Nine Lives by kneazle

Rating: R
Genres: Humor, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 08/12/2006
Last Updated: 22/02/2007
Status: Paused

Pre-HBP: Harry is fed up and tries to off himself – only, because it's Harry, nothing ever
goes right. Harry makes a deal with God and the Devil, with the balance of the world resting on his
success.




1. Prologue
-----------



Nine Lives

Kneazle

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. The image of the Devil is taken from the movie
*Bedazzled* and Elizabeth Hurley.

**Summary**: End of 5th Year: Harry is fed up and tries to off himself - only, because
it's Harry, nothing ever goes right. Harry makes a deal with God and the Devil, with the
balance of the world resting on his success.

--*--

**God** *n*: (1) A being conceived as the perfect, omnipotent, omniscient originator and
ruler of the universe, the principal object of faith and worship in monotheistic religions. (2) The
force, effect, or a manifestation or aspect of this being. (3) A being of supernatural powers or
attributes, believed in and worshiped by a people, especially a male deity thought to control some
part of nature or reality. (4) An image of a supernatural being; an idol. (5) One that is
worshiped, idealized, or followed: *Money was their god.* (6) A very handsome man. (7) A
powerful ruler or despot.

--*--

**Devil** *n*: (1) often Devil In many religions, the major personified spirit of evil,
ruler of Hell, and foe of God. (2) A subordinate evil spirit; a demon. (3) A wicked or malevolent
person. (4) A person: a handsome devil; the poor devil. (5) An energetic, mischievous, daring, or
clever person. (6) Printing. *A printer's devil*. (7) A device or machine, especially one
having teeth or spikes and used for tearing. (8) An outstanding example, especially of something
difficult or bad: *has a devil of a temper*.

--*--

PROLOGUE

--*--

Sirius was falling again.

Sirius was always falling, especially lately.

Voldemort wouldn't let Harry have a single, blissful, undisturbed night of sleep since he
returned from Hogwarts; Voldemort kept sending Harry images of Sirius, of Bellatrix, and Wormtail.
They would replay over and over and over until Harry's subconscious would pick up on it and
show Sirius's last moments on Earth.

Sirius was falling.

If Harry was more into culture, he probably could have admired the curve of Sirius's back,
the skillful way the duelers danced around the Veil and other people, the beautiful ballet that a
deadly battle could be.

But Harry wasn't into culture. Harry was into Quidditch. Harry was a wizard. Harry was also
a teenager who was smaller than all his classmates and looked like a twelve-year-old instead of a
soon-to-be sixteen-year-old.

Harry had also seen his godfather murdered in front of him.

And so, Harry decided one evening after sending his mandatory Order of the Phoenix letter on
every third day that he would join Sirius, his parents and Cedric in the Great Beyond. He would
finally tell them how sorry he was, how he failed them and couldn't stop Tom Riddle or protect
them like they protected him. That he was nothing special and a nobody, and deserved the pain he
lived with. How he would understand if they wished to never see him, never speak to him again.

Harry made out all the preparations; he wrote an informal will and signed it, leaving it on his
bedroom desk. He sent a copy earlier to the goblins at Gringotts, and carefully detailed everything
he owned and who he deemed best fit to receive his personal artifacts.

With that done, and the Dursleys sound asleep in their comfy beds, Harry spent the last few
minutes of his life staring at his reflection in the mirror in the upstairs bathroom.

*I'm mad. I'm really mad, but I don't want to deal with this crap of Voldemort,
the prophecy and Dumbledore. I'm a bloody puppet to all three - Harry Potter, puppet.
That's me,* he thought with a scowl, watching his green eyes narrow back at him, and his
cheeks flush a dark pink with anger.

Of course, they weren't as dark as the nearly black, thick blood that ran down his hands
from his wrists and into the bathroom sink. He hadn't wanted to make a mess for Aunt Petunia to
clean up, after all. Having all his blood run down the bathroom sink was a good idea - until Harry
realized he would probably faint before he bled out; then all the blood would smear on the floor
anyway.

*Oh well*, the teen shrugged, *it's not like* *I'll* *be around for her
to yell at anyway*.

In those last few moments that Harry had consciousness, forcibly blinking the black spots from
his eyes, Harry felt a twinge of guilt for throwing this on Remus Lupin. He had, after all, just
lost Sirius and now he'd lose Harry too.

But seconds after, Harry fell to the floor and welcomed the quickly closing in blackness. He was
unconscious.

--*--

He didn't stay unconscious for long though. With a start Harry stood up, looking around the
fashionably furnished office he was lying in.

The floor was pure black marble (Harry could see his reflection), and three walls were made of
mirrors. A metallic desk stood in the center of the room with a chair and the entire wall behind it
was a large, built-in filing cabinet.

On the desk was a jar of pens (red only), and a few loose papers.

“I'm sorry,” said a sultry British voice, which was slightly rushed and business-like. “I
hadn't realized I had a visitor!”

Harry turned on his heels quickly, his wand in his hand. He had totally missed the see-through
glass door that blended in with the mirrored walls. Standing in the doorway wasn't something
that he would totally miss, though.

The woman was tall, with long, loose brown hair that reached halfway down her back, and wore a
very sexy black skirt suit and stilettos. Her eyes were brown and rimmed with black mascara and
eyeliner, making them her focal point; her lips were a ruby red.

“That's… that's okay,” Harry replied, clearing his throat. “But who are you?”

The woman smiled warmly and strode to the office chair behind her desk, sitting down when
promptly reaching it.

“Who I am at this point isn't very important. More like, why are you holding a wand and who
you are, are the important questions to ask,” the woman continued, folding her hands.

“I'm a wizard!” exclaimed Harry in surprise. “That's enough reason to carry a wand!”

“Oh,” the woman said, deflating, “You're one of those *recent* wizards, who need wands
to focus their magic. Shame. I miss those old powerful dodders with long beards and naughty words
coming out of their mouth when I introduce myself.”

“Should I start listing off the curse words I know?” asked Harry hesitantly.

“Certainly not!”

Harry jumped; another voice had joined his and the woman's, but this one was American,
deeper, slower and had a relaxed tinge to it.

Walking into the room with a swagger was a young black man wearing torn jeans and a cigarette
tucked behind his left ear.

“Cursing isn't good,” the man continued. “You might never know who is listening in.”

“Right…” Harry said slowly, turning to watch the woman as she frowned at the man.

“I wasn't expecting you,” she said.

The man grinned, in a gleam of white, even teeth. “I wasn't expecting to come here, myself -
but then *he* appeared.”

“Well, since he showed up in my office, he's mine.”

“You don't know who he is. I've been watching him since his birth.”

“That's a bit creepy, and I don't really care… if he showed up in my office he must have
done something to be here.”

Harry's head swiveled back and forth as he watched the two face off with a desk between
them, all the while talking about him as though he were a possession.

“Um… excuse me?”

The woman and man stopped arguing and turned to look at Harry.

“Where am I, exactly? London? Somewhere else in Europe?”

The woman began to laugh. “Priceless, darling - he doesn't *know*!”

Harry scowled.

The man sighed and with a wave of his hand, two comfortable looking chairs appeared on his side
of the desk. “Please, Harry, sit.”

“Are you a wizard too?” Harry asked, settling into his new seat, and looking confusedly at the
woman when she giggled and crossed a leg.

“He's hardly a wizard, although I'm sure he's been complimented as one by humans
before,” the woman laughed. “Harry - that's your name, right? - you're in my office, which
doesn't have a postal address I'm afraid. But if you did need to know, you're currently
in Hell.”

*What?*

“Riiiiiight... Someone hasn't been taking their medication today,” said a cheerful Harry,
wagging a finger at the woman.

“No, really!” the woman said, sitting up straight. “You're in Hell. I get all the Damned
Souls from above on Earth, which means you must have committed a sin.”

At Harry's blank look, the woman sighed.

“I never get Catholics or Christians anymore. All I get are atheists who don't have a
bleedin' clue,” the woman grumbled.

The man decided to intervene and say soothingly, “It is true, Harry, you're in Hell. I came
down from Heaven especially to see you.”

Panic was slowly rising in Harry. He expected he'd go straight to Heaven to see his parents…
not go to Hell! And if he was in Hell, in that woman's office, what did that make her?

“So… so… who are you?” Harry stuttered out, his eyes moving quickly from the bored woman to the
sympathetic man.

“I'm the Devil,” the woman said helpfully, pulling out a nail filer from her pen jar.

The man straightened up. “And I'm God.”

Time seemed to stand still as Harry observed the two; they acted nothing like the God and Devil
he learned about in school, or from Aunt Petunia. In fact, they were nothing like what he ever
heard about in popular culture.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“For sure?”

“Completely.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay, then why me?”

At this, the woman perked up, put the filer down, and snapped her fingers. Immediately, out of
nowhere, a large stack of paper fell from the ceiling and onto her desk with a loud
*thump*.

The Devil began to flip through it until she got near the end. She let out an “Ah-ha!” and
looked up at Harry and God.

“You slit your wrists. That's suicide, Harry. And I get any suicide cases,” the Devil hummed
a little song. “I get you - and you get to be ripped apart constantly. Think Prometheus. Poor
fellow, he still screams every once and a while when that eagle I sent to watch over him gets a bit
feisty.”

Harry paled.

“Now, now, don't get too excited,” God injected. “Harry had quite a list of good deeds to
his name that can counteract that. Selfless acts.”

The Devil raised a perfect eyebrow. “So?”

“So,” drawled God, “His good deeds outweigh his sin. You know the law.”

The Devil pouted. “Still… it does say that he's not *that* good.”

“Pardon?” paled Harry.

The Devil smirked slightly at the teen and began reading a list. “Underage magic, fighting with
his guardians, vandalism, breaking school rules, disrespect for school authority, use of one of the
Unforgivable curses on another fellow human being, swearing, blasphemy, and never going to
church.”

Harry sent an imploring look at God. God frowned. “Well, those are fairly damning…”

“Ha!” cheered the Devil, smiling prettily. “Now, don't worry too much Harry, you'll just
have to sign over your soul and we can get on with business as usual.”

“Doesn't someone else get a final say in this?” asked Harry weakly, his eyes traveling
between the two immortals between them. “Like, there was that prophecy Dumbledore told me… so,
shouldn't the Fates or Death be down here on my case as well?”

Harry couldn't believe that he had just asked for Death and the Fates to represent him. He
also couldn't believe that he unconsciously capitalized their titles and believed them to be
real people, too.

The Devil frowned. “Actually, that's a good point.” She turned to God. “Where do you think
they are?”

Frowning himself, God nodded. “Just don't sign anything,” he warned to Harry, and left the
room.

Harry was silent. He was a little worried about his sanity, because, if anyone could hold a
perfectly reasonable conversation with God and the Devil when they sat side-by-side, debating over
where his soul should go, Harry knew they were half-baked.

The Devil spoke up after a bit. “You know…” she began hesitantly. “God is right; you do have a
lot of good deeds in your record.”

Harry blinked.

“And well, most of your damns were because you were trying to do something redeeming,” the Devil
looked a bit put-out at this.

“What are you trying to say?” asked Harry, hope edging itself into his tone.

She smiled. “I think we could work out an agreement where your soul goes, between you, God and
myself. Once Fate gets here and clears some things up with us, we'll be able to move on.”

“What do you think will happen?” asked Harry.

The Devil frowned, tapping a red nail against her lips. “Well, if there truly is a prophecy,
then you are destined to do what it says… vaguely, of course. Prophecies are fishy things, Harry.
There is no timeframe, no restrictions on usage, things like that.”

“So, that whole line of *`neither can live while the other survives*' and `*the power
the Dark Lord knows not*' are vague subclauses?”

God arrived back in the Devil's office with an old man at his heels. If Harry were to
describe this man, he'd say he looked like the doctor in *Back to the Future* - slightly
eccentric, but well-humored and fatherly.

“Brought back Fate. He was in his office going spare,” commented God, turning to face Harry as
he sat in his comfy chair. “It turns out you gave him quite the headache; you weren't suppose
to die.”

“Oh, bugger.”

Fate gently chided the teenager. “Now, watch your mouth around your present company, m'boy,
and let us introduce ourselves properly.

“I am Fate, the one you have oft railed against in terms of that prophecy you recently
heard.”

Harry stared at the man. “It's so much harder to hate someone once you have seen their face
and met them in person.”

God smiled benignly and the Devil harrumphed. Fate continued, “So very true. Now, as you know
the contents of the prophecy, let us share it with our companions, yes?”

So Harry agreed, and recited:

“*The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who thrice defied
him; Born as the seventh month dies. He will be marked as the Dark Lords' equal and have a
power the Dark Lord knows not. Neither can live while the other survives, for either must die at
the hand of the other.*

“Et cetra, et cetra,” mumbled Harry.

The Devil looked particularly interested in the prophecy's retelling while God and Fate
frowned.

“Now, Harry,” began Fate, “I'd like to begin by saying I didn't have any real plan for
you when you were born. You hadn't been assigned a Destiny yet - you were still too small and
young to see what your strengths and weaknesses were.”

“Pardon?” Harry seemed to be saying that a lot.

Fate sighed. “When a child in the world is born, I am aware of it. I had no inkling that
Voldemort would go after your family, since they didn't exactly fit his usual profile scanning.
He was looking for a Pureblood wizard, and you, as a half-blood, do not exactly fit it, and yet…
you do.”

“Pardon?”

“Your mother was still a witch and your father a Pureblood. Consider yourself a 3/4 pureblood,
if it helps. As for my design, I wasn't sure what you would grow into. I cannot see into the
future; I take what I know of the family's past, their current attitude and the state of the
world that they live in and choose appropriate destinies. These destinies are not set in stone, and
they can be changed or modified over time if a person strays from what they once were.”

God hummed.

Harry stared.

The Devil smirked.

Fate continued, “As such, when I gave you your destiny, it was after the prophecy was made and
told to Dumbledore. It was also after you were attacked that evening. I decided that you would be a
leader, a strong and compelling one… but with the unplanned and unforeseen death of one Sirius
Black, that destiny changed.”

“I killed myself.”

“Correct,” inserted the Devil, “meaning he's mine.”

Fate shook his head. “I cannot allow it, madam.”

The Devil lost her smile. “Why not?”

“Voldemort will win. Any souls he will kill, those who were Mr. Potter's family and friends,
will be sent to Heaven while you will receive barely any souls of those who deserve your nine
layers of Hell.”

The Devil rose to her heel-clad feet. “Impossible! Even the best of people will come here to
receive judgment before going to Heaven or Limbo! Even the best of people have a little sin in
them!”

Fate shook his head of white hair. “They will die valiantly and as martyrs. You know *that*
law.”

“That law?” echoed Harry.

God answered, “Any martyr who takes their own life to benefit or save others - whether the
majority of the world or not thinks it is politically correct - goes directly to Heaven.”

“So now what?” sulked the Devil, pouting her ruby red lips and crossing her arms.

Fate turned to Harry. “At this present time, you will still fail. You do not have the skills
necessary to fight this Dark Lord. He has delved deeply into sacred arts - sacred because those who
learnt them had to have much control on their emotions lest the Darkness reigns itself tightly to
them.”

The Devil spoke, “So what good is Harry if he still can't fight properly?”

Fate continued, looking at the Devil with a glare, “I propose that we offer Mr. Potter a
deal.”

The Devil once again perked up while God hummed again and wove his fingers together in
contemplation.

“What kind of deal?” hedged Harry.

Fate took a deep breath and looked Harry in the eye. “You deliver to us the souls of the Dark
Lords' Death Eaters… every single one… and you deliver the splintered souls of Tom Marvolo
Riddle.”

“Splintered souls?” questioned Harry. This was the first he'd ever heard of separate soul
pieces.

God's face turned dark. “The splintering of souls is unnatural, Harry. What Voldemort did
was partake in a dark ritual based on death, horror and despair. When he did a particularly violent
killing, he found a vessel to safeguard a tiny piece of his soul. I believe he has done this seven
times - a powerful number to your kind - and has left those pieces of his soul about on Earth.”

“So I would have to find them and destroy them before going after Voldemort?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” the Devil said, somberly. “I usually do not get those who have splintered their souls…
one tried, some time ago, to walk my realm without the proper means. I believe he was one of the
first ever documented… he still walks my realm, but mad. Even my demons and guards do not touch
him. The stench of decay, horror, and death is so strong on him we are even repulsed. There is only
so much darkness that is natural before we too, shudder in fear and horror.”

“But you still take the souls.”

The Devil smiled wanly at Harry. “Those souls I do not touch. I *collect* souls because it
is my job. Those souls are destroyed completely, never to be reborn in another human being, never
to be heard or seen of again. *They are abominations*.”

Harry was almost stunned by the ferocity in the Devil's voice, but knew what she spoke was
true.

“The splintering of souls, Harry,” continued God “Is called a *Horcrux* in your world. You
must find them and destroy them. You have already done this to one… the diary.”

“But you already said I don't have the necessary skills or power to fight Voldemort!”
protested Harry. “How on Earth would I manage to find the power to destroy a Horcrux and deliver
the souls of his Death Eaters? I'd still have to kill them… unless you're going to turn me
into a Dementor.”

When no one answered Harry cried in dismay. “I knew it! I knew it - you're going to turn me
into a Dementor for the rest of my life!”

“Oh, shut up,” snapped the Devil, “we're not going to turn you into a Dementor.”

“Then what?” asked Harry. “What's in it for me to do this?”

The Devil smiled. “Oh, smart lad. Another tick for me, that one is greed!”

God shook his head. “No, it's preservation. What does he receive to take care of his friends
and family? Good deed. That one is mine.”

The Devil pouted again and fell back into her chair, sulking.

Fate cleared his throat and asked, “May we get back to the topic at hand, please?”

God, the Devil, and Harry sat up straighter and nodded.

Fate smiled benignly. “In that case, I suggest that we offer Harry the power that he needs to
fight Voldemort, and that - should you two agree - we waiver Harry's mortality.”

“What?” gapped God, rising slowly from his seat. “Waive Harry's mortality? That's nearly
as bad as the horcruxes, I simply cannot allow it.”

“Compromise,” interrupted the Devil in a sing-song voice. “I suggest that we waive Harry's
mortality *nine* times, quite like a cat.” She glanced at Harry suggestively, and the teenager
bristled. “He's quite the little lion, isn't it?”

God glanced at the Devil's desk and saw Harry's open file, which had *Harry James
Potter, Gryffindor* written across the top. He scoffed. “Cheater.”

She smiled. “Naturally.”

Harry shivered and the blasé attitude the immortals adopted and spoke. “So… nine lives. I get
hit with the Killing curse; I live, but am down to eight lives?”

“Yes,” answered Fate. He glanced at God and the Devil. “Is this acceptable then?”

Both nodded, now reading over Harry's file together.

Fate beamed, and clapped his hands. “Now, Harry,” he said, drawing Harry's attention away
from the other two, “You will need much more power than you have currently. While you do have the
magic and strength and willpower to take on the Dark Lord without the boost I will give you, that
power will not manifest for another decade and will do you no good currently.”

“What will you do?” asked Harry, sitting back down.

Fate took God's vacant chair and explained, “I will confer with Destiny and we will find an
appropriate magical vessel that we have been saving for you.”

“Pardon?” repeated Harry.

Fate cringed slightly. “Yes, yes, I realize you do not know much of our way… allow me to explain
as easily as I can: when a child is born, I make the decision of whether or not they will be a
squib, magical, muggleborn or non-magical. With those who are magical, I must go to our container
room. In that room, there are… I suppose imagine jars, glowing jars. And in those jars are magic
and its very basic level. Do you follow me so far?”

“Yes.”

“Now, for each magical child, I assign a jar. Those jars are not stable, necessarily, but
imagine… ah, yes, your friend Ms. Granger. I jar I chose for her was labeled at an 84, where young
Mr. Malfoy was a 76. Ms. Granger is more powerful than Mr. Malfoy, correct?”

“I understand,” replied Harry, realization dawning on his face. “What number was I
assigned?”

“The same as Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore: a jar with 120 written on it. Merlin himself was
only a 115, but he managed to learn and manipulate much more,” offered Fate with a secret smile on
his face. “Now, you cannot reach your magical potential at this time… so I will find you a new jar,
pushing your magic level - which are currently only 90 - to 120. Once you hit your magical
maturation, which will happen in your late twenties or early thirties, you will push your magical
level up to 150 once I give you the extra 30 you need.”

“I understand completely. I really do,” laughed Harry, surprised. “I thought magical theory
would be a bore, but I actually follow and understand this, thank you!”

Fate smiled. “Of course, there are certain… rules and precautions we must address with God and
the Devil.”

The two, who were half-listening, raised their heads.

“Excuse me?” asked the Devil, in the middle of reading Harry's third year file.

“We must go over the rules with Harry for his task,” Fate repeated. God hummed and stood
straight.

“The Death Eaters aren't good people, Harry - they must not remain on Earth and corrupt
other souls,” he said, in a severe, yet patient voice. “The Devil here would like those souls, and
I agree that they should be sent to her.”

“That means,” the Devil said quietly and seriously, looking at Harry with intense brown eyes,
“That you will have to kill, Harry.”

Harry swallowed audibly. “But won't that go on my record? And bring me back here when
I'm done? I just want to see my parents and Sirius and Cedric again.”

God smiled. “I think that can be worked out. We will waiver all Death Eater, Death Eater
supporters, and Voldemort's deaths from your record. Should you complete your task, you will be
able to join your parents and Cedric in Heaven.”

“Great,” Harry replied, with a tight smile. “What else?”

“Be creative!” offered the Devil with a smile. “The more creative, the more I'll remove from
your file!”

“Devil,” warned God reprovingly, “What are you saying?”

“Don't stick to magic,” she continued, flashing God a narrow-eyed look. “You say that these
Death Eaters support pureblood magical supremacy? Well, why not find yourself a gun or knife and
take them out that way?”

“But I'm underage,” argued Harry, “If I get a gun it would have to be illegally.”

“I'll strike it from the record,” offered the Devil with a gleam in her eyes. Faintly
afraid, Harry turned to God.

The dark skinned man hummed and nodded. “I understand… it seems possible.”

Harry's jaw dropped, and he stuttered, flabbergasted, “You're conspiring to murder! And
you're *God*!”

“Well,” the man blushed, “I could hardly be without emotion if people consider me compassionate,
can't I? I mean,” he blushed deeper here; “even I can admire the talents of others when it
comes to riding the world of evil.”

“You're not supposed to work like that!” argued Harry.

“What am I, a wind-up doll?” replied God tartly. “I have feelings too, even if I am immortal and
have been around here since the dawn of time. I often get bored and like to fiddle.”

“*Fiddle*?” gapped the Devil. “Is that what you call the Hundred Year's War? You
*fiddled* by giving a few whispered suggestions to Joan of Arc and oops - poor girl was burned
to death!”

“She was a martyr, and she led her people to many victories,” argued God stiffly, “And she's
having quite a time in Heaven, relaxing at the hot springs.”

“The Plague?”

“Merely a miscalculation with the rat species, Devil. Honestly.”

“Atlantis?”

“They were constantly mocking me, the Altanteans; did you see those wings they sprouted?
Creating an entire new planet to live on?”

“Oh, cry me a river. Any more `fiddling' and I could get *you*, according to those
rules we were given so long ago,” laughed the Devil gleefully. “Anything else you'd like to
admit?”

Harry rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache.

While God and the Devil continued to argue, Fate left the room and Harry decided to look
around.

Stopping at one of the mirrored walls, Harry watched in amazement as it rippled, like a droplet
of water hitting a smooth watery surface, and then showed Grimmauld Place.

Remus Lupin was sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, dried tear streaks on his
cheeks and a rapidly burning cigarette leaning against the cap to a bottle of Fire whiskey.

*“C'mon, Remus,”* said Bill Weasley, entering the kitchen from off the mirror pane,
*“You need to get some sleep.”*

*“How can I sleep when Harry's at Hogwarts, in a coma after nearly trying to off
himself?!”* snarled the man, rising from his seat suddenly. *“I nearly lost the last thing I
have to Lily and James and Sirius, and you're telling me to sleep?? I won't sleep until I
know he's bloody well fine! And when he does wake up, I'm going to give him such a trashing
he'll wish he hadn't!!”*

*Why, Remus, I never knew you had it in you,* thought Harry, slightly amused. He knew Remus
wouldn't really trash him, but rather, give him a rather stern talking to, and then crush him
into a hug.

The image rippled again and this time showing the Burrow - Ron's room. In it sat the twins,
Ginny and Ron.

*“Why would he do that?”* asked aloud Ron, rubbing his cheeks. Ginny hiccupped and leaned
into Ron's shoulder.

*“Sirius was murdered in front of him, Ron, and you often said that he acted oddly after he
spoke with Dumbledore. Something was bothering him,”* said one twin - Harry identified him with
Fred.

George spoke up, *“He had every reason to think like nothing mattered anymore.”*

*“But why didn't he tell me about it?”* asked Ron, in a plain, small voice that sounded
more like an eight year old than a sixteen year old. *“Or even Hermione? Remus? Anyone?”*

The scene changed again, echoing Ginny's loud sobs, until Harry saw an unrecognized room. It
was cluttered with books and a writing desk with its top entirely covered with papers, and a large
canopy bed headboard was pushed against the wall, prominently displayed in the center of the
room.

Hermione was lying on the bed, clutching a stuffed toy tightly in her arms, sobbing heavily. An
older woman - Harry thought to be her mother - was sitting next to her on the bed, running her hand
over Hermione's shoulders and speaking softly to her.

*“Shh, oh, Hermione dear… please, what's wrong?”*

*“It's Harry,”* sobbed out Hermione, sniffling. She shifted and looked up at her
mother, eyes rimmed red and puffy. *“He… Ron owled me about it… Harry's at Hogwarts. He tried
to kill himself!”*

Mrs. Granger gave a muffled gasp, and then gathered her daughter near her, pulling her half on
her lap.

*“Oh, my poor baby girl,”* she soothed, *“It'll be okay, Harry's a strong man,
he'll pull himself out of it… he'll be all right, Hermione…”*

*“Mum… he saw his parents die… he saw Cedric die… he saw his godfather die… what if he
doesn't want to come out of it? What if he wants to leave me alone here, all by myself? Without
him? I could never continue on with**out* *Harry Potter in my life!”*

Mrs. Granger's face softened and her eyes narrowed in sympathy. *“Oh, oh, Hermione… did
you ever tell him? Did you tell him* *-”*

“I think that's enough Harry,” interrupted the Devil, and the image disappeared without an
echo, and all Harry saw was his startled, pale face.

Turning, Harry saw that the Devil and God had a new piece of cream paper on the desk, near
Harry's seat. “Are you ready to help us, Harry?” asked Fate, stepping back into the room.

Nodding, and not trusting his voice, Harry sat in his seat, and read over the contract.

*Contract between Harry James Potter, Wizard & the Devil & God & Fate*

*(1) Harry Potter must deliver to the Devil ALL souls that have been marked with the Dark
Mark*

*(2) Harry Potter must deliver to the Devil ALL sympathetic, supporters to the Dark Lord, he
who goes by the name Voldemort, A.K.A. Tom* *Riddle* *
(3) Harry Potter must KILL the above mentioned souls, also known as “The Damned”;
(3.1) How Harry Potter does so is of no consequence to the Devil or God
(3.2) All deaths shall be stricken from Harry Potter's file*

*(3.3) The more creative Harry Potter is in the deaths, the more will be stricken from his
file*

“I can't believe you added that in,” groused God, frowning.

“It's incentive,” argued the Devil. “Deal with it.”

Harry continued reading.

*(4) Harry Potter's magical levels will be boosted by Fate's intervention*

*(4.1) Magical skills and talents will be* *honed* *and* *learned
subconsciously or through trial and error*

*(5) Harry Potter will be given temporary immortality*

*(5.1) He will have NINE lives and for each time he should die, one life will be removed until
none remain*

*(5.2) The above mentioned clause will continue even after his succession in delivering the
Damned*

*(6) When Harry Potter finally does die and comes to Limbo for judgment, should he succeed in
his quest he will go to Heaven regardless of his file*

*(6.1) Harry Potter may join his parents and Cedric Diggory in the after life*

Harry frowned. “Why my parents and Cedric? Where's Sirius?”

Fate started. “Sirius? As in, Sirius Black?” He began to mutter.

“Pardon?” interrupted the Devil, clearly confused. “What are you blathering on about, Fate?”

The wiry and spry deity turned around and blinked owlishly at the three staring at him. “Sirius
Black! He fell into that veil in the boy's Department of Mysteries.”

“And?” asked God.

“Well, he isn't with any of you, is he?” questioned Fate tartly. “He's probably waiting
in Limbo.”

“What?” exclaimed Harry, jumping to his feet. “He's not dead?”

God frowned. “Well, not technically…”

The Devil smiled toothily, and rose to her feet. “I agree with Harry, let's go see
Sirius!”

Harry shot a suspicious glance at her. “Why do you want to come so badly…?”

The Devil raised a single, arched brown eyebrow. “What do you think? He nearly got Severus Snape
killed in their fifth year. If he's in Limbo, I ought to be talking to him in my office.”

“He's a good man!” shouted Harry. “He died to protect me and did what he thought was best to
save my parents! Everyone makes mistakes!”

God and Fate were quiet, with a somber look in their eyes, while the Devil's eyes were
flickering in the artificial light.

“That's right Harry,” she said softly. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

And suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe; it felt like a Bludger had hit him in his chest as the
Devil's words echoed in his head.

*Everyone makes mistakes… Everyone makes mistakes… Everyone makes mistakes…*

She was referring to him… his mistake at the end of his fifth year, what got Sirius killed,
Hermione so badly hurt, Ginny's ankle broken, and Ron's scars with the Brains… but everyone
makes mistakes.

He could too. He was merely human.

Well, for now at least.

Harry stumbled physically, blinking as her words impacted him. Finally, after wheezing and
drawing in deep breaths of air, he stood tall and looked at the Devil in her kohl-rimmed eyes and
nodded.

She smiled.

“Now,” interrupted Fate impatiently and sullenly, “can we go see Sirius Black?”

--*--

Sirius wasn't exactly sure where he was. One second he was battling his cousin, and the
next, he was falling face-first, belly up from an unknown height and landing painfully on a
concrete floor.

He was in a rectangular room, with a desk and judge's podium at one end, and a row of seats
against the two long walls. Behind the desk were two elevator doors; one was marked “Heaven,” and
the other, “Hell.”

There were a few others sitting in the room; one young man with the back of his head missing, a
bloody young girl who was glaring at the young man and sitting near another young man with blood
all down his front. Sirius supposed it was a lover's spat.

An old woman sat clutching her handbag a few seats down from him, ever so often muttering about
the Knight Bus running her over.

Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had heard Harry's pain-filled voice
calling for him, from the ceiling, but the voices had long since faded.

Suddenly, there was a *ping*! and the elevator door marked `Hell' opened up. The young
male attendant behind the desk immediately jumped to his feet, a scowl on his face. Sirius watched
impassively until the scowl disappeared and a look of fear replaced it.

Sirius shifted his eyes and they widened. A beautiful woman in black was speaking lowly with the
attendant, while a scruffy black man and Dumbledore-looking man stood next to her. Another figure
was behind them, with unruly black hair, but Sirius couldn't make his details out.

When the attendant pointed at him, however, he rose from his seat and quelled his shaking
nerves.

The three plus other figure moved to him - the bickering couple and young man fell silent, and
so did the witch. Sirius flashed a charming smile at the woman and said, as smoothly as he could,
“Hi there, sweet thing.”

The black man's eyebrows rose and a snort came from behind the eccentric-looking man.

The woman, however, smirked. “And I believe vanity is a point for me, God. This just keeps
getting better and better.”

“Sirius,” admonished a familiar voice, “Do try to tone down the charm… I doubt the Devil will be
interested in a mortal anyway.”

Sirius's shocked gaze was jerked away from the woman - *the Devil?! I just hit on the
Devil???* - to the familiar voice, and involuntarily Sirius made a noise somewhere between a
choke and a sob.

“Harry?!”

Harry flung himself to his godfather's chest and hugged the man tightly, as Sirius clenched
him to his body and wept into his godson's shoulder.

“Don't ever do that again!” whispered Harry, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, so not to cry.
“Don't leave me again!”

“What are you doing here?” Sirius finally asked, pulling back from his godson. “And where is
here, exactly?”

“You're in Limbo,” the eccentric man answered helpfully. “Where dead souls go before going
to Heaven or Hell.”

Sirius gapped, before looking down at his godson and demanded, “*What the hell did you
do?*”

“Cursing!” chirped the Devil gleefully. “Two points!”

Harry glared at her and she stuck her tongue out. “Nyah!”

Harry sighed and turned back to Sirius. “It's a bit of a long story…”

“Back to my office,” continued the Devil happily, motioning Fate and God to follow, while Sirius
and Harry took up the end of the group.

The attendant was still in shock, Sirius was happy to note, as the elevator doors shut.

--*--

Two hours later, Harry signed his name with a flourish on the improved upon contract. Sirius was
now going back with Harry as his partner in crime, and was exonerated for previous sins and would,
as well, be given temporary immortality. Although he was only given four extra lives than
Harry's nine, both were pleased with the end results.

“Now, Harry,” began Fate, looking stern as the three sat in his cramped and dark office, “The
power boost you'll receive will make you a powerful wizard… it will also be shown in your cast
spells and anything magical you do, or how you feel magic.

“Voldemort and Dumbledore have years of experience playing, manipulating and learning foreign
magic. You, my boy, are only fifthteen”—

“Nearly sixteen!”

“—nearly sixteen and do not have that talent. As such, I have decided that I will also give you
this,” finished Fate, holding up what appeared to be a stick of chewing gum.

“What is it?” asked Sirius, eyeing it.

“This,” beamed Fate, “Is the collective memory of Merlin's magical and Muggle knowledge.”
Seeing Harry and Sirius's rather apprehensive faces, he hastily continued, “I understand that
the Muggle knowledge might be outdated, but considering his time period that he came from - the
900s - it was a turbulent time and violent one.” There was a distinctly Dumbledore-ish twinkle in
his eyes as he spoke. “The Devil will appreciate the bloody creativity you might use when you
consider Merlin's knowledge.”

Harry made a soundless “oooh,” and nodded. At Fate's urging, he stuck it in his mouth, and
chewed.

Fate held out the glowing ball of magic (and ripped off the tag with `30' stamped on it) and
placed it in Harry's hand. “Hold it in front of your chest and accept it.”

Confused, Harry did as he was told and watched in awe as the cantaloupe-sized ball of magic
vibrated slightly and was sucked into his body with a *whoosh*.

Sirius was staring agape at his godson, and both were ignoring Fate.

Fate, on the other hand, rummaged through a cardboard box on the floor and went “ah-ha!”

“Ah-ha what?” asked Sirius, curious.

“In case your completely useless wizard government decides to label you the next Dark Lord after
delivering Voldemort's soul to the Devil, you will have a failsafe.”

“What's the failsafe?”

“The failsafe will be with you from the moment you arrive back in your own world, Harry,”
explained Fate, smiling and creating tiny wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. “I am sending you
Suzaku, a phoenix.”

“A phoenix?” breathed Harry in awe.

“Yes,” nodded Fate, “a phoenix. He's very red, as most phoenixes are, but Suzaku is a bit
different… well, you've seen Fawkes, of course?”

Harry and Sirius nodded.

“Suzaku is… larger.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh.”

--*--

Back in the Devil's office, Harry and Sirius stood side-by-side. God and the Devil stood
behind her desk, while Fate was still in his office.

“Do you think I can do this?” asked a worried Harry, biting his lower lip.

God smiled and nodded. “You were meant to do it. I've always believed in you, Harry Potter.
Now believe in yourself.”

Harry smiled and hesitantly held out his hand, for God to shake. The black man only smiled, and
stepped forward, embracing the young wizard instead.

“You'll do well. Remember yourself, who you are, your past, who your friends are, and
believe. As long as you believe in yourself, you will not stray from your path,” whispered God into
his ear.

Harry, thankful for the advice, smiled and nodded. He then turned to the Devil.

She smiled, and said, “Well, I've grown a bit fond of you, Harry. I do think you'd like
it here in Hell, if you'd give it a chance.”

“No thanks, but I appreciate the offer,” replied Harry.

“Ha!” the Devil laughed. “That's a lie, but you did it to please a woman. I'm flattered.
You take care of yourself, Harry, and have fun!” she leaned forward and kissed his cheeks. Before
she pulled away, she whispered so lowly he had to concentrate, “I'll be seeing you from time to
time. Watch out for me. I'm here to help.”

Once she was back behind her desk, God looked at Sirius and Harry and said, “Good luck.”

Then, everything was painted black.

--*--

-->



2. Chapter I
------------



Nine Lives

Kneazle

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. The image of the Devil is taken from the movie
*Bedazzled* and Elizabeth Hurley.

**Summary**: End of 5th Year: Harry is fed up and tries to off himself - only, because
it's Harry, nothing ever goes right. Harry makes a deal with God and the Devil, with the
balance of the world resting on his success.

--*--

CHAPTER ONE

--*--

When Harry opened his eyes, they locked on a minuscule crack on the ceiling and traced the
pattern slowly. The pattern was twisted, winding, and broke off in several different paths, but
ultimately, it ended in a wide crack directly above Harry. A piece of the ceiling had fallen
sometime ago and landed directly where Harry's head was.

It was slightly disturbing, but since Harry didn't have to worry about mortality at the
moment, it wasn't nearly as urgent as most would consider it to be.

The teenager sat up slowly, taking note that the monitor charms that Madam Pomfrey usually put
on her patients to alert her when they woke up did not chime. Now sitting upright, Harry looked
around the Hospital Wing; he was at Hogwarts.

Around `his' bed, the white privacy curtain had been drawn. On his bedside table were his
glasses (not that he needed it, apparently the magical boost Fate gave him did more for his body
than his magic had done previously), a glass and pitcher of water, and several mixed magazines. A
bedside chair was beside the bed and a slumped, disheveled and sleeping Remus Lupin rested in
it.

Smiling slightly, Harry looked down at his wrists and was surprised to see the white gauze they
placed around the wrist was red from dried blood.

*Well,* he though, *I don't need these anymore.*

He began unwrapping his left hand first, watching in morbid fascination as each pass over the
top of his hand caused more skin to be revealed until the gauze was unwrapped and lying in a puddle
of bloody used cloth.

In disgustingly ironic symbolism, the two gash marks Harry had made were shaped in a parody of a
cross. Quirking an eyebrow, Harry removed the gauze from the right hand and was not surprised to
see the same symbol on that underside.

“Ah,” he said softly, “So you've marked me, too, have you?”

Unfortunately, Harry did not say it quietly enough, and Remus stirred. As the amber eyes
fluttered open first in surprise, then annoyance, and then in registered surprise, Harry had the
time to look at Remus.

*Really* look at Remus.

There was more gray at his temples, and streaked through his brown hair. There were bluish bags
under his eyes and he seemed to have lost weight as well. His clothes hung off him like current
teenagers wore their baggy jeans and hoodies, and there was a slight tremble to his entire frame,
which seemed to have shrunk.

“Harry?” asked Remus hesitantly, rising from his seat slowly, as though Harry was going to reach
for the nearest sharp item and slit his wrists again.

“Hi Remus,” said a resigned Harry. He now had to figure out how to leave Hogwarts and get to the
Ministry to get Sirius. With or without Remus. And with or without Dumbledore's notice.

*Oooh, Dumbledore*. Harry made a slight face at the thought. He had been keeping some
rather important information from Harry that he did not appreciate. He may only be a near
sixteen-year-old, but he also had the entire weight of the world on his shoulders. Dumbledore
should not have been making decisions for him.

Remus paused in his scolding; Harry was clearly *not* listening.

“Harry?” he asked.

Harry blinked out of his thoughts and looked at his pseudo-uncle. “Yes, Remus?”

Remus sighed and felt his shoulders slump. He just didn't know how to get to Harry anymore -
didn't know how to break down his defenses. “I… I'm sorry, cub.”

“Pardon?” asked a bewildered Harry, looking fairly startled with his eyes wide and hair a mess.
“What for?”

“For not being there when you needed someone,” Remus answered, his voice scratchy and dry and
caught on a sob.

Harry reached forward across the bed and took Remus's hand in his, and held it as the older
man collected himself.

“I miss him,” slipped out from the werewolf's mouth. Harry didn't need to ask who
`him' was.

“I do too,” began Harry slowly, “But… um… I kind of need to get out of here.”

“What?” To say that Remus was startled would be an understatement. He was working his mouth
slowly, open and shut, until he finally found his voice. “Harry! You mustn't leave! You just
tried to k—ki— uh, kill yourself! You need rest!”

“I'm actually feeling perfectly fine, Remus,” argued Harry, sitting sideways on the bed now,
and gently brushing Remus's hands away from his body. “I'm sure Pomfrey filled me to the
brim with Blood Replenishing Potion and I've probably been here awhile, anyway. I need to get
to Diagon Alley.”

“But, but Death Eaters, Harry! And Voldemort!”

“Insignificant, tiny, itty-bitty details,” dismissed Harry casually, looking under the bed.
“Where are my jeans?”

“Insignificant!” yelped Remus, jumping to his feet. He also pointed at the foot of Harry's
bed, where a table sat full of Get Well cards, chocolate frogs and underneath, were his bloody
jeans and sweater he wore when he attempted suicide.

“Ah!” said a happy Harry, until he took in the sight of his ruined clothes. “Bugger, I really
liked this pair too.” He frowned thoughtfully, and then waved his hand at the jeans, haltingly
saying, as though expecting it not to work, “*Scourgify*?”

Remus blinked, and then rubbed his eyes. “Did you just clean your jeans wandlessly?”

Harry blinked as well. “Apparently I did. Cool.”

He then pulled the jeans on; ignoring the hospital gown, and ignored the fact he didn't have
any boxers. He'd go commando.

Remus watched in amazement as Harry wandered around his bed, looking for his clothing and
ignoring the cards and presents people left him. The Daily Prophet hadn't gotten wind of the
attempted suicide, thank God, but Remus was feeling overly protective. Harry was all that he had
left, and he wasn't going to lose him.

“Why do you need to go to Diagon Alley, Harry?” asked Remus, who sucked in a breath as Harry
removed the hospital gown. Decorating Harry's back were numerous scratches and old, white scars
that never healed properly.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Remus's sudden silence, and then sighed. “Oh, those.” He
shrugged. “Don't worry about it, Remus. It's been a while since anything has happened, so…
forget about it. They'll get theirs one day.”

“But…”

“Forget it, Remus. It doesn't matter now,” Harry said forcefully. “All that matters is
getting to Diagon Alley, and then the Ministry *soon*.”

“But why?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and grabbed his dirty sweater, pulling it on and grimacing at
its bloody state. He waved his had and this time, silently, the blood stains disappeared.

He pushed the sleeves up past his elbows and stretched. He found his wand next to his glasses,
which he didn't need, and placed it in his back pocket. He turned and saw Remus looking at him
strangely.

“Harry?” he asked slowly.

“Remus?” mimicked Harry, with a slight smile on his face.

“What happened to you?”

Harry smirked. “Come with me and find out!”

Remus moved to answer, when a burst of flame appeared between the two. Both felt a warm, tingly
feeling spread throughout their bodies, and a red glow warmly encase the privacy area.

Once the glow disappeared, Harry opened his eyes to see a phoenix hovering in the air between
him and Remus. The bird wasn't Fawkes, it didn't have the same red colour and fluff at the
top of its head. Instead, this bird was larger than Fawkes, and suddenly Harry knew who it was.

“Hey, Suzaku,” the teen said, stretching out an arm and the phoenix gratefully landed on it,
near the shoulder. “How's it going, o Red One?”

The phoenix trilled a series of notes, some Harry took to be laughter and others scolding. Harry
took the time to tell what the difference between the phoenixes were: Fawkes was smaller than
Suzaku; Suzaku had a much longer plumage of tail feathers than Fawkes, and was a deeper, blood red
with orange and yellow streaks around his tail.

“Right,” said Harry firmly, “Well, I'm off to see the wizard…” he paused, waiting for
someone to fill in the rest of the sentence, but when no one did, Harry sighed. “C'mon, Remus,
give a teen a break here…”

Remus just shrugged, staring at the phoenix that Harry apparently knew.

Harry shrugged back, nearly dislodging Suzaku and getting a nip on his ear. “Hey, now, no need
for that. Can you take me to the Ministry, Suzaku?”

“Me too!” Remus finally had broken out of his stupor.

The phoenix bobbed and flew from Harry's arm, hovering in front of the two men. Harry
grabbed Suzaku's tail gently and so did Remus.

In a flash of fire, the two were gone and Madam Pomfrey's alarm finally went off.

--*--

The two wizards and phoenix appeared exactly where Harry wanted to be: in the Department of
Mysteries, in front of the veil. Harry began to move towards it, until he was tackled from
behind.

“No, Harry!” cried Remus. “I won't let you die like Sirius! He wouldn't have wanted this
from you!”

Harry was a little shocked, but took it as grief from Remus; he hadn't seen Sirius like
Harry had or known that the mutt was all right.

“Remus…” began Harry patiently, “Remus!”

“Harry?” sobbed Remus.

“I'm not going to kill myself.”

“Then why are we here?”

The answer was taken from Harry as the veil came to life and a shadowy figure appeared behind
it. A wind blew up violently, the veil fluttered, and in the next second, Sirius was stepping out
of the archway calm and cool as you can be, hands in his pockets and whistling.

Remus stood shakily, and Harry copied him, stepping forward and calling, “Hey Sirius, how was
the trip?”

“Nauseating,” replied the animagus. “I never want to do that again. Ever. It was disorienting
enough *falling* into the waiting room, but going back up…?” he shuddered.

“Padfoot?” gasped out Remus, staring between Harry and Sirius.

Sirius strode forward, grabbed his friend in a tight hug, and clapped him on the back, asking,
“How's it going, you ol' wolf, you?”

Remus's eyes bulged and then rolled upward, just as his legs gave out. The werewolf had
fainted.

Sirius and Harry shared an awkward look, until Harry stepped back and raised his hands.
“Don't even think about it; he's *your* friend, you can lift him. I'm a scrawny
sixteen-year-old!”

Sirius rolled his eyes, leaning down and throwing one of Remus's arms across his shoulders.
“Stop being a baby, and help me with him.”

Harry sighed and copied Sirius; once Remus was hanging between them, did Suzaku - who looked
terribly amused - swoop down from a shelf unit and grasp Harry's arm tightly. The quartet
vanished from sight in a puff of scarlet flames.

--*--

When Remus came to, he was lying flat on his back on a comfy bed that smelled distinctly like
mothballs. The room was dark and heavy with musk; there was a dresser, a chair by a desk, and a
side table with Tiffany lamp.

When he heard the grumbling, he knew where he was.

“Master is back, the blood traitor. Mistress is most upset. Blood traitors and half-breed
filth…”

Remus sighed and rolled onto his side, facing the door, and then closed his eyes tightly. It had
been a dream. Sirius was *not* back from the dead, and Harry wasn't going insane. Harry
hadn't tried to kill himself, he was sitting calmly and contently at Privet Drive, moping and
generally brooding. Remus was happy to whisper silently that over and over again, wishing it to be
true.

“Are you going to get up or what?” Harry's voice asked, and Remus opened his eyes.

Remus sighed, rubbing his temples, and began, “Harry, I had the strangest dream… one where you
tried to off yourself, and then Sirius came back from the veil…”

“Cor, Moony, you need to get out more if you're having memory gaps that aren't
alcohol-induced,” came Sirius's voice.

The nauseating feeling in Remus's stomach told him it was real. *This is so not
happening,* he thought morosely.

His eyes darted to his left and he saw, to his amazement, Sirius, standing at the side of his
bed and leaning over him. Both he and Harry were nearly touching foreheads, and were barely a foot
from his face, staring down at the werewolf. It was eerily, especially the similar grin the two had
plastered on their faces.

In fact, Remus thought with a sinking feeling, it was a smile mostly seen on Fred and George
Weasley while they were up to something…

Groaning, Remus turned on his side and pulled the covers over his head. “This is a nightmare,
I'm going back to sleep…”

Under the covers, he couldn't see Sirius shrug or Harry make a face, but he did hear them
leave the room without complaint.

*That* in itself was odd enough, and after a few moments, Remus felt that the two needed a
voice of consciousness, and that he ought to put a stop to whatever they were coming up with before
they blew up Grimmauld Place or something idiotically similar like that.

Remus found Harry and Sirius in the kitchen, having shared some ridiculous joke and were now
laughing hilariously at; Sirius had sprayed butterbeer across the table.

“I don't want to know,” moaned Remus, falling into a free seat. He paused; “actually, I do,
so you don't do something stupid.”

“Moony, no faith in us?” asked a wounded Sirius. “I'm hurt!” he pouted and covered his heart
with a hand.

“I still don't think you're real; or not a Death Eater in disguise,” shot back a
distrustful Remus, narrowing his eyes and frowning at the man.

Sirius rolled his eyes and transformed into Padfoot, clearly shocking Remus. “And *you*
know, smarty-pants, that polyjuiced people can't transform into that person's animagus
form.”

“B-But!” sputtered Remus, “You were *dead*! You went through the veil; both Harry and I saw
you!”

Sirius shrugged. “The afterlife isn't all that it's cracked up to be, Moony -” here
Sirius flashed a debonair smile “-too boring for ol' Padfoot and not enough hotties to keep me
interested!” Sirius paused. “… well… there was *one*, that Harry introduced me to…”

Harry's face instantly paled and scrunched up in disgust. Remus was confused. When could
Harry have introduced *Sirius* to a beautiful woman, one that Harry thought was wrong for
him?

“Oh, gross, Sirius,” the teenager moaned. “Please, she's… like… *ancient*!”

Sirius shot a glare at his godson. “And she's hot. Like I care, I haven't had any
since”—

“Okay!” interrupted Remus quickly, slightly panicked. Harry was only sixteen, after all, and an
innocent boy to boot. “Now, could someone please tell me what is going on?”

Sirius and Harry, playfully glaring at each other, turned their attention to Remus. Sirius got
up, reached into a nearby cupboard and pulled out a bottle of half-full (or half-empty?)
Firewhiskey. “My friend,” he began seriously, “you are going to need this.”

Harry brought three shot glasses to the table, opened his mouth, and said, “It all began when I
decided to off myself…”

--*--

Remus wasn't sure if he was awake or not. Maybe he had fallen into an alcoholic-induced coma
from too much Firewhiskey consumption, or maybe he finally knocked himself unconscious while
wandering around his room in Grimmauld in a stupid manner. It would be fitting, after all.

But, no - he was sitting in a chair in Grimmauld Place's kitchen, staring at Harry and
Sirius, who were looking back at him in a chilling expression of seriousness. The phoenix Harry had
called - whom Remus had never heard of before or seen - was a significant proof to their story.

“This can't be real,” Remus finally moaned, with his head in his hands and fisting them with
a handful of hair.

Harry eyed him. “So you already said.”

“But it *can't* be real!”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You were the logical one, Moony, shut up and believe it already.”

“But… but…!”

Harry rolled his eyes as well, and shrugged. “Whatever, Professor, if you don't believe us,
that's fine and dandy and whatever.” He stood, grabbed his shot glass of Firewhiskey and
ignored Sirius's “Uh, Harry…”, and knocked back the amber liquid.

The ebony-haired teen coughed and wheezed, and then rasped, “I've got a contract to uphold.
I'm not going to sit back and drinking only to lose a life to liver failure!”

“Where are you going?” asked Remus, looking up in surprise. “You can't be serious, going out
there and killing Death Eaters!”

Sirius looked at Remus funnily. “But that's what the contract says he needs to do,” the dog
animagus answered, perplexed.

Remus shot Sirius a glare.

“What?” the other man asked.

“You're not helping!” the once-professor hissed.

Sirius shrugged, standing as well. “Not my fault, eh? We're suppose to do it together, else
I'd still be in that bloody waiting room.”

Sirius disappeared from the kitchen, with Harry following him. Remus continued to sit, confused
at the turn of events.

Fact: Sirius was alive, Harry was alive, and they were both well.

Fact: They both believed that they had numerous lives and were suppose to kill Death Eaters.

Fact: They could not concoct this *before* Sirius's `death' because this was the
first anyone had heard Harry speak of the war proactively.

Fact: People don't return from the dead. Not unless they were rotting, evil dead, zombies a
la Inferi.

Fact: … Remus was starting to believe the two.

With a sigh, he rose from the table as well, and entered the foyer, stopping when he saw Harry
standing by the door with an impatient expression on his face and Sirius on the last step of the
staircase, wearing his patented leather jacket and counting out several bills of money.

“… Four hundred… five hundred… six hundred… seven hundred… eight hundred…” he looked up. “Harry,
how much d'you think we'll need?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno, I've never purchased something like that before. Maybe the goblins
know?”

“I'd rather have these before going anywhere magical, yeah?” suggested Sirius. “Well, I
think eight hundred thousand pounds ought to be enough. We could always come back.”

“Are you holding eight hundred thousand points together with a money clip?!” nearly squeaked out
Remus; he deliberately ignored the large sum of money to preserve his sanity.

“Yeah?” replied Sirius. “Is that wrong?”

Remus gapped like a fish for a bit, before finally shaking his head, browbeaten. “Never mind…
just… never mind… let's go wherever you need to go…”

The trio left Grimmauld Place - with Remus muttering under his breath about Harry, Death Eaters,
in trouble with Dumbledore, Sirius as a wanted murderer, and other things - and walked about London
proper, until Sirius felt that they were where they needed to be.

Remus was less confident.

“We're in the slums,” the werewolf blandly stated.

“Yes,” agreed Sirius happily.

“Are you *trying* to get your godson killed, Sirius?” continued Remus, nastily. “Because
you'll do a bang-good job of it, if you are.”

“Doesn't matter,” chirped Harry happily as well, “I can't die!”

Remus shot Harry a dark glare.

Sirius had spent the time ignoring Remus and had knocked on a door of a lower level flat where a
servant's quarter's door used to be, and was talking in whispers to the seedy-looking man
who opened it.

Finally, the man opened the door wider and Harry practically bounced into the room, following
his godfather. Remus was left to bring up the rear, hustled in the room quickly.

“Fer eight hund'd thous'nd,” the man was croaking, “I'll give yah twenty
min'te's to pick what yah want.”

Sirius and Harry gleefully agreed, and poor Remus wondered what the man meant. He found out when
the Muggle light switch was flicked and the room was illuminated.

Numerous models and makes of several guns hung on the wall, as did rope, hunting knives, night
vision goggles, and other weapons. Sirius and Harry were picking several automatic handguns,
comparing weight and potential uses other than for firing bullets.

“What are you two thinking!?” Remus barked out in a whisper, more than a little concerned.
“Muggle weapons?!”

Harry looked at Remus. “Professor, the prophecy says that I'll have *the power the Dark
Lord knows not* - and well, it's not like he's keeping up with the Times, is he? You can
dodge *Avada Kedavra* but you can't dodge a bullet that well!”

Sirius broke it: “The Death Eaters won't know what hit `em! They'll be dead before they
hit the floor. Panic, destruction, mayhem, *wooo*!”

Remus gingerly raised a hand and felt Sirius' forehead.

“Moony,” began the annoyed animagus, his mood changing abruptly. “What are you doing?”

“Your temper is slightly elevated… I think you're sick. Feverish. Not right in the head -
let's go home, yeah? Back to Grimmauld, things will be better with a nice, warm bowl of chicken
noodle soup,” soothed the werewolf, his tone patronizing.

Sirius frowned. “Moony, stop being such a pussy and get yourself a gun.”

Harry laughed in the background.

Remus sighed. Poor, poor Remus; this was *so* not happening.

--*--

“So,” began Sirius, as the three waited at a nearby bus depot. “You did finish the chewing gum
piece, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “'Course I did, back in Fate's office. Why else would I have grabbed that
cross bow?”

Remus sighed. He had a headache.

He also didn't want to think about the off chance of a police officer stopping the three of
them; they were laden down with numerous guns, knives, and other illegal weapons. He didn't
want to erase a poor bobby's memory, after all - because he might just turn his wand on himself
and do the same thing.

“Are we going to Diagon Alley now?” Sirius asked.

Harry nodded. “Gotta talk to the Goblins.”

“Why?” asked Remus, almost kicking himself for asking that. He didn't want to know why, he
really didn't.

Harry glanced at Remus. The poor werewolf wasn't taking Harry or Sirius's contract that
well. “Well,” began Harry, “I'd like to get a wand holster, and maybe a second wand. And some
pranks by the Twins. I need money for that.”

“But Sirius is well known and a criminal, people will freak as soon as they see him,” argued
Remus.

The bus pulled up and the three clambered on, paying their fare. The gentlemen who gave them the
guns was more than happy to break a 100 for smaller change.

Sitting together, Harry said, “I'm counting on that.”

“I'm being used as bait?” asked a sad Sirius. He pouted.

“Now, now,” came a familiar - but for Remus, unfamiliar - voice. “A pouty Black is an
unattractive Black.”

Harry glanced up and smiled. “Hey Devil,” he said. The woman was sitting across from them, her
legs crossed and wearing an expensive miniskirt and matching sweater, and knee-boots. She looked
incredibly out of place in the slummy neighborhood they were leaving, looking more of the part of a
Kensington or Notting Hill girl.

Remus's jaw had dropped open, while Sirius was now trying to schmooze the Devil, flirting
with her.

“Please, stop - that's really gross,” complained Harry, half-joking and half not. Remus
couldn't believe that Harry and Sirius were telling the truth! She had just appeared out of
thin air, and *knew* the two.

The Devil sighed. “Very well, but only because I like you, Harry,” she agreed. “I'm here to
give you some information.”

Harry perked up. “Information?”

The Devil nodded. “I believe that several Death Eaters will be attacking Diagon Alley - and the
Leaky Cauldron - by four this afternoon. Now, by the time this bus nears Charing Cross, it'll
be three thirty-ish, so you might want to prepare yourself.”

Sirius and Harry nodded, seriously, and began to whisper attacks and counterattacks.

Remus sighed, and when he looked back at the Devil, the seat was empty.

What had he gotten himself into?

--*--

The Devil had been right; Harry, Sirius and Remus arrived at the Leaky Cauldron at quarter to
four, with Sirius complaining loudly about the weight of the duffle bag filled with his guns - but
he wisely omitted the word `gun' from his whine.

Sirius entered the Leaky Cauldron, completely ignoring the fact that most of the wizard
population considered him a wanted felon; Harry went in after him, a big smile on his face and a
glint in his eyes that made the werewolf in Remus want to turn around and run.

When Remus stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, it was silent.

Until…

*“SIRIUS BLACK!*” an old woman screamed, her long finger pointing at a grinning Sirius -
Remus thought he looked quite maniacal.

Harry also was grinning, his wand out and waving from person to person, making all witches and
wizards in the Leaky Cauldron pause in awkward positions; some were half-rising from their seats,
others were protecting their children, and a few had their wands out.

“Eh?” came a familiar voice. Remus turned to see Tom, the bartender, beadily look at the two
black-haired men. “What's all this `bout, then?”

Harry made his way to the bar and said, “We've received special intelligence that Death
Eaters will be attacking Diagon Alley and Leaky really, really, really soon.”

Tom and Harry stared at each other for bit; the room held their breath. Then… Tom nodded. “All
right. I believe, yeh, Harry - only `cause yeh're a good boy.”

“Thanks Tom,” chirped back a happy Harry. “By the way, it's 4. You might want to
evacuate.”

“B-But, but,” stuttered an off-duty Auror who had nursed a pint. “You're Harry Potter, the
Boy-Who-Lived! And he's Sirius Black, You-Know-Who's right hand man! You can't be
working together!”

Harry sighed, and patted the Auror mournfully on the shoulder. “It's okay, that Fudge and
Crouch led such incompetent governments, or else you'd realize that Sirius went to Azkaban
without a trial. And that he's my godfather. Oh - and that if I'm here with him, warning
all of you about a Death Eater attack, it's highly unlikely *he's* a Death Eater too,
ain't it?”

The Auror was struck dumb - by whether or not he believed Harry or the long paragraph reply he
received - but could not reply to the famous teenager because the entrance to Diagon Alley had been
blown apart by a well-aimed *Reducto*. Large chunks of debris fell on nearby tables, and
people ducked for cover.

It seemed Harry Potter was telling the truth.

Sirius and Harry immediately moved forward and once the dust settled, where they each pulled
identical Glock 22's. Both had lights under the barrel, and with careful aim, they began to
fire.

The loud noise caused most magical folk to cover their ears and fall to the ground, away from
the noise and attention. Remus had dived behind the bar counter as soon as the barrier between
Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron blew apart.

Idly, Remus wondered while looking over the bar top, and while dodging several green spells that
flew from the barrier, how Sirius - and now Harry - got him in to these situations. It wasn't
like it was particularly easy to place yourself in bodily harm, but both black-haired (fools)
wizards managed to find trouble easily.

Too easy.

*“Yippee Ki-Ay, motherfuckers!*” Remus heard Harry laugh loudly, and sighed. He really
needed to teach that boy some manners, else Lily would skin him.

Remus listened to several more shouts and the rapport from discharging guns, until he felt a
hand hit the top of his head. His wand came up and the word, *Stupefy*, was on his lips before
he recognized Harry's emerald green eyes.

Sharing a look with Tom, Remus asked, “What's up, Harry?”

The teen smiled brightly. “Me an' Sirius walloped the Death Eaters and we're going to
rip their sleeves off to show that they had the Dark Mark. Although not particularly creative in
our method of getting rid of them, we did figure out how many rounds were in the Glock.”

“As if that was your only problem,” muttered Remus, slowly standing. “So it's over
then?”

“Yeah,” replied Harry, waiting for the werewolf to slide over the bar top and then walk with him
toward Sirius, who was toeing a dead Death Eater, in between the barrier of Diagon Alley and the
Leaky Cauldron. He was admirably ignoring the whispers and stares of the nearby magical folk, who
now deemed it safe to come out of their hiding places.

“Twenty-four new recruits and Anton Dolohov,” commented Sirius. “Pity. I was hoping for more
Inner Circle.”

“Patience!” chided Harry with a laugh. A dark look settled over his face as he knelt by
Dolohov's side. “This guy almost killed Hermione.”

Sirius and Remus shared a look, then looked back at Harry, who whispered to Dolohov (and
didn't realize he was overheard by the two Marauders), “Enjoy Hell, Dolohov. I'm sure my
friend will give you quite the reception when you get there. I can only hope she'll scare the
crap out of you, so you can see that Voldemort isn't the scariest thing in the universe.”

He stood, looking dispassionately down at the single bullet in his chest that took him out, and
fired two more rounds out of anger.

“Harry…” said Sirius quietly. He glanced around and cringed at the numerous people who were
staring at the Dark Marks on the Death Eater's arms, and looking curiously and openly at
Sirius, Harry and Remus. “Maybe we should go…”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, nodding. Sirius and Remus put their arms around Harry, shielding the
slightly out of it teen from the public's gaze and disappeared with a loud *pop*!

Two seconds later, Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore, along with a significant portion of the
Order of the Phoenix appeared in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, wands out and their stances
ready for defense. However, upon seeing the bodies, they paused.

“Tom?” questioned Albus quietly.

“Er…” the bartender stalled, not quite sure how to answer that.

A young boy in the crowd solved it for him. “Mummy,” he said, his voice carrying to everyone in
the room, “When I grow up, I want to be like Harry Potter and shoot people.”

Molly Weasley's body hitting the ground as she fainted was the only other sound in the
building.

--*--

Anton Dolohov didn't know where he was. The room was dark, and the black marble flooring was
showing his extremely pale complexion and reflection back at him. The mirrored walls caused him
confusion; there was no entrance and exit. Had Potter and Black manage to hit him with a Portkey to
a prison?

“Hello, Anton,” purred a feminine voice.

Invisible lights flared up in the room, lighting the gorgeous women who sat on the edge of her
desk, her legs crossed and bare. Anton swallowed audibly.

“Hello,” he croaked back. “Who're you?”

The brunette replied with a chilly smile, her eyes flashing a red similar to Dolohov's
master. He felt unease settle in his stomach.

“I'm the Devil,” she finally replied, and Anton suddenly knew that this would not end
well…

… if it ever did.

--*--

**AN**: A bit of a shorter chapter, but something to tide the masses over until the next part
comes out. Some action, not much described as it's from Remus's POV, but you'll see
more of Harry's “crazy” powers, Suzaku, Sirius, Remus, and Hermione and the DA in the next
chapter, I think. Let me know of any mistakes, and they'll be changed!! Kneazle {Feb.21.07}

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