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Harry Potter and the Maw by Woodrow M
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Harry Potter and the Maw

Woodrow M

(A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! If anyone has any direct story input, or would like to see a change made, or simply complain about something, don't hesitate to email/pm/do something and tell me because I take criticism well. Also, this story is not intended to be dark and angst; so if you think its becoming to heavy, make sure I know. My intentions for this story is for it to be humorous at times, charming at times, passionate, and above all original/interesting.

R&R if you have a moment. Withotu further ado, chapter 3:)

"Wormtail," said a cold, hard voice, "I command you to send Antonin this message."

"Wha- What is it master?" A trembling voice stammered. He felt himself become disgusted at Wormtail's blatant show of weakness.

"Tell him to proceed. His plan is confirmed and he is to execute it at the preplanned time. Make sure you tell him to value discretion." He paused, "I can sense Potter's presence in my mind. Do you understand what I have told you Wormtail?"

"Completely, master."

"Then leave me." He silently waited for the crawling form to exit, and then concentrated strongly on his mind.

"Potter," The voice said aloud, "You remember-"

Harry was jerked awake by a frantic banging on the bedroom door. Quickly putting on his glasses and throwing on a shirt, he swung his feet over the bed and stretched. His scar burned mildly, and Harry figured it was because his dream was interrupted. His frayed emotions must have left him vulnerable to Voldemort's influence last night. Mentally thanking whoever awoke him, he stood up and strode over to the oak door, trying to shake the grogginess from his head as he walked.

"Harry! Come out you've been sleeping for twelve hours!" said a muffled, feminine voice from behind the door. Harry recognized it instantly as Hermione. "I don't know what that terrible man said to you but you have to come out some time!"

"I'm coming," Harry called back, feeling much stronger after his long sleep. His emotions were no longer rampant and uncontrolled like they were when he went to bed. "I just over slept. I'm not hiding." He opened the door.

He was immediately blinded by a flurry of Hermione's long, brown hair as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "Don't do that! You had everyone really worried!"

"Its okay Hermione," He said, laughing, "I promise I won't oversleep again." He suddenly saw Mr. Gates peer at him suspiciously over Hermione's shoulder. Harry saw that his eyes contained suppressed hate, but he ignored it. For one, he should have never allowed the Ex-Auror to dig out his normally reined emotions in the first place, and two, it was far too early in the morning for an argument. Harry focused his eyes on Hermione's bushy hair and stalwartly refused to return Gates's malignant glare.

Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do you want to talk about what happened last night? Mr. Gates has been standing outside your door all night, and hasn't even slept."

Harry paused for a moment, locking his eyes with hers. "Not now. First I want to eat."

She nodded and the two of them climbed down the steps and entered the kitchen, Gates following some distance behind. Harry could feel Gates's eyes burning into his back. Mumbling "Hello", He and Hermione joined Mr. Weasley, Ron, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley at the breakfast table. Gates leaned lazily against the wall, not tempted in the least by the massive amounts of food Mrs. Weasley had laid out for brunch.

Harry ate breakfast ravenously; rivaling even Ron's incredible eating habits. He was famished from his meeting with Gates and the twelve straight hours of deep sleep following it. Ginny and Mr. Weasley watched in awe as Harry devoured stacks of toast, pancakes, and various eggs and meats.

"Delicious." Harry said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach.

"Blimey mate," Ron said, seeming to forget about his own food, "They don't feed you much at the Dursley's do they?"

"No, just hungry, that's all," Harry replied, smiling. "Say, you guys want to talk after brunch?" He added thoughtfully.

"Yes." Hermione and Ron both said at once. Gates narrowed his eyes, seemingly irritated, but Harry ignored him.

"So," Mr. Weasley began, folding the Daily Prophet and placing it on the table, "How did last night go?"

"Oh, err," He glanced quickly at Hermione, who imperceptibly shook her head, "It went alright, I guess." Hermione and Ron obviously had not told Mr. Weasley about them meeting him at the base of the stairs last night, so Harry decided that Mr. Weasley should not know about the confrontation he and Gates had. Mr. Weasley had enough problems to be going on with, and he certainly did not need Harry to add to them.

Mr. Weasley nodded and return to his newspaper. "Oh, and I'll take you to Diagon Alley this afternoon, so make sure you're ready. I imagine you have quite a load of books you need to purchase this year."

"Yeah," Harry replied. Turning to Ron and Hermione, he said "Well I'm done eating, how about we go get ready now?" He gestured for them to follow.

"Sounds like a good idea," agreed Ron.

Harry led them up the stairs and into the bedroom, Gates in tow. Before closing the door, Harry muttered to Gates, "Private. Wait out here." Before slamming the door in his face.

Harry walked over to his bed and sat down. He looked up at his friends, who were now studying him carefully. "Its going to be a long year with him." Harry said quietly, pointing at the door.

"He's completely mental! Do you know who he is?" Said Ron, his face alight with mixed apprehension and anticipation. "Blimey, you are a real target for madmen Harry."

Harry shrugged. "Like flies to honey."

"He's the author of The Art of Dueling, that's who he is." Hermione said, apparently annoyed that Ron had called the writer of such an excellent book 'mental'. Immediately, Harry realized where he heard that name before. Ginny had given him The Art of Dueling for his birthday.

"And he's completely mad." Harry said, his voice a little louder than he would have liked, "He loathes me worse than Snape, and, just like Snape, its for no reason at all." Harry quickly related the meeting he had with Gates last night.

"Oh, dear," Hermione said, her voice filled with worry, "That's not good to have wizards like him as your enemy. Not good at all."

"What can I do about it?" Harry argued, though he did not raise his voice, "He hates me and doesn't even know me."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't you see Harry?" she said, "He's jealous."

"Of what?" Harry asked incredulously. He turned to Ron for support.

To Harry's surprise, Ron nodded in agreement. "I think she's right, mate. Dad says Gates was a big time fighter against the Dark Arts during You-Know-Who's time. 'Tells me he was immensely famous. Then, you came around and destroyed You-Know-Who, just like that," Ron looked at him pityingly. "I bet he feels that you stole his glory away."

All of a sudden, some of what Gates had said to Harry clicked into place. It was so obvious. "And what else?" he asked.

"What else?" Said Ron in a disbelieving voice, "Alexander Gates is a complete nutter, even if he did kill all those Dark Wizards. Blimey, he personally killed more Dark Wizards than anyone else for the past ten centuries. You would have to be mad to do that, wouldn't you?"

"I think you were right when you said that some of those Dark Wizards rubbed off on him," Hermione added, biting her lower lip, "Its been known to happen to some Aurors; you know, become corrupted by the power they're trained to fight. Though, they never came close to Mr. Gates."

"You know what his nickname is now?" Ron exclaimed, wearing a broad grin on his face, "Its 'The Debauched Savior'. A lot of people felt for a long time that he would be the one who would defeat You-Know-Who. When you did…" Ron shrugged.

"He went completely mental," Harry nodded.

"Not only that," continued Ron, "He went bad. Rumors started to float around that he was using the Dark Arts."

"Oh, come off it, Ron," Hermione scoffed, "Why would he need to do that? He already was one of the most powerful wizards in existence. Those were just lies spread by Voldemort's old supporters to ruin his credibility."

"You weren't there," Ron responded airily.

"He worked for the ministry at one point, Ron." Hermione shot back, "You can't just become an Auror for the ministry without having a spotless record. He couldn't dabble in the Dark Arts. Honestly…"

"And do you know why he quit the ministry?" Ron said excitedly, clearly thrilled to be able to share the story. When Harry shook his head, he continued. "Well, dad says that he quit because at the time the ministry required writs and papers in order to duel and kill a Dark Wizard. After a while, Gates decided he could do better on his own and operate outside ministry law; so he quit. When he was leaving the Ministry of Magic, he nearly dueled five escort Aurors who were tracking him to make sure he didn't do anything…illegal…on his way out. Threatened a lot of ministry employees and staff. Caused quite a ruckus, dad says. Well anyway, when Gates began to play the role of vigilante and track down renegade Dark Wizards, the ministry politely ignored everything and dutifully shuffled all of his law-breaking into the garbage. They decided that if all he was doing was killing Dark Wizards, then they wouldn't harass him. Blimey, they would regret that."

Ron paused, allowing the suspense to build, and took a deep breath. He enjoyed being at the center of attention.

"Soon, renegade Dark Wizards sort of became scarce around Britain and Gates had difficulty finding targets. Then, you stopped You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters dispersed. Gates was crushed. More than anything, his life ambition was to make his family name synonymous with glory and power. Once you killed You-Know-Who, Gates was pushed into the background and his chances at fame disappeared. He became bitter and desperate."

"He started to attack big-name families." Ron paused, "Malfoy-big. Fudge, after large amounts of outside pressure, finally decided that Gates was too dangerous to have running around unchecked. He issued a warrant for his arrest."

"I bet Gates loved that." Harry said, grinning.

"You have no idea. When the Aurors came to destroy his wand, he dueled them all and he won. Against five trained Aurors. It was incredible. Anyway, after that he fled and went into exile. Rumors flew around that he was in Europe and Russia pursuing some isolated patches of Dark Wizards and cults, but he fell off the map at that point."

"Wait," said Harry, "Why did he go into exhile?"

Ron shrugged. "The guy is mental. He probably thought it would be a lot easier to hunt down Dark Wizards on his own without the ministry breathing down his back. Who knows."

"And now he's back," Ron continued, "The ministry granted him a pardon, seeing that they need wizards like him on their side since You-Know-Who has returned. So he owes Sirius a favor and that's why he's guarding you?" Harry nodded. "I'd kill to find out what the favor was." Ron sat down on a nearby chair and allowed them to meditate on what he had just said.

"You think he hates me enough to try to kill me?" Harry asked after a long silence, "He certainly seems mad enough to."

"No, he can't just ignore a Magical Bond." Hermione replied, "Not unless he wants to remain sane, that is. Ignoring a Magical Bond is supposed to create such intense mental pain that the mind eventually overloads and begins to shut down. He doesn't have much choice in the matter."

Harry felt himself much relieved at this. "What do you suppose the third favor is?" He asked out loud, not really meaning to.

"Who knows." Ron said, "I suppose we'll find out this year, right?"

"Yeah." Harry answered vaguely. For some reason, he began to think about the vision he had last night.

"Is something wrong Harry?" Hermione asked timidly.

Harry said nothing for a moment, then said, "I'm just thinking about the dream I had last night?" Hermione immediately stiffened.

"Was it about V-Voldemort?" She asked, ignoring Ron's involuntary jump.

"Yeah," Harry replied, rubbing his scar absently, "He was telling Wormtail to deliver a message to Antonin." Hermione did not move. "Telling him to proceed with the plan, and to be discrete about it. He sensed I was there so he didn't reveal much, and when he was about to attack my mind you woke me up." He turned to Hermione. "Thanks."

Hermione blushed faintly on the cheeks. "Antonin? Is he the-"

"The same one who attacked you at the Department of Mysteries, yes." Harry said instantly.

"He's a very powerful wizard." Hermione said, now looking out the window, "Perhaps it was a good idea after all to have Gates around this year." Then, upon realizing what that remark implied, she continued quickly, "Harry I didn't mean-"

"That's alright, I know what you meant." Harry said, cutting her off. He smiled reassuringly at her.

"So are you going to send an owl to Dumbledore?" Hermione asked tentatively. She vividly remembered Harry's insistence that they keep the headmaster in the dark when it concerns his dreams.

To her surprise, Harry seemed to contemplate it for a moment. "I suppose I will, though it probably won't tell him much. Still, the Order should know if Voldemort's has a plot brewing. I will send him an owl later."

Hermione smiled appreciatively and returned her gaze to outside the window.

"So how's Bill faring with the goblins?" Harry asked Ron, who sat blankly in the chair deep in thought; an unusual state for Ron.

Ron came out of his reverie. "Oh, erm, not too good, so I hear. They are keeping out of it so far. They mistrust the ministry and You-Know-Who equally."

"Maybe if the ministry granted them the rights they deserve," Hermione said scathingly, " They would be more keen on helping us."

"Oh no, not spew again." Ron groaned.

"Its not 'spew', Ron," Hermione said, her eyes flashing with anger, "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Goblin rights are a completely different subject. Of course, once house-elves have the same rights as wizards goblins are bound to follow. Its not fair for wizards to determine what's correct for all magical creatures."

"What makes house-elves so special?" muttered Ron.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, ignoring Ron and pointedly looking at Harry, "I plan on taking S.P.E.W. to the next level this year at Hogwarts. I'm thinking about making it an official club." She paused, obviously waiting for Harry's response.

"That sounds great, Hermione." Harry said somewhat hesitantly.

"Official club?" Ron asked loudly to ensure that Hermione could not feign deafness, "Wasn't it official two years ago?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry as if to say, "Honestly, can you believe him sometimes?"

"No, Ron, it wasn't." Hermione said impatiently, "For it to become official you need a professor to sponsor it and at least ten people to join it."

"And what is a club going to accomplish?" Harry began to sense an oncoming row. At a loss for what to do, and knowing it was better not to get involved, he sat back and watched in silence, hoping for outside intervention.

"You'll see Ron." Hermione replied knowingly, "I have plenty of activities planned. Just wait."

"Seems that you are taking for granted-"

"I hope you all are almost ready," Mr. Weasley called from downstairs, interrupting the argument. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "We will be leaving for Diagon Alley fairly soon."

"Alright, Dad, we'll be ready," Ron yelled back, "Right I better get my stuff." He shook his head, clearly still agitated by his conflict with Hermione, and stalked off through the door.

"I probably should too," Hermione said, "I still need to unpack my suitcase."

"Hermione," Harry reached out his arm and placed his arm on her shoulder. "Wait a second."

She whirled around, blushing for some unknown reason. "Yes?"

"Thank you for your cake. It kept me sane for the past couple days." He said, smiling. He detected a hint of perfume in the air surrounding her. When did Hermione start wearing perfume? He thought. "Though you should have told me you added the Draught of Peace."

There was no question about it. Hermione was blushing openly now. "Oh, sure Harry. I hope you enjoyed eating it as much as I enjoyed making it." She turned and left the room. Harry laid back on his unmade bed and relaxed, mentally digesting the story Ron had told him. He saw Gates furtively glance into his room once; probably to reassure himself that Harry had not left.

He had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard a soft knock on the door. "Come in." Harry said, sitting up in his bed.

Remus Lupin slowly walked in and sat in the chair that Ron was in only a few minutes ago. He wore an old, dusty, black robe and overcoat that looked like the same ones he wore in Harry's third year. Lupin stiffly carried his battered briefcase, and Harry could hear something sliding inside. His salt and pepper hair seemed to have become grayer over the summer and long, tired lines were drawn along his face. He looked worn and beaten; like some ancient book that lurked in the restricted section in the library at Hogwarts. Lupin's expression was somber and grim, as if he had just arrived at a funeral.

"Harry, I am sorry but I can only stay for a moment," Harry was alarmed to see Lupin was close to tears, "I need to give you something." He stopped, as if unsure what to say next. "No…giving is the wrong word. It isn't mine to give."

"Lupin, what-"

"Please, Harry, call me Remus."

"R-Remus," he stumbled over the name, "What do you mean?"

Lupin sighed and shifted uneasily in his chair. "I know this isn't easy," he began, "Bringing all this back up again. As you can see I'm not taking it too well." He breathed deeply and plunged on, "Its about Sirius and what he wanted me to give you."

Harry nodded, saying "You mean Gates?"

A surprised expression crossed Lupin's face. "You've met him already, have you?" Remus said disbelievingly, "I thought Mr. Gates would've waited. No matter. Its not about him," he added hastily.

Harry relaxed visibly. He had feared that Remus was going to ask him about his ordeal with Gates last night, and he was in no mood to discuss it again. "Alright."

Lupin set his briefcase on his lap and unlatched the several locks on it. The hinges squeaked as he opened it. Remus quickly scanned the contents and then turned the briefcase around so Harry could see inside. Resting on the red, velvet lining of the case was an object wrapped in soft, laced cloth. Harry glanced at Lupin for permission and, upon being granted it, extended his hands and lifted the item out of its velvet sanctuary. He carefully placed it onto his bed.

"I wanted to give it to you for your birthday," Lupin explained, "But I decided that this was far too important to risk it being taken by your…relatives."

Harry slowly unwrapped the cloth to find an oval shaped mirror. He immediately recognized it as a copy of his own, now-broken mirror. "Is this…"

"Yes, Harry, it is." said Lupin, smiling slightly. "It is the other end of the mirror Sirius gave you last year. I found this among Sirius's belongings and, as you possessed its counterpart, am giving it to you. I expect you can give it to anyone you wish. Perhaps…someone…you need to communicate to often."

Harry frowned. "Lupin…I'm sorry, but I broke my mirror."

To Harry's surprise, Remus smiled a little more. "You will be able to fix that at Diagon Alley today." he paused, "Assuming you still have the pieces."

"I do," Harry said, glad that he had kept the broken shards in a small leather bag instead of tossing them away.

"Excellent," Remus moved to stand up, "Now, I'm afraid, I must go. The Order is having me on recruitment duty nearly every day now, and I have several potential members that I need to meet today." He made to leave the room.

"Wait, Remus, there is something I needed to speak with you about." Lupin stopped and turned around, his expression confused. Harry had wanted to ask this for a long time, and now, with his memories about Sirius stirred up again, he wanted to ask it now.

"What is it?" Lupin said, now studying Harry critically. He returned to his seat and waited for Harry to continue.

"It's about Kreacher," He began, unsure of how to initiate his long desired request.

"No Harry," Lupin looked at him with somber eyes. Deep inside them, though, Harry could detect a hint of flame and ash. "You cannot request anything of Kreacher, because Kreacher is gone. He disappeared shortly after Dumbledore spoke with him, and hasn't been seen since."

Harry choked; anguish in his throat. "What?" He managed.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I wanted Kreacher to be punished somehow as well. Locked up in a wizard prison, maybe," Harry could hear honesty in Lupin's voice. "That is impossible now, I'm afraid. No doubt he's gone off to live with some of his more devious relatives." Lupin inhaled a deep breath of air, "I only hope that he will stay be his oath as a House Elf and not reveal anything concerning the Order. That could be disastrous."

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the need for vengeance overwhelming him. That worm, Harry thought, his mind racing, Someday I will find him. There will be a reckoning.

Lupin held his stare; concern lining his face. Once that he was assured Harry was calm again, he spoke softly and carefully. "I will keep in touch, Harry." and then he added in a lower voice, looking at him meaningfully, "Be careful around Gates. He is not a good enemy to have."

And with that, Lupin swept out of the room, his tattered overcoat billowing behind him. Harry's eyes fell back on the mirror, which was now empty and dark. Digging through his suitcase, he found the small pouch that held the mirror's frame and the jagged shards of glass. Harry remembered how he had smashed the mirror in a frustrated rage, and heartily regretted it. No matter, he thought, Lupin says I can get it fixed in Diagon Alley.

Harry snatched the bag and dashed out the door, perfectly disregarding Gates's presence. He leapt down the stairs two at a time, reached the bottom, and turned sharply to the right and sprinted to the lunch table. Slowing his pace down to a brisk walk, he strode into the kitchen and found Hermione sipping coffee and Ron eating a bit of toast, obviously ready for their trip to Diagon Alley. He heard, with a considerable amount of satisfaction, Gates's heavy breathing. Chasing after a sixteen year old boy down a hall and a flight of stairs at full speed was no small feat for an older man, after all.

Harry pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. "So are we ready?"

"Yes," Mr. Weasley said from an adjoining room, "We were just about to call you down. Come on, we'll take one of the ministry's cars. No need to take floo powder for such a short drive."

Harry nodded and followed him out to where the ministry car parked itself yesterday. Today, however, the car chose to move under the boughs of a large elm tree to protect itself from the oppressive sun. Mr. Weasley stood outside the rickety gate for some time, searching intently for the ministry car. Harry was about to point out its location to him when the car itself honked its horn.

"Ah," Mr. Weasley murmured, then added in a louder voice, "Let's go, then."

The three of them slid into the back seats while Mr. Weasley sat down in front. Harry noticed with disappointment that Gates, who had been following him several meters behind, took a seat in front as well. When everyone was in, the car started and drove off; following a predetermined route.

Mr. Weasley, unsatisfied with the direction they were going, began to argue with it.

"This isn't the way to go, you see," he would say, "If you go this way, you will be able to save at least ten minutes…"

The car revved its engine in protest, as if to say: I know what I'm doing.

Mr. Weasley muttered something and then turned back to them. "These ministry cars are always being difficult. Can't take one bit of advice."

Hermione giggled silently. Ron gave her a bewildered look and decided not to pursue a line of questioning.

When they finally arrived, the three of them stepped out of the car and told Mr. Weasley that they would meet him in the Leaky Cauldron in two hours. Harry audibly groaned as Gates stepped out of the front seat of the car and stood waiting a few steps away from him. Gates scrutinized Harry carefully with glittering eyes before resigning into the role of sentry. Despite the peculiar change in roles, Harry found himself consistently glancing over his shoulder to find Gates eyeing him as dangerously as a hawk would eye its prey.

Harry felt Hermione brush against his shoulder. "He's only just started and he's already scaring me." she whispered, appearing fearful that she might be overheard by the towering Hit Wizard who followed six steps behind them, "It's like he's stalking us. I mean, I know its his job, but does he really have to look like he wants to kill us? Honestly." Harry grinned.

For some reason, Harry found himself very conscious of Hermione's physical closeness to him. He no longer minded when Hermione clutched his arm painfully when threatened. Something within him stirred restlessly, and Harry was not sure whether it was normal. His heart would skip a beat when she touched him, and sometimes he would perspire in a way that had little to do with the heat. It never occurred to him during the frequent letter exchanges over the summer that he might be liking Hermione more than he liked Ron.

Are you really surprised? Asked a faint voice in his mind. You've known her for six years. She knows you better than you know yourself.

So? He answered back, She's my best friend.

A best friend who you've written more letters to this summer than you have written to Ron for the past six years? Admit it to yourself, everyone thinks that you two are more than just friends. Dr. Perry and Gates both thought you two were boyfriend and girlfriend.

Gates and Perry? Harry scoffed, They were both completely mental.

Oh, but why do you think Gates thought she was your girlfriend? Because Sirius told him so in the letter, you dunce.

That doesn't mean anything; there is nothing between us.

Isn't there? Remember when she invited you to help her knit hats for the house-elves? Ever notice how strong and prolonged her hugs are; and that they are subtly different than the ones you receive from, say, Mrs. Weasley. Perhaps you forgot about all the times she grabbed your arm when she was afraid. You two need each other.

Harry could not think of a reply. Hermione drifted away from him, and Harry felt a twinge of disappointment. He reexamined the arguments the voice in his head had made. Had he really been that clueless, or was it just a deep friendship?

Definitely the former, Harry told himself.

The three of them were about to enter Flourish and Blotts when Harry turned out his pockets and mentally kicked himself. He needed (And forgot) to stop at Gringotts to withdraw the funds needed to start the new school year. Hastily excusing himself from Hermione and Ron, and promising them he would be back soon, he ran through crowds of people to the massive, stone bank of Gringotts. Heedless of the stares he was getting, he leapt lightly up the steps and entered the marble foyer. Barely noticing the delicately chiseled and carved pillars that held up the majestic, painted ceiling, Harry ran up to the nearest counter, and, breathless, handed the goblin his key. Thank Merlin I always carry that, he thought.

The goblin eyes him suspiciously. "Hmmm, Mr. Harry Potter is it?" When he nodded the goblin continued, "Due to the unfortunate passing of Mr. Sirius Black, his vault's contents have been transferred to yours as was requested in the will." The goblin paused, now carefully studying the man behind Harry, "Sir, please wait until-"

"He's with me." Harry replied quickly, remembering that Gates followed him everywhere.

"As you wish." He rang a small bell on the counter and another goblin automatically appeared to guide them to Harry's vault.

The cart ride was as recklessly fast as Harry had remembered; and when they had finally arrived at his vault, Harry's eyes widened at the amount of gold that Sirius had contributed to his already formidable fortune. Gates stood passively behind, not impressed in the least. Galleons and sickles were collected in huge stacks. There were many priceless pieces of jewelry meticulously set behind a sealed glass case. Emeralds and rubies, reflecting enchantingly from the light the goblin's torch gave off, were heaped in small piles. Harry never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would ever possess so much gold. Gates tapped his foot impatiently and Harry snapped back into reality.

He quickly scooped up a few handfuls of galleons and shoved them into a large, thick pouch. Returning to the cart in a daze, he sat down on the floor and allowed the impact of what he saw fully hit him. Sirius must have given me the whole damned Black family fortune, he thought. More deeply, he wished he could give it back. No one should have so much wealth.

The cart jerked back to a stop and Harry returned to his feet, finding walking awkward because of the sheer weight of the gold on his right side. He remembered that Hermione and Ron were probably still waiting for him, so he quickened his pace and left Gringotts, stepping once more onto the bustling street of Diagon Alley.

When Harry returned to Flourish and Blotts, he found Ron and Hermione waiting outside the entrance. "Sorry," He muttered to them, "Took longer than expected."

Hermione shook her head. "Its quite alright, but just don't run off like that without a little more elaboration."

Harry approached the front desk and handed the clerk a list of N.E.W.T. level books he would need for his sixth year. The clerk studied the list carefully, nodded, and then disappeared behind a row of bookshelves. As he stood there admiring the quantity of books Flourish and Blotts carried, he felt Gates's breath on his neck. Sidestepping discretely to the right, he saw the clerk returning under a heavy set of thick tomes.

"That would be ten galleons and six sickles." The clerk said, breathing heavily.

Harry pulled out his pouch and handed the clerk eleven galleons. As he waited for change, he wondered how he was possibly going to carry his books around for two hours. Frowning slightly, he had an idea.

"Eleven sickles is your changes," The clerk said, handing him eleven silver coins.

Harry looked up at Gates and asked in his most polite voice, "Can you aid me in carrying these, Mr. Gates?"

Gates stared back at Harry incredulously, his face turning into a sneer. "Am I your mule now too? No, I am quite satisfied with my current role."

Harry said nothing, but turned back to the clerk and asked, "Could you perform the weight charm for me?"

The clerk smiled slightly and brought out her wand. She flicked it sharply and muttered "Levis" and a soft, white glow momentarily lit the books. "Wise idea. The charm will only last for a few hours, though."

"Thanks," Harry said, setting his books in a large shopping bag, "That's all I'll need."

Grinning, he walked out of the bookstore with Gates close behind, feeling that he had won the challenge.

As the trio proceeded to each shop, Harry found that many witches and wizards were backing off as he approached, avoiding him like the plague. It took only a minute for Harry to realize why. Gates was less than a step behind him, and obviously many of them would be asking themselves why that insane Hit Wizard Alexander Gates was following The-Boy-Who-Lived; especially when he was supposed to be in Europe dueling Dark Wizards. Even Harry's school friends, many of whom he had known since his first year, began walking in the opposite direction when he approached them. Harry strongly suspected that Gates was intentionally driving away his friends for his own personal, twisted sort of pleasure. This had the minor benefit of Harry easily being able to find a way through a dense crowd of people, though admittedly he would have preferred simply forcing his way through rather than having a permanent sentry to frighten people out of the way. When Dean Thomas turned away from him, Harry wished for the hundredth time that Sirius had assigned someone else to protect him. Gates's notoriety seemed to proceed him.

The trio briefly stopped at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and came out loaded with skiving snack boxes. Although George and Fred had little time to spare with the amount of business they had, they talked for a short time and expressed regret at not being able to attend Hogwarts this year.

"Many good memories there-" George said.

"Filch pursuing us down a hall-" agreed Fred.

"-Only to trip on a trick stair-"

"-While Mrs. Norris was engulfed with stink bombs-"

"-As we slip through a secret passageway-"

"-Which took us to the other end of the school-"

"-So we can turn the bathrooms into a cess pit-"

"-All while innocently arriving early to Charms class."

Harry found himself wishing that they were returning. Not only was the Gryffindor Quidditch team down two stellar beaters, but some of the team's spirit went with them. Oliver Wood's original third year stellar Quidditch team was slowly dwindling…

Another group of people veered away from Harry, and he sighed deeply. Hermione placed her hand tentatively on his shoulder. "Don't worry Harry, they'll get used to it."

Harry silently prayed she was right.

After they had left the apothecary with the required potion ingredients, (Ron chose this moment to remind them that he no longer had to suffer through Snape's classes) Harry decided that he wanted to find a shop to repair his broken mirror. The shattered pieces shifted restlessly in his pouch. He related the problem to Ron and Hermione, and Ron suggested they try Torre's Magical Repair Workroom.

They eased their way through the crowds of jostling wizards and witches, and eventually came to a shabby little shop which occupied an area in the corner of Diagon Alley. Hanging precariously above the entrance were the words 'Torre's Workshop', and, the amount of people being much thinner in this area, easily stepped through the wooden archway. Hermione sneezed from the thick amount of dust in the stale air, and Ron remarked, "It doesn't look like anyone has been in here for years..."

At first, Harry thought he stepped into some abandoned magical warehouse. Cogs and wheels were randomly strewn across tables and desks. Rows of shelves stretched all the way to the rear end of the store, each crammed with every kind of enchanted trinket and item available. Small amounts of dust evenly peppered the rows of objects. There were complete glass cases dedicated to nothing except misty white crystal balls that Harry recognized as the exact kind he used in Divination last year. There were several desks stacked with strange and fascinating tools that were operating independently on a specific, assigned wand. Several glass mirrors, some cracked and others fixed, hung placidly on a smooth, white stone wall. Harry noticed that a few mirrors did not reflect anything at all, but appeared to be portals to different locations.

Harry slowly approached a high, marble table and studied curiously the exotic glass vases that were set on top of it. They were ornately patterned with fine, golden stems and threads that led up to a brilliantly colored flower. Fashioned into the side of each was a slender silver handle which shined dimly from the muted sunlight that had managed to filter in from outside. Harry noticed with awe that each vase was unique from the other and apparently custom made from hand.

"I see you admire my collection of Dol-Ellio vases," said a musty voice behind him. Harry whirled around, surprised to see a tall, willowy man standing in front of him. He wore a light gray vest over a white dress shirt, and there were white wisps of hair poking out from his ears. Harry briefly wondered why the man was dressing as a muggle when the man continued, "I am more of a hobbyist, myself, but I do have quite a collection," He paused, furrowing his brow. Harry guessed the shopkeeper's age to be at least eighty. "But I daresay you didn't step into my shop to discuss my hobbies. How can I help you?"

Harry clumsily fumbled through his pockets and pulled out the small pouch that contained the broken remains of his mirror. "-Err, it's a mirror. I got this from my godfather a few months ago and it, ummm, broke." He offered the pouch and the wooden frame to the man, who wore the expression of a child about to open a Christmas present. Harry glanced behind his shoulder to see Hermione and Ron serenely wandering about the store, gazing at the various objects huddled on the wooden shelves.

"Ahhh," He said, peering inside the pouch, "A mirror? I have plenty of experience with mirrors." He gestured to the line of mirrors to his right. "Still, this one looks rather unusual. What kind is it?"

Harry hesitated. "Well, there is a similar mirror to this one, and they are both enchanted so that you can communicate through them."

"Then it is unusual indeed." He pulled a long, jagged glass fragment out of the pouch. "My, whoever made this used some very ancient charms. How old is this?"

"I don't know." Harry said truthfully.

"Oh," The shopkeeper looked at him skeptically, "Well, I should guess that it will be repaired in a few days. Say four. Mirrors can be quite tricky to work on; especially the rarer varieties. Mirrors are fascinating artifacts with innumerable uses…some can be used for communication, others for transfers of certain magic…incredibly useful."

The old man turned on his heel and walked behind the counter, his polished shoes squeaking as he went. After kneeling down to place the frame and pouch under the counter, he reappeared and placed his hands on the polished marble counter. He closed his eyes and meditated for a moment, and Harry briefly thought that the shopkeeper was a narcoleptic and fell asleep. Suddenly, his eyes opened and his hands began to smooth out a non-existent piece of parchment on the counter. "Though I cannot determine the final price at this moment, I can assure you it won't be more than five galleons."

"Right..." Harry replied uncertainly. He was not sure, but he felt that he had just witnessed some strange form of divination. As he mulled this over, an aged man with graying hair stumbled into the shop.

The man stared wildly around him, squinting his eyes as if he was nearly blind. He wore a thin, dark purple robe that was tied with a silk belt of matching color. The man had his arms extended fully in front of him, looking very much like a zombie that Harry had once seen in a horror film at the Dursley's. It dawned on Harry that the man actually was blind and was feeling his way through the store. Running up to the bumbling wizard, he grabbed his arm and supported the older man's weight.

"Ah, hello Mr. Whams," greeted the shopkeeper from behind Harry, "What brings you back to my shop?" The name Mr. Whams struck Harry as familiar, but he could not remember from where.

Mr. Whams evidently did not hear the salutation, as he leaned up close to Harry's face and looked deeply into his eyes. Harry stared back, becoming fascinated with the man's dull pupils and hot breath. The man pulled him even closer. Harry was now near enough to count every whisker on Mr. Whams's chin and see the skin between the hairs of his bristly eyebrows. Age and exhaustion radiated from his eyes, and his breath stank of bitter medicine and old pipe tobacco.

"Perseus?" He asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Errr, no," Harry replied, somewhat taken aback by the question. Behind the senile expression and manner, Harry had the distinct sense that Mr. Whams possessed a very shrewd and calculating mind. "Who is he?"

"Oh," Mr. Whams said, slightly embarrassed. He pulled his head back and turned to the shopkeeper. "Mr. Torre, I seemed to have misplaced my spectacles somewhere. Perhaps I left them here?"

Mr. Torre smiled. "Yes, I suspected these were yours." He pulled out a pair of glasses with very thick lenses. He strode over to Mr. Whams and offered them directly in front of his eyes. Mr. Whams, appearing to have just noticed them, took them gratefully and put them on.

"Yes, much better." Mr. Whams turned back to Harry, his eyes magnified greatly by the powerful lenses; making him look much like an owl. Ron and Hermione watched curiously from across the workshop at him. "I am nearly blind without them. I usually carry a second pair, but I seem to have forgotten them today..." His voice trailed off as a second person entered the shop, panting heavily.

"Professor Whams," said the breathless man, "I lost you in the crowd. I wish you wouldn't walk away without telling me." Harry had heard the voice before, though he wasn't sure when or where.

Professor Whams, Harry thought, Thats where I heard the name before. He's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that Mr. Weasley mentioned last night.

"Ah, Perseus," Professor Whams said, his old face breaking into a grin, "Well, you know how my memory is. Sometimes I forget you're even there!" He chuckled softly.

"I know, but I always carry your second pair of glasses for you to wear when you lose your first, remember?"

"That's right," Professor Whams said, though without conviction.

Harry abruptly realized who the voice belonged to. "Percy?" He asked.

"Harry?" Percy stepped into the light, "It's been a long time. How have you been?" He asked soberly.

Still a bit pompous, Harry thought.

"Great, really." Harry answered cautiously. He had not completely forgotten or forgiven Percy for his betrayal last year, and he felt rather wary of being on speaking terms with him again. Altogether, though, he believed that Percy was sincerely sorry for letting his ambition take priority over family.

In the corner of the shop, he saw Ron's ears redden and his face become a scowl. Hermione, looking lost, glanced desperately back and forth between Percy and Ron, foreseeing the imminent fight. Stiffening his arms, Ron stalked over to Percy and stood threateningly behind him.

"Perseus," Professor Whams said jovially, "You must introduce me to your friends."

Harry looked at Percy questionably, and Percy whispered, "His memory is extraordinarily poor. I should consider myself lucky he remembered the first syllable of my name."

"This is Harry Potter, Professor Whams," Percy said proudly. Professor Whams offered his hand and Harry shook it firmly.

"And who is this young fellow?" Mr. Whams turned to Ron, who until now had been glaring resolutely at Percy's back. Percy whirled around to see the face of his youngest brother a shade of deep red; perfectly matching his ears. He blushed.

"This is, err," Percy started to stammer, an unusual event for a scribe you prides himself on his articulation and poise. "My youngest brother, Ron."

Oblivious to the tension surrounding the two brothers, Professor Whams extended his hand to Ron who stared at it like it was a snake. After a minute of intense silence, Ron awkwardly accepted it and mumbled "Pleased to meet you," to him. Once his eyes returned to Percy, however, they flashed with the promise of violence.

Percy shifted his weight nervously, "Ron-"

"Shut up." Ron snarled, his voice laced with venom, "You don't know. You have no idea what you did. You- You- traitor to your own family."

Percy nodded and then turned to Professor Whams. "I will be waiting outside, sir, when you are finished here."

"That's quite alright Perseus," The old man replied, beginning to sense some of the hostility, "I am finished here, I believe."

Percy guided Whams to the entrance and, after vaguely waving to Harry and Ron, proceeded to dart through the crowd. A large group of chatting witches passed by and the two disappeared from sight, leaving a furious Ron in their wake.

"I can't believe him. I can't-" Ron stepped towards a marble table and leaned against it, positively fuming.

"Ron," Harry said mildly, trying to calm him. Mirthlessly, he remembered that the opposite of this was usually taking place. "Leave it."

"Harry's right," Hermione agreed, crossing the store to join Harry and Ron, "Its one thing for Percy to approach you, but its another issue completely when you approach him and explode."

"If you are done driving away my customers," Mr. Torres said, his voice thick with suppressed anger, "And you have no further business here, I request you leave."

As the three of them left the shop, Harry overheard Hermione whisper to Ron; "Especially in a store. Honestly."

"I suppose we're done, right?" Harry asked in a would-be casual voice. He wanted to move on from the confrontation in Torre's Magical Repair Workroom, and have the trip to Diagon Alley end.

"Yeah I guess." Ron said, not completely recovered from the argument.

"Then we will go directly to the Leaky Cauldron," Gates said from behind them, causing the three of them to jump. Harry glanced behind him to see him wearing his usual malicious grin. "Let's not dally about."

Grudgingly, Harry shuffled through the thickening flow of people, doing his best to avoid peoples' wandering feet. Hermione and Ron followed close behind; dodging the swinging shopping bags and purses of several groups of careless witches. When Harry reached a clearing of cobbled street, he waited patiently for Ron and Hermione to catch up. In the middle of the crowd, Harry could see Gates's bald head poking above the rest of the crowd.

Ron was the second after Harry to break through the crowd, Hermione coming next, and Gates last. The crowd parted automatically for him; many people not daring to approach him for fear of being hexed or cursed simply because their mere presence would offend him. The delay in his arrival was due to the fact that he strolled at a slow, leisurely pace to further advance his ego.

"Ronald Weasley." The voice drifted from somewhere in the crowd, and Harry gazed curiously into the crowd to see who it was. Stepping out of the flood of people, Luna Lovegood floated towards them and stopped barely a meter away from Gates and less than a step away from Ron. "I know you from Hogwarts."

"Uh, yes." Ron said uncomfortably. His eyes glanced at Harry and Hermione in a panicked plea for help.

"Are you shopping for your school books?" Luna asked dreamily, her eyes misting over.

Ron did not know what to say. "Yes, well, no, we finished, actually." He stammered.

"That's too bad." Luna said sadly.

Gates, who seemed astounded that his existence had been ignored the entire time, stepped closer to Luna in a weak attempt at intimidation. When he leaned close enough to breath down her neck, she finally acknowledged him. Pointedly turning her entire body to face Gates, Luna looked him up and down and then locked her eyes with his. She stared unflinchingly at Gates without changing her dreamy expression.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice not containing a trace of fear or surprise.

"Ummm," Gates temporarily lost the use of his tongue. Never in all his years as a Hit Wizard had he ever been addressed in this incredibly normal way. "Nothing. Never mind." He added hastily. Harry was pleased to see that Gates was unnerved.

Luna smiled prettily. "Nice to meet you," she turned back to Ron. "What is your friend's name?"

Harry fleetingly thought to ask why she did not just asked him herself, but he suppressed the question. He enjoyed the way Gates folded his hands across his waist, betraying uneasiness.

"His name is Gates. Mister Gates, I mean."

Luna once again faced Gates. "Hello Mr. Gates. Are you a Dark Wizard? Daddy says you are one."

Alexander was strongly taken aback by this, and his mouth open and closed like that of a fish. A tinge of color entered his cheeks, and Harry sensed that Gates was becoming enraged, but controlling it superbly. "No, the opposite. Who is your father?" He said icily, regaining his composure.

"He owns The Quibbler. I'm sure you've heard of it. It won't do you any good, though. Right now he's out farming Heliopaths in southern Finland." Luna said casually, her eyes never moving.

Gates's eyebrows raised and he glared defiantly back down at her. "The Quibbler? I've been told it is full of rubbish that isn't even fit to be printed on paper. So yes, I suppose you can say I know of it."

Luna blinked. "Yes, you would need to be told of it, as you have been dishonorably exiled from Britain for the past several decades."

"Dishonorably?" Gates spat, color rising to his cheeks and forehead. "I will tell you something-"

"It is dishonorable to be exiled from your homeland so therefore you are without honor." Luna continued, retaining her dreamy expression and misted eyes, "This concludes are conversation., though I do look forward to meeting you again. Perhaps we can discuss the Snockle-Locks you encountered in western Russia..."

Gates stood dumbfounded, and Harry heard him mutter, "Snockle-Locks?" before lapsing into silence again; his mental balance utterly lost.

She returned her gaze to Ron, who now look at her with mixed amazement and admiration. "What did you do over the summer, Ronald?"

"I- I-, errr," Ron stammered, ears reddening. He stole glances at Harry and Hermione, his meaning clear. Help!

"We outta move on, now. Mr. Weasley is likely waiting for us..." Harry said lamely, causing Luna to suddenly turn to him, as though she did not know he was there. Although his respect for Luna increased substantially since the their battle in the Department of Mysteries, Ron looked desperate to leave. Hermione frowned slightly at Harry, though he was not sure why.

"Yeah," Ron said, brightening, taking a few steps backwards, "Sorry I, err, we couldn't talk to you more. Tight schedule and all. See you on the Hogwarts Express then?"

Luna tilted her head to the side. "It's a date, then." She walked past Ron and disappeared into the swarm of people, humming the tune 'Weasley is Our King' as she went. Fighting back a fit of giggles, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm (Harry felt his heart flop) and pulled him forward to where Ron stood, who looked like a wave of water had just passed over him.

"Come on, Ron," she said, laughing, "If you're in such a hurry-"

"It's not that!" Ron exclaimed, "She just- just-" His eyes darted in Gates's direction. Alexander loomed silently aloof from them, the wind tugging at his black robes and overcoat. The sunlight made his high cheekbones and glittering black eyes all the more prominent. "You know! It's Luna."

"We can discuss it over a few butterbeers," Harry said, trying not to laugh but grinning all the same, "Let's try to get off this street first."

The trio picked their way through the crowd, and, after a relatively short distance, they found themselves standing outside the familiar tavern The Leaky Cauldron. When they entered, they were surprised to find that The Leaky Cauldron was largely unaffected by the large influx of people in Diagon Alley. Many tables were full of the usual gossiping witches and wizards, but the bar table was rather empty. Tom the bartender was leaning casually against a polished golden pole set behind the bar, absently drying a mug with a vanilla-colored towel. As Harry approached the bar, he noticed with growing apprehension that the loud chatting and joking from the tables around him lowered to small whispers. The clinking of mugs and goblets on the glass coasters became infrequent and hesitant. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Gates, face glowing with delight. Fear and hate practically radiated from him as he walked through the bar, creating an aura of terror. He seemed used to it; as if the fear surrounding him was as normal as water surrounding a fish. People began muttering quietly for their bill and, after paying, stood up to leave. Harry heard brief snatches of hurried conversation; such as "The devil Gates is here?" and "What is The Debauched Savior doing back in Britain?". He sat between Ron and Hermione on the oak stools in front of the bar, each ordering a butterbeer and setting their shopping bags under their feet. Gates swept his long overcoat off to the side and took a seat on the far end of the bar.

Tom strode reluctantly to the end of the bar where Gates sat and asked candidly, "What can I get for you sir?"

Gates's penetrating gaze remained transfixed on Harry. "Give me a goblet of Red Haze. Make it hot."

Somewhere in the room, a patron dropped his glass and it shattered on the floor. No one moved to clean it up.

"Red Haze?" Harry heard Ron murmur, "That's dragon blood, that is."

Slowly, the babble of talk broke out again and a waitress, looking very flushed, wiped up the spilled drink and used "Reparo" on the broken mug. Though people continuously glanced in Harry's direction, he felt appreciably better that they were no longer staring mindlessly at Gates and him, wondering why the two were together. Truly, Harry sensed the underlying foreboding and anxiety in their would-be casual conversations, but it did not bother him much. He figured it had more to do with the butterbeer than indifference.

"Dad must not be here yet," Ron said, discretely searching the tavern, "I'm in no hurry."

"Not surprising considering we arrived fifteen minutes early because you were too afraid to talk to Luna." Hermione said scathingly, "You shouldn't be so rude to her. She's really nice you know." Harry looked at Hermione doubtfully. As far as he knew, she thought Luna was quite mad.

"He's still a pompous little prat." Ron muttered, holding his butterbeer so tightly his knuckles began to turn pearly white.

"Ron," Harry said evenly, "Don't let it upset you. If you don't want to be around him, just avoid him. Wait until you're ready."

"That's going to be a little hard," Hermione took a shallow sip of butterbeer and continued, "I mean, Ron will probably be seeing him every week at Hogwarts."

When Ron and Harry looked at her questionably she said, "Honestly, you don't know?" They shook their heads. Sighing, she continued, "I thought this would be rather obvious. Did you notice how Percy was constantly taking care of Professor Whams? Percy is going to be his assistant for the school year." She said matter-of-factly.

Ron snorted into his butterbeer. "What? Impossible."

Hermione set her mug down on her coaster. "Yes, it is quite possible. Do you even know who Mr. Whams is? He's an old ministry Auror who had his memory erased by a dark wizard. He's spent twenty years in St. Mungo's recovering. Though, as you may have noticed, it hasn't quite all come back to him. Percy will probably be aiding him this year."

"You mean Dumbledore is so desperate for professors he has to pull them out of the mental ward of St. Mungos now?" Ron said disbelievingly, "Especially ones that were on the wrong end of a memory charm. I mean, you have to be mistaken this time Hermione."

She shook her head airily. "I'm quite right, Ron, despite what you think. Mr. Whams was a very potent Auror back in Voldemort's time," Ron and several nearby witches spilled their drinks on their laps. "Honestly." She mumbled into her cup.

"I don't think I can stand having Percy as an assistant Professor." Ron growled through gritted teeth, "He's a prat and always will be one. How he got this position in beyond me."

"That doesn't tell us much Ron." Hermione said acidly.

Sensing an argument brewing, Harry immediately cut in. "So, er, has Percy owled Mrs. Weasley yet?" Even before he finished it, he knew this was a bad question to ask.

Ron gripped his mug even tighter. "No," He paused, "Why did you say 'yet'?"

"Well, um," Harry began to feel very uncomfortable, "When he owled me on my birthday and I wrote back to him asking to talk to his mother."

"YOU WHAT!" Ron knocking his glass over, spilling the contents across the table. Tom looked up from the mug he was wiping, and Gates studied Ron suspiciously. "YOU TOLD THAT PRAT TO OWL MY MOM? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? HE HAS NO RIGHT-"

"Ron he was only trying to help!" Hermione squeaked, wilting slightly under Ron's outburst. Neither Harry nor Hermione had ever seen Ron so enraged.

"JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" Ron raved. His hands were bunched up in fists, and Harry saw his eyes begin to cloud over in a black mist. Harry felt his scar begin to burn.

Ron was looming over Harry, who had not moved from his seat. Hermione was tugging on the back of his robes, warning him to get away for Ron to cool down. He would not budge. "I was only trying to help, damn it!" Harry shouted back, "Sit down!"

Ron did not give any impression that he had even heard Harry. Blood was pumping furiously into Ron's head, deepening his face into a deep color of red. His eyes were solid black now, and, surfacing slowly out of his eyes, two bright Slytherian green pupils emerged. The startling contrast between the luminous green and the obsidian black was frightening. Ron's mouth twisted into a sadistic grin, his face suddenly becoming lit with staggering power and intensity. Harry slid back on his seat.

"You are Harry Potter," Ron said in a deep, throaty voice. Harry realized with a surge of fear that he was no longer looking at Ron, but the possessed demon that resided with his mind. "The boy which this mind claims to have destroyed Voldemort. Is this true?"

"Get out of Ron's mind!" Harry bellowed, drawing his wand for effect. He had no plans to use it, no matter how violent Ron became.

Ron peered down at Harry and scrutinized him carefully. "So its true, then," He continued, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "The Dark Lord was a fool. I see nothing in you that would pose a threat. Perhaps the Dark Lord was not as omnipotent as he led us to believe..." Ron's voice trailed off, and his eyes left Harry.

The patrons in the tavern became enraptured in what they were seeing. One wizard, face red from too many drinks, had liquid spilling freely from a partially tilted mug as he watched the exchange. Still other wizards had their hands on their robes, clearly ready to intervene should violence erupt; though Harry felt sure they would not move from where they sat. An expectant silence passed, where nothing could be heard except Ron's heavy breathes and the distant chatter of people outside the bar; unaware of the turmoil within.

"Alexander Gates, I never would have thought I would experience the pleasure of meeting you again; this life or the next." Ron said softly, as if to savor every moment. He grinned even more broadly, but Harry knew it was only pretense. Ron's eyes were blazing with unbridled fury and wrath. "Try to defeat me, it won't even matter if I lose. I have a way of cheating death, it seems."

Gates stood less than a meter behind Harry, his wand drawn and pointed threateningly at Ron. His body was rigid and his legs were spread shoulder-length apart in a dueling stance. Harry had never seen such religious fervor in anyone's eyes before. Now, looking deeply into Gates's fathomless pupils, Harry felt zealous passion and anticipation of the kill. This was a man who dueled and murdered for a profession; and enjoyed his work.

Ron jerked his wand into the air and shouted "Avada Kedavra". However, instead of the expected flash of green light, two feeble sparks broke off the end of the wand and fell to the ground. Ron was dumbfounded; his arrogant sneer faltering a little.

Gates grinned widely. "You didn't expect to perform a killing course with such a weak wand while in a possessed body, did you? You would need a more powerful wand for that bit of magic."

Harry, now allowing himself to be pulled away by Hermione's frantic pleas, stood apart from the two wizards, who now began to eye each other dangerously. The bartender's face became very white; horrified at the duel that was taking place in his tavern. Harry's scar seared with pain, but he rubbed it strongly with his left hand and ignored it, too intent on the two men in front of him.

With a sudden sharp, circular motion with his wand, Gates bellowed "Mentis Dolor" and a thin, white wisp of light shot out of his wand, landing squarely on Ron's forehead. Ron bent over, hands wrapped around his skull and let out a high pitched scream. His arm smacked hard against a wooden stool and he collapsed to the ground, writhing. Gates lowered his wand and knelt over him, surveying Ron closely.

"It has passed over." Gates muttered, prodding Ron with his long, practiced fingers.

Harry ran over to him, looking furious. "What the bloody hell did you do to him?"

"I saved him!" growled Gates, his eyes never leaving Ron's body, "Or would you have preferred him to continue being possessed?"

"I know what you just did..." Hermione said, sounding terribly nervous and afraid, "You just performed a very dangerous spell. That wasn't wise..."

"Shut up girl," Gates muttered. "His arm is dislocated. Must have hit that stool harder than I thought. Easily rectified," He wrapped his slender fingers around Ron's shoulder, and, with a quick jerk, popped it back into place. "Muggle techniques can come in handy when you don't bother with healing magic," Gates continued to mutter. His long, pale fingered probed Ron's shoulder blade and neck. Harry figured that this must be some bizarre way for him to keep himself controlled. "Studied tissue, bones, tendons for four years of my life. Anatomy. Brilliant subject. Its when you pull away the flesh and skin that you see what you truly are."

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "He just performed borderline illegal magic on an underage wizard. Magic that is only supposed to be used in extreme circumstances..."

"Silence," Gates's conversation with himself abruptly ended. "I have a license for it, so stop your meddling in other people's business." Gates pressed a finger against Ron's temple, wrist and neck. "He is alright." He almost sounded regretful, as though he wished it was otherwise.

"Potter," Gates spat, grabbing Harry's arm violently, "How long has he been possessed?"

Harry lowered his voice. "Since the end of the last school year."

Gates's eyes narrowed viciously and his lip curled. "You think I enjoy surprises Potter? Do you know what I could've done to your little friend here?" He gestured the Ron's ruined form. "There will be no secrets anymore. I admit I am becoming frustrated with this task already, and your sixth year hasn't even begun." He folded his arms behind his back. "I will have a private word with you. Now."

Hermione whispered quickly in his ear, "Don't go! Don't go! He wants revenge for the pain! The Magical Bond punished him for allowing you in danger! Its not your fault! Its-" Harry was pulled violently away.

"I am going to borrow this spare room." He called to the bartender, pointing directly at an empty section of the tavern reserved for times when more room was required. He turned back to Harry. "Potter. In. Now."

Harry entered the spacious bar room, and heard Gates slam the double doors behind them. He sneezed, becoming aware of the thick amount of dust present in the air. The room was completely empty except for some tables and chairs piled in the corners and sides; and a few extra cases of liquor stacked under a dirty window. A few rays of sunlight filtered through the scum caked window and landed on the dull stone floor. Musty and dank, the room must have been closed off for at least a year.

"Potter, comer over here!" Gates brimmed with unrestrained rage, and Harry backed up a few paces to place some distance between himself and the towering wizard before him. His eyes were bloodshot and wide; and Harry knew that, whatever was in store for him, it would involve enormous amounts of pain.

Gates swiftly closed the gap and reached out with a clawed hand, grabbing Harry around the neck. Harry struggled for a moment, trying helplessly to pry the fingers off of his neck, but Gates's grip was like steel. Air stopped flowing into his lungs, and Harry gasped desperately for a few shallow breaths of oxygen. If anything, it only made Gates's hand squeeze harder.

"YOU THINK!" He roared, his words became incoherent and jumbled, "PAIN! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID?" Harry saw veins throbbing in Gates's bald head, and his eyes were bulging out of their sockets. "AGONY LIKE NOTHING ELSE! TASTE IT!"

He threw Harry forcefully against the wall, knocking some of the dirt and soot off the window a meter away. Harry's back ached strongly, and he found it impossible to stand or even crawl. He groped frantically for his wand.

"NO!" Gates screamed, his face contorted into an appearance of expressionless pain and torment. Harry remembered Hermione's words about Sirius's contract with Gates. The Magical Bond must be tearing his mind apart.

"Expelliarmus" Gates managed, his free hand pressed against his temple.

Harry's wand flew out of his hand and clattered somewhere beyond Gates. He focused on Gates's wand, and then turned to his face. Limitless wrath, unfathomable pain and incredible ferocity all joined together to create a visage that was beyond description. His lips were pulled back over his teeth in a primitive display of fury. He loomed menacingly over Harry, his wand now directly in his face, preparing himself to speak a malignant incantation.

"Mentis Dolor" Gates spat, his face briefly lightening with pleasure before darkening with agony.

Harry felt his very brain being split into two halves. Bolts of fire and electricity coursed through his mind; circling around and around in full, speeding circles. Harry seized his head with both hands; trying to pressure the pain into nothingness. It felt as though his spinal cord was being ripped out of the back of his mind, pulling large chunks of gray matter with it.

He writhed onto the floor, curling up into a fetal position and rolling about, becoming delirious of his surroundings. His memory was becoming distorted and vague, and his vision dimmed. Distantly, he heard Gates shrieking and kneeling on the ground, face in his hands. A underwater sensation overcame him, and Harry felt as though he was swimming deeply in the ocean, his body weightless and his thoughts confused. Flashes of memory jumped in front of him, beckoning for attention that he found he no longer had.

Ron was sitting next to him on his first train right to Hogwarts, looking very young....Sirius Black was standing next to him, Peter Pettigrew walking in front of him....Sirius Black fell into the veil, disappearing forever....Uncle Vernon thrust one of Dudley's old shirts to him for his seventh birthday....His mother's dying scream echoed in his head....Hermione hugged him for the first time before he encountered Professor Quirrell and the Mirror of Esired....Voldemort rose out from a steaming cauldron, alive and powerful once more....Hermione was cowering against the wall, petrified of a mountain troll that was towering over her....Hermione lay dead behind him, struck by Antonin Dolohov's curse....

Suddenly, he realized that he was falling through a flurry of emotions. Anger flared inside him...then fear...then envy...then humility...then passion...then desire...then power...then hate...then love. As the experiences threatened to saturate and overwhelm his brain, he fell still farther into the void, and, slowly, he disappeared into the inky blackness.

(A/N: Yes I realize that end part was heavy, and one might be inclined to think that this is the tone I'm setting for the entire story. I assure you that Gates won't be beating up on Harry every chapter, or every other chapter even. He is an integral part of the story, but he is not THE story. So I repeat: If I am getting to heavy or melodramatic or something, make sure I know.

Oh and as a side note, if anyone is interested in beta reading the beta chapters, let me know. Its not easy to edit and reflect on 9000+ word chapters, so I would appreciate some help if anyone has some time to spare. Contact me at woodrowm@comcast.net if you're interested; all you need to do is edit and give me some input.

Thanks for everyone who reviewed!)