Sitra Ahra

First Movement: Disharmonic Convergence

February 3, 1990

It was days like these that Steven Collins hadn’t a single regret about becoming a part of the Bedfordshire Constabulary. While he had certainly seen his share of nightmares in his twenty years of service, it was the good days that he tried to always keep at the forefront, where his biggest occurrence would be reprimanding a citizen traveling outside the limits of lawful travel velocity.

The day itself was one of common state in his home county, light grey skies sending forth a minor drizzle, lightly tapping upon the windshield of the police cruiser. While certainly not cold, one would not be comfortable walking around without a jacket.

Noting a sharp curve up ahead, he decelerated, hugging the road at a slow speed. Coming out of the turn, he saw a figure walking on the side of the road. Passing the figure, he couldn’t help but notice the stiff, unnatural gait, along with the small stature. As the figure diminished in his rearview, he came to decision.

He brought the car to a stop, glancing both ways to make sure the road was clear, and performed a three-point turn. He traveled back in the opposite direction, stopping the car about a hundred feet in front of the child-sized figure. Opening the door to his Vauxhall Astra cruiser, he stepped out into the slight drizzle.

Closing the door lightly, he directed his gaze to the approaching figure. It appeared to be a young boy, judging by his small size even younger than he had originally estimated, perhaps eight years old. He had jet black hair, plastered to the sides of his head by the precipitation. His gait was stiff, the slow, zombie-like shuffling of someone in shock. He had seen people walking away from car crashes in much the same fashion.

Most unsettling, however, were the boy’s eyes. Green orbs shielded by round glasses, the eyes had not blinked once or moved beneath his scrutiny.

Now thirty feet away, Collins noticed that there appeared to be patches on his sweaters and jeans that had been burned away, the clothes charred black, as well as accompanying smudge marks being slowly washed away, conducive to exposure to smoke.

“Poor little bastard must have just barely escaped a fire.” Collins thought to himself. “No telling how badly he’s hurt from here.”

“Good morning, son.” spoke Collins in a light voice, sending out a friendly wave above his head as he walked toward the child. There was no visible reaction, as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

Reaching the child, Collins knelt down to his level, placing both hands on his shoulders to keep him in place.

“Are you okay, son?” asked Collins, at equal eye level to the child. The blank look didn’t change, but at least he stopped trying to walk, a small sign that he was still capable of feedback from the outside world. It seemed very safe to assume that boy was in shock, probably didn’t even feel the burns. Seeking to discover to what degree the boy had been burned, he brought his face in for a closer inspection.

The last thing he expected to find was no damage. The skin was black, not from burns, but from the carbon residue of his torched clothes.

“How the fuck did this kid get off unhurt?” Collins thought to himself. Shaking his thought aside, he tried to get through again.

“Son, what’s your name?”

He was glad to see some sort of reaction this time around, as if the kid was making an active attempt to pull himself out of whatever abyss his mind occupied. In a voice barely flung above a whisper, the child replied “Harry Potter”

A common enough last name, though not familiar to anyone he know directly.

“Where are your parents?”

The clarity had slipped away, however. Harry closed his eyes slightly, before beginning to swoon. Who knew how long the child had walked in this catatonic, shock induced state? Deftly scooping up the child in his arms, he carried him back to the cruiser and placed him in the back seat.

There had been an almost pathetic struggle from the kid when he picked him up, but it had faded as fast as it had come. This child was almost at the end of his tether, exhausted, and seemed comparable in weight to a dried leaf. He saw that the child was practically asleep, so he took off his coat, and covered the child in it. Pulling back, he noticed the child had a pewter pendant on, supported by a thin, black cloth cord around his neck. The pendant appeared to be a many pointed star, inscribed within a circle. While curious about this unknown symbol, he didn’t wish to bother the child much further, his exhaustion clear.

“Harry, you get yourself some rest. I’m going to take you to the hospital, have some doctors take a look at you.”

The child’s eyes jerked wide open at his statement, the shadow of fear clouding his eyes.

“The Legion won’t be there, will they?” Harry asked.

Officer Collins hadn’t the faintest idea of what the child was talking about. Possibly delirious, but his answer was obvious.

“Harry, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

The boy seemed to accept this, and closed his eyes again, drifting away into sleep almost immediately.  Collins closed the door softly, and then took his place behind the wheel. Once again behind the wheel, he reached down to the CB radio, and pulled the microphone off its cradle.

Bringing the microphone to his mouth, he keyed the button.

“This is Bedfordshire Patrol 218, dispatch come in.”

After a brief silence, a female voice answered “Go ahead, Patrol 218.”

“I found a wandering child along the side of the road, looks like he got caught in a fire. Have you had any reports of missing children, or fires from anywhere in the county?”

“We don’t have anything; it’s been a quiet day over here.”

“Okay, I’m going to run him over to Luton & Dunstable, have him checked out. Thanks anyway, dispatch. Patrol 218 out.”

He replaced the microphone on the cradle, deep in thought. Bedfordshire was not a large county. If a fire of some sort had occurred, they would have known about it. He was in the heart of the county, so he felt very confident in crossing off the idea that Harry had walked from another country, the distance being far too great for someone of his stature. Also, the carbon residue hadn’t been completely washed away by the rain, suggesting he couldn’t have been walking for that long a time.

No closer to the truth, Collins put the car in drive, pulling away from the spot where he had found the youngster. Where the bloody fuck had this kid come from? It was like the he had just arrived from nowhere, a thought that was downright loony, batshit crazy, completely impossible.

Wasn’t it?

-

July 2, 1990

“Come on in, dear.”

At the behest of the pleasant sounding female voice, Nymphadora Tonks grasped the brass knob, and let herself into the office. Stepping through the threshold, she found the decorum of the office to be exactly to her tastes: Chaotic.

The true color of the office wall could hardly be determined, as papers had been attached to every visible surface. Large maps of England, animated photographs, still Muggle photos and various other papers dominated the wall. Odd stacks of paper lay in random piles about the floor, like some sort of minefield of paperwork. The desk seemed to be the only thing clean, at least in relation to the rest of the office. The middle third of the desk had been cleaned, displaying only a solitary file, a single plaque located at the front:

Charlotte Lewis – Director of Muggleborn Education

The person to which the plaque referred to stepped from behind the desk, making her way to Tonks with her right hand outstretched. She was a middle-aged witch with dull brown hair, lazily pulled back into a pony tail that reached down to the middle of her back. She wore dark blue robes that while clean, were slightly wrinkled.

“Welcome Miss Tonks, I trust that you found the office alright?” the director asked with a slight smile upon her face.

It hadn’t been very difficult, being on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Level, in the complete opposite direction of the Auror offices, where most of the smaller, ancillary offices were located.

“It wasn’t a problem. Thanks for having me by, Mrs. Lewis.”

The director waved the thanks off, while motioning her to sit in one of the two wooden chairs in front of the desk. “It’s a pleasure helping out someone with the last name Tonks.”

Seated, the director waited for Nymphadora to sit before she continued.

“As I’m confident you’ve heard from your father, I was quite friendly with him during my time at Hogwarts. I was a year behind him, and he was kind to me, a scared child that had only first heard of magic a few months prior. He saw me, nearly shaking in fear during the Sorting, and invited me to sit next to him after I had been sorted.”

That sounded exactly like the sagacious man she knew her father to be.

“For Muggleborns such as myself, the first few months of Hogwarts are only as pleasant as your classmates are. With people such as your father, and other Hufflepuff students, my personal transition was easy.”

“My dad has always tried to put a smile on people’s faces” Tonks offered.

“Yes, he did. I wish that all Hogwarts Muggleborn students were as fortunate to have had someone like him around, but not all were as lucky.”

Tonks shuddered to think what it must be like for any Muggleborns that get sorted into Slytherin.

“I’m sorry; I’ve started to ramble again. If I do it again, feel free to interrupt me and get back on track. A stinging hex should be adequate.”

Both women smiled. Tonks thought she was going to get along with her new boss fine.

“So, do you mind if I call you Nymphadora?”

Tonks couldn’t help from making a face. “If you don’t mind, please just call me Tonks. I’m not really fond of my mother’s choice in name.” While under normal circumstances she would have behaved in a more formal fashion, Charlotte seemed to exude a relaxed, laid-back atmosphere.

“Alright, Miss Tonks, what made you decide to seek employment at the Ministry, as opposed to lounging about before your Auror training begins?”

Tonks thought for a moment, organizing her thoughts, before starting.

“From what I’ve read, there are a lot of politics that come with the Auror position. Understanding the Ministry itself, who’s connected to whom and such. I asked my parents if they had any contacts at the Ministry that may have use for an intern. I figure, I’m not that politically savvy, so any insider knowledge I can get will probably help with my career, and it will keep me from getting too bored this summer.”

Charlotte was silent for a second, before replying “Not really the standard reply I get from any prospective interns, but at least I know you’re not going to be kissing my ass all summer.”

Tonks gave a little laugh at the director’s analysis.

“There are probably several other internships you could have applied for, Miss Tonks. Why did you apply for this one?”

“There’s a few reasons. Firstly, the Muggle world has always fascinated me, from the odd things I’ve heard from my dad. I’d like to see some of it first-hand, to see the strange world that my dad came from.”

Charlotte nodded, prompting her to continue.

“My dad mentioned that my abilities would come in very handy here. I don’t know how, as I’m still not sure how this job works, but it’d be nice to put my ability to use by genuinely helping people out, as opposed for pranking and my own entertainment.”

“What skills would those be?”

Scrunching her nose in concentration, Tonks changed her form. Her bright pink hair darkened to a dull brown as she rearranged her facial features. Seconds later, the director’s eyes were wide with amazement, her doppelganger staring right back at her.

“My father probably forgot to mention that I’m a metamorphmagus.” observed Tonks, an amused note hanging over her words.

Slowly awakening from her amazement, Mrs. Lewis replied “Yes, he did neglect to mention that.”

She was then silent for a while, staring deeply at Tonks. As the moments stretched, Tonks started to fidget. Perhaps she had made a mistake, being a bit too brash about her abilities. She braced herself for the worst when the director cleared her throat to speak again.

“I was originally going to offer you a paper-pushing job, something rather boring that would introduce you to the Ministerial bureaucracy. However, in light of your abilities, I’ve changed me mind. How would you like a much more active position, with actual field work?”

Tonks’ mood quickly switched from apprehension to glee. Still learning a lot while not having to sit behind a desk? “Sign me up” she thought to herself.

“Yeah, I’d be very interested in more exciting work. What would I be doing?”

Charlotte chucked slightly.

“Perhaps I should actually tell you what the position would entail before you make a decision. What do you know about this department?”

“Not that much. I know that you find Muggleborns and send them their Hogwarts letters. I think you do some other things, but I’m not sure what.”

“That is correct; we do have the responsibility of finding the Muggleborns that pepper England. That’s our main duty, but we also help Muggleborns find jobs in the Wizarding World, and provide them with answers to any questions about the Wizarding world that they may have.”

Charlotte paused to take a sip of water from the glass on her desk, before continuing.

“At the heart of the DMLE is a large map of England. It monitors the entire country, recording and tracking every single piece of magical release performed within England.”

Tonks was surprised. She found the thought of the Ministry tracking every bit of magic rather invasive.

“Are there any ways to avoid detection?”

“Yes, the system’s not perfect. It doesn’t work in areas of high magical concentrations, such as Diagon Alley, Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. There are also specialized wards that can be used to cloak magical readings, which are illegal, but it’s hardly ever prosecuted.”

Charlotte must have seen something in her face.

“I’m not a huge proponent of the system, but the paranoid fervor that swept England after You-Know-Who’s disappearance allowed for the DMLE and the entire Ministry in general to expand the scope of their powers. What was originally only used as a tool to track Muggleborns expanded into a country-wide monitoring system.”

Charlotte stopped talking then. It looked like she was about to start again, but instead she let out a heavy sigh.

“Listen to me, ranting again. To get back on subject, the DMLE also tracks accidental magic. Their department tracks locations and times of accidental magic, and sends us reports.”

She heard the slight frustration in Charlotte’s voice. Any information she received was probably filtered, the bare minimum for her to perform her job.

“Which brings us to my department. Our job is to use the reports to pinpoint the location of said underage wizards performing accidental magic, and to find out information about them. Who they are, where they live, basic information. Once we get their information, we can pass it on to Hogwarts, to make sure Muggleborn wizards receive their letters.”

Tonks was surprised; having no idea the method of finding Muggleborns was this involved. She supposed it did make sense, however. It’s not like there was just some magical quill that dictated the birth of Muggleborns.

“As you can well imagine, our information gathering required a bit of a covert angle. It’s mostly simple “observe and report” situations, with an occasional tougher case. It does require a great deal of interaction with the Muggle world, which many take exception to, but you didn’t have a problem with.”

She nodded her assertion, which seemed to please her prospective boss.

“Of course, there is a lot more to it, which I’ll get to at a later eventually. Before I continue, though, I want to say that I’m fond of you so far. If you’re interested in field work, your abilities would be a great asset to us. We’d give you a few weeks of training in tracking methods and the Muggle world; we wouldn’t just throw you to the wolves. That being said, would you like to work for us this summer?”

Tonks didn’t even have to consider it.

“I would love to.”

-

August 10, 1990

The headmaster of Hogwarts sat behind his desk, long fingers delicately rubbing his temples, contemplating taking another headache potion. One of the sources lay before him, his attempts to balance the budget for the upcoming term. Another was placed off to the side, a stack of unopened letters from the Hogwarts Board of Governors, who certainly held to different educational ideals than he did.

When fighting the war, Albus had imagined that the end of the war would herald a new age, where the heavy, oppressive cloak of war had been cast aside. Alas, his hopes went unfulfilled.

The Wizarding War had ended unresolved. There was no closure, with both Harry Potter and Voldemort merely disappearing. With no clear resolution, the tide of fear never truly retreated, the dark cloud that had hung over Wizarding society never truly parted. In place of celebration, there had been nervous whispers.

What happened to the Dark Lord? How had he been defeated? What happened to Harry Potter? Was the Dark Lord even truly defeated?

Fear spread throughout the Wizarding World, despite the complete lack of Death Eater attacks. The politicians didn’t let this occasion pass by. With the support of a paranoid public, the role and power base of the Ministry of Magic expanded. Departments were expanded, new departments were created, laws passed with fanfare.

Yet through it all, nothing was actually accomplished other than largely increasing the size of the English Wizarding bureaucracy. Many newly created departments clashed with one another, the lines of jurisdiction now blurred. While never a model of efficiency, the new Wizarding government stood as a shining monument to incompotence and corruption, headed by Minister Cornelius Fudge.

They had even tried to meddle with Hogwarts. The Board of Governors had been expanded, their powers increased. They now had the power to appoint professors, which had proved a constant source of aggravation for him. It was a daily power struggle, and the wear was beginning to show.

However, the most pressing issue had yet to enter his office. Not ten minutes ago, the normally blank canvas was filled by the raven-haired form of the deceased Potions Master Hesper Starkey, to confirm that Dumbledore was in his office. Hesper informed him Severus was on his way up, and that he was in a state of distress. The message delivered, the shade returned to its normal portrait in Severus’s office, the personal messenger between the two educators.

While he didn’t have the faintest idea what could have upset his Potions Master, it most likely wasn’t a trivial matter if Severus wanted to talk to him. While there were many an unpleasant adjective to describe his educational companion, needlessly worrying wasn’t a trait he possessed.

The grinding sound that accompanied the Gargoyle’s movements alerted the Headmaster that his meeting was to start. He lowered his hands from his temples, folded his fingers on top of the desk, and waited.

Severus Snape swept into the room with his dark robes billowing about him, as if strewn by an unseen wind. Dumbledore mused that, even in distress, his Potions Master didn’t let the theatrics slide. Once in the room, he began to rapidly pace back and forth in front of the desk, face pointed to the ground, apparently in deep concentration.

The Headmaster stayed silent. He found it best not to push Severus, as he would speak when he was ready to.

After several passes, Severus stopped, flinging a gaze in his direction. Dumbledore saw confusion in it, and one that was almost alien upon his Potion Master’s features.

Fear.

“Albus, did you, at any point, ever believe that the Dark Lord was truly gone?”

“It has always been my estimation that he would one day return. How, or in what form I could only form a vague guess. What prompted this line of questioning, Severus?”

Ignoring the question, his Potions Master continued on.

“I sometimes wonder what may have happened had Voldemort not been defeated that night. Would I still be content to licks the heels of a delusional lunatic, one who had murdered the only person I had ever cared for?”

The Head of Slytherin paused, his face clouded by the ghost of recollection.

“I’ve always told myself that I would have left his service. That I would have sought you out, prostrated myself before you, and renounced my service to the Dark Lord.”

Dumbledore had indeed wondered this himself, though he didn’t see the correlation to any recent events. Staying silent, he waited for Severus to continue.

“Last night, for the first time in almost ten years, the Dark Mark awakened.”

His closest confidant let the moment expand, giving Dumbledore’s racing mind time to organize its thoughts. Untold questions flowed, each demanding to be asked. However, his inquisitive nature would not serve him best right now, as Severus’ next words would most likely prove more informative than any inquiry.

“As you are well aware, the Dark Mark acts as a conduit to every Death Eater, each conduit being linked together. With time, every Death Eater eventually realized the versatility of the Dark Lord’s creation, and the wide spectrum of impressions he could send forth. When Sirius Black informed him of the Potters’ location, he sent the satisfaction through our arms, the promise of ultimate victory. When the Longbottoms and Hestia Jones escaped his ambush at the Fenwick residence, we all felt the oppressive weight of his displeasure.”

Snape’s eyes stated ahead, seeing nothing but the past.

“In some ways, the Dark Lord is an artist. His canvas is pain. When the brand upon my arm awakened last night, it was in a fashion that I had never experienced. I believe that however the Dark Mark works, it’s tied directly to the Dark Lord’s magic. What I felt last night…”

Severus paused before continuing, trying to form the words properly.

“…the power behind it was but a shade of its former potency. Whatever form he resides in now, he’s weak. Perhaps even in a vulnerable state. What I felt last night was a reminder of allegiance, a call to arms.”

Snape’s voice grew graver, dropping to a whisper, as if Voldemort himself were eavesdropping upon their conversation.

“He seeks a return, for his servants to restore him to his former glory.”

Both men were silent at the conclusion of Snape’s statement. Dumbledore’s mind raced with questions, but there was one that was most pertinent above all.

“Severus, can Voldemort manipulate the Dark Mark by himself?”

Snape exhaled deeply, with a heavy sigh.

“No.”

Dumbledore felt the years weigh upon him as Snape’s words fell. It was starting again. He could only hope they would all be better prepared this time around.

“Would you have me keep an ear to the ground?” asked Snape, his voice full of weariness.

“I would. We haven’t the faintest idea who is in contact with Voldemort right now, or how wide their network extends.”

Dumbledore received no complaint from Snape. It was unsaid between the two men, but actively moving against the force of Voldemort should they reappear was the penance that he required to protect the former Death Eater from prosecution.

“I still am in occasional contact with the Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson elders. I will arrange to meet them as soon as possible, to divine both their intentions and if they are Voldemort’s current contact.”

He nodded once, approving of the plan. Without speaking, his companion rose out of his chair, heading for the door.

“Thank you, Severus.”

His words froze the Potions Master, who turned back briefly. In that quick gaze, Albus saw the fear that had been festering, of actively spying and working against his former cohorts. It spoke of ten years of anguish, of bad decisions which led to worse ones. The face of a man condemned, damned, but not done fighting.

The flash left as swiftly as it arrived, the longest glance one ever receives into the soul of one so accomplished at Occlumency. He descended down the stairs without a second look back, out of Dumbledore’s line of sight. The grinding of stone sliding against stone told him he was once again alone, the gargoyle allowing him egress.

His guest departed, he allowed his thoughts to wander.

Foolish it may have been, but he had held out a distant hope that the contents of the prophecy had already been fulfilled. Due to a few carefully spent Galleons, he had a few contacts among the Goblin banking workforce, and had learned a great deal.

In the Wizarding world, vaults in Gringotts were tied to their respective bloodlines, the very spells and enchantments protecting the vaults literally forged from the blood of the family. When a particular family’s bloodline has been extinguished, the bond breaks, the magic governing the vault dissolved. Chaos usually ensues, with complex and arcane litigation mandating the rightful successor to the vault’s wealth.

Though it had taken time, Dumbledore had eventually discovered that the magic protecting the Potter vault was completely intact. Somewhere, somehow, Harry Potter was still alive.

Upon discovering this, he had been at a loss. He had assumed the prophecy had been fulfilled with the final explosion that had destroyed almost the entire Potter ancestral home, both Harry and Voldemort dead. An incredible tragedy, but at least one served a purpose, unlike the thousands of atrocities that occurred every day. He would have given his life without hesitation if it meant the destruction of Voldemort. Fate, however, was not interested in what he wanted. It often was bloodthirsty for the lives of the innocent.

He had not alerted the Wizarding world that Harry Potter was still alive. Without actual proof to present to the, the public would be skeptical of his claims.

He had searched far and wide for him. Owls came back frustrated, delivery parcels still in talon. Wherever Harry was, he was completely hidden.

As he often did, his mind wandered back to 1981. He had searched the Potter residence after that fateful night. An immense amount of magic had been discharged that night. Taking inventory of the magical spells flung between adversaries, Dumbledore felt a large measure of pride for his two Gryffindors. The odds may have been high, but they didn’t let that prevent them from trying. Of particular interest to him was Harry’s old room.

Dumbledore had felt the magic there, and it had been nothing like he had ever experienced. The magical imprints left behind spoke of the complex runes Lily had used, giving him a vague idea of the ritual she had decided upon. While the particulars were not clear, judging by the rune imprint, she had bartered her life for that of her son’s. He imagined that the protection had deflected the killing curse Voldemort had used upon Harry back at him.

Everything after this event, however, he was at a loss to reconstruct.

How did Voldemort continue to exist? Based upon his investigations, the body of Voldemort had literally been disintegrated, only spare bits of cloth and blood matching that found on the front lawn, kitchen and dining room. There were many different Dark rituals available to those who wished to protect themselves, but nothing that would preserve a body after being obliterated.

That was, if Voldemort even possessed his own body anymore. Perhaps his body had never been restored, but had found a way to somehow anchor his soul to this world…

Dumbledore straightened up, his mind coming to a hideous conclusion. The Dark Lord was certainly not above murder. Could the conversation Tom Riddle had with Horace during the Slug Club meeting been more than a hypothetical question?  

During the first war, he had done extensive research into the life of Tom Riddle, trying to find every single bit of information he could, anything that could have granted him just the slightest of advantages. While people willing to share memories of the former Slytherin Prefect were rare, he had persuaded some, Horace Slughorn among them.

All traces of fatigue gone, Albus jumped up. Reaching behind him, he opened a wooden cabinet, revealing his Pensieve. He ran his fingers along the carvings on the side of the stone basin, before bringing his wand tip to this temple, withdrawing a silvery strand of memory. He dropped if into the basin, where it swirled with an ethereal glow.

Without hesitation, Albus lowered his head into the silvery pool, once again descending into the depths of the past, where hopefully he had overlooked some small detail that would explain what why Voldemort was back, and what he could do to stop him.

-

August 20, 1990

A mere two weeks away from Auror training, Nymphodora Tonks found herself again reflecting on how well the summer had gone. While what she was doing was technically work, it didn’t always feel like it. Her ventures off into the Muggle world had seemed more like excursions to parallel dimensions. She had found a deeper, more profound appreciation for the odd things her father had sometimes mentioned, forgetting he was the sole family member who would understand the reference.

Beyond her new daily experiences that the Muggle world provided, she found she was good at her job. She had no need for the elaborate disguises or appearance-altering potions that her colleagues depended upon. While Muggle clothing had been awkward at first, Muggle dress was one of the first subjects her training tackled, and soon it had become second nature. She was almost in awe of the various clothing innovations Muggles had come up with, which forged a newfound sense of how prudish her own robes were. In their world, the female body seemed to be something to be cherished, to be admired, which was in sharp contrast to the conservative viewpoints that common Witch dress implied.

Her assignments usually included staking out a particular place of residence that had shown up on the grid as containing a user of accidental magic. While no two stakeouts were exactly the same, she typically could just disillusion herself, observe the family for the day, and draw the correct conclusion from the daily interactions. At first she had found it odd to be almost spying on people, but her unease lessened with each job. All that was required of her was to identify the user of accidental magic, the Ministry didn’t require anything above that, she, Tonks, often told herself that at least she was betraying anyone’s secrets.

It had also allowed her to put work into her special abilities. While she could change her appearance at will, an exterior change didn’t tend to mean a great deal unless the mannerisms and movements matched the personality she was attempting to mimic. While it had been slow work, she felt she was actually becoming proficient at slipping into the lives of others. She currently had taken the form of her boss, Mrs. Lewis, who did have occasional interactions with Muggle Social Services. For this task, she would need a somewhat established persona.

Her current assignment was more complex than her previous ones, probably only given to her due to how efficient she was with previous ones. With a gaze upwards, she beheld the rusted ironwork which framed the property, which decades ago may have been painted black. In the center of the fence lay a large, padlocked gate, in the same state of disrepair as the rest of the fence. To the right of the gate lay a more modern looking dull green steel door, cut directly into the old fence. While Tonks understood the need for ease of access, it was an aesthetic nightmare to behold, very ugly and cheap looking.

Making her way to the door, she grasped the dull grey knob, only to find it wouldn’t turn beneath her hand. “Is this a orphanage or a prison?” Tonks grumbled to herself. She then noticed a small white button to the right of the door. “Does that button open the door?” she wondered to herself. With only one way to find out, she pushed the button, then tried the handle again, which still wouldn’t move.

“Great. What do I do now?” Tonks grumbled to herself, flinging a slightly venomous glare at the door.

Tonks moved her face closer to the button, in an attempt to discern what it was for. With her face inches from it, a loud, hungry noise emanated from it, followed by an amplified woman’s voice asking “Hello?”

She screamed, jumping backwards in fear. What kind of Muggle magic was this? It almost sounded like some demon or something. Should she run? Then again, why was a demon taking the time to greet her?

“Is anyone there?” the female voice blasted again, a hint of annoyance beneath it. Tonks noticed the voice seemed to come from a small, grated piece of black wall above the button. Maybe it was some sort of strange Muggle communication device?

Moving carefully towards the spot she had jumped back from, she lowered her face and yelled “Hello!” into the grated piece.

No response met her yelled greeting. Was she using it right?

“Is anyone there?” the voice asked again, no longer masking its frustration.

Tonks brought her flushed face closer to the grating, her lips close enough to kiss it, and repeated her greeting. After a brief silence, the voice repeated its previous question, laced with even more contempt than before. Tonks slammed her fist against the wall, unable to contain her frustration, her first striking the button.

“I’m right here, you idiot!” Tonks yelled scathingly. Were all Muggle orphanages such impenetrable fortresses?

“What do you want?” the voice immediately replied in a cold tone of voice.

Whoops. How did the voice hear her this time? Maybe you had to hit the button and talk at the same time?

With a swiftly reddening face, Tonks lowered her face to the grating and pressed the button.

“I’m sorry about the previous tantrum; this thing doesn’t seem to be working very well. I didn’t mean that you were an idiot, I mean this stupid machine. I’m sure you’re smart and such.”

Her complexion deepened even further after her explanation. Was she going to do anything right today?

“It’s okay, there’s always something going wrong with our speaker. What can we do for you today?”

The voice had thawed slightly, Tonks was relieved to note.

“I’m Mrs. Lewis, from the department of Social Services; I had an appointment with Director Cole today, for 3 o’ clock.”

“Ah, okay. Sorry about the malfunctioning speakers, they never seem to work right. I’ll buzz you in.”

True to the voice’s word, an angry buzzing noise started within the door. Tonks initially recoiled, before once again grasping the doorway. She felt relieved when the knob finally moved, letting her into the courtyard. Why did Muggle devices have to be so loud? In her humble opinion, the Weird Sisters were the only thing that should occur at high volume.

Well, at the very least, the gatekeeper woman had taken her ignorance for a problem on her end. While not a good sign that she had screwed up the first part of the assignment, at least she wouldn’t be facing any repercussion for her mistake.

Entering the bare courtyard, she beheld the cracked concrete the made up the enclosed area, the odd weed cropping up between. Towering above the yard, like a looming parent of a disobedient child, was a square concrete building. She shuddered slightly at the sight, feeling extremely grateful that she had been fortunate enough to grow up in a warm home.

Ascending the cracked steps, she entered the slightly warped wooden door. Beyond lay a sparsely furbished, but spotlessly clean foyer. While certainly grim from the outside, it seemed like the people running the place had made an effort to make the interior more warm, with child’s artwork adorning the dull walls, the children’s own art museum.

Before she had a chance to examine any of the artwork, she was approached by a short woman with long, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail.

“You must be Mrs. Lewis” the woman remarked, before continuing “I’m Diane, the closest thing we have to a secretary here.”

“Correct. Pleased to meet you, Diane.”

“I’ll show you to Mrs. Cole’s office.”

Tonks followed behind the woman, passing down a corridor. Children of all ages peeked out from different rooms. All looked well cared for, which did warm her heart, even if it had nothing to do with her being here. In such a cruel world, it was nice to see that at least some people had taken it upon themselves to make sure these children had a chance.

Her guide stopped before the door at the end of the hall, knocking loudly upon it. She didn’t wait for a response, opening the door and sticking her head in.

“Mrs. Lewis is here to see you.”

Tonks didn’t hear a reply, but Diane beckoned her forward regardless. She gave a polite nod to the woman, before stepping into the office, closing the door behind her.

Sitting behind a desk was one of the oldest women Tonks had ever seen. She seemed frail to the point of being vulnerable to a sudden gust of wind, her skin literally hanging of her frame. However, the eyes blazed with a cold vitality, blue chips of ice that almost made her feel as small as a child.

With a fluidity and grace unspoken by her appearance, Mrs. Cole rose to her feet, extending her right arm. Tonks met it with her own hand, shaking it quickly. She had a slight moment where she had to hide her surprise, the grip being far stronger than she had envisioned.

 

“Good to see you again, Charlotte. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cole” she replied, complying with the request.

“As I’ve frequently told you, we’ve too familiar with one another to be so formal, please call me Mary.”

Tonks mused to herself that at least she would be able to spare herself the embarrassment of trying to guess her first name.

“As you wish, Mary. It’s been a few years, how has life been treating you as of late?”

“The same old: the government continually being tight-fisted with its under-privileged youth, but throwing money at its armed forces; trying to run this place on a shoe-string budget; dealing with all the factions of morons trying to force me out of here, claiming I’m too old to work.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much Mary, I’m sure you’ll outlive all your naysayers.”

The director gave a rasped chuckle in response.

“Sometimes, I think you’re right. Others, I feel every bit my eighty-two years. Regardless, what brings you to my orphanage today?”

The truth was an orphanage was one of the hardest places to find Muggleborns, since the monitoring system wasn’t exact enough to pinpoint more than a general location. With many children inhabiting them, it often made finding the correct child difficult. Charlotte suggested she go through the list of children, see if by chance, she got lucky and a familiar name surfaced, making her job easier.

“Well, I need a roster list of every child here.”

“Why would you need that? Aren’t you here to audit this orphanage, to assure Social Services the government’s money is being spent well?”

With an inward pang of regret, Tonks subtly lowered her right arm, withdrawing her wand that had been hidden up her sleeve. With a whisper of “Confundo”, the yellow spell left her wand, traveling beneath the desk and hitting Mrs. Cole in the leg.

The director, who had opened her mouth to ask what Tonks had whispered, stopped mid-action. Her eyes took on a slightly glazed look. The Confundus charm was completely without physical risk or harm, but that didn’t make her feel any better about using it on a defense-less woman. Unfortunately, age had not dulled her perceptiveness, so there would have been no way for Tonks to get the information she needed without blowing her cover.

A deep breath taken, Tonks proceeded.

“Mary, could you please grab the roster for me?”

“Yes, certainly.” Mrs. Cole replied as she reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. She handed it over for her “friend’s” scrutiny.

Tonks took it gently, turning it towards her and scanning the alphabetized list with a careful eye. She found that none of the names jumped out at her. She had almost resigned herself to having to meet each child individually when a name caught her eye.

“It couldn’t be, could it?” she thought to herself, her eyes moving back to the name that had stopped her. She found that it apparently could be, as her breath hitched in her throat, one of the most discussed names in the Wizarding world staring back at her, three-quarters of the way down the list.

Harry Potter. Age ten.

While a flurry of thought had overcome her, one clamored louder than the rest:

How the fuck had the potential savior of the Wizarding world ended up alive, in a Muggle orphanage?

Not bothering to keep the excitement out of her voice, she addressed the Condunded woman.

“What can you tell me about Harry Potter?”

She completely failed at keeping the excitement out of her voice, but luckily the befuddled woman didn’t seem to notice.

“Harry Potter, eh? Certainly an odd case. He was found wandering around Bedfordshire county about six months ago, on a lonely road. Gave his name, before collapsing from exhaustion. Who knows how long the poor child had been walking? Seemed to have been caught in some sort of fire, but almost miraculously didn’t get burned. Police found him, took him to the hospital, where he checked out fine, physically anyway.”

A sad look fitted onto the director’s features at that time, something almost unheard of for a Muggle under the Confondus Charm.

“The young ones, they sometimes see things that are so horrible, their mind just shuts down. There were no reported fires around the area Harry was found, nor any reports of missing children. Whatever happened to him, it must have been terrible, as he was nearly catatonic when he came here. No one could get a single word out of him, and with no missing children reports…he had no place else to go.”

“After about three months, he began to come out of his shell a little. He still won’t talk very much, but he’ll at least reply when you ask him questions. It’s odd, he’s respectful, but he’ll never volunteer information. He claims that he has no memories prior to coming here, and it seems plausible, as I’ve heard of that happening before with children who have experienced extreme mental trauma. Yet, I can’t help but feel he knows more than what he’s saying. He almost reminds me of a child that grew up here about fifty years ago, a boy named Tom Riddle. Never did find out what happened to him once he left here.”

While Tonks hadn’t the faintest idea who Tom Riddle was, the rest perplexed her. Harry obviously hadn’t grown up here. Where had he been for the ten years prior to this? She left her own thoughts to her machinations, refocusing upon Mrs. Cole, who had just continued on.

“…him, though I haven’t the faintest idea why. Even if he is slightly odd, I’ve never seen him harm anyone else. Some of the younger kids claim he can talk to animals, which is obviously ridiculous. He has snuck out a few times, but that’s been the only time he’s ever disobeyed our rules.”

She had missed the first part of the sentence, lost in her own thoughts, but decided it probably wasn’t important enough to ask for a repeat. Rising to her feet, she got the directions to Harry’s room, and rose to leave the room.

She turned her head back at the door’s threshold.

“Now Mary, you’ve been very helpful, but as it turned out, we didn’t really have a great deal to discuss. I’m going to pay Harry a visit, then I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re welcome, dear” Mrs. Cole replied, her voice still slightly dazed. Tonks cancelled the spell as she left the office, making her way to Harry Potter’s room.

She couldn’t believe it! On what seemed like an ordinary day, she may have solved one of the largest unsolved mysteries of the Wizarding world. It would be the biggest news story since Sirius Black’s imprisonment.

Before she realized it, she found herself before the door to the room that housed the missing wizard. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she knocked upon the door. She didn’t hear an answer, but she heard a shifting sound on the bed inside. She knocked again, harder. This time, a quiet voice answered.

“Come in.”

She opened the door to let herself in, turning to close it behind her. With her back to the child, she cast a quick Privacy Charm with a whisper of “Regio Arcanum”.

Before she could turn back around to address Harry, he spoke again, asking “Who are you?” in a quiet tone.

Turning around, she caught her first glimpse of Harry Potter.

He was small for his age, thin, wiry. He had dark green eyes, unlike the bright green ones she had seen in pictures of Lily Potter. His mid-length black hair was parted neatly in the middle, his raven locks combed to either side. So unlike what James Potter had looked like. An odd scar lay upon his forehead, which almost looked like a lightning bolt.

“I’m Mrs. Smith, from the department of Social Services. You must be Harry Potter.”

“What were you whispering when you came in?” Harry asked, with a slight hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Shit” she thought to herself. He must have heard her whisper the Privacy Charm. Too bad she never had much skill with silent casting. Before replying, she sat herself in the chair that lay against the opposite wall.

“I was just talking to myself, nothing important.”

Tonks inwardly groaned after her statement. Was that really the best she could do?

Harry regarded her with a deserved questioning gaze, before shaking his head slightly. She felt oddly quelled after his reaction. Wasn’t she the adult here?

“Have I done anything wrong?”

“No, of course not. The department just sent me here to make sure you were getting along fine, and to see if you had remembered anything.”

“It’s fine here. Slightly boring, but that’s okay. I still don’t remember anything…from before.”

“Not a single thing, Harry?”

Harry gazed at her, his dark green orbs surprisingly cold for someone so young.

“If I had any information about my past to give you people, do you think that I would still be here?” Harry asked rhetorically, as if he was talking down to her. Tonks was baffled. How was a ten year-old able to exude such a sense of superiority over her, and be so convincing?

She had also run through her script pretty quickly. What else was she supposed to say to this kid, who made her feel even smaller than him? Gazing quickly about the room, she took in its sparse décor. A bureau. A single wooden chair. An iron bed, upon which Harry sat. Not much conversation material here. She did, however, notice a large ring upon his left thumb, too large to fit around his finger, with a black stone set into it.

“That’s a nice ring you have there, Harry.”

“Thanks” he replied.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure” he replied, reaching out with his hand and presenting the ring for her scrutiny.

She got up, and moved closer, delicately taking Harry’s pale hand in her own, inspecting the ring. It was roughly made out of what appeared to be gold. She supposed the jewel was onyx, but couldn’t be sure. It looked like there was a faded coat of arms engraved onto the base of the jewel. She brought her head closer, wanting to get a better look. The coat of arms almost looked familiar.

Her only warning a quick blurred movement, she felt something sharp penetrate her throat with a rough tear. With a confused glance down, she saw Harry’s right hand move away from a handle that protruded from her throat.

She went to ask Harry what he was doing, but all that emerged was a wet gurgle. Her hands went to the handle, and she felt the blood from her punctured jugular vein splashing her hands.

Still in shock, Tonks wondered if the little fucker had just stabbed her. She had only the time to make the first movements towards her wand before Harry ran at her, full speed. Head lowered, he crashed into her stomach, drawing a deep cough which sprayed forth a bloody mist. The impact knocked her backwards into the chair she had been sitting in. She tripped backwards the small chair, the back of her head colliding with the wooden floor.

The blunt impact hurt like a bastard, but brought a form of clarity. With a deft movement, she cancelled the Privacy Charm upon the door. She turned her arm to point her wand at Harry, but he moved too quickly, slamming his heel upon her wrist, pinning it to the floor. With his other foot he kicked away the wand from her limp fingers, where it clattered against the rear wall, far beyond her reach.

She opened her mouth too scream, only to have Harry roughly shove a pillow over her face, his entire weight placed atop the pillow. She tried to struggle, to pull him off, but the heavy blood loss weakened her attempts vastly. A new wave of pain washed over her as she felt Harry roughly withdraw the blade from her throat, and roughly hacked at her head, crudely scalping her. Her renewed screams were completely muffled by the pillow pressed over her head.

As the seconds lengthened, her resistance grew weaker. Her assumed form slipped away, leaving only the terrified, tear tracked face of an innocent teenager. Bit by bit, her struggles trickled to stillness. With the must of old feathers in her nose, in a never-ending world of white, Nymphodora Tonks dies.  

-

Harry Potter waited several minutes before he withdrew the pillow from Nymphadora Tonks’ cooling form, revealing her face frozen in a silent scream. With her confirmed dead, he collapsed on the floor, allowing himself a few moments to relax his aching muscles. How he hated being confined to a child’s body.

After several minutes, he rose, ignoring the sharp protest of his still-developing musculature. He moved over to where the metamorphmagus’ wand lay, and picked it up. It appeared to be made from willow, about nine inches long, a poorly made wand for a poor excuse for a witch. As if he hadn’t heard her cast a privacy charm on the room upon entering. Her acting couldn’t have fooled a child, much less someone in his unique situation.

He pointed his wand at the door, and cast another Privacy Charm, before moving over to his bureau. He opened the top drawer, revealing a row of neatly folded white shirts. He threw them carelessly over his shoulder, leaving a bare expanse of wood. Reaching down, he slipped the bloodstained knife into the wood, using it as a crowbar to pop out the false bottom of the drawer. He lifted up the false bottom, and then threw it aside, revealing the contents of the hidden compartment.

Without looking, he reached his hand around one of the smaller circles of bone, and pulled it out. It bore a carving of a Germanic rune, which roughly translated to disappear. After giving it a brief look, he placed in on the floor in one of the corners of the room. He went back and withdrew three similar circles, placing them in the other corners of the square room. His servant had not failed him in procuring cloaking stones.

He went back to the drawer for a third time, pulling out an activation rune. It was Germanic in nature, but its complexity was even beyond the scope of his own vast knowledge of ancient runes. He could only hope that his servant had found someone competent enough to do these correctly, or they would both face the fury of his displeasure.

Harry moved over to the closet and opened the door, revealing his meager collection of clothes. He dropped to his knees, and placed the rune at the back of his closet, out of plain sight. With a deep breath, he tapped the large circle of bone with his wand.

He felt a tinge of magic wash through him as red light spilled from the activation rune, spreading to the perimeter runes he had previously set up. While confident it had worked, he needed to be completely sure.

He raised his wand to his eyes, letting out an incantation of "Trafero visi veneficus!" The magical sight spell took over his vision, showing the pulse of the perimeter runes, and the bright red glow that sprang vertically in both directions, far beyond the boundaries of the floor and ceiling of the room. While whoever crafted it fucked up the height requirement, that was okay, since the room was now completely hidden from the prying eyes of the Ministry’s net of magical surveillance.

With the room properly hidden, he cast a quick locking jinx on the door, followed by another privacy charm. He would hate to be interrupted during the next phase of his plan.

Moving over to his bed, he lifted it up from the head, flipping it carelessly against the wall, where it landed with a crash that wasn’t heard outside the room. Beneath the bed’s former resting place was a runic circle, carved into the wooden floor, two feet in diameter. Arcane runes covered the outside edge of the circle, copied an obscure Dark Magic tome that lay within his drawer, culled from the very writings of Rasputin himself.

His circle revealed, he reached back into the drawer, withdrawing several more objects. He placed a large piece of rounded quartz in the center of the diagram, the one blank spot on the circle. The second object, a large glass jar, he placed on the ground near the circle. With a wave of his wand, the blood began to siphon from the metamorphmagus’ body, filling the cup three-quarters full.

The third object was a small glass vial, filled with a blackish liquid. He removed the cap, pouring the anti-coagulant into the jar containing the blood. Curdled blood was such an inconvenience for the type of finesse his work required.  He sat down upon the floor, moving the jar closer to the carving, while withdrawing the fourth object he had taken, which happened to be a quill.

With fierce concentration upon his face, Harry began to use the quill to delicately fill in the gouges in the wood with blood. With no room for error, he worked slowly. As the minutes stretched into an hour, his muscles began to cramp, which he ignored as best he could.

After slightly more than an hour, he collapsed, almost completely stiff with the concentration of his careful movements. A wave of his wand later, the muscle cramps retreated. How nice it was to have use of an untainted magical core, still receptive to the occasional Light spell.

He jumped to his feet then, letting out a luxurious stretch, which he followed by pointing his wand at his opposite arm. He cast a silent cutting curse, opening his upper bicep in a splash of blood. Twirling the wand around, he carefully guided his blood onto the rounded quartz in the middle of the circle, being careful to slather the stone without contaminating the surrounding blood-filled carvings.

Once the stone was painted, he went directly into a chant. The familiar words that rang throughout the room were supposed to have been outside the limits of human vocals cords, but he had delved into magic far beyond the realm of what even the world’s most powerful wizards had never heard of. With each new alien syllable, the carved runes inside the circle began to pulse with a sinister crimson glow, as the blood transferred into pure, tainted magical energy.

The magic poured forth into the piece of quartz, which absorbed the energy. As the runes faded, the quartz increased in luminescence, bathing the entire room in its unholy glow. He felt a rudimentary consciousness began to form, one whose sole purpose was to tear, with only a need to find a seam where it could start.

With the steady increase of the light’s intensity, the consciousness reached outward. With what could most closely be defined in human terms as satisfaction, it found its seam. Without arms, it reached into the rift that had been created by the murder of the young woman, and pulled. He felt his soul split in two, the consciousness departing with half of it, searching for another place to put it.

Harry addressed the mind with what sounded like a quick growl, and it complied, depositing the soul fragment.

With the process completed, the light retreated back into the piece of rock. A cold smile graced his face as triumph raged in his spirit. Everything had gone according to plan. He had his sixth Horcrux.

He sent a quick cleaning spell at the metamorphmagus’ scalp, cleansing it of gore, before depositing it in a trash bag he had pilfered from the storeroom. He then pointed it at the dead body, and transfigured it into a dead cat, to be thrown into the middle of the street tonight. Transfiguration of dead tissue was so much easier than live.  

While he still had a very incriminating room to clean, he couldn’t help but feel excitement, anticipation. He moved over to his bureau, withdrawing a bit of parchment, in preparation for his servant’s owl, which was scheduled to arrive during the night.

Now the fun could really begin.

-

Author Notes:

This is the first proper chapter to stray far from the canonical chronology. I hope that it proved to be at least somewhat interesting and/or intriguing. While it may seem confusing now, a great deal of Harry’s current situation will be explained next chapter. That being said, feel free to leave any questions in a review, I’ll answer any question I get to the best of my ability, providing it doesn’t spoil what I have planned.

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

Thanks to the lovely Lillith Nocturne for the beta work on this chapter.

Thanks for the help in the planning stages, charmscharles.

Also thanks to the DLP crew who gave suggestions on the rough draft:

Dark Stallion, Memory King, The DarIm, Dirk Diggory, psihary, Odinmage and Insane Juggler

Thanks for reading.