All For You - Chapter 38

Chapter 38

“I have done as you have asked,” Avery sighed. “You have a thirty-minute window, but I must say, I am not happy about this decision. Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

The Dark Lord nodded.

“They will prove to be the most useful of allies, Avery,” he assured the man. “What message will it send to the people when they see that even the creatures who guard their prisoners have chosen to side with us?”

“Will they side with us?”

“The Dementors will side with whoever can provide them with the most sustenance. Under the Ministry, they are starved, and aligning with us will change that.”

“How do you even negotiate with them?” Avery asked curiously.

“That is not something you need to concern yourself with, my friend. I will handle this venture myself.”

Avery nodded, though he did not seem convinced.

“Very well,” he returned. “Thirty minutes is all you will have.”

“That is more time than I will need,” the Dark Lord declared.

The idea had come to him whilst he’d been pondering how to bolster his forces.

Lord Voldemort had considered hiring mercenaries but had ultimately decided against it for now in favour of creatures.

The Dementors would be the first, and already, Macnair was working on adding others. The man was on the continent carrying out his duties, and the Dark Lord had every faith he would be successful.

He looked upon the fortress towering above him and ignored the unnatural cold permeating the air.

The North Sea was an untameable mistress: cold, unforgiving, and able to claim a life in a matter of seconds, but Mother Nature was not responsible for the chill on the island.

No, that distinct honour belonged to the very creatures he had come here to see.

With Avery’s connections, there was no need to draw any unnecessary attention to himself by killing the guards or even alerting the public to what would happen this night.

The Dementors' defection would come as quite a surprise, and with so few able to defend themselves adequately against them, they would prove to be exceptional allies.

The thought of watching the muggles scurrying away from an enemy they could not see brought an anticipatory grin to his lips, and it only widened as he envisioned the Aurors fumbling as they attempted to defend them.

Not even Jameson or Dumbledore could hope to deter so many as they feasted on the souls of the Dark Lord’s enemies.

His smile remained as he guided himself onto the roof of the prison, and not even the coldness of the rain soaking him through bothered him as he waited.

It took only a few moments for the first of the dementors to arrive, alerted by his presence, but as expected, they did not attempt to swarm him. They floated close by curiously, but they seemed rather disinterested in a fragmented soul.

“I know you can hear me,” the Dark Lord murmured when a large gathering had formed. “You serve a master that starves you, that does not appreciate you for the talent you possess. Shake off the bindings of the Ministry of Magic and join me. You will feast on the fear of the many and will consume the souls of my enemies. In return, you will serve me, and I will provide ample victims for you.”

Although it did not appear to be so, he knew the creatures were listening intently to him. As he removed and opened the trunk he’d brought along from within his robes, they paused as they sensed the hundred or so stunned muggles.

Discarding the bodies haphazardly across the rooftop, the Dark Lord nodded.

“Eat, my friends,” he urged. “There will be many more.”

The dementors did not need telling twice, and as they swarmed in a feeding frenzy upon their helpless victims, Lord Voldemort knew he’d gained the allegiance of a powerful group of creatures.

Once more, it brought a smile to his lips, and he looked forward to implementing them in his endeavours.

Still, his mind remained troubled.

Perhaps it had merely been the use of the magic of the Dark Mark that had caused the water to take the form of a snake as it had struck at him in Portsmouth, but the Dark Lord could not simply dismiss it.

It was unsettling, to say the least, and to know that his own magic had been used against him was an insult of the highest order.

No.

He wouldn’t believe that whoever had retaliated against them had knowingly done so the way they did.

Only a Slytherin could’ve manipulated the magic intentionally, and despite his doubts, Lord Voldemort could see no way that it had indeed been purposeful.

(Break)

“I cannot believe you invited him here,” Walburga muttered petulantly. “A half-blood in my home? I will not stand for it!”

“You will shut up and do as you’re told,” Arcturus returned evenly.

From the very moment he’d informed his family of who would be joining them for dinner, Walburga, as expected, had been the most vocal in her protests.

She had never been able to see beyond the blood that flowed through someone’s veins and chose to continue living a life of ignorance.

Arcturus had been much the same until he’d spent several years on the continent fighting against Grindelwald and his forces.

He’d seen for himself that half-bloods and even muggleborns could be just as proficient with magic as the purebloods and that, despite their differences, their similarities were what counted.

Although he still considered himself a traditionalist at heart, he found that being a pureblood was a trivial thing on the battlefield and that someone’s parentage did not matter when you were fighting to save each other’s lives.

“Are you not at all intrigued by him?” Charlus asked.

Walburga scoffed at the question.

“No, I am not! I have no desire to associate with the man.”

“You were happy enough to eat at his restaurant,” Charlus pointed out.

“That was before I knew he was a filthy…”

“Enough!” Arcturus cut in harshly. “Mr Jameson will be my guest, and you will keep your comments to yourself, Walburga. If you ruin this opportunity for Bellatrix, I can assure you, your life will become considerably less comfortable.”

Walburga glowered at him but knew better than to push her luck any further than she already had, and Arcturus shook his head.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” he demanded, his gaze sweeping across the length and breadth of the table.

“I like him,” Andromeda declared. “Professor Jameson is the best teacher we’ve had for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the duelling club was fun too.”

Arcturus nodded, his lips twitching in amusement at the memory of Stebbins being made an example of.

“Ah, that will be him,” he declared as the doorbell rang. “You will all be on your best behaviour, especially you two,” he added firmly to James and Sirius.

Both boys wore a look of innocence, and Arcturus shook his head.

He didn’t know where they got it from, but they made for quite the mischievous duo.

“You will be on your best behaviour, James Potter,” Dorea reiterated.

“Or Jameson might just turn both of you into something unpleasant,” Bellatrix warned.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Sirius said dismissively.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Cygnus muttered as the door opened, admitting Kreacher and Harry Jameson.

The man’s eyes darted quickly to each of those gathered around the table as he offered Arcturus his hand.

“Lord Black,” he greeted him respectfully.

Arcturus accepted the proffered limb and did not miss how Jameson took in his surroundings.

He was a professional, something he’d demonstrated time and again.

“Professor Jameson,” Arcturus replied. “Allow me to introduce you to my family. First is my son and heir, Orion, his wife Walburga, who you have already met, and their two sons, Sirius and Regulus.”

Jameson greeted all four cordially and ignored the frosty reception he received from Walburga.

“My son Cygnus, his wife Druella, and their three daughters, Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. You know all three of them well enough.”

“I do,” Jameson declared, offering the three girls a smile. “Not many can claim to have three exceptionally talented children. They are a credit to you both.”

Druella seemed to warm to the man immediately, and Cygnus did his best to hide his nervousness. Not an easy feat when faced with the man who almost killed him.

“Of course, you’ve met Charlus Potter. This is his wife, and my sister, Dorea, and their son, James.”

Jameson paused very briefly as he took in the appearance of the woman and boy before greeting them both.

“And finally,” Arcturus continued, “my wife, Lady Melania Black.”

“Lady Black,” Jameson acknowledged, offering Melania a bow.

Thus far, the man was conducting himself appropriately, and Arcturus wondered if he’d been coached in pureblood etiquette.

If the rumours of his involvement with Amelia Bones were indeed true, then it was likely she had given him some pointers.

“Please, take a seat,” Arcturus offered, gesturing to the chair he’d reserved for Jameson next to Bellatrix. “Kreacher will serve the first course shortly.”

(Break)

“They accepted?” Avery asked, seemingly surprised by the outcome of his venture to Azkaban.

“The Dementors will serve the one who provides them with what they desire,” the Dark Lord explained. They will remain loyal to me because I will feed them.”

Avery nodded his understanding.

“They will be a powerful ally, but I have my reservations,” he sighed. “We cannot just unleash them on Britain.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” the Dark Lord assured him. “They will be used when appropriate. They will serve as the perfect distraction for us to withdraw when the Aurors arrive. The Dementors can neither be captured nor killed. What say you, Selwyn?”

The man seemed to be lost in thought, distracted by something trivial in recent days.

“If they can assist, then I think using them is an excellent idea,” Selwyn said.

“Is something bothering you, Selwyn?”

He deflated as he shook his head.

“It’s what happened in Portsmouth,” he huffed. “The man that arrived before the Aurors.”

“What about him?” Voldemort asked with a frown.

“It’s probably nothing. Forget I mentioned it.”

“Selwyn, if it is bothering you so much, then I expect it isn’t nothing. Speak. You are amongst friends,” the Dark Lord urged.

Selwyn shook his head.

“It just reminds me of stories my father used to tell me as a boy,” he replied thoughtfully. “As most of you know, he worked with Grindelwald on the continent. Well, he mentioned a man a few times and told me about him when he’d come home.”

“What man?” Yaxley asked.

“The Serpent.”

Yaxley visibly recoiled at the mention, and Voldemort’s frown deepened.

“The Serpent?”

Selwyn shook his head.

“He’s more of a myth than anything else, but my father used to speak of him as though he was real. He said that if the Serpent wanted someone dead, then he would find a way to make it happen. Grindelwald believed he was real, and my father said he was a parselmouth. He was famous for it and was a Hit-Wizard for the ICW.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes.

“Impossible,” he declared. “There are no other Parselmouths besides me.”

“I know, I know,” Selwyn replied, holding his hands up placatingly. “I’m just saying what I heard.”

Voldemort shook his head and turned towards the suddenly pale Yaxley.

“The story troubles you, Corbin?”

He cleared his throat.

“No, nothing like that,” he replied. “My father told me the same stories.”

The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair and chuckled.

“I do not think we need to be concerned about stories from the continent,” he said amusedly. “What happened to this Serpent?”

“He vanished,” Selwyn answered. “He just disappeared one day and was never heard from again.”

“Dear me,” Voldemort snorted. “That really is the perfect ending for a children’s tale. Now, can we focus on what we will do next?”

“Of course, my lord,” Selwyn replied, sitting up straighter in his seat.

His concerns seemed to be assuaged, but Yaxley seemed still troubled by the direction the conversation had taken.

It amused the Dark Lord to no end to see how superstitious the pureblood families could be, but once more, he could not entirely dismiss the notion of what he’d learned as he remembered the incident in Portsmouth.

Had the man manipulated the water in such a way intentionally?

Once more, he dismissed the thought.

He’d meticulously traced his family lineage, and there was no other alive who could be such a man.

As ever, Selwyn was being overly cautious, and Yaxley had seemed to simply buy into it from the tales he’d been told by his own father; nothing more and nothing less.

(Break)

“What is your story, Mr Jameson?” Dorea asked curiously. “We know that you own the restaurant in Knockturn Alley and that you’ve made quite the name for yourself as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

“And for defending your business against this Riddle,” Druella added.

Harry had known this would be a surreal experience, but he’d not anticipated just how strange it would be to find himself in the presence of not only his youthful father but also his grandparents.

In a way, he was grateful for the opportunity, but he was somewhat disappointed that he felt nothing of the kinship he’d always envisioned as a boy who’d craved a family of his own.

James was just a boy, and he’d scarcely heard anything of Charlus and Dorea that he could connect with.

“I’m afraid my story isn’t so interesting,” he explained. “My aunt and uncle raised me after my parents were killed, and they weren’t the most pleasant of people.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” Dorea replied.

Her words were sincere, but Harry knew that she was fishing for information.

“They were murdered, weren’t they?” Arcturus pressed.

Harry nodded.

“They were,” he confirmed. “I wasn’t even two when it happened.”

“Wasn’t grandfather killed by Grindelwald?” James asked.

“He was,” Charlus confirmed, his expression darkening. “My biggest regret was that I didn’t catch up to the bas- “

“Charlus,” Dorea scolded lightly.

“I’m sure Jameson understands the sentiment,” the man snorted.

“I do,” Harry assured the man.

“But Jameson did catch up to the man that killed his parents,” Arcturus broke in once more, “and he is the one sitting with us.”

Harry merely nodded in response.

“Should we not discuss something less maudlin?” Melania suggested. “This is supposed to be an opportunity for us to ask any questions we have pertaining to Bellatrix’s future.”

“You’re quite right,” Orion replied. “You’ve offered Bellatrix a chance to obtain a mastery. What is your educational background, Mr Jameson?”

“I’m afraid the magical vows I have taken prevent me from revealing where I received my education,” Harry answered somewhat truthfully. I can assure you, however, that I am more than qualified to supervise Bellatrix in any of her endeavours while she is under my tutelage.”

His answer left most taken aback, and it was Bellatrix’s father who broke the silence.

“Isn’t three years quite excessive?” he asked.

Harry shook his head.

“I expect Bellatrix to be able to suitably demonstrate her mastery of the subject in three years, but it is possible it may take longer. It depends entirely on what she wishes to focus on and how many things within the topic she would like to explore further.”

“And this is a rare opportunity?” Druella asked.

“How many Masters in Defence Against the Dark Arts have you met?” Harry asked.

“I don’t believe I have met any,” Druella answered.

“That’s because we are few,” Harry explained. To become a Master in the art, you must become a Master in several subjects. Most do not wish to remain in education for such a long period, and others believe themselves proficient enough to consider themselves Masters. It is also quite rare for someone who has dedicated themselves to becoming one to take on an apprentice. Most find themselves in high demand within governmental positions or other institutes that wish to put their expertise to use.”

“But you chose to work at Hogwarts,” Arcturus pointed out.

“I did,” Harry answered unashamedly. “I believe that educating children properly will promote the proper use of magic, and we can avoid people like Tom Riddle becoming a reality.”

Arcturus’s nostrils flared at the mention of the man.

“He seems to be rather disturbed.”

“He is,” Harry concurred. “He shows signs of negligently delving into magic that he shouldn’t have, and it has undoubtedly had quite the impact on him. When you see him up close, you can see that it has altered his appearance and even his magic. He has become so reliant on Dark Magic that it has prevented him from developing the ability to use others.”

“Interesting,” Arcturus mused aloud. “He does seem to be rather deranged.”

Harry nodded.

“Anyway, this isn’t about Riddle or anyone else,” he reminded them. “This is about Bellatrix.”

“What do you get out of it?” Cygnus asked quite abruptly.

“I get the opportunity to train someone worthy of the effort to do so,” Harry answered. “As part of her training, Bellatrix will also teach some of the younger students at the school, and that, in turn, will free up some time for me to focus on my other responsibilities. In many ways. It will be a quid pro quo arrangement that favours her more than me. Honestly, I see a tonne of potential in your daughter, Mr Black, and it would be a shame to see it wasted. My interest lies in seeing her thrive, and I believe she has much to offer the world with the ability she has demonstrated.”

Bellatrix positively beamed at the praise, and even Cygnus seemed to be coming around to the idea.

He certainly sat more proudly after his words of praise.

Harry frowned as he turned towards the silent conversation James and Sirius were having, and he quirked an amused eyebrow at the two boys.

“I do hope you’re not planning to let that dungbomb off,” he sighed. “It would put quite a dampener on what is proving to be a wonderful meal.”

They stared at him dumbly, and Harry chuckled as Dorea began chiding the duo.

“How did he know?” James groaned.

“Because, Mr Potter, I teach classes of teenagers and must be aware of their shenanigans at all times. I must say, I’m quite looking forward to seeing the two of you pass through Hogwarts. I expect you will make it interesting.”

Sirius and James nodded, and Dorea shook her head at them whilst both Arcturus and Charlus did their utmost to hide their amusement.

“You might just have met your match,” the latter warned his son.

“We’ll see about that,” James declared defiantly.

“Oh, I’m sure we will.”

It was odd how much more relaxed the mood around the table became after such a simple interaction, and though Walburga remained tight-lipped and shot him the occasional glare of disapproval, the rest of the family seemed to become more welcoming.

It gave Harry hope that there would be no further objections to Bellatrix becoming his apprentice, and that could only be a good thing for the rest of the world.

It also struck quite a blow against Riddle, and Harry would always see any slight towards Tom as a victory.

(Break)

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked the streets of magical Britain. He’d purchased a property in Godric’s Hollow some years prior for sentimental reasons, but he’d not inhabited it long, and he suspected the house had fallen into disrepair in his absence.

It was strange to be here.

Diagon Alley had never felt so oppressive to him as it did now.

It was as though a dark shadow hung over it, and having delved into the archives of The Daily Prophet, a name that had haunted him for much of his life had cropped up.

Tom Riddle.

As strange as it was to be back here, it was stranger to see that the Dark Lord’s name was widely known, though having read a particular article pertaining to an attempt on a restaurant in Knockturn Alley, all became clear.

Harry Jameson.

There was no doubt in his mind that this man was another iteration of himself, but how he came to be here and what his story was remained the mystery; one Harry intended to solve.

Still, despite his eagerness, he knew he had to be careful.

He did not wish to draw unwarranted attention to himself.

He’d spent the better part of two decades in the shadows, and that is where he preferred to remain.

With this other version of himself running around, however, he could not simply ignore it.

No, he was adamant he would get to the bottom of what was happening and ensure it would not impact his life any more than it already had.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t deny that it was nice to be back.

He often missed home but did not regret any of the choices he’d made that had taken him away from it, and with this other Harry here, it gave him hope that he may well escape the prophecy that had plagued him for as long as he could remember.

“Unless your life is in imminent danger, you are not to involve yourself in any conflict, now or in the future. Nor are you to operate as a Hit-Wizard. Are you listening to me, Evans?” Grindelwald snapped. “Give me your vow or she will die the most horrible of deaths.”

Seeing no alternative, Harry had accepted the many stipulations, and his, in turn, were honoured.

With the prophecy, he’d always believed that something would occur to release him from the vow, but it seemed Fate had other ideas in the form of this Jameson.

He’d even considered paying a visit to the infant Tom Riddle and throttling the boy in his cot, but the magic binding him had prevented him from doing so.

Regardless, it seemed that the universe had found another to take his place, or it was just another twist in the tale of his life.

Only time would tell, but Harry refused to sit idly by and wait for Fate to unfold.

Whether he liked it or not, he was named in the prophecy, and he expected that he still had his part to play.

(Break)

“Why are you looking so pleased with yourself?” Amelia asked as the grinning Alastor crossed the open office.

“Oh, you’re going to love this,” the man replied gleefully. “We found him.”

“Found who?”

“Your torture victim.”

“Well, he’s dead and buried, he’s not so hard to find,” Imelda huffed.

“Aye, you’re a funny lass,” Alastor grumbled. “Tell them, Kingsley.”

“He is, well, was a private investigator,” Shacklebolt explained. “He’s a German national named Karl Katz.”

“How did you find that out?”

“His wife came to report him missing,” Alastor answered. “He’d taken on a job here to follow someone.”

“Who?”

“Jameson.”

“What?” Amelia demanded angrily.

Moody held his hands up placatingly.

“He didn’t get very far,” he assured her. “From what we found in the flat he’d rented in Knockturn Alley, he visited the restaurant and managed to take a few photos of the outside.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all,” Moody confirmed. “Did Jameson mention anything?”

Amelia shook her head.

“No, but he would’ve done if he knew about it,” she murmured.

“Well, he’d only been in the flat for three days before he was killed,” Alastor explained. “He’d paid two months rent upfront, so the landlord had no reason to bother him. His wife came when she’d heard nothing from him.”

“Why would he be investigating Jameson?” Imelda asked curiously. “What interest would foreigners have in him?”

“I don’t know,” Amelia answered, though she could not dismiss that his other career was likely something to do with it.

Evidently, Alastor thought the same as he offered her a pointed look.

“He’s not a suspect, is he?” Amelia asked.

Alastor shook his head.

“No, of course not,” he answered firmly. “Jameson is a hard case, but what was done to Katz isn’t him, and we already determined the magical traces discovered on the body came from an unknown person.”

Amelia nodded.

“I’ll discuss it with him, unofficially, to see if any of it makes sense.”

“Aye, I would,” Alastor urged. “It’s a strange one, Bones.”

“It is,” Amelia agreed, wondering who had hired a foreigner to track Harry.

Well, they were likely to be unhappy when they learned of what had become of Katz, but Amelia wouldn’t know anything else until she discussed it with Harry, which she would do so as a priority.

(Break)

“Is something bothering you?” Charlus asked.

Dorea had been quieter than usual for the better part of a day since they’d left Grimmauld Place.

“No, not really.”

Charlus shot her a questioning look, and she shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I suppose it’s Jameson.”

“What about him?”

“There’s just something that feels so familiar about him,” Dorea answered. “It’s just in his mannerisms and the way he smiles. I don’t know, it’s like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“It’s not just you, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Charlus released a deep breath.

“I noticed it when he was dragged in front of the Wizengamot,” he said with a shrug, “and Arcturus mentioned it too. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t quite work it out.”

“Me either,” Dorea replied. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, but I’m determined to find out,” Charlus declared. “Do you think we should invite him to dinner? It might help clear it up.”

“That would be nice,” Dorea said with a smile. “He’s a nice man.”

“A nice man?” Charlus chuckled. “He did kill thirteen people,” he reminded her.

“And how many did you kill on the continent?” Dorea returned. “You’re a good man, Charlus, despite what you had to do. I think Jameson is the same. Why would he teach or offer Bella an apprenticeship if he wasn’t?”

“I don’t think he’s a bad person,” Charlus assured her. “I just can’t figure him out. I suppose it’s unsettling to think there’s something so familiar, and I don’t know what it is.”

“Then write to him,” Dorea urged. “Invite him and Amelia Bones. They are an item, aren’t they?”

“According to the rumours,” Charlus murmured.

Jameson was a private person, and though he had seemingly told them a lot about himself during the dinner, he’d given very little away.

“I’ll write to him,” Charlus decided.

Dorea nodded her approval, and Charlus made his way towards his study to send the missive.

At the very least, they’d get to observe him a little more and see if what they both had noticed about the man came to anything.

(Break)

“How large is the group?” the Dark Lord asked.

“A little over two hundred, my lord,” Lestrange answered.

Voldemort nodded satisfactorily.

“With the Dementors, we will outnumber any opposition considerably. How long are we expecting it will take for the Aurors to respond?”

“Around eleven minutes is the average, but what about him?”

The Dark Lord frowned.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “A lone man will be helpless against such opposition. If necessary, I will handle him.”

“Then everything is in place. You need only summon the creatures.”

“You seem sceptical, Corvus.”

“Not sceptical, my lord, but cautious,” the man replied thoughtfully. “I have every faith in you, but not in a bunch of mindless ghouls. If I am proven wrong, I will eat my words.”

“Then I hope you are hungry, old friend,” the Dark Lord chuckled, sending his message to the guardians of the prison.

It would take them some time to arrive, but immediately, he felt them drawing nearer as they answered his summons.

“Be ready, Corvus,” he urged. “It will not be so long before they get here.”

(Break)

The moment she slid the photo across the table towards Harry, Amelia knew he had been unaware that Katz had been hired to investigate him. He was taken aback, and a deep, troubled frown creased his brow.

“How could he think he would be able to follow me?” Harry asked confusedly. “When I’m not here, I’m usually at Hogwarts.”

“Aren’t you more curious of who paid him to follow you?”

“I am, but none of it makes sense,” Harry grumbled. “If he was paid to follow me, how was it that he ended up being tortured and bitten by a werewolf?”

“He’d been tracking a werewolf in the weeks leading up to him being hired to follow you,” Amelia explained. “His wife was able to tell us that, and Moody confirmed that the werewolf he’d been following arrived in the country two days after he did. He was staying in a hotel in Knockturn Alley, and there were signs of quite the struggle in the room he rented.”

“So, this Katz became aware of the werewolf?”

Amelia shrugged.

“We don’t know how the two met here yet,” she answered. “An application has been submitted to the ICW to have the werewolf arrested and brought back here.”

“That won’t happen,” Harry predicted.

“Why not?”

“Because Katz was hired to follow me,” he pointed out. “The werewolf will vanish within the next few days.”

“Why would Katz be hired to follow you?” Amelia pressed.

Harry became distinctly uncomfortable by the question, and she reached across the table to take his hand.

“Harry, if you’re in trouble…”

He shook his head.

“It’s not anything I can’t handle,” he assured her.

Amelia deflated and nodded her understanding.

With what he did, she understood that much of it had to remain a secret, but it was not easy sometimes, especially when it seemed he was in real danger.

She did not doubt he was in this matter.

Hit-Wizards operated in secrecy, and for someone to have learned Harry’s identity and to have him tracked by a professional was concerning to say the least.

“Not now,” Amelia groaned as the familiar, shrill screech sounded from her Auror identity card.

Harry immediately stood.

“Where?” he asked simply.

Amelia swallowed deeply, shocked by the message she read.

“Dementors,” she whispered. “In Diagon Alley!”

Harry’s expression darkened before he vanished, and Amelia rushed to activate her own portkey.

Surely, the message couldn’t be right.

Why would the Dementors be in London instead of guarding Azkaban?”

(Break)

The unpleasant chill of the Dementors already filled the air as Harry arrived in Diagon Alley and as he surveyed the scene before him, he could only shake his head.

“Well, shit,” he cursed.

Death Eaters and Dementors alike swarmed every nook and cranny, stalking those trying to flee and leaving a path of destruction in their wake.

Several shops had already been set ablaze, and screams could be heard coming from every direction.

As competent as he felt as a wizard, Harry knew putting an end to this would not be easy.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The stag erupted from his wand and began attacking the Dementors with reckless abandon, but with how spread out the creatures were, it was a struggle.

Instead of dispersing them immediately, Harry decided to round them up into one area, though as he did so, he found himself ducking instinctively to avoid a flurry of curses sent towards him.

“I thought you might be here,” the mocking voice of Tom Riddle spoke. “That was a mistake on your part.”

Reluctantly, Harry ended his Patronus charm, knowing that the Dark Lord would require his full attention.

Nonetheless, he knew he needed to be quick before the Dementors could cause too much harm. It would likely be several minutes before the Aurors arrived, and until then, he was on his own.

Without preamble, he fired his rebuttal, and as ever, Voldemort proved to be proficient with his wand, deflecting the spells away from himself and into a nearby building.

Whatever amusement the man had felt had faded, and he glared at Harry as he raised his wand, only to have to defend himself as another myriad of spells were hurled towards him.

Harry knew Riddle well enough to know his approach.

He liked to dictate the pace of the fight and overwhelm his opponent.

Harry would not allow him to do so.

When the Dark Lord managed to find a rhythm that suited him, it was nigh on impossible to regain the upper hand.

That was something Harry could not allow, not when time was of the essence and the screaming around him continued.

“You cannot win!” Voldemort snapped. “Avada Kedavra!”

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes as the jet of green light burst from the tip of the wand.

Whipping his own upward, he intercepted the lethal curse by tearing up a large section of concrete and banished the resulting debris towards his foe.

Voldemort had been prepared for this, and a brilliant, white ball of fire reduced the projectiles to a seemingly harmless dust.

He offered Harry a grin as he raised his wand once more, only to cough as Harry banished the dust into his face.

It was effective for only the briefest of seconds, but it gave him the opportunity to fire a severing curse, which was deftly avoided by the furious Voldemort.

With a snarl, a violent blasting curse was returned, and Harry erected a golden dome around himself to absorb the impact, a spell which certainly got the Dark Lord’s attention.

It was unlikely he’d met anyone who could cast a shield strong enough to withstand his power, and he narrowed his eyes determinedly before repeating his actions.

Once more, Harry’s shield held up, something that only served to anger Voldemort.

Having hoped for such an eventuality, Harry smiled.

When he lost his composure, the Dark Lord made mistakes, and Harry would take advantage of any lapse in focus.

However, before the two could exchange any further spellfire, an eerie silence suddenly fell.

The screaming had ceased, and even the many fires that had been tearing through several buildings were extinguished by a sudden gust of wind.

It somehow grew colder, but not due to the presence of the Dementors.

Something else caused it, and as Harry spotted a lone figure walking casually out of a nearby alley, he caught a glimpse of an almost glowing pair of green eyes.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The voice was cold, yet the spell that careened from the end of his wand was blinding and warm.

The ethereal basilisk immediately lunged towards the nearest group of Dementors, causing the creatures to flee, and the figure looked on, seemingly enjoying his work.

“You dare?” Voldemort spat.

The man ignored him, and Harry distracted the Dark Lord with another flurry of spells, drawing his attention back to him.

“AURORS!”

Harry knew what was coming, and in a bid to prevent the grinning Voldemort from fleeing, he took aim.

His spell destroyed a considerable portion of the street, but as the dust began to settle, there was no sign of the Dark Lord.

“Fucking coward,” Harry muttered irritably, releasing a deep sigh, turning sharply as he became acutely aware of the man a short distance away.

They stared at one another curiously, both clutching their wands in anticipation of the other casting a spell, but neither moved, choosing to take in the appearance of the man they were face to face with.

Harry knew who this man was.

He’d heard him mentioned several times, and he’d even deduced that, somehow, it was another iteration of him. However, nothing could’ve prepared him for this moment.

He suspected it would eventually come.

With the man so caught up in what he was investigating, it was all but inevitable, but being here in this moment was surreal, and it seemed neither of them knew how to respond.

“What now?” the man asked, his grip visibly tightening around his wand.

Harry followed suit, his eyes narrowing challengingly.

“I suppose that depends on what you have to tell me,” he responded coldly. “You seem to be the cause of many of my problems.”

The man nodded.

“Not here,” he murmured, nodding towards where the Aurors were beginning to flood the streets. “We can settle this to where it all began for both of us.”

With that, he vanished, and Harry did not hesitate to follow, determined to do whatever was necessary to get what he needed.