A Cloak & Dagger State of Affairs - Chapter 6

MISSION ICW Part One

2nd AUGUST 1991

The Boy Who Lived; Ministry Puppet?!

4th AUGUST 1991

Hero in the making! The Boy Who Lived returns!

15th AUGUST 1991

Eleven year old Auror?

1st SEPTEMBER 1991

Protector of the realm embraces duty!

1st JANUARY 1992

Minister and Boy Who Lived inaugurate the Potter ward!

5th JUNE 1992

Boy Who Lived announces decision to take OWLS!

10th JULY 1992

Youngest wizard to apply for OWLS. Date of reckoning: 15th February 1993!

Harry felt a bubble of mirth burst every time he read a headline of newspapers popular in the magical world of the United Kingdom.

His favorite was the Quibbler which accused him of being in league with a secret society of Bubblegum men who were plotting to take over the ministry of magic in defiance of the members of the Rotfang Conspiracy. It further went on to illustrate some very interesting plots which went unread after Harry tossed the paper into a waste bin. To be fair, he did that with most papers that talked more fiction than fact.

As per his morning ritual, Harry was standing in front of his mirror; which he had christened Marbles, and was adjusting the size of his body to that of a healthy twelve year old.

"What do you think, Marbles?" he asked the mirror. "Good enough?"

Marbles had been enchanted to talk after Harry learnt how to enchant objects a month back. It had been hard work, learning the sequence of spells and calculating the amount of magic that was required to make the spell work, but in the end it was worth it. His command over the use of a wand was improving day by day and he had overcome his wariness of using a wand.

"You're as handsome as ever," said Marbles. Harry had given it the voice of a woman. Having a male mirror look at him in his birthday suit didn't appeal to him one bit. 

"But your voice is still cracking and the hair on your legs is too dark," she added helpfully.

"Right," Harry muttered and concentrated on the necessary changes. "What about now?"

Marbles giggled. "You're such a cute twelve year old. If I wasn't a mirror," she said wistfully.

"I enchanted you to talk, not behave like a pedophile," Harry said mildly.

"I resent that insinuation!" Marbles squeaked. "I would hug you till you suffocate, that's all!"

"Ooh, so you'd rather kill me. Way to go Marbles. I'm pretty sure I must have messed up the spell."

"Oh hush you. The sun is coming up soon, maybe you should put some clothes on and leave before the neighbors see you."

Still standing in front of the mirror, Harry summoned his pants, shirt and robes and put them on slowly. It was a habit he had developed when he was in Iran. 

The people there were very careful about everything and handled even the most solid and unbreakable objects with such gentleness that it defied the popular belief of the other countries that they were all violent beings.

Marbles sighed. "Putting on a show for me every morning. I live for this time of the day!"

Harry chuckled. "It's the least I can do for my least annoying companion."

Marbles gasped. "I'm the least annoying?!" Marbles was outraged.

"See you later." Harry grabbed his wand, holding it loosely between his middle and forefinger and twirled on his foot to apparate out of the house.

He had to duck and roll the next moment, as a red beam of light flew over him and splashed harmlessly on the opposite wall.

"Remind me to lock you out of the wards again," grumbled Glen Savage. Harry's alleged guardian and the man under whose roof he was supposed to be staying. 

Savage was a man of average height, an asymmetrical face with a harsh jaw line,blue eyes and sandy hair cropped neatly around the ears. He was wearing red robes, signifying his role as an Auror and was half asleep on the couch of his single bedroom house in Diagon Alley.

Publicly, Harry was living with Mr. and Mrs. Savage near Godric's Hollow, close to the house Harry was born in but in reality, Glen Savage was divorced, his wife obliviated and now living in a low rent apartment above Eeylops Owl Emporium. The little flat was always smelling of bird at any given time of the day.

Harry felt a little sorry for the man half asleep on the couch but then remembered the circumstances behind the divorce. Glen Savage loved being single and he loved the sty he lived in even more.

"I see you slept in your uniform again," Harry commented.

"It's bloody annoying to have to train you so early in the morning," Savage complained, ignoring the comment. "Why couldn't you just have gone to Hogwarts instead of making me your bloody trainer!"

Harry grinned. Amongst other things, Savage was known for his skill with a wand and shockingly good teaching abilities. He wasn't a member of the DOI and had no idea of its existence. He just did what he was told to do by Deputy Chief, Alan Shaw. 

The only information he was privy to and sworn to secrecy as well was Harry's status as a metamorphmagus and a fake cover story of Harry's life.

Most people would question why such a story was needed but Glen Savage was the sort of man who only cared about churning out brilliant Aurors from the training academy and catching wizards who had a habit of ending up on the wrong side of the law.

Few things shocked him and the ability of Harry Potter to grasp the concepts of advanced magic was one of them.

Savage got up from his awkward position on the couch and stretched his body lazily. "Bloody hell Potter," he grumbled. "It's not even bright outside."

Harry checked his watch. "Another hour to sunrise and three hours before the ministry starts functioning," he said. "They can't see what kind of training we do, you know that, and today is an important gathering of the Wizengamot. Minister Fudge has been kind enough to get permission for me to sit and watch so let's go Mr. Savage."

"It's Glen. How many times have I told you that?"

"Thirty seven as of today," Harry replied.

Harry's face was blank and Savage found it hard to tell if the boy was joking or being serious. He was extraordinarily mature for a twelve-year-old and sometimes the way he spoke was just creepy.

"Alright, alright," he muttered. "Hang on a minute while I get my boots." He quickly put on the dragon hide boots, mumbled a freshening charm under his breath that straightened out his clothes, whitened his teeth and made him look and feel like he had just taken a bath. "Let's go then," he said before grabbing Harry's arm tightly and apparating them to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Having an underage wizard apparate into the ministry was just asking for trouble and enquiries.

At quarter past seven, the ministry was entirely empty. A stark difference from its usual look which was always teeming with wizards, witches and flying paper planes.

Their footsteps echoed in the large hall as they passed by the fountain and walked towards the gate keeper of the elevators. His job was to keep an eye on things after the ministry was shut but as usual, his head was stuck to the table with drool making a pool beside his mouth.

Savage prodded him with his wand, rousing him out of his sleep with a jerk.

"Wassit? Whaddyawant?" he mumbled.

"Open the elevator Tom," Savage growled.

Tom suddenly snapped awake upon seeing the usual morning arrivals. "Auror Savage and Trainee Potter," he mumbled, scribbling on a parchment quickly. " Auror Savage; ten inches, yew with a core of a male unicorn and Trainee Potter; eleven and a half inches, holly with a core of Phoenix feather. Good morning sirs and here you go." He rattled his words at lightning speeds, knowing them by heart after almost a year of repeating them and touched his wand to the elevator activating it.

They arrived at level two; the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and made their way to the training room at the far end of the department. Rows and columns of red painted cubicles in a light blue gigantic hall populated the entrance to level two as soon as you stepped out of the elevator. Here the Junior Aurors sat and worked. Their jobs involved saving cats from trees, settling domestic disputes, breaking up bar fights, sending out warnings for the improper use of magic by underage witches and wizards and the general problems that made an Auror bemoan his job. But that was the job every Auror had to do before he or she was good enough to climb up the food chain.

Further into level six, the huge brightly lit hall narrowed into a single corridor and the cubicles were replaced by tiny offices separated by thin walls and this was where the Senior Aurors worked. There were two columns on either side of the wide and white corridor. The offices were small, had wall length glass windows through which you could see piles of files lying in the corners of the office and more piles on their desks and the name of the senior Aurors was etched into the wooden door. One the messier and smallest office had Misuse of Muggle Artifacts printed on it with the name Arthur Weasley below it. Some offices were neatly maintained and some even had windows through which different scenes of climate could be seen. It was a bit bizarre. Through one pouring rain was seen, through another a field of roses, mountain tops in another window and the variety of weather phenomenons was plenty. The Senior Aurors handled cases of murder, robbery, kidnappings and catered to the whims of the councilors of the Wizengamot.

The final section of the level had a much more elegant look and feel. The plain cement floor now had a lush blue carpet covering it and the walls were adorned with still portraits of famous Aurors who had served the department over the years. Victorian era doors were fixed on either side with large gaps between them signifying the size of the offices inside. There were less than fifty such offices in this section and the Head Aurors or Hit Wizards as they were popularly known, were the ones who worked here. Their jobs were the most dangerous and involved taking down dangerous dark wizards, ensuring the law was upheld in unsavory localities like Knockturn Alley and tracking illegal trade and smuggling of dark artifacts that posed a potential risk to muggles and wizards alike. It was the Head Aurors who got anonymous tips from the non existent Department of Intelligence. They were also incharge of handling a squad of Junior and Senior Aurors and had the option of picking their own squad if they chose to do so.

Glen Savage was a Head Auror whose primary duty was the training of junior and trainee Aurors. He reported to Alan Shaw, the Deputy Chief of the Department and Amelia Bones was the Chief of the entire department.

Finally they reached the end of the corridor where a single black door was fixed and opened up to the training room. This was a large circular room with a high oval roof and was entirely white in color. From the tiles to the walls to the ceiling, it was all white and bright.

"Give me ten rounds!" barked Savage, his voice suddenly turning hard and stern. Harry peeled off his robes and began the start of his daily training. Ten rounds around the huge room was followed by dodging stinging hexes which was followed by a conjured obstacle course that involved rope climbing, pit jumping and a lot of crawling. Finally after an hour of such exercises and five minutes of rest thereafter, his warm up was over and panting heavily, he took his aching body with wand in hand to stand in front of Savage.

Wand magic was something Harry struggled with. And given his status as the Boy Who Lived and Auror in training, it was something he had to master or else the hundreds of activists and Dumbledore who were clamoring for him to be placed with another family and sent to Hogwarts would be proven right.

Harry didn't know whether to appreciate their efforts to see him grow up like any other child or to laugh at them for thinking they were right and everyone else was wrong. It was a conundrum he had to deal with almost every other day. Who was right; who was wrong; who to believe and who to trust. The answers to his problems lay deep in philosophy and he wondered if it was the right time to discuss his questions with Sheik Akram. The man was quite well versed in the study of philosophy alongside being a cut throat smuggler and murder.

"Focus on the wand movements Harry!" Savage shouted. "You have to move faster!"

Harry ducked before the stunning spell was cast and began his own movements to stun the Auror. But as usual, Savage was way too quick and his wand was ripped out of his hands for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"Your wand movements are too quick for me to follow!" Harry panted. Sweat had become a part of his clothes and his hair clung to his skin like a rubber cap.

"The first two wand movements are key," Savage said, throwing him his wand back. "You can't dodge once the spell is cast. A spell is light with magical properties. Can you dodge a beam of light?" he asked sarcastically.

Harry shook his head. Of course not. No one could dodge light.

"And that is why, in a duel, you must recognise the wand moments before the spell is cast so that you can decide whether you want to counter or dodge. If you know what's coming at you, then you'll always have the upper hand," Savage lectured. "Now up. Again!"

They stood ten feet apart and bowed.

Immediately Savage's hand started moving.

Circle and stab; stunner - dodge.

Harry dodged and began the moments to cast the disarming hex but Savage broke off and immediately changed the spell he was casting.

Sweep and flick; bludgeoner - shield!

"Protego!" Harry yelled blocking the blue curse with a blue shield. The force of the curse shattered his shield and knocked him over and he rolled over to his left as quick as possible when he saw the movements of the stunner again. A red light smashed into the spot where he stood and as soon as he stood up, he had to bring up another shield and another bludgeoner smashed into him.

Stunner and bludgeoners were two spells all Aurors favored and the two spells that were most effective in a duel. They were easy to cast and the power could be controlled to either put down or cause bodily harm.

This time he held ground and as quick as possible let loose a stunner which was lazily blocked by Savage. He hadn't even broken out in a sweat yet.

"Giving up already?" he said mockingly as they circled each other with predatory instincts.

He spread out his arms and Harry instantly knew what was coming. When both the arms spread out they usually clapped back together to release something very destructive. Harry knew what was going to happen. The wand would be clenched by both hands, massive amounts of magic would be spit out of the tiny end of the wand and the ground was going to explode.

The disadvantage to such a curse was it left the caster wide open and Harry took advantage of the opening and moved his hands quicker. His elbow bent and then he thrust, "Depulso!" He shouted, sending a powerful gust of wind at the exposed torso and then the floor, as predicted, exploded in his face. Dust and concrete flew into him and knocked him back again and he felt his wand ripped out of his hand yet again.

"That was pathetic," Savage commented, vanishing the dust as the floor repaired itself. I sidestepped your curse as soon as I saw you draw your hand back. If you had been faster, you could have got me, but as usual, you took your time."

He held out his hand and pulled the groaning Harry to his feet. "You know it's difficult for me to mold magic. I have to be careful not to release too much magic or else my wand will explode."

Savage knew about Harry's problems with a wand but not the cause, just the effect. The runes engraved on his bones were top secret and only four people knew about them: Croaker, Hugo, Chekhov; who was now retired, and Sanders, who was sworn to secrecy over all the other oaths that she had taken after joining the Department of Mysteries.

Savage laughed. "Be sure to mention that to your opponents!"

Harry grimaced and for the umpteenth time, he was glad that the room had several enchantments on it that drastically reduced the damage a curse could cause to the body. If they had been in an unprotected room, he was sure he would be in St. Mungos, being treated for shrapnel wounds immediately. But instead he just felt the wind knocked out of him and a dull ache in his bones.

"Come on. Let's go again and this time you can use that ridiculous Amazonian magic."

Harry scowled. I'm a spy, he thought, feeling annoyed. He didn't have much use for destructive magic. He needed and used only sneaky magic. But he had to go through the training to protect his cover.

After another hour of being knocked on his arse and constantly being ridiculed, Savage finally stopped the assault and healed the superficial wounds he had gathered on his body during the duels.

"You did well today," he said smiling. "You were able to recognise most of the wand movements and counter accordingly but you're still too slow. You need to practice moving your wrists and arms faster if you really desire to be as good as you hope to be."

It was nine in the morning by the time they were done and Harry had an hour after to freshen up again, make a short trip to the Leaky Cauldron for a good, heavy breakfast and be back for the start of his classes. Officially, Harry's tutoring started at ten in the morning and was taught the subjects he was to take for his OWLS. Potions, Defence against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration - something that Harry struggled with but was coping well, Arithmancy - a subject that was essential in understanding how wand movements affected a spell through the use of numbers, Charms and History of Magic.

All the subjects except for History of Magic were taught to him by Savage and Harry had found the course work incredibly easy. He was surprised that it took Hogwarts students four years to reach such a level and his opinion of magical education dropped with every year of syllabus that he covered. Once the basics were understood, everything that came next was a piece of cake. His struggles with spell casting had more to do with his runes rather than his skill but for his age, he was far ahead than most and he knew he was going to breeze through his OWLS.

History of Magic, he read on his own time. All that needed to be learnt was there in the books by Bathilda Bagshot. There was no need for a teacher unless you didn't take the effort to read the books.

His magical education took place between ten and one, after which Harry would either go to the DOI to meet with the new Head of Operations; Hugo himself or he would meet with the Minister for Magic and other bigwigs of the ministry who wanted Harry to take their name publicly to further their political careers.

Harry had a tough time keeping a fake smile plastered on his face while fifty-year-old men and women spoke to him - technically almost a twelve-year-old subtracting the time spent with the time turner - about favors and in their words, putting a good name in with Fudge.

Fudge on the other hand made a great show of taking him to press conferences and putting him on a pedestal while he basked in the glory of leading magical Britain with kind and firm hands. Harry had to resist the urge to puke every time he was brought in for one of these conferences.

But he did it all with a professionalism and skill that would have been beyond him if it weren't for Hugo's training. He was patient, he did all his tasks without failure and after three in the afternoon, he would spy in the shadows, unseen, on all the men and women that the DOI suspected of having links with unsavory characters of the underworld.

There were two more months to go, until his primary mission would be activated. Replace Minister Fudge in the major ICW conference that was to take place in Switzerland. That was the main and only reason why Harry was in the ministry, why he was faking his dream of becoming an Auror. Why he was tailing Fudge, observing his every move, his mannerisms, his ideology and agendas as the Minister for Magic. As a metamorphmagus, Harry had the unique skills to replace Minister Fudge and no one would be the wiser unless Harry screwed up.

The Grandmaster for Magic in America had called for a meeting last year and the DOI had information from Stacey that it involved something big. The Americans had found something and it was important enough to call for a meeting of all the world leaders. The DOI could not afford to let Fudge to go for this meeting if the need to take tough decisions arose and Stacey's words were ominous enough for Croaker to give Harry such a high profile mission. The simple fact was no one but a metamorphmagus could fool detection wards and Harry was the only one they had. There was another but she was not a member of the DOI nor did she have the temperament to be considered for recruitment.

Two more months till the commencement of Harry's first mission.

Today however, thanks to Fudge and Lucius Malfoy, Harry was given special permission to sit in as a spectator in the Wizengamot courtroom to observe the councilors make decisions that affected magical Britain. The DOI, mainly Croaker, wanted him to see how the lawmakers functioned and it took a lot of sweet talking to have Malfoy and Fudge agree to his request.

Harry sat in a corner of the dark courtroom and yawned no less than thirty times in the four hour meeting. Two words seemed to stick out during the whole session: muggles and outrageous.

Any law which promoted progress was met with synchronized screams of outrageous, preposterous and a whole list of words that were just painful to hear. Suffice to say, after an hour, Harry knew exactly why Croaker wanted him to sit in. All the councilors were pure bloods. The seats of the Wizengamot were permanent and inherited by blood and it was the Wizengamot which elected the Minister for Magic. Which meant that if the Minster did anything to piss off the influential pure bloods, his chances for re-election were shot to the moon.

Harry observed five men in particular who had constant contact with Fudge and the same five held seats on the Wizengamot Council as well. Malfoy, Burke, Yaxley, McNair and Parkinson. All five were acquitted after Voldemort fell, claiming to be under the imperius curse and Harry was made aware of the substantial amount of gold that exchanged hands but mysteriously ended up in the DOI coffers.

Chief Warlock Dumbledore was a serene figure at the head of the high table and he spent half his time banging the hammer on the table trying to get order in the court but it was futile. Muggle lovers and Muggle haters were equally balanced and balance was something that never solved any problems. Harry had learnt that lesson in Detroit. Anything that was in balance was fated to keep clashing until the balance was broken. It was inevitable.

"I now call this session to an end!" Dumbledore's voice thundered through the courtroom. "The Wizengamot shall reconvene on the 15th day of September."

After the ICW conference, Harry noted.

He was about to slip out before the crowd of wrinkled skins could leave but he was caught by Dumbledore. "Mr. Potter," he said warmly. "Do you mind if we had a chat?"

Harry blinked and in the time it took to blink, he wondered if it was a good idea to talk with Dumbledore alone. "Of course Chief Warlock. Do you have a place where we could?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Call me Headmaster or Professor, Mr. Potter. My other titles sound too grandiose," he said and led Harry to the back side of the high table where there was another room with the words Chief Warlock engraved in it.

"The perks of being the Chief Warlock are plenty however," he added.

Harry looked around the room in interest. It was not very big but it was very comfortable. A book shelf covered one side of the wall and the other was cramped with a round mahogany table and cushioned armchairs. The ceiling was a little low and the walls were painted pale green giving the room a very pleasant feel.

"Please sit," Dumbledore said to Harry, pointing to one of the armchairs.

Harry almost groaned at the amazing feeling of sinking into cushions that seemed to have magical properties of massaging just the right spots. "Oh god this is amazing." He just had to voice his thoughts.

"If not Hogwarts, I spend time in this room. It has quite the marvelous collection of muggle fiction if you care to see. Enid Blyton is one of my favorite writers."

"You said you wanted to talk to me."

Dumbledore smiled, an unreadable expression in his eyes and after a moment he removed a package from his robes.

"I might not be seeing you on your birthday so I thought I'd drop by your gift before that."

Harry's eyes widened a fraction.

"What is it?"

"Something that belonged to your father. He had left it in my possession and now I am returning it to its rightful owner."

Harry slid the package, wrapped in glittering red wrapper, towards his and placed it on his lap, deciding to open it later. "Thank you Chie- I mean Headmaster. This means a lot to me."

"I spoke with Vernon and Petunia and found out how badly you had been mistreated," he said, his voice turning somber and sad. "I wanted you to know that if I had known how bad things were, I would have removed you from their house immediately. So I simply wish to apologize and voice my regrets which haunt me every night."

Harry was silent and Dumbledore felt the need to explain some more.

"You were famous hours after the tragedy struck your home. Your name was spreading all over the country like wildfire and within a day no less than ten pure blood families applied to the ministry for your custody. Had I not take the steps that I took, a supporter of Voldemort could have gotten his hands on you or a family that would have lifted you to a pedestal inflating your head with delusions of grandeur about a tragedy that you wouldn't even remember,"

"Like what Minister Fudge is doing at the moment," he added.

"You're right, Headmaster," Harry said softly. "Every word of every sentence rang true and no doubt you acted in my best interests since you knew about the prophecy that was hanging over my head."

"Harry-"

Harry raised his hand to forestall Dumbledore. "I don't blame you. Like I said you did the right thing. Just the other day, Mr. Malfoy was educating me about the follies of mixing pure and muggle-blood. He wasn't talking about power or lack of it. He was talking about the death of traditions; of old festivals. He spoke of the wonderful culture of Magical Britain that was slowly being eroded because of the blindness of Muggle-borns, who forcefully impose the culture of the Muggle World instead of understanding the culture of the world they were now a part of."

It was Dumbledore's turn to listen quietly.

"A month back, Richard Burke, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was lamenting the stand of the Ministry on certain types of magic if you catch my drift. He spoke about the nature of magic and the intent behind all magic. He also mentioned something about there being no good or evil. It's just those in power who define the meanings and meanings can change depending on who is in power."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say Mr. Dumbledore, is that, everybody is right. You are right, Malfoy is right, even Fudge is right, not to mention the hundreds of wizards who have a belief about something, who too, are right. I ask myself, so who is wrong? How can I tell if the person is being honest or just talking about the right thing for his own agenda?"

"In the end all that matters is the side I chose and everyone wants me to be on their side for some ridiculously right reason or another. You want to save the world. It's in your nature to be a hero and you want me to help you or you want to use me to save the world from something that you believe is evil.

"Harry-"

"Lucius Malfoy wants me to be on his side to protect the world that he loves and prevent change from taking a hold of it. He wants to use me to keep his world stagnated. It's a common problem with muggles too, just so you know."

"Minister Fudge is the simplest man of his kind. He just wants me on his side to show the public they are in safe hands and the ministry keeps them as the top priority. Which is true if you remove the bureaucrats and leave behind all the hard working people that actually run the Ministry. He wants to use me to stay in power."

"And what about Croaker," Dumbledore interjected softly. "What does he intend to use you for?"

Harry smiled knowingly. Of course Dumbledore would want to know that and ignore everything else. He had been using all his resources to find that out but to no avail.

"That is between Croaker and me," Harry said. "But back to the matter at hand. Who do you think should be allowed to use me?"

"You are your own person Harry. It's your choice. No one can choose for you."

Harry had a triumphant smile on his face. "And yet you work in the shadows, doing your best to dislodge me from the ministry because you don't want me to choose them. You want me to choose you and therein lies the conflict between you and me."

Neither spoke for a while.

"Grand Sorcerer," Dumbledore said suddenly, startling Harry.

"What?"

"It's one of my titles. It's obsolete now but I still have it nonetheless. Do you know what it means?"

Harry shook his head.

"If the need arises, I may use my power, my judgment, to see the world through periods of darkness regardless of cost. It's a title I earned after defeating Grindelwald and saving England from his coming assault and was bestowed upon me by the Queen of England."

Harry was quiet. He didn't know what the Headmaster was trying to say.

"I do what I do only when I see no other way and I can tell you with extreme confidence that my sight is far sharper than any other in our world. It is why people trust me and it is also why people distrust me. No one wants to be told what to do if they cannot envision it."

"And as you said earlier I have a choice. I choose not to blindly follow, Mr. Dumbledore."

I live in darkness and decay after all.

"Have a good day Mr. Dumbledore. I hope I didn't offend you and thank you again for the gifts," he said and stood up.

Before Harry could leave Dumbledore spoke. "What I do, I do for the greater good Harry. You do not know how the forces of evil think and operate and as Albus too many titles Dumbledore, it is my duty to ensure the darkness stays at bay."

"It's your greater good Mr. Dumbledore. Not everybody's." And then Harry left.

Dumbledore joined the tip of his fingers and rested his chin on top. The boy was sharp and clever and for some reason his scar wasn't as vivid as it was when he was a child. Had the magic dissipated? Had the curse been removed by the DOI?

That however was a matter for another time. What he was concerned with was the way the boy held himself. The way he spoke, it was like he was looking at the world and all its problems with a detached eye. No emotional connection and no ties to anything or anyone.

Who behaved like that? Who did he know personally that saw the world in such a fashion?

His eyes widened when the answer came to him. Severus Snape; Spy for the Order of the Phoenix.

It couldn't be! Surely it wasn't possible! The dots were there to be connected. The clues were all around. But was it really possible?!

He closed his eyes and took deep calming breaths through his nose. Don't jump to conclusions Albus. Connect the dots, gather all evidence and then make a conclusion.

But he knew his guesses were never wrong. There was definitely more to the Department of Mysteries than what was hidden behind their shroud of secrecy. If what he guessed was right, then Harry Potter was a valuable addition to their ranks and they would not part with him without a fight.

Dumbledore stood up abruptly. He needed the council of Nicolas Flamel.

20yth JULY 1992

It was night and Harry was prowling through the streets of Knockturn Alley, his hood up and wand out.

It was his night job. Tracking and finding the friends he had left in the Devil's Cauldron. He knew Jeremy would return to London, he was the only one from the isles. Gale would try and find his way to France and it would be a while before Harry could track him. Gia on the other hand would have returned to England as well. Her aunts ran an illegal trade of Ashwinder eggs. Natasha would have tried to return to Russia but Harry worried that she wouldn't make it. She was too short tempered, held a grudge longer than anyone he had ever met and was prone to spontaneously get into fights with men who so much as looked at her wrong. Harry was worried she'd be dead before she even made it halfway home. Natasha, however, was his lowest priority. She had no use for him as an agent but there was something about her that made him worry.

The cold breeze picked up speed and Harry tightened his cloak around him. It was always cold in Knockturn Alley. The path was too narrow and the buildings were too crooked and menacingly bent over the path, like they were glaring at those on the street. None of them rose any higher than three stories unlike Diagon Alley which went up to five and some of them almost ten stories high and all of them were painted with vibrant colors of different varieties unlike the ones in Knockturn which were all a dull gray.

Jeremy's dad worked for McNair; a man who was a member of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures and was a volunteer executioner despite his high ranking in the Ministry. Harry thought the man's desire to kill was positively cute. He had no real power but had the bloodlust to rival even the bloodthirsty criminals of level 40 in the Devil's Cauldron.

A movement to his left alerted him and he let loose a banishing curse at the attacker on instinct. Savage was a hard task master and after months and months he was able to stay standing for ten minutes with the dueling champion.

His attacker was a hag and she fell back with a squeal when her attack failed. Her yellow eyes, nest like hair, disgustingly long and dirty fingernails that poked out from her robes and crooked nose were too much of a stereotype and Harry gagged at the putrid smell coming off her body.

Before she could draw her wand, Harry stepped on her arm and pressed hard.

She started to howl and scream but went absolutely still when Harry bent down and placed his wand between her eyes.

He lowered his hood and let the nasty personality of Tyson Storm take over.

Black eyes bored into sickly yellow eyes that were terrified and defiant. "Come on boy," the hag cackled insanely. "Let me have you. You're innards will fetch me a pretty pretty price."

Tyson dug his wand harder on her forehead. "If you value your life, keep that disgusting mouth shut and answer my questions or else it will be your innards strangling you to death," he hissed dangerously.

The hag wisely kept shut. She knew how to differentiate the dangerous from the pansies and this boy was definitely dangerous.

"I picked the wrong one," she bemoaned before Harry could ask his question. "Oh the time will be missed yet again!" She laughed, a mad laugh, revealing a row of crooked sharpened teeth.

"Noceo!"

The hag screamed as pain erupted in her head.

Above Harry, windows slammed shut and lights burned out as the hags voice echoed in the dark and dingy alley.

"Where can I find the Modred sisters," he growled, releasing the spell.

"Oh Lord Dionysus! Smite this monster who holds me down!"

"Noceo!" Tyson spat once more, pouring more power into his wand.

Her screams grew louder and sharper and Harry had to step away from her trashing body to avoid bodily harm. He deftly kicked her wand away before she could pounce on it and let the tip of his wand glow green to remind her of the danger she was in.

It was an effective move. As soon as the woman saw the green tip she stopped squirming and real fear clouded her eyes.

"Now, the Modred sisters. Where can I find them?"

The Modred sisters were the only dealers of Ashwinder eggs in the alley and they were his link to Gia and possibly Jeremy as well. It had taken him months to find out the names of the Ashwinder egg dealers but he finally did and now he needed a direction.

"T-the Dark Unicorn your lordship," the hag wheezed. It's two lefts and a right that way!"

She pointed behind him and when Harry looked behind and turned back, she was gone. Disappeared into the shadows like all of her kind.

Miserable old woman, Tyson thought scornfully but went in the direction she pointed out anyway.

Two lefts and a right later, Harry was standing in front of a door which had a broken sign board hanging beside it. It didn't have a name but there was a picture of a black unicorn on it. Harry looked left and then who looked right. The street was empty baring the bits of paper that rustled with the wind. He pulled up his hood, shadowing his face once more and knocked hard on the black door.

Ten seconds later the door cracked open and a head peaked through. "Waddyawant?" Asked a bald headed middle aged man with gray eyes and a thick mustache.

"A weary traveler finds refuge in the strangest of places my friend," Tyson said smoothly. The words were code and they changed every week. It was the shop owners who got together and made up the code and to get the code, you needed to know someone who was told the code. In other words it was a tight circle to ensure that no Aurors or unwanted wizards got wind of their secrets and it worked very well.

Harry had stalked almost a dozen wizards and witches before one of them slipped up and mentioned the week's code out loud. But getting the code was not the hard part. Finding the names of Gia's aunts on the other hand tested his patience until he had finally got some information out of a drunk named Mundungus Fletcher. The Modred sisters. Gia Modred. The name suited her and he couldn't wait to find her since it was Jeremy whom he was really interested in. McNair was an overly cautious man and Harry had no way of finding out which one of his goons was Jeremy's dad.

The door opened and Harry entered, a little curious as to what lay behind the door. What he saw instead was not like anything he had pictured.

Elegant, was the first word that came to mind. Elegant and classy. It was the only way to describe it.

The lighting was low. Purple coloured long and thick scented candles floated at mid height casting enough light to see but not enough to read. A burgundy Persian carpet hugged the floor and as soon as Harry took a step inside there was a whoosh and his clothes and boots were cleaned thoroughly. Short round tables that were carved out of oak were placed all over and instead of chairs there were fluffy and large cushions all around. A gramophone was floating at the top and soothing classical music cascaded from the ancient artifact and along with the sound of music there were also the appropriate signs for treble and bass that floated amidst the candles, in black.

Within this misty and eerie atmosphere were people. Men and women dressed in expensive and colorful robes, sitting on the cushions, talking in low yet merry voices. A cloud of smoke rose above every table since almost everyone was smoking from pipes of unique shapes and sizes. Somewhere long and some were short but all had the same ingredient.

Crushed Ashwinder eggs coated with opium.

It gave the users a feeling of controlled euphoria, a feeling of floating in zero gravity with the mind alert enough to converse and exchange ideas. The ashwinder eggs prevented the common problems of withdrawal and addiction that came with opium that was smoked without the eggs.

Almost all the customers were pure bloods, Harry realized and they were being served by hands in white gloves, floating around noiselessly, carrying trays with drink and delicacies. The gloved gliding hands were also refilled the pipes before they could stop burning.

Harry drank in the entirety of this hidden jewel of the magical world and took a step inside but was immediately stopped by two hands, one showing him a palm, signaling him to stop and the other holding a pouch.

Harry frowned, not understanding but then the hand pointed to the bag, spread out its fingers showing five and then made a fist and showed him the sign of five four times.

Payment for entrance, Harry realized. Twenty Galleons or else leave. He briefly wondered what happened to the thick bald head that opened the door but pushed it to the back of his mind as he fished around in his deep pockets and removed his money sack. Carefully counting twenty round gold coins, he tossed them into the bag and the glove bowed to him or that's what it looked like.

The glove beckoned him inside and Harry was led to an empty table inside the Black Unicorn. The air got thicker with sweet smelling smoke and the buzz of conversing customers. They were all laughing and giggling with their companions as some bleached fire after a shot of fire whiskey, some blew rings of circles from their nostrils and some couples were affectionately holding each other while smoking from the same pipe.

Harry was seated at a table in the center of the deceptively long room and his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he saw who was seated at the table beside him.

It was Lucius Malfoy, Walden McNair and their respective wives. Harry couldn't believe his luck. Here he was here looking for an old contact and instead found a source of hidden information.

The glove pointed its thumb up questioningly waiting for an order.

"Mild midnight oil in a two feet long pipe carved out of holly," he said softly. He wanted a long pipe so that he could lie down comfortably, smoke, get high and listen to what the Malfoy's and McNair's were discussing. The Modred's could wait. This was too good a fortuitous opportunity to pass up.

The pipe came, was lit and Harry pulled deeply, letting the drug slow down his heart beat, fill his mind with the essence of euphoria and sharpen his senses almost to a fault. He wouldn't have smoked but it was essential to keep his cover intact. The more he behaved like the pure-bloods, the more invisible he became.

He lay down comfortable on the cushions with the pipe between his fingers and occasionally pulled deeply, reveling in the effects of the drug. He focused on his ears and the whispers and sounds sharpened into the discernible voice of Lucius Malfoy.

"Fudge is giving into Weasley's demands," he said, the disgust evident in his voice. "The new bill is popular among the muggle-borns and half-bloods and I fear the Wizengamot will approve of the bill anytime now."

Narcissa Malfoy, a beautiful blonde lightly raised her cup with both hands and drank deeply. "1865," she murmured. "A wonderful year for mead brewers."

"Narcissa," Lucius grumbled. "Don't ignore me."

Renata McNair giggled. She was smoking as well with a thin red pipe held between her long delicate fingers that were protected with black lace. "Politics turns into an annoying buzz when you men talk about it," she tittered.

"This affects us all Ren," McNair muttered, "If the law is passed then we have to get rid of a lot of items that have been in the family for generations."

Narcissa frowned, "What good is it, to have so much political power, but no stick to wield it."

"It's not that simple My Love," Lucius said. "Arthur Weasley may be a filthy peon with a waste of a job but he is pure-blood and has the backing of a lot of families who want to see the world-" an expression of disgust overcame his aristocratic looks, "-become more muggle."

"Then get rid of him," Renata said with disdain. "Teach him what it means to interfere with our lives for his own ambitions. Teach all those muggle lovers who exactly are in charge of this great society."

None of them noticed the figure who was casually smoking and overhearing their whole conversation.

"Well," Lucius said slowly. "I think there might be a way to send a message."

Narcissa brightened. "What nefarious scheme has touched your head this time dear husband."

"Dumbledore is the driving force guiding Weasley," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Without Dumbledore, there is no one in the Wizengamot to bind the muggle loving fools and it will be our hand that sits above the rest."

"We've been trying to get rid of Dumbledore for years, Lucius," McNair said dryly. "The man is brilliant and has seen through all our attempts from miles away!"

"What if Weasley was the one doing the discrediting. What if Weasley was caught with his pants down with a dark artifact in his hands."

"Are you suggesting we frame him?"

"Too easy to be seen through," Lucius said dismissively. "What we need is chaos and if Weasley was found to be behind said chaos don't you think it would bring, not only him, but Dumbledore down as well?"

"A bold plan," said Renata. "But how are you going to do it?"

Lucius smiled maliciously. "Before the Dark Lord fell. He gave me a diary."

Renata snorted. "A diary? Old love letters perhaps?" she joked and they laughed.

Lucius ignored her and continued, excited about his plan. "He told me that if this diary ended up in Hogwarts. A purge would be unleashed that would get rid of all unworthy blood."

"And if Weasley got this diary...?" Trailed McNair, not grasping what Malfoy was plotting.

"Not Arthur. If one of his kids got hold of the diary and took it to Hogwarts and unleashed said purge..." Lucius left the rest unsaid.

"The diary would control them and when the truth comes out then all of Dumbledore's preachings would fall apart!" Narcissa burst out excitedly. "Brilliant!"

McNair was still not convinced. "But how are you going to get the diary to them and how are you so certain it will control them?"

"Leave that to me," Lucius said shortly.

"But what about the law? Will it still be passed? The next meeting is in a month and that's barely enough time for your grand plot to succeed," said McNair.

Lucius's expression soured. "Laws can be repelled my friend."

Beside them, Harry was deep in thought. This was all very interesting conversation. A plot to get rid of unworthy blood? Harry would have laughed out loud at the hypocrisy of his words if he weren't so blissfully high. The hand came to refill the pipe but Harry stopped it and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, signaling for the bill. Now that he knew this establishment was run by or supplied by the Modred sisters, he could come back any time to procure the information he needed. For now he needed to report to Hugo and alert him about the possibility of a murderous plot to harm Hogwarts and perhaps a golden chance to bring down Lucius Malfoy.

The gossip reverted back to wine and their kids to which Harry listened intently until his cheque came along. Silently paying and exiting the premises, he drew his wand, spun on his foot and with a crack, apparated back to his home.

-x-x-x-

A/N: Thank you for reading! Do let me know your thoughts on the story so far :)

Cheers