amelia, he was. I need you to suppress anyone finding that though. As you’re well aware, the reason Unforgivables are illegal is that they don’t require the vast personal sacrifice that most of the Dark Arts require, only intense hatred. Anyone could use them if properly motivated, rather like an anti-Patronus. There’s such a stigma attached to them that anyone caught using them would be automatically labeled a Dark wizard. Most of the time, this is completely accurate, but in young master Potter’s case…”

She nodded in comprehension. It all came back to clearly establishing that Harry was not a Dark Wizard.

The two were silent for a moment, before Dumbledore rose from his seat.

“I believe you’ve had a long enough day, Amelia, and I’ve no desire to contribute further to it. If you don’t have any other questions, I’ll be on my way.”

Amelia rose at his words, and stuck out her hand, which Dumbledore grasped.

“Take care of him, Dumbledore.”

“I’ll do my best, Amelia.”

-

August 28, 1990 

Octavius Pepper was not having the best of days. Being one of the few daring souls who participated in currency exchange between the muggle and Wizarding Worlds, he had met more than his fair share of worries and concerns.

The Pureblood aristocracy found fraternization of this degree to be distasteful, on top of his Muggleborn heritage. While overt retribution on their behalves was a rarity, he found himself the target of many looks of disdain and disgust. All this he could have easily tolerated, for one did not make it far in his profession without a thick skin, but their discrimination also extended to his business enterprises. Items that could be bought at wholesale by most Wizards, suddenly found themselves in short supply, and in high demand, when he found himself in need.

However, this paled in comparison to the grief he received from the Goblins. It was common knowledge that the Ministry really didn’t give a flying fuck about the goblin populace, as long as they continued to grease the machine of Wizarding commerce. With the great deal of profit generated by goblins holding a near monopoly over Wizarding banking, they could afford to pay off the right politicians, to make lawbreakers of those who dared to challenge their self-proclaimed right to be the sole financial institution in Wizarding England.

He had begun to make his fortune by melting down the gold that comprised Galleons. The goblin molding process used a form of alchemy, still a mystery to wizards, which vastly increased the density of the gold, making it almost completely immune to counterfeiting. Due to this wonderful process, when melted down, the yield was far greater than the original mass would indicate. This information was useless in the Wizarding world, as the only ones buying gold were goblins, and they had the price of gold fixed.

It was not for nothing, however, that Octavius was a Muggleborn placed into Ravenclaw, born with innate business acumen. Muggle gold brokers had no such knowledge, and were perfectly happy to pay top dollar for his large yields of gold. Once changing his muggle currency back into Galleons, he often doubled his original investment.

That is, until the goblins got wind of his operation. Before he knew it, new laws had been passed, which spawned the Department of Magical Currency. This new branch of the government cast charms upon all newly minted Wizarding Currency, which alerted the Ministry if they happened to be tampered with in any fashion. Violators were hit with harsh fines, which more than negated any profit he would have made. All cries that the tracking charms were yet another violation of right to privacy fell upon deaf ears, as it was apparently more important to protect the “Ministry’s” property, as it was now lawfully referred to as.

He eventually found other methods to prosper, but it was a constant struggle with the goblins. If litigation didn’t work, they hired some of the many drug-addicts that riddled Knockturn Alley to loot one of his many properties. Indeed, what was the promise of lawful repercussions when compared to the immediate results of being paid for their next fix?

His latest troubles concerned the accursed Muggle Relations department. It had been bad enough dealing with the Magical Currency assholes, but the Muggle Relations hacks brought hypocrisy to a whole new level. It especially boiled his blood that the wizards in charge of interacting with the world he grew up with viewed it with disdain. Muggle Relations was one of the main places where politicians stashed wizards that had worked on their political campaigns. While this was certainly not a new concept to the Wizarding World, the degree to which it was abused had exploded since the abrupt end of the Wizarding War.

He didn’t know if it was the goblins or purebloods that pushed it through, but there was a new measure on the floor of the Muggle Relations Wizengamot sub-committee that would prevent private ownership of muggle properties. Its supposed aim was to prevent the loss of wealth to the muggle world, which was clearly bullshit to anyone with a functioning cerebral cortex, especially since the Ministry was still able to buy up muggle properties for “further expansion of the Wizarding world”. There also was the loophole that all Ministry employees would be exempt from begin labeled as a private citizen, since they were a public servant of the Ministry. As if this new government had any interest other than maintaining and expanding its own power base.

All his attempts to block this bit of law from going to a vote before the sub-committee had been met with stiff resistance. The Muggle Relations sub-committee, the voting body comprised almost completely of purebloods, would probably almost pass the bill unanimously. He had, in a last desperation move, made an appeal directly to the head of Muggle Relations, William Flint.

The mistake had been evident when a cruel smile had found its way onto the Director’s face. He had informed Octavious that there would be a convening of the Wizengamot tomorrow, which he was expected to attend, where the matter could be discussed in an “open forum”.

Unable to form a coherent response, he had just left the office. It was ridiculous, a full hearing with the judicial body over the simple right to commerce? They only met when there were charges to be brought against someone. Was he to be charged with something, regardless of how Flint had described the situation? Flint was a mean, bigoted motherfucker, whose name had often cropped up in rumor circles, linking him to muggle hunting. William Flint was the single best example of the duplicity that existed within the Muggle Relations department. How had the Ministry been allowed to settle into such a sad state?

In an effort to alleviate the frustration and stress the day had brought upon him, he had found his way to the Leaky Cauldron, and had every intention of drowning his troubles in vast quantities of alcohol. While normally a businessman of his immense wealth would retire to a “gentleman’s club” for the type of solace he currently sought, he had been informed, in no uncertain terms, that he was not welcome to them. The male pureblood aristocracy was very protective of their tree houses. While he wouldn’t have minded the ministrations and services of the gold-digging sluts that frequented those places, he did prefer the overall company of the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom, the wizened old barkeeper, was always quick with a drink and a smile, both of the warm variety. The talk was always more pleasant, and blood really wasn’t of much importance.

Now, with an elbow upon the bar, and the calming flames of Firewhisky burning in his stomach, the pains of the day began to ebb.

It got even better when a woman who he had been examining approached his position at the bar.

“Do you mind a little company?” she asked, in a quiet, timid voice.  

Turning to his right, he took her in more fully. She had long, black hair that hung down to her waist. Her face and skin were pale cream, her facial features soft, punctuated by light brown eyes, almost the color of honey. It created a distinct, but pleasant contrast to her dark hair.

He wouldn’t have taken her for wealth, if it wasn’t for the form-fitting silk robes she wore, which put her lithe body on display without cheapening it. They wouldn’t have been out of place upon the form of some rich Pureblood’s trophy wife.

Judging by the careful and shy quality to her question, and the complete unfamiliarity of her physical features, he guessed that she was a trophy wife, who had purchased some hairs from a dealer on Knockturn Alley. It was not widely advertised, but if one looked hard enough, the hairs of beautiful muggle women could be purchased. He had heard of lonely trophy wives, looking for any way to satisfy the itch their husbands long ago neglected, turning to Polyjuice to satiate their most primal of thirsts.

He gave her a wide smile.

“I would be delighted to enjoy your company.” he said, taking pleasure in the slight flush that spread across her pale cheeks at this reply.

Besides, who was he to turn aside a damsel in need?

The next two hours passed in a blur, during which he exchanged increasingly flirtatious small talk with the lady, whose name turned out to be “Belladonna”. While he had to fight giggles at learning her alias for the night, it did provide for some exquisitely awful puns, which he used at every opportunity.

In between drinks, he noticed that she left the bar for the bathroom, roughly once an hour. She had probably kept a small amount of Polyjuice on her person. Where she hid it he could only hazard a guess, as her outfit didn’t seem to allow much room for storage.

Directly following her second trip to the bathroom, he subtly suggested that they flee

the Leaky Cauldron and abscond to his bachelor pad mere blocks away. Not having any family, he currently found it convenient to not own a manor of his own.

She agreed quickly, and they immediately began a most unsteady journey back to his place, their alcoholic consumption causing their flight to be far less than smooth.

He had not even closed the door before he found himself pushed up against the door, slamming it shut. The taste of firewhiskey met his taste buds as her mouth parted his, their tongues entwining. His fingers laced beneath the folds in her robe, finding the smooth skin of her back. She moaned deeply into his mouth, and pressed her body more tightly into his, her hardened nipples pressing delightfully into his midsection.

Without warning she broke the kiss. His initial disappointment faded when she roughly grabbed his hand, and pulled him towards the bedroom. With an apparently newfound sense of daring, she pushed him to a sitting position upon the bed, and tore off his cumbersome robes, depositing them carelessly upon the floor.

He was left in only his dark briefs and stood enraptured as she reached up, pulling off her silk robes in one deft movement, where they joined his discarded robes. She gave him a second to admire the flat tautness of her stomach; the way her hardened nipples imprinted the thin film of her lavender-colored bra; the way her milky white breasts strained at the fabric, as if begging for his hands to free them from their confinement.

His moment over, she pushed his back down, and climbed atop his frame, her hips straddling his waist. With slow, deliberate movements, she began to grind against his straining briefs. At her ministrations, all rational thought began to melt away, replaced by lust induced euphoria. He reached up and slipped his hands under her bra, taking an alabaster globe in each hand, and began to knead. The musky smell of her arousal met his nose as she leaned her head down to his ear, and began to nibble lightly upon it.

“Where’s your wand?” she whispered into his ear, unable to keep the tremors out of her voice.

He had the presence of mind to motion towards his piled robes, but was incapable of offering any further instruction. This inspired a slightly evil smile from “Belladonna”, as she slid away from him, pressing every part of her moving body against his straining manhood.

All too quickly the contact ended, and she retreated from the bed. Slight clarity came with the loss, and he felt a moment of gratitude that she had still been coherent enough to cast the contraceptive charm.

He saw her rise, his wand in hand. The charm always worked best with the wizard’s wand, as any pubescent teen was taught.

With a slight sense of alarm, he saw her swing the wand, until it was pointed at him.

“What the fuck is this?” he thought, still too aroused to transfer his thoughts into words.

“Imperio!”

The words hadn’t even processed with his alcohol drenched facilities before the red spell struck him in the chest.

All of his alarm was wiped away, and he felt as if he were floating in an endless sea of euphoria. Distantly, through the haze, he heard a female voice begin to speak.

“My master has very precise plans for you, Mudblood scum, but I must admit, you seem to be very well equipped.”

There was a short silence before the voice continued.

“Lucius needn’t ever know. And besides, does he really think I don’t know what he does at those gentleman’s clubs?” the female voice asked rhetorically.

“Take off those odd pants, Mudblood.”

And because he wanted more than anything to comply with what the female voice wanted, he did.

He certainly wasn’t disappointed with the result.

-

Author Notes:

I hope that the resolution to last chapter’s cliffhanger did not prove disappointing. If anything isn’t clear, just ask me in a review, and I’ll clarify it to the best of my ability.

I’ve was able to finish this chapter a little sooner than anticipated. I think the next one will be done by the end of the month, but I do have a progress tracker on my FF.net profile, which I update every time I write, for any interested parties.

Any comments, suggestions or criticisms would be deeply appreciated. I’ll make an effort to answer every review I get.

Thanks to my co-conspirator, darklordmike, for his valuable suggestions with plotting, characterization, continuity and grammar.

Thanks to the lovely Erzibeth-Malfoy for the beta work on this chapter.

I borrowed the contraceptive charm idea from jbern’s “To Fight the Coming Darkness”. It’s available on this site, and makes for a fine read.

DLP thanks:

Andromalius, Johnny Farrar, Insane Juggler, psihary, Amerision, Zarent, The-Hyphenated-One, Demons in the Night

Thanks for reading.