The Veiled Vestiges

Disclaimer – This is a work of purely speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here. The characters involved are the intellectual property of their respective authors/creators except for the ones that are listed as an OC, which are mine.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Chapter 10

Lunar Eclipse

"…watchers report everything is right on schedule with the target, Senior Chief."

"Good. Agent Chen, any update?"

"Yes, sir. Things are moving as they were after the stage-op we conducted last month. If it continues the course, we will have the result we were hoping for."

"Good, make sure it stays that way."

"Yes, sir."

"Next. We have a situation coming up tomorrow. As all of you should be aware, tomorrow is a lunar eclipse. Aside from the leaders, packs will be hiding in their territories. No snouts, out and about, gentlemen. We'll have eight hours to complete every single job that was deemed too volatile or not high up on the priority chain in the areas we know to be pack lands. I know we have two pending field inspections for a possible fire seed farm on the northern and southern borders filled with werewolf packs that are still waiting on the table. So, Agent Marlin and his team will take those jobs. Agent Marlin, I am sure I don't have to tell you how important those fire seeds are for us, do I?"

"No, sir!"

"Good. Every other job will be assigned by the office and every team has to take at least one. Pick and choose, gentlemen. You don't get this kind of opportunity often in our department. If done right, your teams will get enough experience in the element with little danger. For those amongst your teams interested in categorical data research, this is where you get to shine. I will be expecting successful job reports sitting on my desk the day after. Don't disappoint."

"YES, SIR!"

"Alright. Next up, tier-2 briefs. Agent Bernard, any updates in your spectrum?"

"Yes, sir. The watchers assigned to target-154 have reported a change in the situation."

"A change?"

"Yes, sir. As we discovered in the last year's Intel packet, target-154 was involved with another target, ICW-DOM watcher tag-ID I-2156. The ICW-DOM federation was keeping loose tabs on target I-2156. Target-154 seemed to have done a runner with his money."

"And your watchers were present when target-154 bolted?"

"No, sir. They were working on target-160 in Nottingham at the time. When they were on their way back to West Yorkshire, they were close enough to a Priority Delta Alert, sir. They were responding to the call."

"Agent Bernard, the only job for a watcher is to watch their targets. The protocols are there for a reason. I agree as far as the excuses go, a damn Delta Alert is a good one but we have other units for that. And as I remember it, the alert was responded to and cleared away by Agent Chen's team. Watchers are not to leave their positions till their shifts have ended. We have limited watchers as it is. Remind your men their duties, Agent."

"Yes, Sir. I will, Sir!"

"Good. I want those watchers in the freezer, for a night."

"…Uhh. Sir?"

"They broke protocol, Agent. No matter the cause, the rules are there for a reason. You break them and you get punished for it. No excuses. No nothing. A night with the lethifolds in the freezer is sure to let that sink in. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Good. Now, are we sure, nobody from our side was involved in this incident?"

"Positive, sir. Watchers checked out the area. There was no magical residue anywhere in the building. We don't have any recording crystals in the area and the trace net doesn't cover it on account of us never having any records of a magical living there, past or present, but watchers have reported no unusual activity before or after the incident, Sir."

"From his file, I gather that target I-2156 resides in Kiwi-lands. We know it's an area with no local DOM surveillance. Did you reach out to ICW-DOM for any reports on him?"

"Yes, sir. We have received a report that as soon as they got Intel on target-154's actions they dispatched two watchers for Kiwi-lands. They had target I-2156 getting admitted to a hospital a night before. They checked, sir. He was there."

"And target-154's compound? I seem to remember reading a report about him owning a storehouse for his activities. Any exposure there?"

"No, Sir. The watchers checked there first. There were five bodies of his men. All wounds were from a muggle gun. No magical residue there either. Muggle policemen are reporting that the target had all his men collect the money and then killed them in the storehouse. We were able to find that he had charted an aero-plain to Bulgaria. As we are not authorised to operate outside our borders, watchers lost the trail after that."

"Alright, good enough. But just to be sure, tap our contacts inside Gringotts and ask them to sound out anything unusual there. If it's clean, send a report to ICW-DOM that we have checked and cleared the situation. Mark the incident as non-exposure and file it."

"Yes, sir."

"That leaves us with you, Agent Bode. Any luck finding your safe-house burglar?"

"…Uhh. Not yet, sir. No."

"Hmm. You know, that's not a word I'm used to hearing from you, Vincent. It may not be a priority case but it was a significant breach. Put a rush on it."

"Yes, sir. Will do."

"Alright people. That's it for this week's brief. Agent Marlin, submit the minutes for this meeting to the office."

"Will do, sir."

"…Uhh. Sir?"

"What is it, Agent Bode?"

"I don't… I don't think we can find the thief, sir. At least not with what we have at the moment. It's not about capability or throwing enough resources in the field to catch this guy. We don't have his magical signature on record. And even if we did, we have nothing to match it with. The safe-house was clean. The only things stolen were some potions and a wand. A wand with suppressor runes etched on it. The only people who even knew of the safe-house were our own agents, sir. Unless he strikes again, we won't have any leads. And if he does a job as clean as he did the last one? We won't have anything, at all!"

"We are not greenie Aurors, Agent Bode! We don't have words in our dictionary that spell out CAN'T. There are mysteries abound in our world. They are only mysteries until we find a way to demystify them. We do. We have done. And we will continue to do it! You are an Unspeakable for this sole reason. Make sure you live up to that. You have some more years left in you, Agent Bode. I don't think you'd survive an early retirement. Or am I wrong?"

"No, sir! We'll get him, sir!"

"Good. Dismissed."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Walking into his office with a soft smile on his face, Dumbledore ignored everything and made his way directly to his ever so pleasantly warm chair. The day had been every bit as productive as his usual ones from the recent past. And a slightly more tiring as a result.

He could still feel a hint of annoyance on his tongue that he always felt when he had to deal with the Minister. It had taken well over two hours to explain to the man why he couldn't let his dear friend Lucius know about the real situation at hand. Even then, he'd had to resort to some magical means to make sure that no one in the minister's office revealed a single thing to anyone besides the ones who were already in the know.

But the fact was, it was not as easy as it used to be. There was a time when he used to get things done by the dozen. A time when the work didn't seem so tedious as it did now.

As was it's wont, time was catching up to him.

He could hear creaking noises from his bones now and that was nothing compared to the slight sluggishness that followed his every movement. Things were coming to an end it seemed. Not soon though. No. He still had some years left in him. Years that he had long ago promised to spend saving the world from itself. And if he was honest, it was the hope that he would save many souls along the way, that was keeping him going. There were still people who needed to be redeemed, needed to be saved from their past selves. Every step he had taken, his every concoction had been towards one simple goal. The betterment of the wizarding world.

But there was a question that had started haunting his dreams now. There was always that one whisper he heard when he lay awake at night.

'Was he enough?'

He had pondered that question over and over again ever since things had diverted from the track he had railed them on. It could not be denied that there would always be a need for a leader. Need for that one person who could make the hard choices. The one who looked at the bigger picture rather than the things that were just up ahead.

To treat the world as a mass of thousands rather than the individuals that made it a whole, a daunting prospect if there ever was one.

The world was still breathing today because the leaders have had the courage to rally through their short-sightedness. Every successful leader who had the responsibility of others on his shoulders had to think about everyone rather than just their nearest and dearest. It was the only way to preserve what they treasured the most. Hundreds of families were still alive today because one had sacrificed everything. They were heroes, true. But even if he would have had to take a more active role to reach this state of events, he would have done so. Simply because someone had to. Someone had to be brave enough to do the right thing. To make the masses understand what they were foolish enough to discard in their juvenile need for what they mistakenly thought was justice.

The greater good.

It had to be observed.

Maybe it was time to prepare the one who could carry the torch in his stead. Perhaps it was time to foster the one who would become his legacy.

The prophecy spoke of the two of them. Perhaps there was an answer there?

Before he could ponder some more on those errant thoughts, he heard a knock on the door. Busy as he was with his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed the charm that alerted him to someone's presence on the circular staircase leading to his office door. Brushing off the cobwebs from his mind, he gave a quick reply of, "Enter."

The one who stood at the open door though was not he was expecting to see at the moment. While he knew she would not be satisfied with the vague answers he had given her, he had somewhat expected that after their last conversation it would take a while before she was able to regain her equilibrium.

"Minerva," he nodded, "Is something the matter? I do not believe we had a meeting scheduled," he asked, somewhat confused at seeing her at such an hour.

A stiff nod from his deputy gave him a certain idea that whatever had caused her to come to him was not going to be as simple as a scholastic issue.

"No, we did not, Headmaster," McGonagall replied, coming straight to the point as was her usual modus operandi. "It has been two weeks since you gave me your usual half-truths about the situation at hand. I told you then and I am telling you now that I simply refuse to believe the preposterous lies that the ministry is spouting off! I am are here to get the answers you owe me, Headmaster. And I will not be leaving your office without the truth." she stated, visibly controlling herself. Every single word she had uttered had been said with the composure that came with her station but there was still an undercurrent of suppressed anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Seeing that the situation would evolve any second now, Dumbledore attempted a rescue. "Calm down, Minerva. Please, sit. I can understand how the current news may be affecting you…"

"YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING, ALBUS! I am not here to listen to your triter platitudes! I…I have to know. I have to… I can't… To see James and Lily's legacy discarded like this…" she choked, unable to continue. A few angry sobs escaped her and she collected herself lest she did something with her fiery temper. "Please, Albus. I deserve the truth. I cannot live not knowing what happened to James' boy. Please…" Tears started falling from her eyes as she lost her composure.

Dumbledore knew he had to salvage the situation and stop his deputy from reaching to conclusions that could and would derail everything. Their world couldn't afford another upturn so soon. It had been a minor miracle that the public had eaten everything up the way they had. The proper dissemination of information the way he wanted would likely take years, but the initial reports hinted that things, as they had portrayed them to the people, was being accepted. He supposed that the new and refreshing stance of the Prophet to be clear and transparent about such important news was to thank for that. Regardless, he had to settle things on this front.

Things had been much simpler with Hagrid. Though the gentle giant had been very upset when he found out that the bundled baby Harry he had escorted to Privet Drive was, in fact, been another child, he had admittedly understood why Dumbledore had done so. Had even said that he knew why Dumbledore had to trick him as he did. A moderately powerful loyalty potion in his meal that night might have helped. But it was simply because he knew that without his guidance and protection, their world would not let Hagrid survive as he was doing now. If Hagrid, in his anger, walked away from him, he knew things would not go well for him in their community. It was for the game keeper's own good that he had done what he had.

But to settle his fiery deputy as he had done Hagrid was a hope that belayed foolishness. One that he had no intention of making ever since he had concocted the plan to bury the news of the boy's demise from the public.

Minerva, he knew, required a different kind of touch.

Putting on a weary visage, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as if what he was about to say was difficult for him to do divulge. He had been prepared for such a turn of events. He knew she had been close to James and Lily. For her to not want to know what had happened to their son was unthinkable. Sighing deeply, he replied. "You have a right to know, yes. But your right was never in question, Minerva. What I feared was what the truth would cost you. Alas, I cannot protect you forever. It is time then. Time to show you the truth." With that, he stood up and went to the hidden alcove to the side and pulled the glowing basin from within.

"I had hoped that you would believe the events as they are being told. But I can see how foolish a hope it was," Dumbledore said, tapping his wand at various runes on the surface of the basin both his visitors knew as a pensieve. With some concentration, he touched the wand to his temple and pulled a memory from his mind. A very specific memory that he had acquired when she had arrived seeking answers for the first time, hearing the news.

Though he was loathed to do it, it had become a necessity to remit their desires to reveal the truth to people. And in the end, he had convinced Minerva to do the one thing that could take some of the pain of her loss. The whole act had required judicious use of confundus charms and the like. And though it had left a bitter taste in his mouth, he had gone through with it just the same. He had come to realise that with his actions as they had been, he had committed himself to the path too much to have let a moral dilemma wrench the victory out of his hands.

As the memory swirled inside the pensieve, he tapped a few more runes and an ethereal image of Minerva was looking at them both from within the pensieve. Dumbledore tapped another rune and memory-Minerva was projected outward over their heads.

Though she was surprised at first, McGonagall was paying close attention to her memory-self. Best as she could tell, by her slightly younger form and a little less grey hair than at present, the memory was a few years older.

"…there is nothing left of them then? Albus? Is it true? Did he…did he really kill the boy too?" asked a visibly quivering McGonagall.

"I wish it were not so, Minerva," replied the saddened Headmaster.

"But…but…I just saw them. I just saw them last week. How…how could…" tears filled her eyes as she smiling faces of her friends flashed through her mind.

"We might never know how Minerva. What we do know is that Lord Voldemort somehow got past the defences we had erected for their protection. When I arrived at the scene he was attempting to flee the cottage house. I did then what I had to do to stop him. But if I am being honest with myself, I had not thought I would live through the experience," he paused and shook his head a little as if trying to dislodge the abhorrent memories of the duel with the Dark Lord.

"I am working with the ministry to find what happened but the new Minister has decided on something much more radical," he sighed rubbing the middle of his brow.

Though she was quite upset hearing the news of the Potters' demise, Dumbledore's last words did pierce her emotional state. When she looked at him with a confused tear struck face, he explained.

"Voldemort's supporters are amassing to avenge their master. It is likely to be a dangerous affair. Ministry is trying to de-escalate the situation but I fear it will take months if not years for our world to heal from these wounds.

"Minister has decided upon a course of action that might help us catch many of Voldemort's agents. I can not tell you what it is yet as I have met the man just once and he has asked me to keep the people who know about what happened on the night in question to a minimum," Dumbledore explained.

He looked straight at the slightly swollen eyes of his deputy and asked with a heavy voice. "I must ask something of you, Minerva. You will loathe me for it. And you should. But for the safety of our world, and your own, I must ask you to make this sacrifice."

"Wha…What is it, Albus?" McGonagall asked in a quivering voice.

"Your memories. The fight that is about to begin will be more dangerous than even those that we have been fighting until now. The dark forces will be more desperate with the loss of their master. Their depraved activities may soon escalate to much more heinous acts. I cannot let you be in such danger, Minerva. They know you were close to the Potters. Perhaps not as close as their other friends, but many knew of your relationship with James. They will hunt you down just for that. I do not doubt your resilience, but I fear it may not be enough.

"What the ministry has planned, I do not agree with it. I have tried to reason with them but my hands are tied. They have threatened to depose me as Chief Warlock. While I do not care for the title, if I am not present within those halls when the trials commence, they will crucify every single soul they get their hands on, innocent and guilty alike." He averted his eyes as if trying to hide the burden that was visible in those heavy blue eyes.

Silence filled the room as none present uttered a single sound.

Some time passed before McGonagall replied. "James' family gave their lives to protect us. I cannot let their sacrifice be for nothing. I can't let it be in vain. What do you need me to do, Headmaster?" She asked, for once sounding like a proud Scott she was.

Dumbledore looked at her with pain evident in his eyes. "I need you to forget…"

"I will do what I must," she interrupted resolutely.

Dumbledore nodded resignedly.

"I promise, you will not feel a thing, Professor McGonagall." He pulled his wand out of his sleeves and made a slow circular motion with his wand.

"Obliviate."

Just as the memory-Dumbledore intoned the spell, the memory ended. Minerva was looking at the space where her memory-self had been standing with wide eyes. Her eyes were unfocussed and glistening as fresh tears started flowing from her eyes. Whatever she had thought been the reason for Headmaster's actions, she never once had thought this would be it.

"I…I knew?" McGonagall stammered.

"You did," Dumbledore replied with a heavy sigh.

"I agreed…I agreed to do this? How could I? How…?" she asked herself, looking more than a little lost.

"I know it hurts, Minerva. I know it pains you to realise this truth. I can only apologise that I could not spare you this pain. I can only apologise…" he stopped as his eyes grew moist. He did not move his eyes from hers though. He needed her to believe that the decision, false though it had been, hurt him just as much as it did her.

She had lost her centre since she had lain eyes on her memory self. She could not fathom the ease with which she had agreed to such drastic measures. While the reason was more than sound and if it came to it now, she knew she would do the same thing, but the nonchalance with which her memory self had relented was something hard to swallow.

But then she saw the face of her mentor and things started to make some sense. She wiped at her cheeks to rub off the tears that were still leaking from her eyes. She knew how much burden the old warlock had to take on his shoulders to keep their world from collapsing into the dark. At that moment, when Albus looked so old, so fragile, she realised that his every action, every decision that he had to make, had added another mark on his psyche. Anyone else in his position would have given up by now. But not him. Not this man. He had rallied through.

She regained the will with the strength she was known for and looked at his form and thought back to the times when this man had helped her when she had was being drowned by the weight of her own demons. How he had brought her back from the nothingness when her husband had been killed at the hands of the same butchers that had ravaged their world. If nothing else, this man deserved her unwavering loyalty. He had, even when he knew it would hurt him to do so, decided to take her painful memories just so she and the rest of the world would remain safe for a little while longer.

She reached a conclusion that she never thought she would even consider, walking towards his office this evening. She couldn't let this man continue to take the burden alone.

She would be what she always was, his deputy.

Before she could say anything, Dumbledore spoke up again. "I cannot begin to fathom the feelings you must be feeling after seeing this, but there is only one place I know we both can find some solace," he said as he held a hand for her to grasp.

It took a moment for her to take hold of his appendage, and when she did, a sensation of passing through a narrow tube washed over her and a moment later her feet were again on solid grounds as heavy breaths filled her lungs.

She saw Dumbledore looking over at the lone sign at his front and suddenly she knew, where he had taken her.

Godric's Hollow.

The kissing gates of the cemetery rattled and swung forward as the shaking hands of the Headmaster forced them apart.

Without prompting, she started walking beside him. The place was as comforting as ever. A complete contrast to how a cemetery was supposed to feel. In the past five years, she had visited the site more times than she could remember. Every single time she had, it had felt as if a strange warmth had enveloped her with that first step inside the graveyard.

Soon they were standing near the two graves.

'In the loving memory of

James Potter • Lily Potter

27 March 1960 – 31 October 1981 • 30 January 1960 – 31 October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death'

A single bouquet of white rose was already laying there, possibly by another, wishing to pay their respects, but she had only eyes for the two names. The two people who had been taken from the world before their time.

She saw Dumbledore draw his wand and mutter some a spell under his breath. The two graves that had been there previously shimmered as if a mirage in the scorching heat.

When the world settled again and her eyes caught the scene, a gasp escaped her. Where there had been two graves before, now there was a third that had somehow appeared right before her eyes.

'Harry James Potter

31 July 1980 – 3 August 1986

Beloved Son - Our Salvation'

"I had this done after they were buried. I…I couldn't keep young Harry away from his parents." His words seemed too heavy to her. As if the action had taken something from him. She knew it would not have been an easy decision to make. To hide this from the world. To take this from a family when they had already given so much. He had taken it all upon himself still. Had lived underneath the weight of this guilt ever since that day. All of this…just so he could protect them all.

She knew then.

She could not let him do this alone.

"I…I do not know if I would have had the courage to do what you had to do, Albus. If what the ministry is saying is true and these lies have helped catch those…those heinous criminals…" she paused. "I may need a few days to understand how I feel, but I do not blame you for this, Albus. I…I cannot," she said looking at him with compassion filled eyes.

The hunched form of Albus Dumbledore rose a little at that. His moist eyes looked at the woman standing beside him as if not expecting this turn of events. With a simple nod, he acquiesced to forgiveness.

They stood there late in the night, each in their own thoughts. One, commiserating the loss of her friends and their son, and the other…eulogizing himself for a job well done.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Pavo cristatus. The white peafowl. A leucistic creature whose flaw marred existence still made it one of the most beautiful birds in the world. Not for nothing was the bird called a sign of prestige.

As he saw the peafowl pootling in the garden, a smirk formed on his lips. It certainly was his sign of prestige.

To think those filthy muggles used to hunt this magnificent creature. Boorish neanderthals, the lot of them. His kind knew better though. It was said that this bird was a harbinger of good fortune. Well, his luck had definitely changed after he had brought the marvellous thing from his brief visit to Burmese forests.

As the bright rays of sun touched the grass at his feet, he turned his thoughts towards his present dilemma. It was truly becoming something akin to a mystery for him. Though he appreciated the good publicity and the perks that had followed, the vague reason that the bumbling fool Fudge had given did not sit right with him.

(Flashback)

"Lucius, I cannot tell you how it all came to be. We were all unaware until Dumbledore gathered my staff and laid out the plan. We have been oath-bound to not speak of it. There is little I can tell you," Fudge grumbled shiftily.

"Such as?" Lucius prodded with an immaculately raised brow.

"There are many who were slain in this operation, Lucius. Many of those we thought had perished in the war. We found them congregating together and planning to bring back their master. I know that foul fiend had you at his mercy with the Imperius but Dumbledore warned me not to tell you anything about this. By the time I found an opportunity to let you know, he had already bound us with an oath," he commiserated. "But I knew you would have done your part if the old fool had just asked. The only way I could repay you for all you have done for me, even if a little, was to name you as one of the operatives," he explained.

"Do not think of this as a debt, old friend. I did what anyone would have in my position. I was able to help rebuild our world, and I did just that. Our world needs a leader like you. And after this, there is no doubt in my mind that I did the right thing supporting you as I did. Though I have to confess, I do not feel right taking praise for something I did not do," Lucius replied without missing a beat.

Fudge shook his head resolutely at his friend. "You would have helped if you had known. You deserve this for your contributions to our society."

Lucius simply nodded his head slowly in false modesty. "If you say so, minister…You said, Dumbledore set this all in motion?" he asked tentatively.

"He did," Fudge replied.

"I don't suppose he shared his reasoning with you?"

"You know him, Lucius. The man is as eccentric as he is cunning. I cannot even begin to speculate the reason behind such direct action."

(Flashback)

According to Fudge, it had all been Dumbledore's doing. And if Chief Warlock himself had set this up, there was no doubt in his mind that if the old fool caught even a whiff that he was asking questions, the consequences would only be worse for him.

The leader of light was not the paragon of good as he made the world believe.

He was not surprised that there had been some supporters of the Dark Lord that had been hiding and working on his resurrection. Their lord's influence was far-reaching. While they all had worked towards the same goal and under their master's banner, they all had different reasons for doing so. Even within their ranks, there had been many factions that had given their lives to their cause with varying amounts of dedication.

Self-preservation among the dark had always been paramount.

With what he had discovered, there was only one thing left to do.

He had to gather the old crowd and impress upon them the necessity of keeping their heads low and their noses clean. The light was on the prowl. They'd had to tread slowly.

If their master had waited this long for his servants, he could wait a little while longer.

Biding their time was, after all, the way of a true Slytherin.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry was walking down the familiar streets of Diagon Alley towards his dining spot for the day, Leaky Cauldron. It was the third day since he and Sirius had had that adventurous meeting with Boneslaw Dasez, who was now officially, the account manager for the Ancient House of Kent.

They had only done a single deposit since then, and as discussed, had signed the contract just yesterday. Him, as the Head of House Kent and Dasez as the representative of Gringotts. Keeping his word, Harry had even given the goblin two names and basic portfolio for their first joint investment.

He was waiting for the end of the quarter with bated breath. He had never really seen a gobsmacked goblin before. Especially when the cause of such a reaction had to do with one of their specialised elements. Gold.

Even with just a single inflow of galleons within his newly opened vault, Harry was now substantially wealthier than he had been in either of his lives. Of course, it was true that he couldn't compete with the oldest of the families who had established their roots in the country so long ago. But old money was just that, old money. Hoping to compete with that so early in the game was beyond foolish.

The Noble, Noble and Ancient and Noble and Most Ancient houses were given many privileges in their society. There was a reason for that. The collective taxes from Wizarding Britain and Ireland were barely enough to keep their society from collapsing, and when one added the corrupt officials and clerks in the mix, there was no wonder that the budget of unnecessary departments was being fractioned every year.

Without the generous donations of the old families, there was no possible way to balance the upkeep of their community. And when these families, in return, got the perks of said donations, well, it kept everyone satisfied with the status quo. Well, almost everyone.

Some muggleborns and even a few Half-bloods saw it as discrimination. While it was, on paper, true but things in the world were never so black or white. While Harry was sympathetic with their plight, him being a Half-blood as well but when it came to this particular fascet of wizarding society, he understood the need of appeasing the nobles. Having been thrust into the role of a leader in the last decade of his life, he knew how challenging it was to manage or simply feed a small populace. And the resistance had been nothing more than a bundle of about a few hundred souls. To govern and provide for a population of around 100,000 witches and wizards living on the isles was a monstrous task indeed.

Harry knew of a validated rumour he had heard in his fifth year. The Noble House of Malfoy had donated half a million galleons to the underfunded St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

And that had been a donation of just a noble house.

When one thought how much the houses that were higher on the ladder contributed, yearly, it was enough for even the most greediest of thief's wet dreams.

So, no, he was not yet on the same playing field as those gargantuan Lords. Yet.

Even with Francis' stash, the whole accumulation had been just shy of forty million pounds. Considering the steep exchange rate of three pounds to a galleon, the first deposit, which was just a quarter of the heist, had turned out to be three million three hundred eighty-four thousand galleons and some change.

Not enough to play bid-wars with the elites, but more than enough to start his ventures. And it was more so because he had decided to not put all his eggs in one basket. He had already made some rough plans for the left three-quarters of the cache.

Goblins, he knew, were greedy bastards. They had already shown themselves to be capable of stealing the whole fucking crop of every single family in the British isles who had trusted them.

He had no intention of being a sucker like his fellow witches and wizards. No, sir.

Without realising, he was soon walking inside the Leaky Cauldron. As his eyes caught his own reflection in a nearby mirror, he frowned. It had been a couple of weeks when he had noticed something that was missing from his face. His glasses. Staying on the up and up with the hectic schedule he'd had to keep ever since his arrival, the smaller details had taken a back seat when they had nothing to do with his immediate plans. And his ability to see more than four feet ahead of him without the need for his glasses had been a smaller detail when compared with the shit storm that had ravaged his plans recently.

Magic could not heal blindness or poor eyesight. It was one of the truths that he had been taught when he had been in Hogwarts. There were spells and enchanted items aplenty to help the life of such differently-abled, but there was no rectifier. There were many objects which could be used to enhance one's eyesight, but they were meant for those who had reached their magical majority to impart magic through them unconsciously.

His return or the ritual had done something to alter his physiology. It had been minute, true but it had been enough to give him better eyes than what Harry Potter had in his life. As much it had hurt to lose something that had connected him with his mother, he could not help but be pragmatic about the change. It was his cross to bear. To live with that loss.

Taking a look around, he saw there weren't many people who had chosen to dine in the establishment. It was understandable. Lunar eclipse did tend to cause feelings of unease among many who had seen, first hand, the butchery that those with fangs and claws could unleash.

While it was true that Lunar eclipse did tend to send most weres into hiding, it was also true that the event had an uncanny effect on those who had lost all touch with their every fleeting humanity. The inner wolf was a deadly creature. It sought out the moon for its release. When there was not even a hint of it in the sky, it wreaked havoc in his host's brain.

Many such weres had been eradicated by the ministry and for good reason. But every single person in the isles was aware, there were still some out there. And tonight, they were bound to be on the prowl.

But it was also an opportunity. Opportunity for those who revelled in such unease and fear. For those who preferred seclusion because their true-self would more than likely brand them as a beast, even among their own kind.

It was one such beast, he was waiting for tonight. A night stroll to a seedy bar in Knocturn had revealed that he would be meeting a client here at the Cauldron. Hence his approach.

Harry had no qualms about tonight. No doubts had flared within him when he had planned this particular adventure. He knew the one he was hunting tonight deserved every single curse he was going to deliver to his cowering body.

He remembered this particular animal vividly. Had even received quite the gift from him the night the resistance had been captured in Dunedin. The coward had slipped away after slashing his torso shoulder to hip.

A shiver ran through his body as slight phantom pains pulsed on his back.

The butcher had disfigured him.

It was time for some payback.

It was after another thirty minutes of waiting, that the man showed up with another party in tow. He was just as he remembered. Tall and muscular, with a thin, black moustache. A jagged scar on the left cheek. The ever-present sneer prominent on his face.

Walden Macnair.

Harry waited for a few minutes before he discreetly brought out his wand and covering it with the newspaper, tapped it against his ear. He furrowed his brows when nothing happened. He tapped it again. When he got the same result as before, he knew, they had cast some kind of privacy ward around the table. Though he knew he could break the ward, he also realised that it would require some time, considering the many types with which the ward could have been configured.

Well, there was nothing for it then. As it was he didn't think there was a need to listen to their conversation anyway. He already suspected what sort of business deal could be happening between them.

Macnair was an executioner who worked in the ministry. Seeing as there hadn't been an active need for one since all the dangerous breeds of dragons and other Class-XXXX and Class-XXXXX beasts had been moved to various reserves around the world, the man had decided to earn his keep by taking care of the problems his old friends sent his way.

Murder, kidnapping, racketeering, Macnair had his hands in all the pots.

But what made him different from his other friends was the love of his craft. The executioner's idea of a nice evening was carving up some poor sod on his table. They had found out later in the war that the fucker used to snatch muggle children from their homes and hunt them in the woods behind his secluded cabin. The cruelty of the tameless knew no bounds.

Neville had blown the bastard to bits in a skirmish when the executioner had made the mistake of leering at Hannah.

Not many had been able to keep their old selves alive after living the harsh reality of war. Neville had gained a hair-trigger by the time resistance was on its last legs. Many of them had. It had been a hard-earned lesson. In war, hesitation got you killed. Plain and simple.

Seeing the two sitting together finishing up their meal, he knew that Macnair had just got another name for his side business.

Not if he could help the poor schmuck.

As soon as the two parted ways and Macnair was outside the Cauldron, he followed. It was a relatively simple play. He had done much the same many times when the mission had called for him to be sneaky and undistinguishable.

Walking as fast as his small legs could carry him, he followed Macnair to the apparition point. If was fortunate that the executioner hadn't decided to use the floo. He would have had to resort to a much up-close and personal approach then. As it was, they were just a few steps away from the ward line that indicated the beginning of the apparition point when he made his move.

There were still a few people out on the streets mostly the shopkeepers who had struck out this late hoping for last-minute business. Doing anything overt was bound to get their attention. But that was exactly what he was counting on. He had already applied a minor glamour on his face, so he wouldn't be recognized by any of those who he had previously been in contact with. These last few days in the alley had been busy with him purchasing many things with him having gained means to do so.

Just as Macnair was about to disapparate to wherever he had made his hidey-hole, Harry shouted.

"Pappa!"

A leap towards the man and before Macnair could do anything other than look bewildered at the child in his grasp, there was a pressure and a sensation of being forced through a tight rubber tube and with a slightly louder crack than usual, they disapparated.

A woman passing by shared a look with the nearby shopkeeper, both shaking their heads amusedly at the scene and voiced their thoughts at the same time…

"Children!"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry and his invited guest appeared from the ether, crashing together onto the cold hard floor of an enclosed basement.

Macnair somehow realising what had happened, recovered faster than Harry who was looking around the four walls as if waiting for something to happen. A solid kick to the chest snapped him out of his need for searching the ghost in the room.

"Not a bad try, little mate," taunted the executioner, walking towards his prone form. Harry meanwhile, laying in a curled heap, was busy trying to catch his breath after being slammed so hard in the ribs. The pain he could handle, it was a life long companion at this point, but the lack of air flowing in his lungs was making dark spots appear in front of his vision. Not a good thing when you have a mass-murdering psychopath hovering over you.

He had failed to account for the sudden change in axis when he had side-along apparated the man with him, mid-jump. The sudden shift had been more than a little difficult to manoeuvre against. 'And it's clear he was already on his guard, having expected someone to be coming for him,' Harry thought as a pained grimace marred his face.

"…it seems you were a little slow in the execution, though. No worries, we were all novice once, eh?" Macnair continued his taunts, unaware and uncaring of Harry's musings.

Harry could see the butcher's boot coming for his face for an encore and with spots dancing in his vision still, all he could do was hope it would hurt less than the preceding kick to the ribs when the oncoming boot vanished from his periphery.

Out of nowhere, a jet of red light slammed into Macnair with enough force to send the man sprawling down backwards with a heavy crash.

Harry groaned and dropped his face on the floor with a soft thud. It had been a close call. He was sure that the last hit would have knocked him out had it hit its mark. He turned his face from where he was lying on the floor to see a sheepish looking Sirius looking at the scene, holding a sandwich in a hand and wand in the other. Seeing the immediate threat dealt with, Sirius turned his eyes upon him. "Oops?"

"You had one job, Sirius," Harry groaned in pain

Sirius rubbed his neck putting his wand back in his robes. "Yes, well, I got a little peckish waiting for you to arrive," he said, rubbing his neck with the hand not having a grilled cheese sandwich in it.

Harry took a couple of deep breaths to calm his furiously beating heart. It had not been his first beating. Not by a long shot. But it had still hurt even after all those years of practice. Plus this fragile young body that he was renting wasn't doing him any favours absorbing the pain.

"I certainly hope that snack was worth it," he jibed, scowling at his godfather. He was more than a bit annoyed at getting his arse kicked from one end of the room to another but knew some fault laid at his feet as well.

Leaving Sirius of all people to wait for his arrival.

Really, what else could have happened when his back up was an easily bored man-child who had nothing to do but wait in an almost vacant basement.

He had to let it go though. He had learned, from prior experience, that time was a very crucial element when you had a kidnapped person lying unconscious in your basement. "Off to see Bones?" he asked instead.

"Yeah. I am still not sure how that would go but you're right, it is the right play for now. We can't handle all this by ourselves. Things are getting bad to worse and I for one can't see the end game when everyone is busy politicking from days on end." Sirius replied clasping Harry's hand to haul him up.

"There will always be people playing politics for days on end, Sirius." He shook his head. "Anyways, Sure you can handle her? I don't know her as much as I know of her and from what I have heard, ward or no ward, that woman knows how to handle herself even without a wand in hand."

Sirius waved off his concern with a hand, "I think so. I'd have to play it by the ear, I think. I didn't know her well enough back when I was an Auror. Sure we all knew about the hardy spitfire that was Amelia Bones but yeah, I don't have a clue how she'd react to the things I'd have to tell her."

Harry patted his pant leg to remove the dust from his fall. "You can always entice her with the present that'll be waiting for her here."

"I am not so sure she would fall for such an overt askance. She might very well think that I am being suggestive about myself," he grinned. "Now that I think about it, it could work." Sirius dodged a shoe coming at his face. "Hey!"

"Merlin help me, Sirius, I will neuter you if you bungle this up. I did not get my arse kicked so you could make gooey eyes at the Director of DMLE!" Harry glared.

"Oh, relax. I'll be nothing but a perfect gentleman. You'll see. She'll be chanting my name like a mantra by the time I have brought her here with me."

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose to wave off an oncoming headache. "Just go, Sirius. I can only handle one nuisance at a time and Mr Macnair is currently occupying the first spot for that."

"Righto," Sirius said walking out of the small basement room. He had some news to break to the delectable Amelia Bones. Really, he had this in the bag. The woman wouldn't know what hit her.

Harry ignored his godfather who was merrily whistling on his way out and turned his attention to the unconscious Macnair sleeping off by the flour sacks in the corner.

A contemptuous sneer crept on his face as his eyes took in the form of one of his hated enemies. The simmering fury within him potent enough to have annihilated the executioner right where he stood. It was only the need to extract some much need answers and the understanding that Macnair was not just his prey that stood his hand.

There were much bigger fish to bag if he could make the butcher talk. He was the one he wanted.

The one who had taught Macnair his ways. One who had the blood of countless innocents on his hands. The murderous scum who took sick pleasure into turning young children into beasts. The true monster.

Fenrir Greyback.

Macnair might be the enticement that he was offering the head of DMLE for her allied hand, but Greyback was the true prize.

And he was looking at the only person who knew how he could find the truculent wolf.

Remembering what he had planned for the butcher, his sneer turned into a savage smirk. "I may not have your handiwork on my body anymore, but I am sure, the deliverance of my grievances would be most enlightening."

-x-x-x-x-x-

There was one truth that the war had hammered into him with painful experience ever since he had donned on the mantle of a leader of a militia resistance group.

Everyone talked.

During the times when he had seen or conducted the interrogations, there were instances when getting inside the person's head was not an available course of action. Be it an oath or any other binding constructs that hid a particular knowledge deep inside them. So deep, in fact, that even the most proficient legilimencer couldn't reach it without losing himself within the subconscious of the target.

But there was one thing that could always be counted upon to loosen one's tight lips.

It didn't matter how strong their mettle was. It didn't matter how high was their pain threshold. There was always that something which could make them squeal their secrets when squeezed at that right spot.

Macnair was nothing different.

The butcher who loved to hunt his prey down in his private woods and carve them for pleasure couldn't seem to handle being carved himself. All it had taken were three severed toes and two desecrated fingers before the man had understood there was no help coming to get him out of his predicament, not that death eaters ever had been in a habit of rescuing one of their own.

Fenrir Greyback, the mauling death, the only werewolf to completely embrace the inner wolf and revel in the hunt, was known to run with his pack in Rivington Woods among his wizard companions, which included Macnair and some little runt named Scabior. But given the nature of the night in question, Macnair wasn't positive that this would be where Harry could find the feral lycan.

Harry had checked. Most thoroughly. Macnair wasn't lying. Either it was that or the executioner had remarkable mental fortitude even after being submerged in tar for some time. He didn't think the latter was the case.

So here he was, hiding at the edge of Rivington Woods, waiting for the elusive werewolf to come out for his, apparently, usual run. He could have waited and would have been better prepared for it. But the chance to capture the beast and offer him to the Bones Regent was an opportunity too good to miss. And the Lunar Eclipse was sort of a double-edged sword for his target. He remembered Greyback kept a wand. But what he wasn't sure of was if the werewolf was capable enough of using it during the eclipse as well, when the magical essence of the wolf clashed with that of a wizard. He couldn't let the chance slip by him.

Even then, he had wondered, long into the sleepless nights whether the plans he had made and implemented were the right thing to do. Had second-guessed himself at every turn when major decisions were to be made. It didn't come naturally as it had in his previous life. Life in the war had been simple and straightforward. Kill or be killed. It was the basic rule he had learnt after losing so many at the hands of those who never questioned themselves before ripping the life of their victims.

But here…here life was different. People had forgotten the pain and sorrow of suffering that came with the winds of war. The first wizarding war, foolishly named as such considering the hundreds of war that had been fought among the British wizards, was nothing compared to what came next. The resurrection of Voldemort had started out with the same ferocity of the past but had gained savage intensity by the end. Or what had been the end. At least for him. Everything burned. Every single familiar soul, gone. Leaving behind charred remains of his hopes and dreams. And humanity.

Present, though, was different. It was a change that he hadn't truly expected to ever see again. Not even when he was planning so elaborately to dismantle the dark forces that had led for his world into ruins. There had always been that one cold voice whispering in his ears of the endless void that would take hold of him and won't let go. And then, the somewhat unexpected expectation had happened. He was back. Back among the living, that to him hadn't been alive for so very long. Back among those who loved him dearly and didn't even remember him. Back to a world that still held onto the last threads of its innocence. A world he had to fix before it became the same desolate battleground that it had been whence he had left.

And thus, his hesitation to change some things without understanding how far the ripple would flow out into the river.

Capturing Greyback was most definitely a hard decision to make. While he knew and had heard many stories in the war camp about the inhumanity of the vicious werewolf, had heard parents grieve together whispering about how their children had been turned at the hands of the monster as young as three, he also knew that there were three werewolf packs in the isles that answered to Greyback.

If he caught the vermin and Amelia decided not to play ball and arrested him, the packs would know about it in less than a fortnight. What happened then was not something he could even begin to guess. And it was this unknown that gave him the pause.

And when the decision had become more than a little hard to consider, a whispered voice of his strangely wise blonde friend had brought clarity back into his eyes.

"There will always be those who seek to harm, Harry. There will always be those who like the throes of violence instead of the calmness of peace. All we can do is save lives. One at a time. Eradicating evil, when it saved innocents, it is not only our duty, it is our calling."

And just like that, everything had settled within him. If it meant saving some poor souls from being harmed by the monster and get some amount of justice for those already perished, he would do what he must.

He'd deal with the fallout with the packs later if it came to that,

A thrum beneath his feet brought him back from his musings. The sounds of barked laughter and howls filled the night air and he rechecked his concealing wards.

They were here. A party of four. One most vicious among them but all made from the same mould. Ravagers, the lot of them.

He knew he had to be extremely careful. One werewolf was much to handle and when there were four, it was bound to be a hassle. Their sense of smell and the animalistic sixth sense was greater than other hunters of the dark. The inner wolf kept them safe from the mental intrusions and their hide was moderately magical resistant. All things that made it very difficult to hunt the beasts.

And what he hadn't thought of before, but had become aware of quite recently was that his limitations had only increased after merging with his six-year-old self. His small stature and poor physical strength would only be detrimental in this case. He could not, even with his older body, go pound to pound with the hulking mass of muscle and bone that the Lycans were.

But despite some weaknesses, there was something that he had gained as well. Insight. Appreciation for the small things which, when added together, held the key to surmounting any difficulty that he came across. So when he had asked himself how could he eliminate a small pack of werewolves and capture one among them? The answer came easily enough.

He felt them coming before he heard the rustling of the leaves as their heavy feet landed on the dirt-laden path of the woods. The hair on his arms stood on end and he stopped breathing to not give away his presence despite the sound muffling enchantments of the ward beneath.

The rustling grew sharper and the sound of running feet drew nearer by the second. A pause of three heartbeats and they were upon his spot, unaware of his presence.

A gentle flick of his wand and a desperate howl burst forth from deep within the woods startling the four weres into a sudden stop just ahead of where he was hiding in a make-shift hole.

Before they could contemplate the nature of the sound, he struck.

'Lanceae Argentum.' Jagged, sharp silver lances burst forth from his wand and shot straight at the standing quartet.

The first to the left, youngest of the four, went down as the silvery death pierced his skull with the speed of a bullet, his face stuck in a confused frown as the light in his eyes faded away.

The other three reacted with the experience and superior skills that come to their kind with age. Greyback leaned to his left and the jagged-edged lance shot passed him, missing him by a hairsbreadth. He felt more than heard his two packmates crying out from either of his sides and before he could turn around and look at his attacker, ivy vines, thick and heavy burst forth from the growth beneath him and grabbed at his feet and hands, keeping him from moving. He struggled and managed to claw the vines attempting to ensnare his legs but with one came many and he was being dragged towards the tree behind with such ferocity that even his strength failed against the onslaught.

The two Lycans who had been standing with their leader gave growled shouts of fury as the silver lances carved more than a little piece of flesh from their sides. The silver embedded within burned their insides. But they held on with the perseverance that spoke of familiarity with the pain and held firm.

An instant before they felt it, they saw thick toothy vines grab Greyback and drag him ahead. An instant too long. Just as they were about to advance to help their leader, a shouted voice took gave all their worries a chaotic end.

Harry, seeing that his trap had been sprung, jerked his wand in an all too familiar pattern before he shouted with all his might.

"Bombarda Maxima!"

The effect was instantaneous. The ground below the two werewolves exploded with the force of an erupting volcano. Stone, dirt and rock spilt forth from the earth and the two souls were launched into the air with the front of their bodies taking the brunt of the attack.

Harry knew, from past experiences that there were very few things that could kill a werewolf. The one promising thing, the bane of every werewolf, silver, was difficult to conjure. And to conjure it while in a battle against a werewolf was not advised by many who had faced the savages. There was a reason that he hadn't flung a barrage of conjured silver arrows upon the beasts. And when he saw the two, moaning and cursing, clutching at their bleeding wounds and still trying to get up, he knew, he had to end it the way he used to.

It had only been a couple of seconds, definitely less than a minute since the struggle had begun and he could see the flailing form of Greyback trying to claw out of his way from under the weight of the ivy. There was no time. He had to take care of these goons before their leader broke free. It took him all but a couple of seconds to take it all in and with the finality in his voice, he intoned their end.

"Ignis Flagello."

A lasso of fire erupted from his wand, hot and fiery in its radiance and in a crisp motion as if conducting a bloody symphony, he cleaved the two heads from their shoulders. The stench of burnt flesh heavy in the air.

Now, to deal with the brute leading them.

It took twenty-three steps of his little feet to reach the area of the woods where his warded trap had dragged Grayback to. The earth beneath his feet was gouged as the repetitive motion of a struggling werewolf had begun the formation of a small trench. It was cathartic to see. A cold-blooded murderer struggling to live. Trying and failing to keep the vines from crushing his throat tighter and tighter, little by little.

It had taken him a full hour to power the runes on the trees and it's root to be able to handle the onslaught that a werewolf's claws could reign. A simple animation charm had taken care of the rest.

Greyback was not going anywhere. At least not before he was done preparing him for the meet and greet.

Carefully hiding in the plentiful shadows of the woods, he released all but two large vines from his spell. Leaving a huffing and panting Greyback with his hands being grasped by the rooted tree.

"Fenrir Greyback," he whispered. "The feral wolf of Leighpas. Isn't that what they call you?"

"WHO ARE YOU? SHOW YOURSELF!" Greyback shouted frothing at the mouth, his eyes looking for any movement in the trees.

"I am what you and your compatriots made me, Mr Greyback. I am your inevitability. Or if you'd allow me to be a bit more ominous, I am...your end," he replied.

A cold gravelly laugh echoed in the clearing as the wolf howled condescendingly. "Many have tried before. Most, better than you. I am still here, they are not. What does this tell yah?"

"That they didn't have the sense to put you down when they had the chance. Something, I believe, I am not foolish enough to repeat..."He paused. "At least, not without insurance." A wave of his black wand and a third root burst from the ground and wrapped itself in a noose around Greyback's throat.

"Ack...ugh...ugkk...I will...agh...hunt you down for this," the beast snarled even as the chokehold turned his vision black.

"Possible. But unlikely. And it's not me you have to worry about, Mr Greyback. You have been promised to another, I'm afraid," he replied. When he saw that the wolf had stopped struggling, he went around and grabbed his hair, wrenching them back in a way that left his mouth open. He saw the yellowish fangs bared even in a state such as his. He brought forth a vial from his pocket he had Sirius brew before his trip to Kiwi-lands and poured the contents down the wolf's throat.

There were very few sleeping draughts that used the essence of silver. Silver essence was known to have a calming effect on most, but some potioneers avoided using it because of the potent reaction it usually had with the base ingredients. Fortunately, Sirius was a fair hand at brewing potions, while he was no master, far from it, some skill had still followed even after his stint in the wizarding prison.

The poisonous effect of the metal would keep Greyback from getting lucid. No matter his control over the inner wolf, at the end of the day, he was, simply a werewolf.

"I wonder what you will choose, Amelia. Revenge or Justice?"

And with a small crack, he disapparated, leaving behind a question in the air and three dead werewolves in his wake.

-x-x-x-x-x-

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