The Angel of Darkness by Sageon

Rating: PG13
Genres: Action & Adventure, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 25/10/2009
Last Updated: 06/02/2010
Status: In Progress

A stranger calls in the middle of an early-morning downpour. He implores Harry to promptly
escape Privet Drive and seek sanctuary. However, the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters soon descend
with an overwhelming advantage ... until an Angel of Darkness interposes.




1. Extinguished By The Blade
----------------------------



**Chapter One**

Extinguished By The Blade

Rain rapped quietly but relentlessly against the mucky window that looked into the spare bedroom
of number four, Privet Drive. Its barely audible patter seemed to sooth the room's sole
occupant, who had been woken by another nightmare. These dreams were neither premonitions nor
trespasses into his enemy's mind or vice versa. Instead, they were his recollection of his
godfather's death three short weeks ago.

Nightmares woke him, and the rain's accompaniment in the form of strong winds prohibited his
return to sleep, where he risked encountering yet another nightmare. A flash lit the lightless room
for a fleeting moment before thunder filled the atmosphere with a prolonged growl. Harry counted
the time between them to pass the time, coming to the conclusion the storm was on the retreat from
Little Whinging.

His mind trickled onto the subject of the prophecy causing his heart and stomach to collide at
the thought. He had to kill Voldemort, Voldemort had to kill him, or they had to kill each other.
There was never a chance he could do it all by himself, even though he wanted to; to stop more
people he loved from falling into the Dark Lord's deadly grasp.

Truth was, he needed all the help he could get to end up the better half of the prophecy. He
thought of Dumbledore, his mentor and protector, and his heart eased. Then he thought of Ron, and
his uneasy stomach settled. And finally of Hermione, which made him smile. They were his advantage
over Voldemort. Harry had many friends, who cared for him and looked to him; whereas Voldemort just
had followers, who envied his power or were just frightened of him.

Harry could not wait for the next school year to begin - to be home. He could not wait to be
surrounded by his friends again, to be surrounded by the people he cared for - the feeling was
unparalleled. They were his hope. If he had any chance of defeating Voldemort, it would be because
of them.

Another flash disturbed his thoughts. A second barely passed before thunder shook the house.
Either that or Dudley had a case of midnight munchies. It made Harry curious how quickly the storm
turned since its last strike; he found it odd how the wind would change direction so suddenly.

For no reason at all, Harry grew anxious. He reached for his wand under his pillow but stopped
short, he anticipated the familiar feeling of the invisible grasp of the Dementors. He struggled to
conjure his happiest memories, his mood not ready to accommodate such a quick change of demeanour.
Such efforts were fruitless, however, since any of the cloaked wraiths failed to appear. Harry
released one long breath, its invisible composition further assuring him of the Dementors'
absence.

Lightning flashed again; any and all fear returned as the blast of light revealed a lone figure
silhouetted in the corner of Harry's room, but was gone when a subsequent strike flashed half a
second later. In that time, Harry finally snatched his wand and extended it to the now vacant
corner; his heart beating faster than the rain and louder than the thunder, or at least it felt
like it. Before he had the chance to calm himself, the phone downstairs rang throughout the house.
Harry froze, and waited for any of the Dursleys to answer the phone's heed. After five minutes,
the phone continued to announce its need for attention.

Harry cushioned the light switch to suppress its click, not that it could really be heard over
the telephone - it was just in case. He quickly threw on some old tracksuit bottoms and a baggy
t-shirt before descending the stairs, he didn't want to be found half-naked just in case the
Dursleys decided to get their fat arses out of bed. Navigating the darkened landing and ultimately,
the stairs, was barely second nature but he had a rough idea of the pacing to save himself falling
arse over tit down the stairs. A few tentative minutes later, with the phone ringing ever louder,
he lifted the receiver slowly; as though lifting it any higher would cause it to detonate. The
earpiece finally rested over the relevant area ... “Hello?” spoke Harry cautiously.

“You have three minutes,” warned a deep but juvenile voice, “more had you answered earlier. Get
changed, arm yourself, run as far as you can from that house and hide.”

The line extinguished once the warning was complete. Harry did not know whether to dismiss or
heed it. Somewhere in between the two, he ran as quietly as he could up to his room, though he
gauged the threshold of waking the house as quite high following the Dursleys' ignorance to the
telephone. His mind buzzed with theories and opened his wardrobe to look for a change of clothes
before he laughed to himself and abandoned any escape plan.

Hedwig suddenly went berserk. Her wings flapped furiously, sounding off her discontent. Nothing
had ever spooked Hedwig like this and whatever it was, it seemed to build credibility for the
stranger's warning. A few more flashes broke his contemplation but no thunder succeeded the
lightening ... this was the instigation of his escape. The panic that swept over him did not allow
for any desire to change his clothes. Unleashing Hedwig and grabbing his wand was all he wanted to
do, both of which he did within seconds of each other. His owl flew over to the open door and
perched herself atop on the corner, ready for Harry's imminent escape. He flipped open his
trunk and pulled his broomstick from under the mess that was gathered over it. Despite a slight
struggle, he managed to unearth it and tear out of his room.

An explosion knocked him from his feet, the heat carried through the door into the hallway.
Harry was lucky not to have knocked himself out with the broom handle as he fell meaning he was
fortunate enough to regain his footing and escape. Descending the stairs, he mounted the broomstick
vertically by stepping on the footrests, sliding down them smoothly before jumping off it once he
reached the bottom. Muted voices came from behind the door before it blasted from its hinges and
slammed into Harry, forcing him to yield his broomstick whilst dislodging his tight grip from his
wand.

“What do we 'ave 'ere then?” pondered the invader, footsteps marking their approach.
“*Depulso*.”

The door flipped off Harry, flying through the kitchen window with an accompanying crash. “O,
look 'oo it is,” remarked a second intruder. “Little 'arry Potter ... the Dark Lord's
been lookin' fer you, laddy.” They were both about to restrain Harry before he found his wand
poking from underneath the refrigerator. With barely his fingertips on the handle, he sent two
blurring stunners at the two Death Eaters.

There wasn't much time to linger so he snatched his broomstick before running outside onto
the front garden, Hedwig followed and went ahead to avoid anymore confrontations. Without any
thought or hesitation, he mounted his broom properly and kicked off from the ground that catalysed
intense acceleration. It was a couple of seconds before the Death Eaters had noticed his flight,
their spells useless due to the distance he had already gained. Harry dared not gain any altitude
just in case one of his enemies' spells hit true and he was forced off his broom, he did not
want to add a thousand foot drop to whatever curses they could think up. Despite that, he raced
incredibly fast along the rooftops, roads, alleys and fields of the surrounding suburb. He had not
even bothered to think of what direction he was travelling; his warning said run and hide, with no
specifications as to where.

After twenty minutes of what must have been full-hilt flying, Harry settled down in a large
field having just passed a large town centre. Here, the weather had mercilessly waned but the humid
summer air remained warm and humid, the rain having thinned substantially during the journey

He was still panting with his wand stowed albeit poised for any subsequent action. He didn't
plan on settling yet, he just needed to regroup and get his bearings. Harry transfigured his
broomstick into a very wonky staff - it would have to do. Just as his wandlight dimmed from the
spell, a green light came from behind. Instinct kicked in and he ducked, throwing a Disarmer at the
source. Yet the presumed attack never materialised and Harry's spell rebounded off of something
with an unmistakable pang of metal. Harry could barely make out a tall silhouette with his barely
night-adjusted vision.

“*L**u*-” Harry started.

“No,” said the stranger.

Harry furrowed his brows, noticing the intonation of the new voice. “You're the one who
warned me. How did you know?”

“Foresight. That house is no longer safe. You need another place to stay.”

“Who are you?” Harry still had his wand poised, never letting himself fall into a false sense of
security.

“There will be a time when you find that out. Now isn't that time,” the new arrival
explained.

He pulled a device from his pocket, fiddled with it and held it to his ear. Several moments
passed before any action followed. “I'm sincerely sorry to wake you up so early, Mrs Granger.”
Harry perked up even more. “I have a Mr Potter in my company and acting upon his behalf, I wonder
if you could possibly extend your hospitality.” Harry could hear Mrs Granger's tired albeit
pleasant voice from the speaker from what he now knew was a telephone, but not as he had
experienced before - since when had mobile phones become so ... compact? “His guardian's house
became the target for Voldemort's minions earlier tonight and is thus compromised; I believe
relocating to yours would keep him safe.” Another pause. “I shall have him over right away, thank
you, and again my apologies for getting you up so early.”

The stranger refocused on the young wizard but became immediately distracted. “O, shit! Harry,
arm yourself!” he exclaimed.

Totally bewildered by the appearance of this person and his subsequent conversation with his
best friend's mother, he found it hard to shake himself out of it. Apparation cracks erupted
all around the field but the final one was so loud that it nearly knocked Harry to the ground. “If
you're really on my side, you need to get out of here!” warned Harry, knowing who had just
arrived.

“I doubt your chances if I choose not to stay,” remarked the stranger.

“There you are, Harry!” came the chillingly pleased voice of his nemesis. “And you've
brought a friend; just when I thought I had finally deprived you of such a thing.”

Harry felt the Death Eaters encircling them, gradually losing any possible escape route. Light
erupted from each of their wands, conjuring the picture of the two people they were entrapping.
Through this, Harry finally saw the stranger. By the way he was dressed, Harry would have thought
he came straight from the sixties, every garment a distinct colour of maroon, garnish with touches
of turquoise such as an unusual necklace bearing an emblem he had never seen before. Even his hair
was the same colour, but unfortunately, it was long and styled so Harry could not see the man's
face although Voldemort could.

“No wizard would disgrace themselves by wearing such hideous clothing,” commented Voldemort.
“Should make for an easier kill. *Avada Kedavra*!”

Harry closed his eyes. No longer than several minutes with his supposed rescuer and he was
already being executed, Harry needed no more proof that he was the personification of bad luck. He
thought it best that his death would come swiftly after, so he could no longer inflict this curse
onto anybody else. And perhaps this way would be the fulfilment of the prophecy, so the Wiazarding
World could vanquish this monster and live happily ever after.

Metal rang out again before somebody grunted, and in the silence, the sound of someone
collapsing. “Die!” screamed Voldemort, making Harry open his eyes.

He looked next to him, bracing himself to see the death he had effectively caused but no body
lay there. To his complete surprise, the stranger still stood, blade posed defensively. One of the
surrounding Death Eaters lay lifeless. The Dark Lord unleashed another killing curse which the
swordsman intercepted and deflected behind, incapacitating a second Death Eater. “You are doing
nothing but supplying my ammunition. I only need so much before I turn your own spell against
you.”

Voldemort's scowl turned into a malicious smile. “I'm dubious of your skill when being
fired at from multiple angles. Drop him!”

The remaining Death Eaters laughed and simultaneously set their sights on their aggressor,
extinguishing the illumination and firing their own spells. In the same moment, the swordsman
grabbed Harry around the neck and span on the spot, wielding his weapon. Due to the lack of light,
Harry only saw oncoming spells, each of which were dispatched quickly as their fleeting light was
extinguished by the blade. The ferocity and quantity of the spells gradually diminished as
successful deflections sometimes found their source. After several seconds an unspoken ceasefire
erupted between the Death Eaters and Harry's protector concluded his dervish.

Voldemort's minions were undoubtedly demoralised as they began to back away but their
master's presence instilled their hesitance to actually retreat. Even in the darkness, Harry
could see the awe in Voldemort's pale face. “You have tremendous skill with a sword,” praised
the Dark Lord and Harry knew what was coming. “Kill the boy and I will take you under my wing and
train you to be truly powerful - invincible, even.”

Harry's restraint around his neck loosened although it hadn't been very forceful anyway.
“I have no need to be invincible. I enjoy the thrill of fighting to stay alive - it's almost
euphoric,” replied the swordsman.

“Then I have no choice,” Voldemort sighed as he waved his wand. “*Fircrux*.”

Jets of liquid fire poured endlessly from his wand, consuming the two. Harry cowered as they
were enveloped by the flames, but apart from the intense heat, he felt nothing. It simply flowed
over and around them as though they were in a bubble in the middle of it. “Harry,” called the
stranger, his arms outstretched above him trying to maintain whatever was protecting them from the
spell. “We need to escape. Take my hand at the earliest opportunity, okay?”

Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, mate.” The man dropped his arms and snatched Harry's hand as the bubble
collapsed allowing the cursed fire to completely consume it.

-->



2. Distant Lights
-----------------



**Chapter Two**

Distant Lights

Streetlights drenched the street in a dim orange glow. Like New York, London was a city that
never slept but here, that proved profoundly untrue. Not even any late night stragglers could be
found wondering drunkenly down it until a bright green light managed to impede itself upon such
tranquillity. It pulsed once before it faded, revealing Harry Potter standing on the pavement,
wonky staff in one hand and his wand in the other, alone. He heard an echo of a glassy crackle as
the light fully dissipated. He scanned his immediate environment, taking in the brand new view of
his surroundings and noticing the absence of his saviour. A lot had just happened in the last half
an hour.

Harry knew he was in the right place, having heard Hermione's description of how prestigious
her neighbourhood was. He remembered that she was rather embarrassed when she did, trying to live
down her parents' obvious fortune. Now though, he had no idea which house was hers. Eyeing the
houses across the street, he felt himself willing for one of the doors to open and rescue him from
his sudden seclusion. His attention was called to the house behind him. “You look a bit lost there,
petal.”

Harry span on his heel, the lights blurring in and out of sight. Stood at the open doorway was a
slender woman with thick wavy hair dressed in a silken dressing gown, a mug perched comfortably in
her palms. “Err,” he stammered, “a bit. Are you Mrs Granger?”

“Yes, I am,” she smiled, beckoning him inside.

Although this woman was his best friend's mother, he couldn't help but be tentative. One
question kept repeating itself in his head, which he unleashed as he approached. “How do you know
the person who told you I was coming?”

“You don't know either?” she asked, bemused. “I thought he was a friend of yours, Harry. He
told me you were in trouble and you needed a place to stay. I assumed he was just another member of
your rebellion. I did wonder why he contacted me via telephone. You lot aren't particularly
fond of them.”

`You lot' ... Harry prayed that she wasn't another Vernon but since she was
Hermione's mother, he gave her the benefit of the doubt and let her comment pass. “Thank you
for letting me stay, Mrs Granger,” he thanked, ascending the steps to the door.

“I couldn't let one of my daughter's best friends sleep on the street, especially with
that maniac following you. I assume I should be expecting that tall, grey headmaster of yours?” She
gave way for Harry to pass, closing the door once he was safely inside. “Where are your
things?”

Dumbledore ... perhaps he knew the identity of his rescuer; although he had a tendency of
shielding Harry from what he wanted to know. “I'm not sure,” he pondered. “And this is all I
have. I had to leave in a bit of a hurry.” He didn't regret not answering the phone earlier nor
heeding the warning straight away. He was clever to doubt it in the first place, though relieved to
have entertained its validity - he wouldn't have escaped had it not been for Hedwig ... “My
owl!” he expelled but Mrs Granger gestured to quickly stifle it.

Harry's heart sank; had Hedwig become another casualty of war? He remembered letting her out
of the cage but he gotten so caught up with the fleeting battle before fleeing Privet Drive that
she was soon forgotten. “What's wrong, Harry?” asked Mrs Granger, putting her cup down on a
small table with a bowlful of pebbles and keys.

Muted Apparation cracks interrupted his response. His wand was pointed at the door instantly,
ensuring Hermione's mother stayed behind him. He didn't advance or retreat, bravery and
cowardice were in direct confrontation with each other.

Several tense seconds followed the final Apparation until a reassuring incantation produced a
click from the door, from an equally reassuring voice; enough for Harry to lower his wand. “Harry!
Thank Merlin!” Remus Lupin, his bodily edges smoothed by the streetlights behind him as he entered,
stormed down the hallway.

“Stop!” exclaimed Harry, pointing his wand offensively. Remus slowed, complying with the order.
“How did you train me to use the Patronus Charm?”

“We used a Boggart in the form of a Dementor since that was what you most feared at the time,”
replied Lupin who soon continued his approach and took his best friend's son into his arms.
Happy to see him, Harry smiled and reciprocated the hug, knowing safety had undoubtedly
descended.

They broke apart as Remus's ensemble followed his lead. Harry saw Tonks directly behind him,
her hair almost fluorescent orange. “We're so sorry!” she apologised, stepping past Lupin and
giving Harry another hug.

When she retreated, she took Lupin's side. More were behind; Alastor Moody stood to the left
of the hallway and Kingsley Shacklebolt was on the right but the vanguard pair parted to reveal the
most prolific visitor, Albus Dumbledore. He approached silently, towering over Harry before pulling
him into an undeniably intense hold. “I am so sorry, Harry,” he choked, breaking contact.
Hogwarts' headmaster wiped several speckles beneath his eyes, which were unhidden by his
missing glasses. “I have failed you catastrophically. How on Earth did you survive?”

Professor Dumbledore rarely asked questions, and even rarer were ones that he did not already
know the answer to. This also meant, however, that he had no idea of the catalyst of his rescue and
subsequent escape. “Someone helped me.” For the moment, elaboration would have to wait, so
distracted them with his own question. “Why did the wards fail, sir? I thought Voldemort
couldn't get to me.”

Dumbledore composed himself and cleared his throat, sniffling slightly. His gaze ascended over
Harry's head. “Pardon me, Mrs Granger, I'm ever so sorry for our intrusion.”

Harry twisted to see her still there, smiling amorously. “Any intrusion is welcome as long as
this young man is safe.”

“May we use your common room so we may discuss tonight's events?” requested Dumbledore
charmingly.

Mrs Granger acquiesced and led them to the lounge, where all present Order members sat along
with Harry who claimed the leather armchair; the host left the room with orders of cups of tea and
coffee. Dumbledore regarded Harry with a sombre look - bad news. “Your Aunt and Uncle were killed a
few hours ago resulting in a total malfunction of the wards surrounding number four, Privet
Drive.”

So the last remnants of his family were dead. He despised the Dursleys but still held enough
compassion to withhold the wish of their demise. He did notice that their loss was more of a mental
impact rather than an emotional one. Harry's gaze gradually dipped as he contemplated their
deaths but his head shot back up. “You said nothing about Dudley,” he pointed out.

“You are right and he is alive. Only just, I must add. He sustained injuries far beyond Muggle
treatment and considering their source, it was decided that he be taken to Saint Mungo's,”
explained Dumbledore. “Without wanting to sound morbid, I advise you to see him tomorrow if you
still have the chance.”

Harry nodded with fervency, he owed his cousin that. “Why were the wards so dependent on the
Dursleys being alive?”

“Initially, they were cast with the ability to sustain themselves,” Dumbledore began. “Over the
years, I assume they entwined with the magic of your familial bloodline; in essence, Petunia's
blood relation to your mother. That, essentially, should have made the wards stronger and a lot
more resilient. Alas, such protection only worked when they occupied the house.”

Harry sighed defeatedly. Voldemort was such a persistent bastard. Even though Harry wasn't
particularly fond of the Dursleys, they were family, meaning his nemesis grew ever closer to home.
With Sirius gone, almost certain Hedwig was too, and the death of his lifelong guardians, the Dark
Lord slowly but surely continued to demoralise and destroy him; no need for the infamously lethal,
two-worded, six-syllable incantation.

Dumbledore pressed on. “When you're ready, Harry, can you tell us the means of your
escape?”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Harry relayed his version of the frenzied half an hour leading up
to the confrontation with his current company. Dumbledore interrupted when he needed Harry to
elaborate on particular parts of the account, as well as to ask several questions, nearly all of
which the teenage boy was unable to answer. Tonks engorged herself on Mrs Granger's bourbon and
custard creams, eating them absentmindedly, absorbed by Harry's story. All mugs of tea and
coffee were eventually drained by the time Harry finished his report.

“It is difficult to determine this agent's allegiance. He had prior knowledge of the attack,
suggesting he is a Death Eater spy. However, I doubt that any Death Eater, as evil as they can be,
would kill their own - especially as many as Harry said,” the headmaster surmised.

“You-Know-Who would sacrifice half of his pawns to implement a spy - this is a blatant attempt
gain Harry's trust. Harry said this guy deflected every Killing Curse with almost one-hundred
per cent accuracy. Why didn't he kill You-Know-Who?” gathered Alastor.

Harry's looked at Dumbledore, his heart racing. Dumbledore returned a stoic glance, but
Harry knew they were toying with the same conclusion. “Excuse me, I need to speak with Harry in
private,” announced Dumbledore.

Harry followed the wizened man out of the room. Closing the door behind him, Dumbledore muttered
“*muffliato*” before they continued.

“At any point, did you tell this person about the prophecy?”

Harry felt himself pull an incredulous grimace. “Professor, even my closest friends are
oblivious of the contents of the prophecy; is your faith in me lacking so much that you think I
would divulge such information to a stranger?” he defended.

“Forgive me, Harry. I am merely concerned how easily you have warmed to this character.”

“To be fair, sir, this guy saved my life. And although it would take a lot more than that for me
to reveal such an important secret, it doesn't mean I'm any less grateful for what he
did.”

Dumbledore paused to ponder; whatever it was, he came to a prompt conclusion. “May I have
permission to siphon myself a copy of tonight's events from your memory so I can see for
myself? I in no way doubt your story, Harry; I simply believe it needs a different perspective to
ascertain your saviour's objective.”

Harry really had no argument against it. In fact, he welcomed his headmaster's input and
could not deny the man's eye for detail. It didn't take him long to reach his agreement.
“What's the spell?”

Dumbledore smiled kindly. “Just play the events back in your head and focus on as much detail as
you remember and your subconscious mind will fill what your conscious mind missed.”

Harry closed his eyes and recalled the phone call, the invasion, his subsequent flight and
landing minutes later; the green light he mistook for the Killing Curse, the stranger's
revelation and his call to Mrs Granger, Voldemort's arrival and the ensuing battle. He
specifically remembered the maroon garments and the unmistakable hair of the same colour with the
turquoise pendant that hung around his neck. As he reminisced, a thick, cold thread escaped via his
temple. It didn't hurt, but he felt a cold sweat at the back of his neck and the flush of his
face. He heard wand-tip tap glass followed by a quiet squelch of air as Dumbledore safely contained
the memory.

“Unless you have anything to say or ask, we should take leave.”

“Aren't I returning with you?” Harry wondered, “or at least to You-Know-Where?”

“For the time being, I believe you are as safe here as you would be there. Tonight has been a
significant blow to Voldemort, so I doubt the existence of a second wave,” Dumbledore admitted. “I
swear to you that I will investigate this mysterious warrior immediately and I will let you know
immediately if I notice anything you have missed.”

“Very likely,” said Harry.

“You did very well remembering what you have considering the pressure you were under. I would
like you to visit the school next week so I can show you what I have discovered and to give you a
chance to spot any discrepancies for yourself.”

“I'd appreciate that, Professor. For the moment though, it's in better hands.”

“We shall see.” Dumbledore flicked his wand to disable the Muffliato charm and assembled the
Order.

“Look after yourself, Harry,” Kingsley advised, who shook his hand thoroughly.

“Remember, Potter, constant vigilance. Watch your arse 'therwise some poofter will end up
watching it for yer,” laughed Alastor, his eye spinning excitedly, earning a confused chuckle from
Harry. “Don't become a damsel in distress again, lad, it don't suit yer.”

“Mad Eye!” scowled Professor Dumbledore.

“Just tellin' it like it is, Albus.”

“Ignore the cripple, Harry,” smiled Tonks, hugging him farewell. “When he's in a spot of
bother, ain't no-one coming to save that damsel!” Harry laughed genuinely this time. “Please,
be careful, pet. We'll see you soon.”

“I'll try but you know me, I have a knack for attracting danger,” he shrugged.

“And we won't be far,” Remus interposed, executing a gentler handshake before pulling him
into a manhug, slapping his back reassuringly.

“How *not* far will you be?” Harry asked, breaking away.

“We're staying in a place in Islington. I think you know it,” Lupin hinted.

Grimmauld Place. It surprised Harry that the Order of the Phoenix were still operating out of
that shithole. He thought the whole place would have been compromised following the mishap at the
Department of Mysteries - perhaps not. Thinking about it, he knew relatively nothing about magic
and he had a lot more to learn in his final two years at Hogwarts; if he lived that long ...

The party of five disappeared behind five sequential bursts of flame in the fireplace. Mrs
Granger turned to him, looking worn out and slightly exasperated. “I'll show you to your
bedroom.”

“I really appreciate your hospitality, Mrs Granger. Thank you,” he said as he followed her up
the stairs.

“If you're half the young man Hermione tells us about, you are very welcome.” Her voice
gradually grew quiet as they neared the first floor landing. “She has a hard time talking about
anything or anyone but you.” She stopped and opened the second door along the hallway. “Sleep well,
Harry.”

He entered the immaculate room closing the door behind him. Overwhelming joy swept over him when
he caught the well-poised, snowy owl through day-blessed window. “Hedwig!”

-->



3. Emblem
---------



No updates since October? Blimey! Didn't think it'd been that long. I've had this
chapter written for a while but an abrupt unemployment and relocation has kept me distracted.

This chapter is a little bizarre, but please ... bear with me.

**Chapter** **Three**

Emblem

Glowing embers spat harmlessly onto the aged rug that filled the space between the fireplace and
the settee of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. One by one, the party of five who had just left Harry
Potter at the Grangers stepped nonchalantly from the blaze. They were one member short; Kingsley,
knowing Harry had sufficient sanctuary, returned to the Ministry of Magic to continue his previous
duties. However, Mad Eye maintained his escort; who was rather vociferous about leaving the boy
behind.

“Why the bloody hell are we leaving him there?” asked Moody once emerged, taking a seat on the
sofa. “This bloke wanted him at the Grangers; and he is, Albus, *alone*!”

“This stranger is no enemy of ours,” Dumbledore elaborated. His company reacted accordingly.
“Tonight, he had the opportunity to extinguish the lives of either Mr Potter or Mr Riddle. Although
I presume this person could very well have dispatched Voldemort, Harry's safety and escape was
this person's primary priority. He seems to have the swordsmanship to deflect any wand-cast
projectile spells, but spells which fill a larger area such as the Fiendfyre Voldemort seemed to
use tonight would prove difficult to defend against.”

“Your faith in Harry's saviour seems to have skyrocketed tonight, Dumbledore,” Alastor
noted. “Until we discover who this fella is, in my eyes, he's as good a Death Eater as Lucius
Malfoy!”

“Then that is your opinion, Alastor. However, Harry has generously donated his memory of the
event, which will hopefully help determine this stranger's agenda - and his identity. Remus,
could you have a look for a spare Pensieve? We can see for ourselves what happened to Mr Potter
tonight.”

Lupin took half an hour to fetch the Pensieve, which he placed on a coffee table Dumbledore
swiftly conjured. The headmaster produced the small vial that contained Harry's memory and
tipped it into the stone receptacle. He looked to the others, who looked eager to follow.
“Apologies, Alastor, Remus, Nymphadora” he said, earning a stern stare from Tonks. “I need to
inspect this by myself before I allow you to follow.” Without much adieu, he inspected the memory
unaccompanied.

Thirty tentative minutes passed as the remaining three Order members lulled about, mulling over
their own conclusions until the headmaster emerged from the Pensieve. “Anything!?” urged Tonks.

“Come with me,” he smiled, his eyes twinkling, before the other four followed him into the
Pensieve.

Thick, dark grey clouds blanketed a small suburban area on the outskirts of Birmingham. Their
ominous approach had promised more rain, which one of its victims found soothing; its sporadic
patter on the pavements, windows and leaves were almost melodic to him. The combination of the
weather and dawning sun cast a blue hue upon the scene gave it a winter-esque atmosphere. Perched
high in a tree, he stalked a house across the road. There was nothing visibly significant about it
apart from the towering conifer tree stationed in the front garden, concealing the majority of the
house.

A sudden break in the atmosphere broke his trance; then another, until two more made him
anxious. He gritted his teeth, awaiting the arrival of whoever had caused the Apparation cracks.
From the gullies in between the houses, four wizards emerged and regrouped with each other. They
spoke between themselves, their spectator watching them intently. He recognised the tallest one
immediately, the unmistakable Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. Two of his party seemed familiar but he had no idea who the man with the
dancing eye was.

After mulling for several minutes, they approached the very same house he had been watching
over. Panic swept over him and without hesitation, lunged out of the tree, nothing but the rustling
of the trees giving his action away. The scarred, battle-worn wizard saw him first. His wand was
drawn instantly but the pouncer had already landed in the middle of them. In an instant, all five
of them were gone in a flash of green light.

In the same flash of colour, they landed in a hall made of metal, filled with a plethora of
vehicles and gadgets. It was more or less the same size as the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Its ceiling,
a breathtaking view of thousands of stars, captivated all four newcomers. Their attacker stormed
away from them before turning violently to face them. “What were you doing!?” he exclaimed, his
angry voice muffled by the mask that covered his face, his eyes glowing brightly. “You could've
ruined everything!”

Dumbledore grimaced. “Pardon me?” He looked puzzled as did his party.

“They're not supposed to know I'm here,” said the figure, his green and brown cloak
fading into maroon.

The headmaster eyed the turquoise emblem around the man's neck then stared at the
stranger's turquoise green eyes. “According to that symbol around your neck, you're a
Knox,” Professor Dumbledore deduced stoically; as usual, his unsurpassable knowledge caught his
companions' attention.

“He said I couldn't get anything past you,” he sighed, removing his disguise. His long brown
hair fell just short of his shoulders; it was shaggy but stylish although the revelation knocked
his fringe askew, which he corrected immediately. Short facial hair followed the shape of his jaw
but wasn't prominent enough to be a beard. “Come with me, Mr Dumbledore,” the familiarity
shocked everyone. “I have something that you need to see.”

“Albus, no!” Moody implored.

“Alastor,” said Dumbledore humbly, “if this young man's intention is to kill me, I am
positive that I would already be so. So I believe he may have important business with me other than
my extermination.”

If Dumbledore's statement was meant to sober Moody, it didn't work; if anything, it
unsettled him further but he maintained silence. Knox wordlessly took point and the headmaster
followed until they walked side by side. “I don't like this at all,” growled Moody.

“Is he sure it's the right person? His hair were red in Harry's memory, a dark shade of
red,” Tonks mused, fiddling with her own metamorphic hair.

“I'm positive,” Lupin affirmed. “His clothes were almost exactly the same apart from his
cloak; the eyes, the emblem ... they all fit. But if this family are as powerful as the headmaster
says, and they *a**re* indeed our allies ... why didn't he recruit them earlier?”

Professor Dumbledore walked tentatively alongside the young man, who led him down several
corridors until they reached what looked like the bridge of whatever containment they were in.
“Where are we, Mr Knox?” asked Dumbledore, stopping to allow the boy gain a several step gap.

He turned around, crossing his arms. “We're in the Aphex, our intergalactic transport.”

If the revelation of such a bizarre location fazed the aged man, he never showed it. Instead,
his steadfast curiosity continued. “So I am correct by saying you are Nethen Knox's son.”

“Lenor Knox, yep,” he answered. From Lenor's look, the professor's reaction seemed
expected.

“You're not -?”

“Darren? I can understand why you think so. I have a letter that explains my appearance if you
are interested, sir?”

“My intrigue is undoubtedly peaked, Mr Knox.”

Lenor smiled slightly and turned, heading for the two seats at the front of the bridge. A worn
leather satchel hung from the corner of the left seat from which Lenor procured a tattered
envelope. He handed it to Professor Dumbledore who adjusted his glasses for what he was about to
read.

After withdrawing the parchment from the envelope, the headmaster commented immediately. “This
... cannot be true,” he gasped, looking astonished at Lenor.

“I assure you that it is very true, Professor,” assured Lenor.

The professor read the remainder of the letter, soon turning to stroking his long wispy beard.
When he finished, he turned his bright blue eyes to the young man in front of him. “Please,” he
paused, “you must tell me everything.”

Knox nodded. “Let's take a seat and I will tell you what I know.”

-->