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-

Her eyes opened, blue and shining, looking at the world anew. It was the first morning since her awakening. And if the great mother blessed her, it would be the first of many in this world. For it was a world on the brink of change. A change she had been awakened to prevent. Nothing could be allowed to be different. Even if it was, at present, moving similar to a time it had millennia ago. A time her mistress had done her best to erase from existence. A time of false peace and the supposed free will of her servants. These misguided feelings could not be allowed to bloom again. Things had to go back to the way they were. Before he, the heathen, had mangled her mistress' work and unravelled the weave. He who wrought lies and still called himself the paragon of truth. He who wished to deliver the truth to the masses. A truth they could not be allowed to know. A truth she herself had denied as her own.

But try as though she might, she couldn't deny some truths. Like how she herself had changed since receiving the blessings of the great mother. Like how her eyes had opened to the real beauty of the world. How the colours were more vibrant. How the melody of the universe was louder. She could hear it clearly now. And all because she had been chosen. Because the great mother, her mistress, had chosen her to be her mouthpiece. She was deliriously happy. None on this earth could comprehend the worth of her station.

But she would make them.

Yes, she would…she had to. Her mistress had whispered her commands in her ears just last night. She would not fail her. Yes. She would gather her brothers and sisters and they would march to the gates of hell if they had to. Her mistress' will be done. The fate-marked would see to it.

The woman got up from her bed, unfurling her blonde hair and rubbing the remnants of sleep from her shining amethyst eyes. She had to get to her set task. There was no time to waste. Not if it kept her mistress waiting. The mark on her inner forearm, a hieroglyph depicting The Ankh, surged awake as if to signify her mistress' pleasure at hearing those thoughts. The gold shimmering mark was the badge she wore with pride. It was proof that she had the great mother's favour. And she would do her proud. She would do whatever it took to eviscerate the heathen who had disrupted her mistress' plans.

Whatever it took.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"… We want that money, Lebowski. Bunny said ye were good for it …"

"Where's the money, Lebowski! ..."

"… Don't fuck with us. If yoh wife owes money to Jackie Treehorn, that means youh owe money to Jackie Treehorn …"

"Eh ohye, ain't nobody calls me Lebowski, ya toe-rugger. You've gat the wrong guy. I'm the Dude, ya moron…"

"…Your name is Lebowski. Your wife is Bunny, boyo. Ain't nothin' can fool this eye o' mine…"

It was the second time he was reading it. His eyes kept blinking, hoping that it would change into something…well, something that actually made sense. But after his third read, when he still couldn't quite get his mind around the words that were on the parchment his proudly smiling godfather had given him a minute ago, he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled audibly.

It had been three days since they had met on the quaint little tea-shop on the edge of Carkitt. And in those three days, they had met twice more to discuss the latest happenings on the ministerial front – which had mostly served as a stage for Sirius to lay out his complaints about the matter posing them as actual actionable intel – during which, Harry had found out one thing that had been bothering him ever since he had read the excerpt in the Daily Prophet where the Minister's goons had interrogated Boardman in front of the press. Turned out, they had intentionally used the play by play in such a way, for their advantage. Having Madam Bones there would have kept more sceptical of the reporters from judging the veracity of the potion they had been told was Veritaserum. And Madam Bones, being left out of the loop, it had made it easier for them to push it past her without getting her suspicious. As for the Serum used in Boardman's public interview, it had, in fact, been a simple sedative that had the tendency of making the drinker a bit glassy-eyed. Stubby Boardman, during that public interview, had not been under the effects of a truth potion of any kind. Which easily explained the successful subterfuge.

Sirius hadn't been amused when he had discovered that. The bastard had spouted off shite about his deceased friends. He wasn't likely to forgive that, nor forget, it seemed, judging by the look on his face.

Harry was sure that the whole thing stank of meddler's touch. And the fact that Minister's goons had been able to pull off such a stunt in front of DMLE Head's very eyes, while this had made his doubts about her capability that much more credible, it still hadn't been enough for him to stop his plans for the Bones' Regent. Either she was involved, which was highly unlikely, or she was getting rusty and borderline incompetent, which was equally bad for his budding plans or any possible working relationship between the two of them.

After the shop-talk, as it were, Harry had filled Sirius in on his plan to solve their money problem.

He had been, quite frankly, not surprised to see the bewildered look he had received from Sirius after he had given a detailed explanation about how they were going to get their hands on some dosh. Every single person in the British magical community had had hammered into their brains, at an early age, the consequences of taking on the Departement of Mysteries' FǤMOS (Financial Ǥateway Monitoring System) Unit. The person who had disappeared off to lone Maldives islands had only been the latest example of what happened when one messed with the DOM personnel and their duties. That this latest example had been around a hundred and fifty years in the past and that not a single person had staged any such tactic ever since, easily explained the severity of its effects. Attesting to that belief was their history which was filled with numerous warnings cloaked as speculations about the morons who had tried to outsmart the FǤMOS unit and had spent the rest of their lives in utter misery.

By the time he had explained everything about his scheme, Harry was sure that he wasn't leaving a very sane image of himself in Sirius' head. But he had taken that into account when he had thought of clueing his well-meaning but-still-a-pureblooded-wizard godfather into his plan. It hadn't been an easy sell, but he had managed to get Sirius to do the barest minimum possible which wouldn't involve getting on DOM agents' bad side. Yet.

And the fact was, there was a window available to them in the coming days. While it was filled with many variables that his head hurt just to keep account of them all, and while it was closing fast, it was also the least dangerous plan he could come up with given their restrictions.

What he hadn't considered though, was the level of stupidity even most sharp magicals could stoop to, when it came to anything – muggle. When he had asked Sirius to do some research on the people whom they were going to be involved with, he had expected the man to roam around the shrouded streets of London to familiarize himself with the slangs and terms that muggles used in their day to day lives. Of course that had been a stupid expectation when considering whom he was dealing with, but still, he had held on to a slender strand of hope.

He shouldn't have.

Case and point, Sirius' idea of research had been a series of muggle films portraying their targets in the most imbecilic way possible. For what felt like his hundredth sigh that day, a sight quite bizarre on the face of a six-year-old, Harry clamped down on his frustration. He had to remember that Sirius while being an intelligent wizard, was still just that, a wizard. And a pureblood wizard at that. In spite of his leanings in his youth and later, the only muggle exposure the man had gotten had been by the way of Lily Potter née Evans. With what he had been told by others – who had known them during that time of their lives – while she had been adamant on keeping in touch with her muggle roots, the instability caused by the war had made it quite an impossibility for her, and thus, by extension, for Sirius and others as well.

With that thought in mind, Harry resigned himself to explain to Sirius the nuances of proper research mediums when it came to the kind of muggles they were going to be dealing with.

"Sit down on the couch, Sirius and stop grinning like a buffoon," he barked impatiently. Just because he understood his godfather's situation did not mean that he was happy that he had found himself saddled with yet another task in this already complex endeavour.

Wearing a confused frown, Sirius did as told but not without voicing out his displeasure. "What? This isn't good enough for you? I had to stand in a queue to get the tickets for the damn cinema, you know."

"Oh, you had to stand in a queue, did ya? Oh, I am so sorry you had to go through that. Can I get you something? A Soda? A lemonade perhaps?" Harry grouched sarcastically, for once showing his displeasure at having to micromanage everything.

Sirius showed he really wasn't above showing a kid – the finger.

"Yeah, up yours too. Now listen. This crap isn't gonna fly, Sirius. This," he gestured towards the parchment, "will get us castrated by the bluntest of their knives. These men aren't known for their merciful nature nor their patience. If what I have seen in the muggle newspapers are to be believed, their police have recently discovered the body of a fifteen-year-old girl in the area they are supposed to be operating within. If they are willing to do this to innocent children what do you think those butchers will do to us if we are found out," when he saw Sirius trying to interrupt him with what he knew would be his go-to argument, he hurridly overrode the man. "And yes I know, we could wipe the floor with them between the two of us with one hand tied behind our backs with our magic. But think for a minute. Why are we doing this? Why are we going to these lengths?" he asked emphatically.

Sirius grimaced at the that. Seeing the point and understanding the situation, he sighed and slumped his shoulders. "To not let anyone get wind of the fact that any magical was involved in the matter. Yes, I get it. But does it have to be so bloody difficult? You don't know kid, but there is a reason people don't wish to be on FǤMOS's wand range. They can and will flay us alive if they do find out about this. Let's not forget the numerous laws we have broken between the two of us. I've just checked out of Hotel Azkaban, I have no wish to go back again, especially this soon."

Harry looked at him and shook his head. "Don't you think I know that Sirius? Don't you think I would have taken that into account? I agree it's a difficult plan to pull off. But it doesn't change the fact that it's the only one which could give us what we need until we can figure out how to get the Black vaults safely in your hands. And since we haven't got a clue how to do that, we have only one thing to fall back on. This. For which, we have to be able to convince these people to do as we want them to without making them realise that it was we, who were influencing their decision. And since we cannot use our magic to do the deed. We have to, as they say, go muggle. And this," another wave at the parchment, "isn't the way to do it," he explained somewhat patiently.

Sirius was getting truly frustrated by all that was being said. He had done the research. He had put in the time. He had even suppressed his screaming instincts to charm the pretty ticket seller at the cinema. Had even watched the damn film. Twice. Now the kid-wizard was saying that all this had been nothing but a waste of time. Time, he could have spent getting to know the inner workings of that pretty saleswoman. Before he could tell as much to his young-but-not-really-a-kid friend, said friend decided to speak up.

"Again. Learn. To. Close. Your. Head. I have told you this many times now. Even with the restoration of your previous shattered occlumency shields, you still tend to broadcast your 'less than chivalrous' thoughts. While it might seem harmless to you now and could even work in your favour when you wish to portray yourself as an incompetent degenerate…" ignoring the "Hey!" from a bristled Sirius, he continued, "…it will also pave a way for any and I mean any legilimencer to get access to your mind. And for that matter so…"

"Yes. Yes. I get it. The mind. The thoughts. The useless occlumency shields. Can you just explain what the hell is wrong with my research and how can I do better so I don't get hacked to pieces?" Sirius interrupted with an expression that clearly showed how willing he was to take the unsolicited advice.

"…"

"Well?"

Smothering a sigh of annoyance, Harry complied. "What you have given me here, is basically an interpretation of how muggles think that these people converse. Cinema, while being a wonderful example of muggle innovation, is also inept at differentiating fiction with reality. The men we will be dealing with would cut off your fingers for any perceived insults. And if you do talk to them as you have written down in this parchment, they would consider it as such," he paused to let that sink in. Sirius was taking it all with little interest. It was getting clear to him, by the minute, that it would be difficult if not impossible to make Sirius competent in conversing like a muggle much less an unsavoury muggle that he had to portray himself as. It would be more... he paused suddenly as an idea derailed his thoughts.

Turning around, his eyes focused on him, he addressed Sirius again. "I think we have been going at this all wrong. I have been trying to make you something that you have no cause to be, nor any inclination towards…Sirius. How well can you pull off being your brother-in-law?" He asked suddenly.

"Who? Lucy?" asked a clearly flummoxed Sirius.

"Yes, him."

"It's not really that hard, is it? I mean, I have not seen the man since I have been back from my jaunt. But I cannot imagine him being anything other than a snooty, self-important, prejudiced arsehole that he was back then. Why are you asking?"

"Right. Well, that is exactly what you need to be. Just looking the part would be more than enough for what we want. It's will not take us more than two days to pull it off, if it all went according to the plan. Let me do the talking. Raise your eyebrows condescendingly if they say anything you don't understand. Do not under any circumstances make it seem like you are deferring to me. You are the boss. Believe it. Make it your truth. And I think I have another thing that will help you understand their mannerisms," he told the man, searching for something in his pockets.

"Which is?" Sirius asked moving to sit at the couch.

"Something that I had expected you would do on your own, without my input. But since you didn't," he stared pointedly at Sirius, which he promptly ignored, "you will do it tonight and night after that. I can't help you with that as the plan requires me to be in Wellington by tomorrow."

"So why not do it now? It seems important enough. Wait… Ho ho. I see it now. Have another appointment at that muggle park, do ya?" Sirius asked wiggling his brows.

"We cannot do it now because the people whom I wish for you to impersonate usually come around later in the evening. Secondly, the place you need to be at, is in West Yorkshire. You will know the place when you arrive there. Here, take this," he tossed him an ordinary-looking key chain which had a moose's head hanging on it. "It's a portkey. Your arrival coordinates are mapped to a lone alley down the place. Be careful. If they see you, they will most likely do their best to kill you. I imagine a powerful enough disillusionment charm would do the trick. And lastly, I told you, it's a mail drop location from our friends. Remember them? People who worked their arses off to get you away from murdering Ministry goons and are currently caring for your godson?" Harry snarked glaring at him.

"Raaiiiight," Sirius remarked sarcastically. "The coalition of mysterious Joes. Well, whatever. It's your business, I suppose."

"First thing you have said since coming here that I agree with," he replied.

"Sure." Sirius shrugged getting up and moving towards the window.

"Now, that we are done discussing my interests," he said looking pointedly at the reflection of a still smirking Sirius in the window. "I'd need you to be ready by the time I get back. And since I am going there without our usual methods or a wand, it might take me a couple of days to get back. But we won't be able to dally after I have arrived. So make sure you have both the potions ready by then. You'd probably have to take a stroll down Knockturn for that."

"Yes, my thoughts as well. What are you going to do about your wand though? It's dangerous going to another country as it is. Going to backwater Kiwi-land of all places, and that too without a wand matched to you? I'd not do it if I could help it. I cannot imagine Boardman's wand is treating you better than it did me."

"It's not. But we can't really help it now, can we? Seeing as my only semi-working wand found you a better fit than me, I'd need my own. And considering, I probably won't be able to find a better place to get mine than Dunedin, that too with our time constraints, I do have to take this chance. Which reminds me, I have been meaning to ask, how's yours treating you by the way?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"It's loads better than Boardman's, I can say that for sure. Even after being used close to its limits in your hands, it gives me less resistance than it did you. I have observed my spells are more fluid and less draining. " Sirius replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"I am sensing a but."

"But…it is still nothing like my own wand. I imagine you know the feeling. You never feel as…as complete as you do with your own." Sirius answered a bit demurely.

Nodding his head at the man's observation, Harry replied. "I might have a solution for that, I think. The wand, when bonded with you, it had been an unmatched focus for me. It was simply a resource that I had on hand. The only one I could use at the time. It was imperative that I had it for what I had planned and it served its purpose, howsoever grudgingly. I had felt it resisting from the second spell I had cast with it. A spell that I could do without conscious thought, I had to actively intend to do with it with more focus than necessary. The day before the wand chose you, I had felt it vigorously fighting my control. But as you have bonded with it now, it will and has evidently worked much, much better for you. Still, being one of the creations of those-we-can't-speak-of, it has other properties which will make it resistive to any whom it does not consider it's master. Considering the fact that I was the last one to wield it, disarming me in a formal duel will probably make the wand more attuned to you. But even if that doesn't work, I think I can probably manage to get you a better-matched wand similar to your original one. That is if I managed to find them, sparing time. You said your old one had dragon heartstring as it's core yeah?"

"Yes. Ebony, Fourteen inches. Find who?" Sirius asked quizzically.

"Oh, I didn't tell you this part, did I?" replied a grinning Harry. "Tell me, Sirius, what do you know of the Cephalopos family?"

A thoroughly bewildered Sirius was looking Harry for the tangent that he had taken their conversation in. "As much as everyone else does, I suppose. One of the oldest families of wandmakers from Wales. Rumoured to have apprenticed the first Ollivander in the branch of wandlore, which, of course, the Ollivanders have denied. More so since the last Cephalopos left the British isles for what has been now, quite a few centuries. But why would…" Sirius stopped suddenly, staring wide-eyed at him as he figured out what Harry was trying to say. "You…you…you found them?" he whispered.

"Not yet. But I do have an idea where they might be. I don't think I'd have much difficulty locating them. If I had the time that is." Harry replied, still grinning.

"Not. Much. Difficulty? Are you daft, Harold? Look, kid, I know you're smart, smarter than anyone your size should have any right to be. But still. You can't possibly think you can find one of the most prominent families of wandmakers who have been out of everyone's sight for well over two centuries casually walking in any country you happen to have a business in, do you?" Sirius asked, hoping to make the kid understand the possible futility of such an undertaking.

"We'll just see about that, won't we? In any case, do remember what I told you. Keep your head on a swivel, Sirius. I will not be here to bail you out if you get in trouble. Keep that in mind before you do something stupid, yeah?"

Seeing Sirius nod hesitantly, he moved towards the door to disapparate to Heathrow. He knew Sirius would be alright. Well…alright in the sense that the world wouldn't collapse in two days with Sirius at the helm. Maybe. Probably. Bah! Who was he kidding? The man was a walking time bomb. It would be a minor miracle if everything went alright in his absence. As if to emphasise on his inner thoughts Sirius shouted his last-second enquiry.

"Hey! Kent! Wait…What swivel?"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Despite having succeeded in deflecting Sirius' thin accusations, he did go back to Heathgate. The force which kept calling him back here had no counter. The sheer ferocity of his desire to see her just one more time proved too much for him to resist. And so, here he was, back at the same alley exit that looked at the same Muggle park where she usually sat.

Her happy smile, her calm visage, the little scrunched up brows as if she was searching for a mystery of life only she could perceive were the balm for all his aches. Kids her age were playing and running around as they usually did. But she didn't look at them. Not once. She was happy where she was. Happy with what she had. As though she had made peace with the world and her role in it. As if she had learned to settle. She should have grown up feeling loved. Feeling like she belonged. Knowing that there were people who loved her for what she was. To see such a look in a seven-year-olds eye was disheartening. Seeing it in her eyes especially, made him want to crush every single thing that had made her become that way.

A blonde woman, a teacher perhaps? came near her and asked a few questions, which the girl answered promptly and politely. There was something that niggled at his senses when he saw the two interact, but he waved it away. She was safe. Away from the dangers that plagued this world. At least, for now.

Wishing that he had more time to just watch her, to quiet his waling demons, he moved away.

There would be time to watch her grow. To watch her become a beautiful and amazing woman that he knew she was going to be.

For now, he had to find the linchpin of his plan.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Travelling with a young child on a plane flight seventeen hours long would be a trying experience for anyone. It was more so when one didn't even know that they had a young child until about an hour before their flight was supposed to take off. A middle-aged gentleman was of similar thoughts when he landed on the Wellington International Airport with his six-year-old son that he had no recollection of conceiving. As soon as they reached the taxi hub, the young boy looked at him and waved a smooth looking brown stick and all was back to normal.

At least he didn't have to care for a kid anymore. He had made other plans for his weekend. Plans that certainly wouldn't have included the presence of a child. A sigh escaped his lips. Alas, Rebecca didn't swing that way. Try as he might, he hadn't even been able to convince her to dress as a schoolgirl. Well, at least he'd have three whole days to spend with her. Alone.

Not noticing the young boy who was briskly walking away to the nearby loo, he went about his own way. Coming by himself rather than with his wife had been a brilliant idea after all.

Walking alone towards the lone public loo or a longdrop as it was called by the locals, by the corner, Harry wondered how long had it been since he had set foot in this merlin damned country. It had been during an unexpected halt in the war when the resistance had tried to get into the 'Kiwi-lands' as the wizards called it. The country had been struggling with its own problems. Voldemort's influence had been farreaching. Most of the dredges of society, especially those who had lost all meaning in their lives and lived only to plunder and cause chaos had readily signed up when the hands of Lord Voldemort had come calling. While the conflict had been nothing on the scale of what was happening in the British isles, the war in the kiwi-lands had escalated to a degree that had not been seen in the country for well over half a millennia. The resistance had hoped to hide out in the backwaters for a scant few weeks to recuperate from their losses back home. He had been just a soldier back then. Simply following orders of his, then, betters. Had been learning how to traverse the guilt-ridden path that was the leadership of their faction.

Shacklebolt had truly been inspirational at that front. He had formed them all into a cohesive unit. And when the time had come, he hadn't even batted an eye and given his everything to get that same unit out of the hands of the demons that had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for them when they had set foot into the unknown territories of Magical Dunedin. They had been captured nonetheless. Held captive with the scarcely left magicals of the country. It was fortunate that someone had had the presence of mind to disfigure him with a well placed stinging hex on the face during the ambush. The sick fucks had taken extreme pleasure in breaking their wands right in front of them. Having been beaten, tortured, with no wands, no hope of a rescue, they all had just been waiting for the mercy of death. And then, he had come. Their leader. Shacklebolt had singlehandedly slain 17 Death Eaters before they had cottoned on to his presence.

They had lost him in the end.

But he had given them a chance. A chance they hadn't missed and had fought their way out of that cesspool along with the few locals that had left.

It was one of these locals that he had changed his life forever. It was she who had made him understand what living was all about. It had been her who had taught him the real reason for standing up to the monsters of this world. And it was her he was going to see first. With the destination in mind, he mapped the co-ordinated in his mind for the only magical enclave of the kiwi-lands, Magical Dunedin, he disapparated.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Appearing in the midst of a bustling market was not what he was expecting. The last he had seen the place, it had been a barren land having a few dilapidated houses rising here and there with lots of ruins in between. Shaking his head at the distant memory, and preparing his mind for what was to follow, he started walking north, into the village proper.

Even here, so far away, the magical district was ever so familiar. The shops selling their wares were almost the same as he had seen in Diagon or in Carkitt. Shopkeepers were shouting at the customers to visit them, hoping to acquire some business. People were moving to and fro in the streets getting their needfuls. It was an experience he had missed before coming back. Being just a face in the crowd. Just being one of them. Being lost in their midst.

A while later, the trudge had him standing in front of a lone house at the edge of a small river that was running through the village. A woman was watering what seemed to him a small growth of Stinging Nettles at the front of the house seemingly lost in her thoughts. Clarisse Campbell. She was small in stature with an oval face and eyes that were a light shade of blue. Every movement she made was elegant and gave no excess. He could have watched her for the whole day without blinking. She was family, after all.

A polite cough from him brought her attention to Harry. A bemused smile traced her lips as she watched him looking at her.

"Whatcha doin' here little one?" she finally asked.

He didn't answer for a few moments and when she was beginning to think that he hadn't heard her, he spoke. "Would you be surprised if I told you, I was simply contemplating life?" Harry asked in return, looking at her with a small yet genuine smile.

A twinkling laugh erupted from her lips as she heard what he said. She was still smiling with tears of mirth in her eyes when she looked at him again. "Contemplating life, eh? A little too young to be doing that, aren't you?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps. But then again, I have heard someone say that 'Age' is simply the acceptance of a term of years. But maturity is the glory of years. And I am, for good or worse, far more, let's say, settled than others my age. Just as you once were, Clarisse Campbell." Harry replied looking at the woman who was still standing there, smiling at him, with a small smile of his own.

"Well aren't you cute little mister. Won't you come inside for some tea? I think we have a lot to talk about, don't we?" she asked even as she moved towards the front door, not even looking at him anymore.

"Of course." He replied, gesturing with his hand to ask her to move ahead. Which she did and he followed.

As soon as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he found himself at the end of a lit wand from the still smiling woman. He had expected nothing less. She was as formidable as she had been in his past. He had known she'd catch the phrase he had used.

"Wand?" she asked without preamble.

"Left jacket pocket." He replied, without missing a beat.

"Accio." The wand in his pocket flew straight into her waiting hands.

Harry gave her a pointed look. "Can we have a chat now? Miss Campbell?"

"Certainly. Though not before you tell me who you really are." She asked in return.

Harry had thought about what he would say to her on the whole flight back. She held a soft spot in his heart after what they had shared. Those moments of his life that he had spent with her had been one of the very few that he would never be able to forget. She deserved the truth. But what she deserved, even more, was life as far away from the dangers that she would come across if he told her everything he wished to so dearly. Even if he needed someone on his side after all this time of being alone. He could tell her and make the conversation a bit easier, but at what cost? She would no doubt ask to tag along. To risk her life as she had once before. He did not have the capacity to lose one of his precious people. Not again. Not after he had lost them all once before. It was selfish of him, but he was fine with that. Making up his mind, he addressed the still standing woman.

"I could tell you that, or, I could simply tell you that I have a way of saving your father."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the change in her was sudden and a sight to behold. Gone was the slightly smiling woman who was merely treating a boy's fancy. Gone was the slight mirth in her eyes. The woman standing in front of him held a look of such fury that her eyes came alive, a fiery storm raging in them. Her next words were precise and spoken with a hiss.

"What do you know of him? I would not care that you are posing as a child, or even if, for some bizarre reason, you are one. Speak. Now."

Familiar as he was with her temper, he gestured with his hands in a placating manner before responding as quickly and as precisely as he could. "Found out about him through some mutual friends back in London. Jamie says 'hello' by the way. We have a history together, him and I. He knew what I could do and he knew of your father's ailment. He suggested that I look for you and you'd be able to help me with my own… issues. Once I gained your trust that is."

She looked at him with shrewd eyes, weighing his words. She was a brilliant judge of character, he knew, and thus it did not surprise him in the slightest when she seemingly relaxed her wand arm and asked her query almost conversationally.

"Jamie never had a big mouth. You must have quite a history together for him to open his gob. I never understood how he got Susie to settle down with him, with his quiet nature. That girl is a rocket."

Smiling slightly at the simple remark, he responded in kind. "You mean Jocelyn don't you? And last I saw them both, they were just as quiet as ever. In fact, I have only ever seen her talk once in my life which ironically had been to tell someone to shut up." Quirking his lips in a smirk he added, "Satisfied?"

Dismissing the question and moving towards the couch, she threw the summoned wand back at his feet and took a seat facing him. "Not really. You have just gained five more minutes. You should have realised by now that I don't have much patience for you Englishmen. I'd suggest you speak your truth before I run out of it."

Knowing that he was still on thin ice, he gave her what she asked for. "The curse that was inflicted on your father, I can remove it. That is all you need to know, and more specifically, that is all I am going to offer you. You will see improvement in him before I take my leave, I can promise you that. Take it or leave it," Harry said with as straight a face as he could muster. While he would have removed the curse from the man anyway, even if he had to subdue her, she did not need to know that and the best possible way to help her was to establish himself as a threat rather than a friend. Seeing her again after so many years, it was screwing with his brain something fierce.

Clarisse looked at him with a clenched jaw and narrow eyes. He could tell that his words had not done much in the way of getting through to her. She took a deep breath and moved towards him, wand in hand. "I know that for a fact that the curse that was put on my father has no counter. The one who cast it has been dead for twenty years and the curse had been of his making. Now, here you are, telling me that you have some magical cure that would make my father whole again. You can see why I'd have trouble believing you," she finished, looking at him right in the eyes, towering over him.

"Understandable. I realise how that must sound like. But to my understanding, the solution seems simple enough. I deliver what I am promising or you can kill me where I stand. Though there are certain requirements that would need to be fulfilled before I am able to do what I have promised."

"Such as…" she asked raising a well-manicured brow.

"The curse, Verstand Verzweiflung, your father was cursed with, it doesn't last as long as its effects do. By now, after all these years, it isn't the curse that is keeping your father from waking up. No. That would be its effects. The curse was created to torture people's minds while keeping their bodies untouched. The Cruciatus fails in comparison to the subtlety with which Verstand Verzweiflung can torment its victim. Where the Cruciatus targets the nerve endings, the body itself, it also causes a physical reaction and the pain caused by that physical reaction, in turn, shatters the psyche into multiple fragments if applied for a longer period of time. The Verstand Verzweiflung, on the other hand, targets the mind in a different manner. Bending it, breaking it and remaking it over and over again." He paused to let that sink in.

Seeing her still in thought, he continued.

"But you see, our minds, they are marvellous things, Miss Campbell. It has been found that to prevent the psyche from shattering under such immense pain, the brain is capable of shutting itself down. I strongly believe that is what is happening with your father. I could be wrong, of course. But I rather doubt that I am. There are only three people that I know of, who could bring him back from the abyss that has become his refuge. One is a Dark Lord who is currently gliding through the forests of Albania. The other one is someone who definitely has the skillset to help you, but I believe you would rather mind his presence in your home let alone agree for his help, even if he was inclined to do so, which I am sure he wouldn't be. The Grand Sorceror himself. Albus Dumb…" Before he could speak further Clarisse grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him up. "…as I said, I rather doubt you would like his presence. So the only real option you have is standing right in front of you. Well, dangling really. But that's just your fault, Miss Campbell."

Releasing him abruptly she turned her back to him and moved to the lone bar in the corner. Fetching the glass and filling it up to the brim with her favoured brandy, she gulped it in few scant seconds. Knowing her to be not much of a drinker, he understood that the decision of whether or not to trust him with the care of her father was weighing heavily on her. It made him feel guilty that the choices he had decided to make were the reasons for her being as upset as she was, but he ruthlessly pushed it down in his gullet. He would not involve her in the bloodshed again. This woman had done enough for him as it was. It was not her fight. At least, not yet. And if he had anything to say about the matter, it would never be so.

A shattered glass brought his attention back to her. She was looking at him again. With the same shrewd eyes as before. But there was something else too. A small hope had been kindled. He knew that if he failed her now, she would tear him up in pieces not caring that he was just a boy, technicalities be damned. With gritted teeth and a furiously sparking wand, she addressed him again. "Hope. They say you should be careful with it. You are promising me hope, boy. Something that I haven't had for more years than you have been alive. Know this. If you fail to deliver...I will have your guts for garters. That clear?" she asked menacingly.

"Sure," Harry replied, simply shrugging his shoulders, having expected such a response from her.

"Good. Now you said something about certain requirements? What might those be?" she asked, turning her back towards the bar to fix herself another drink.

"Just two things really. First is simple enough for you to deliver considering the people you know in this country…" he said ignoring her slight turn back and a quirked brow, "…and the second…well, I reckon that is where we might not reach an understanding if you keep gulping those drinks that you are now. What I have to say may very well make you want to curse me right where I am standing but I'd advise you against taking such an action. You might get more than you bargained for. And not in a good way." He asked and warned, knowing himself to be capable enough of handling her, even if it cost him a limb…or two, especially with a wand as resistive as he had on his person.

Clarisse turned around slowly, picking up her wand from the bar top which she had dropped in favour of soothing her nerves with her favoured Blatonbow's Brandy. "Is that so? We won't rightly know what I'll do if you don't open your mouth and say the damn words, would we? Best be quick boy, you are not earning any favours by mouthing off by the side of your neck."

Nodding at her, he put forth his query. "The discipline required to remove a curse such as your father's would call for an expert in the mind arts. While I am, in my not so humble opinion, such a person, I do not have the right tool needed to get the job done. I believe you know the mind arts to be demanding of significant control over one's magic?" he asked, inclining his head towards her. When he saw her nod stiffly, he continued. "So you would also know that a proper focus would be required if I were to attempt such a thing as delving in your father's mind. As of now, I am using a borrowed wand. And as such, I am in need of my own. That is what I need your help with."

"Oh? Need a wand, eh?" she asked with a smirk. "If you know about my work as much as you seem to do, you would have no doubt realised that I do not have any contacts that could help you with such a request. Given that, tell me why shouldn't I just blast you to smithereens right here and now?"

He had been ready for that. It was, as they say, the moment of truth. She would be right pissed at him if he said the wrong thing. And considering what he had to say was a secret she and her family had zealously protected from the world, the odds of coming out of this conversation unscathed, seemed very slim. Nevertheless, charging ahead like a Gryffindor, he once was, he told her his reasoning.

"Your contacts? No. I don't believe they can help in this matter. But you?…you I think, might be able to."

As soon as the words left his mouth he had to dodge an oncoming curse. Sliding to his left, he jumped back to keep himself from being flayed alive from the flame whip she had conjured in a split second after her first cast. Moving his wand in a complex pattern even as the floor burned and split with the force of her spell, he shot a jagged purple one of his own towards the still standing woman. A red shield came into existence at the very last second in front of her and the woman ducked to fire again even as the gong of the spell striking her shield reverberated along the walls. A stunner and a concussor, he batted aside without much difficulty, but another flame whip tore through his jacket making him jump back again.

Getting tired of the being on the defensive, he was about to respond in kind when he felt a constricting force pressing on his body. Before he knew it, he had been hit by a body bind and vines, thick and jagged erupting from her wand, bound him, slicing into his skin.

'The wards!' he realised. She had called upon the wards embued in the very walls of her home to pin him down.

Clarisse, now breathing a bit heavily, looked at him with a vicious smirk adorning her face. "I told you, stranger, I would not care that you look like a child. You know something that we have guarded for years and years. How you came by the knowledge, I do not know, nor do I care. What I do know is that this knowledge will not leave my house. Nor will you."

Her wand was glowing and with her face so close to his own, he could see the spell in her mind as her eyes caught his own. The standard cutter. This close to his neck, it would more than likely sever his head if she powered it enough. And seeing the look on her face, he had no doubt that power would not be an issue.

She was about to cast the spell when suddenly, she felt her body become stiff. Silky ropes, soft but firm, bound her lithe body. Before she toppled on the floor, she saw the boy that she had bound and petrified, was shimmering away like a mirage.

As she was lying down on the floor, facing the door which had been closed and yet somehow was now open, she saw the same boy, standing at the edge of her home, looking in the eyes, with his wand pointing at her still. Understanding filled her eyes as she realised what the boy had done. Before she could even try to free herself by condensing the magic within her body, the boy shot a spell towards her and she felt movement return to her limbs. Surprised, she hissed at him.

"When?"

Knowing what she was asking, he answered stoically. "When did I put you under the spell?" he nodded. "When you invited me inside, Miss Campbell. I do not make a habit of entering the homes that have been warded to a degree such as yours."

She regarded the boy who was still standing at the edge of the ward line of her home. She knew she was beaten. He had played it very safe since the beginning and odds of her getting the upper hand now, were slim to none. Hoping to buy some time to think of a way through and knowing he would not enter her house until she retracted the intensity of the wards, she asked what was bothering her ever since she had understood what the boy had done to her. "I have never seen an illusion spell this convincing in my entire life. To have felt the touch, to have felt instinctively, that someone was there right before my eyes when it was all just a figment of my mind. How? How did you do it?"

He gave her a pointed look that told her he knew what she was doing, but despite that, surprising her, he gave an answer. "A spell of my own creation. It has a great amount of leaning towards the mind arts as one of the primary requirements is the eye-contact with the person. You looked at me enough for the spell to take hold. I only had to make you believe what you saw happening, was real. As you can imagine, it has its flaws. It can only be cast on a single person at one time, for one. There are others. We can discuss them if you wish. But priorities be must, as I am sure by now you are done going over all your options. Can we get past our disagreement long enough for me to make my case, as it were?"

She scowled at him for being able to read her as well as he did. She reluctantly willed the wards to recede in their intensity. And when she spoke, it was with the tone of a bitter woman. "What now?" she asked, the fire in her eyes dimming somewhat.

Harry stepped inside the small house and shut the door. Standing below a lantern, looking at her, he flicked the wand in his hand and she felt constrictions of the body bind leave her body. Without giving her a moment to think of a way to get out of the situation, he began. "Now, I ask you one simple question. What you decide after that will see how the rest of your morning goes."

"Ask what?" she asked, her wand arm twitching, ever so slightly.

He shook his head and sighed. She would not rest until he gave her a win. Something he could not do. Not now. Not when he knew that giving her a win would mean assimilating her more and more into the cesspool that was his life. "You never did know when to quit, Clarisse… Regardless, answer me this, what is more important to you, your family's history or your father?"

For a moment it looked like she would attempt to curse him again. Her arm was still stiff, coiled, waiting for an opportunity to pounce on him. But a feeling that she couldn't decipher, made her stop and she relaxed somewhat. She stood there, breathing steadily. A while passed before words escaped her. "He would want me to say… it's our history. That a single-life would not matter if the generations became cursed with the name that bound us to our misery."

Harry nodded. "Perhaps he would. Perhaps your father would think that the name Cephalopos means more to him than his own life. But he is not the one who has to answer this, Clarisse. I asked you what matters the most to you. Your history or your father?"

He could see the struggle in her mind clearly visible on her face. The anguish of a choice between her father and what he treasured the most. It hurt him to see her like this. It made him nauseous that it was he who had caused her to be so. Pushing down the bile in his throat, he forced himself to look at her. A few minutes passed and she lifted her head enough for him to see her suspiciously moist eyes when she spoke with barely a whisper. "You can help him?" she asked.

"I can," Harry replied.

A pause and she spoke again, still struggling to keep her voice even. "Then you will have what you asked for," she replied, wiping a few tears that had escaped her eyes and were running down her cheeks.

She walked towards him and for a moment he thought he could see the something strange pass through her face, then suddenly, she moved and he was sporting a busted lip.

"You fail me now, and there won't be any trick in your bag that would be able to save you from me. I'll hunt you down if it's the last thing I do."

He swiped his thumb on the lip and flicked the blood right in her face before he replied with a smile.

"I believe you."

-x-x-x-x-x-

It took eight hours. Eight hours to carve the wood, to isolate and bind the cores, to form the connection between them only as a master wandmaker could forge.

She had told him once, that her family, the Cephalopos', had been the ones to learn the art of forging the magical foci from the Roman priests who had been the ones to create the first-ever wand in existence. He remembered being mesmerised by the tale she had told. And even after all these years, when he had heard her say those words, he still found himself captivated by the struggle within them.

The Cephalopos' had been the only greek family to live through the Roman conquest of Zagori, a small magical enclave in southern Greece. Somewhere along the way towards their only hope of survival, they had picked up a few Roman priests who had fled their empire in hopes of leaving the bloodshed behind. The Greeko-Roman party of eleven souls had found refuge on the plains of Swatara, the only magical community left in the middle of western seas after the empire had eradicated any sign of the others. The family who had once boasted to have the numbers to take the Roman Armada alone had now been left with just four with every other member been slaughtered in the name of an empire that had wrought wars and brought sickness to their lands.

Despite their loss, despite everything that had happened to them, they survived. And even though it took a couple of generations, but they Cephalopos name lived again. Thrived again.

Until they didn't.

Until the ravagers and hunters had picked them off one by one, all in the search of a wand, the wand, that had never been in their possession, to begin with.

A search in vain.

It was this, that had brought Clarisse's great grandfather to the backwater Kiwi-lands. And as proven earlier, survival was in their blood. And so they survived. Again. Lived. Again.

But one thing that they never did was… make a wand again.

Or so, thought the world.

Clarisse had seen the resistance's need and after being held in captivity with each other for so long, she knew the worth of what had been at stake. So, she had agreed to take to her craft again. For him and for every other member of the resistance that had been there.

Though the written scriptures had long since been destroyed, the magic involved in the creation of a wand was something spectacular, he'd been told. And as such, It wasn't surprising that he had asked to see it for himself.

But Clarisse had denied then, just as she did now.

He had thus, availed himself the opportunity to rest his eyes when Clarisse had gone inside a small work area hidden behind a tapestry on the wall. Sleep eluded him though. So he just laid there. Still. Looking at the ceiling of the small house. A house that held some of his fondest memories. A place where he had gathered his courage and asked his beloved to share her life with him. A place where he found the real reason for fighting the evil that plagued their lives. A place that held in its grasp, the very essence of his happiness.

He would have dwelled more on those rare blissful thoughts, had he not felt a presence slowly coming towards him.

When he turned, he saw Clarisse standing on the edge of the door, watching the smouldering embers glittering in the fireplace. It was clear to him that despite being there, her mind was worlds away, struggling with whatever that had captured her attention. He was just about to reach out to her with his hand when she looked at him. He stood her gaze for what felt like a really long time when she spoke. "How'd you know?"

"Know what?" he asked in return.

"How'd you know that I would need your blood to bind the cores?" she asked again, turning completely now and burrowing her gaze into him.

"I am a Daedalian creature, Clarisse. The things I know…" he sighed and shook his head a little. "…the things I know, hold the power to turn your relatively simple life into a cursed existence. Its better for you not to know my secrets. They will devour you whole. I do not want that for you. I could never…want that for you." He paused and breathed in deeply. "You have done what I asked of you. And now I will deliver my end of the bargain. Speaking of…Is it ready? The wand. Is it done?" he asked at last.

"On the table," Clarisse replied in a soft tone.

She saw Harry move towards the kitchen table and she couldn't help but remember the reflections she had seen when his blood had made contact with the cores which had chosen him. The brutality of the conjured images had shaken her something fierce. But most prominent was a feeling. A feeling which told her that the boy, the man, or whoever he was, didn't belong here. Didn't belong in this place. Whatever the hell that meant.

The magics involved in crafting a wand, a true wand, required a piece from the carrier, usually a hair, to forge a bond when the binding involved the amalgamation of two or more cores. But what any true wandmaker would never use, would never ask for, was the holder's blood. There had never been a reason given to her or her father, as to why that was so, but their grimoire had in itself, the specific and very detailed descriptions of the consequences of using such a forging medium. She had thus, vehemently refused, when the boy had given her a vial of his blood to use for his wand.

He had simply reminded her that his father's existence, ill or good, rested in his hands. And despite the warnings his father and their grimoire had given her, she had found herself agreeing, even if it was a little less reluctantly than she thought the situation warranted of her. She realised later, that there was a part of her, a part which every Cephalopos wandmaker could attest to having, that could not, would not, let her rest until she tried, truly tried.

She remembered the air in her crafting chamber turning acidic, toxic even, as soon as she had poured his life-blood on to the wood. She hadn't made many wands. But she had made enough to know that the feeling wasn't normal. Wasn't human. It couldn't be. The only thing that gave her a pause was it wasn't coming from the blood as much as it was permeated around it? Over it? She couldn't exactly tell what it was. What she was sure of though, was that it wasn't in his blood. Which, at the very least, gave her a little satisfaction that she was not, albeit reluctantly, abetting a young Dark Lord in the making. And that, for some reason, brought an amused chuckle from her.

It wasn't very well known, and for good reason, but the Cephalopos' weren't known for filtering their clientele. She knew that her family had at least twice crafted wands for the wizards who had leanings towards the dark. It hadn't come as a surprise to her. Her family, small as it might have been left, was quite an old one. For them to not have had a hand in at least one of the dark uprisings would have been strange, to say the least.

As the embers in the fireplace died completely, she shifted her thoughts to the present. As any wandmaker, she couldn't deny to feeling a little excited to see the bond forging between a true wand and a wizard. She had experienced it only a few times in her life, but these moments still held a special place in her heart. She hoped it would be like her previous experiences and she did not want to think about what the wand would do with his blood as a binding agent. It could not be anything but memorable.

Unaware of the thoughts percolating inside Clarisse's mind, Harry had eyes for only one thing. The box sitting on the kitchen table. He could vividly remember the first time he had touched his truly matched wand. The feeling was indescribable. The warmth that had filled his body when he touched his Holly and phoenix wand was nothing compared to what he had felt when he had held his true match all those years in his past-future.

Without a pause, he took the plain black box and opened it with slightly trembling hands. And when he saw the beauty that was lying in it, it was as if every sound around him had been muted. It was somewhat similar in structure as it was during the first time around. He had expected the length or structure to have varied a little. Clarisse was not the same person she had been when she had crafted this wand the first time. It would have been understandable thus, for the design or even the length to be different from what it had been. But it seemed there was more to crafting a wand than just a flimsy or mind of the wandmaker. It truly was a mystical magical discipline. And one he knew he would never be able to get his mind around, try though he might.

Shaking his wandering thoughts, he gazed at the masterpiece in front of him. The wand, it was black as night. Polished, finely crafted wood. Blackthorn. Twelve and a quarter inches. He touched the tip and pushed it a little towards the box linings. Slightly springy. What surprised him though, was the motif that made the grip of the wand. At the edge of a surprisingly soft wooden core was a single bead of a very rough texture which was embedded at the end of the grip. It was something that hadn't been present before. Shrugging away the difference and putting the box down, he reverently picked the magical focus from it and held it in his grip.

The change in the room was instantaneous.

He could feel his magic being corralled by the single heartstring of a Manticore as the peaceful temperament of the Demiguise Hair soothed the flow.

The embers in the fireplace lit back up giving rise to rising flames.

A sudden surge of light emanated from the room as the wand chose its master.

And Harry?

He stood there. With his eyes closed. Bathing in the warm feeling that only a magical who had known the loss of their matched wand could even begin to understand.

When the feeling finally subsided, he slowly opened his eyes. The fiery blue fire raging in them was staggering to see. Had Clarisse not seen the visions she had during the bond forging while crafting his wand, she would have been surprised to see the level of condensed magical power he was giving off.

As if it had suddenly realised the presence of another in the vicinity, the surge was smothered in an instant.

Harry took a breath and the pressure that had accumulated around him eased.

"As remarkable as ever, Clarrise." He mumbled.

Without looking at her, he began to move towards the stairs. A little ways ahead, he turned around and gestured to her. "You coming? I don't think you would want to miss this." With that, he was bounding up the steps, taking two at a time.

Clarisse blinked at the remark and coming to herself after watching the mesmerising affair, hurried to catch up. She didn't know how he knew where her father slept. But with many things a mystery where the boy was concerned, she disregarded it as unimportant.

She arrived in the room upstairs to see Harry dragging a chair towards the lone bed in the corner where her father was lying down with his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even. Given the hour, it was clearly visible he had been asleep for a while. Not that it was any different than how he was during any time of the day.

Gavin Campbell or a proud Cephalopos as he would call himself in the midst of his family was an emaciated man in his early sixties. While as a muggle, it would have been the final quarter of his life, him being a wizard made it his middle-aged years. To see him again, in a state where his only visage was the white ceiling of his room, made Harry feel more than a little sad. When he had first seen him all those years ago, he had not been in a state to heal anybody, much less a person who was suffering from the effects of a curse that was known, among those very few of those who knew of its existence, to be worse than an unforgivable. He did not know the man himself, having never had the opportunity to see him in his healthy years. But he knew of him. Mostly through the words that Clarisse had spoken about him. He was a kind man. He was a man who knew that the only treasure in life was one's, own family. A man who had lived for his family and was now dying because he had taken a curse that had been meant for Clarisse's mother. A man he could respect.

Harry looked back at the door to see Clarisse looking at her father with a little hope shining in her eyes. When she turned her head to look at him, he nodded, understanding what she was saying without needing to hear her say so.

"It will take me some time. It would be better he could feel someone he knew nearby. Best to get a chair and hang around. I will also need you to not wake him when he starts thrashing around. I know it will be painful to watch him suffer, but you cannot wake him when I am roaming around in his psyche. It will more than likely kill us both. Got it?" he asked seriously.

Seeing her nod, he breathed out a relieved sigh and brought out his new wand with a flourish.

He was still getting used to having a perfectly matched magical focus in his hand. To feel it as an extension of himself was as amazing a feeling as ever. During the time Clarisse had been working on this, he had established that even with his phenomenal control, the continuous use of unmatched and resistive wands for well over a couple of weeks, would not make it easier to traverse a psyche as splintered as he expected Gavin's to be. To give himself a better chance and to check out a possible hypothesis, he had formulated a plan.

Looking at the floor in the middle of the room he pointed his wand at the centre and intoned, "Simiasortia."

A monkey the size of a small pillow appeared in the room right where Harry was pointing his wand. As soon it realised he had been summoned, a screech left the monkey's throat. Before it could do anything else, a flick of Harry's wand silenced him. Another flick and the monkey was petrified.

Clarisse who had been quiet for some time decided the break out of her demure mood and smacked Harry at the back of his head making him stumble a little.

"What the hell, kid? A monkey? The fuck do you suppose you can do with that?" she asked scowling and staring indignantly at the still form of the furry mammal.

Harry looked at her with a twitching brow before he explained. "I need to calibrate the power to traverse a mind as complex as your father's so as to not go in blindly. A 'field test' as it were, will help me do that. A simian, while having a mind as close to us humans, is still an animal. And it's psyche as an animal is far more complex than ours. If I can do a successful deep dive in its mind, I'd have a better understanding of what I might find when I am traversing your father's. Now, I'll need you to be quiet, I need to concentrate."

Without giving her a chance to reply, he pointed his wand towards the petrified primate and incanted.

"Legilimens."

It took him half an hour to map his way in and out of the furry simian's mind. It was as he had expected, far more complex than any human mind he had come to know. While a human mind was capable of more complex thought than an animal's, it was also far more categorical. An animal's mind was a mixture of haphazardly thrown thoughts here and there which made traversing it, extremely difficult. But after the time spent sifting through the more basic thoughts of eating, hunting, sleeping and unsurprisingly, mating, he thought he knew the best possible way to go about doing what he needed to do to repair the damage done to Gavin's mind.

Coming back out and banishing the glassy-eyed simian back to where he had summoned the little mammal from, he focused his thoughts on the man lying down on the cot. Without pause, so as to keep the formulated plan at the forefront of his mind, he entered Galvin's own.

"Legilimens."

The first thing he noticed was the darkness permeating all around him keeping him from accessing any and all segments which connected to the outer functions of the mind. Gavin being a wizard was expected to have basic mental shields even if he could no longer call upon them for protection or keep them strengthened enough to keep an intruder out. What he found was the remnants of what had been a sturdy enough mental protections that were now lying shattered in every which way.

The alternative was looking far better option considering the lack of any thread he could pull that would let him enter the centre where the thought process of a person took place. With that in mind, he uprooted himself and battered through the man's subconscious with little effort on his part.

As if in a whirlwind, he could see the memories and thoughts smashing together in a cyclone. It was no wonder the man wasn't coherent enough to do anything other than breathe. His limbic system which controlled the basic emotions of fear, pleasure, anger and drives such as hunger, sex, dominance, care of offspring were all over the place trying and failing to judge which memory to respond to when every time a match was formed the memory just clashed with another and then repaired itself somewhere farther away.

Knowing what to do, Harry started on establishing dominance. A single repetitive incantation of "In spatio constitit. Purgare mentis. Taceo et Nicor" and Gavin's mind came to a halt. The colliding memories dropped in a heap and the world, suddenly, turned dark.

Outside, Clarisse could see Harry's face covered with a light sheen of sweat as his scrunched brows knitted together. The boy had been still for nearly four hours and there hadn't been any change in her father's condition. He was still lying still on the cot breathing as slowly as he was doing before. A strand of doubt started roving inside her. What if he was lying? What if it had all been an elaborative ploy? The boy had already shown himself to be far stronger than any she had come across. If her father didn't get better, there won't be any force in this world that would stop her from eviscerating the boy for giving her false hope. She would turn him inside…

Her world stopped as both Harry and her father came to at the same time. She stood there watching as Harry slipped off the chair and started coughing harshly. Her father, looking around the room startlingly, was holding his head as if he wanted to tear something out of it.

Suddenly, a red spell from Harry's wand impacted Gavin and he slumped back.

Seeing her father attacked after he had just come back to her not what her mind could accept easily. Without thinking she sent a swift stunner towards Harry who was still taking heaving breaths.

He saw the oncoming spell from the corner of his eyes and managed to swat it aside. When he saw the anguished look on Clarisse's face, he knew what had happened. With a sigh, he held out his hand towards her in a gesture that told her he wasn't being hostile.

"What did you do to him?" she shouted.

"I healed him you stupid bint! Now, calm down before you do something you'd regret." He answered with a hiss.

When he saw she was still holding her wand in a grip so tight that her knuckles had turned white, he elaborated. "I had to wake him up from something that should have killed him. Why it didn't is because your father had shut his own mind. He knew what the spell was when he took it for your mother. In his last lucid moments, he deliberately imploded his mental shields and cut off his own magic from ever entering his mind. He must have been an outstanding occlumencer for him to have attempted such a thing. Any other would have died before they made the attempt. Hell, even the magical discharge from ones own imploding mental shields should have seen him brain dead in seconds after the spell impacted him. It was his own decision rather than his mind acting on its own to save him, as I had first thought. I had to, in essence, halt his mind from going through the motions of colliding with themselves over and over again. And the shock of it all was too much for his conscious mind to bear. I had to knock him out. That is why I stunned him. If I wanted to hurt him, I could have done so while I was rummaging through his mind!"

Just having seen her father awake, even if it had been for few scant seconds, was too much for her to grab onto. She barely understood what Harry was saying. But what she did understand, completely, was her father had woken up. Healed, by the strange boy who was looking in her eyes with worry and not a little annoyance. Her wand slackened in her grip and she nearly collapsed onto herself as big fat tears of worry and happiness starting dripping from her eyes. Sobs shook her frame as she hugged herself down in the corner of the room burrowing her face inside.

Seeing her desperately clutching onto a single thought of her father, Harry reached towards her to help her collect herself and then suddenly, found himself engulfed in a hug. A string of barely understandable thank yous followed escaped from her and he patted her head.

He still had a long road ahead of him if he wanted to save them all.

But Clarisse had her father again.

And for now, it was enough.

Past one in the night, they were both counting sheep with Clarisse still clinging to him like a limpet.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Morning came quicker than expected and the first rays of the sun were shining through the kitchen windows as the two sat on the table sipping their tea in silence.

Gavin had woken up from his stunned state early in the morning and Clarisse had bawled her eyes again after hearing him murmur his request for water. Even in those short few moments, it was clear that lucidity would still escape him for a while. Harry had assured Clarisse that it was to be expected. After all, the man had spent almost half of a century stuck in his mind.

Having heard the complete explanation of what and how Harry had done what he did, Clarisse had turned back to her smiling self. She still gave some sharp remarks about him for one thing or another, but he knew, that was just how she was.

It was six in the morning when he decided to broach the subject of his second request that he had to ask of her.

"I know you have contacts in the muggle world. Does that stretch to the hospitals?" he asked abruptly, not knowing how to be subtle about something as strange as what he wanted her to do.

Looking at him with a confused frown she regarded him for a moment before replying, "I do. But I am confused. Why would you need contacts at a muggle hospital? I am sure the potions I can acquire are much better for any maladies that can be found in their world or ours for that matter."

He knew that with her inquisitiveness, he would have to tell her at a bare minimum before she did anything. Resigning himself with the matter he answered. "Yes, I'm sure they are. But that isn't exactly why I asked you that." He paused, wondering if there was a way he could ask, without actually telling her the truth. Finding none, he sighed and continued. "What do you know about Klaas Bruinsma?"

If Harry was counting on her knowledge of current muggle affairs to be shoddy, he was utterly disappointed by the lightly widened eyes and raised brows that he got from her.

Taking it as the cue to explain himself, he elaborated. "I need him to stick around in a hospital. Preferably as a patient. For two days. Maybe more. I need to know if you can manage that without any direct magical interference. And no, there is nothing more than I can tell you which wouldn't implicate you further or at least directly anyways."

Ignoring the dread that she suddenly felt when he had said 'implicate', she clarified. "What do you want with Klaas Bruinsma? As far as I know, he doesn't know about our kind. Any and all business that he does, howsoever despicable it may be, is completely in the muggle world. I cannot fathom him doing anything to do with any magical much less someone like you and still being alive."

He acknowledged the veiled compliment with a lopsided smirk. "True. I would have cut the vermin down where he stood had I not wanted to entangle myself with your local wizarding militia or my own DMLE for that matter. They are a little strict with their muggle baiting laws even if the only people they can't convict with those crimes are their own peers. Not to mention the people whom-we-can't-speak-of and their varieties of ways to sniff out anything that intersects our kind and the muggle world, especially its wealthy denizens." Harry shook his head, thinking of many a people who could be tossed in Azkaban had the DMLE been able to prosecute them successfully. "Anyways, I did not ask because I wanted to get rid of him. It's quite the opposite actually, I need him to be occupied in a muggle hospital for two days without the majority of his compatriots knowing about it. I want him effectively isolated besides two or maybe three of his men being around."

Clarisse looked thoughtful at that. While it was well within her capabilities to arrange such a transaction, she still took a few minutes before she answered. "It will not be easy, nor would it be cheap. But I think, some of my people could manage it without arousing too much suspicion. I also have a squib in a hospital in the city who owes me quite a few favours. What is the timeline?"

"Tonight." He answered promptly, ignoring the matter of payment, for now.

"Hmm. A lot sooner than I was expecting. But I'll see what can be done. How will I reach you?"

He brought out a plain parchment with a small rune inscribed on its edge from his inner pocket and handed it to her. "It has a runic equivalent of a protean charm inscribed on it. I have it's pair with me. We can stay in contact this way. When it glows, either of us will know there's a message waiting."

Clarisse nodded at that. It seemed more efficient than sending owls back and forth. Not to mention more than a little quicker.

"I'll also need some ingredients when you do manage to get your hands on them," he spoke conspiratorially and tossed her a small memento, a small wooden kiwi bird, he had picked up in the market while walking towards her home. "It's a one-way portkey, attach the items to it and use the standard activation phrase," he explained.

With that settled, they talked a little more, clearing what could and could not be done in such a short span of time and Harry explained what he needed her to get when she settled Klaas in the hospital and some other things.

After they had had their chat, he put the teacup down and stood up. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Clarisse," he said with a small smile. "By now you must have some of your questions answered. I'll try to quench your curiosity for some that haven't. Yes, we have met before. No, I cannot tell you where or how. Yes, we were friends. Yes, I am hoping we could be again, even if I don't look as handsome as I did back then," he quipped with a smirk.

"You saved my father. Even if your methods or bedside manners could use a little work, I cannot repay you enough for what you did. A friendship, recurring though it may be, seems like more than a fair trade," she replied with a smile of her own.

With that, he decided to leave.

His flight was in an hour.

And it will take a while to find a new unwitting parent to take him back home.

-x-x-x-x-x-

He had half expected a gigantic trench to be there instead of the homely cottage he had grown attached to. But he was surprised, pleasantly so, when he came to his almost untouched home.

He'd have to get his godfather a treat for behaving himself. Something he'd like. Too bad there wasn't a such a thing as a magical stripper. Well…there probably was, but then again, it would just be wasted on the mangy mutt.

Speaking of…He could see the old dog sitting at the front steps waiting for his arrival.

A few steps down the stone pathway and he was near enough to hear Sirius ask, "How'd it go?"

"About as well as could be expected," Harry replied. "You?"

"Both the potions are ready. You have the final ingredients?"

"Not with me, no. You haven't been inside yet? They should have arrived by now." Harry said even as he moved towards the main doors.

When they reached the living room, there was a black wooden kiwi-bird perched on top of the dinner table, with a small sack attached to it. Harry saw it first and gave a smile that was all teeth. Turning to Sirius he nudged his godfather with his elbow.

"I hope you're ready, Sirius. It's payday."

-x-x-x-x-x-

A/N - Legend -

1. West Yorkshire – It had the highest crime rate in England and Wales in 1980s-90s.

2. Long drop – "Just got to go use the longdrop" A long drop is a Kiwi term for an outhouse or an outside toilet with no flushing system. Commonly found in public places.

3. Dunedin is a city in New Zealand. The magical community of Dunedin is very small.

4. Verstand Verzweiflung – Mind Despair. A german spell most commonly used by German forces of Grindelwald on their captives.

5. Klaas Bruinsma - One of the biggest drug kingpins in Europe, Bruinsma's major interest was smuggling hashish, and he did it in tons. He was shot dead by an ex-cop in 1991 after an argument.

6. Sors – meaning – Fate.