Lord Voldemort was bored.

Frankly, this condition was becoming more and more familiar to him as time went on. In his youth, the unending search for power and uncovering the secrets of ancient magic never left him with much spare time. Afterwards, he focused on building a web of contacts and securing alliances in preparation for the upcoming war. The war itself – which, he readily admitted, wasn't really such but a series of guerrilla strikes and terrorism – rarely provided any spare time.

Now? Now all he had to do was wait for his underlings to complete their tasks and report back with success or failure.

The Ministry was still blissfully unaware of his return, and the Order of the Phoenix (he allowed himself a disgusted sneer at the ridiculous name) was as ineffective as always. Dumbledore did a rather good job of delaying his inevitable pact with the werewolves and somewhat strained the negotiations with the giant clans. However, this appeared to be the only thing he did, besides setting out a guard around the Department of Mysteries. Honestly, who did the doddering old fool take him for? Divination was so ridiculed for a very good reason, even if it did spawn an assortment of ridiculously useful techniques, such as scrying. The prophecy about Potter and him was never something he'd put much stock in, no matter what others may believe. Still, it wouldn't hurt to put forth some token effort into recovering the prophecy – it would occupy the old man, and wars were always waged with deception. Successful ones, at any rate. The longer no one was aware of his true aims, the better.

Voldemort smirked ever-so-slightly. Oh, but the irony. As he learned the day he made an attempt on the Philosopher's Stone, Harry Potter, his prophesied nemesis, had become a living vessel of his soul; however dormant that part of him might be. He had felt an echo of himself when he attempted Legilimency on the boy, trying to destroy him after he was thwarted and his servant's body had crumbled to dust. That following attempt was also rebuffed eventually by the protection that Lily Potter had bequeathed upon her son. It was not a futile endeavor however, for he had managed to somewhat influence him. He wasn't sure as to what the effects of that action were, and was rather curious of it.

Out of the same curiosity, he had recently visited the place of his downfall, the little cottage in Godric's Hallow. There, he found an echo of magic signifying a breach of a magical contract. After a lengthy search, he found a cracked wardstone on which a very simple contract was recorded, mixed in with a couple of ritualistic elements taken from blood magic - trading a life of a parent for the life of the child.

Oh, if he hadn't been so incensed, he would have applauded Lily Potter's brilliance. In fact, after a couple of hours, when he had calmed down, he once again lamented over the fact that they never swore an allegiance to him. His minions, barring a few exceptions, were not the brightest minds in the magical world.

This little expedition finally answered the question he'd pondered for so many years while being little more than an apparition. However, it still left him wondering as to what he should do with Potter.

His minions did a good job in blaming the boy for the other champion's death, and right now, Harry was cooling his heels in Azkaban, in the high security wing together with his most trusted lieutenants. Speaking of which, Voldemort heard a very characteristic knock of a cane on stone floor behind him. He turned his head slightly to the side, acknowledging the presence of one of his more competent people.

"Lucius, what news do you bring me?"

"My lord, I have formed a list of known Unspeakables as per your order," the man answered with a bow.

Voldemort took the offered parchment and looked through the names with some interest. He was always interested in the Department of Mysteries, even if his usual occupations rarely allowed him to focus on it for any significant length of time. Well, now was his chance.

"Good. Start recruiting - carefully - and gather as much information on their research as you can. In the meantime, inform others that we are moving on Azkaban by the end of September."

This was ahead of schedule, but there really wasn't much stopping him and he had his reasons. Azkaban is not good for your sanity, especially if you were young. If Potter was to be of any service, he needed him relatively sane. If he wasn't, well…

Clean, instant death by the Killing Curse was far better than slowly going insane in such a place. In Voldemort's mind, such a death was a mark of respect, and his so-called "nemesis" did deserve that courtesy, at least. Of course, only after his accidental Horcrux was transferred to a suitable vessel.

(O)(O)(O)

Harry blinked as the whirlwind of colours characteristic to elf travel vanished. He found himself in a large hall. The furniture was rather opulent, and paintings were hung everywhere. They looked muggle, to his mild surprise – he had expected magical portraits.

A distressed sound from his side attracted his attention. If the slowly dripping blood was anything to go by, the stasis charm was rapidly degrading after exposure to house elf magic. He reapplied the charm quickly.

"Betcher!" Fibbly yelled. A loud pop signified the appearance of another elf, this one far older, his tattered uniform (several stitched-together handkerchiefs, by the looks of it) worn to the degree that the original colours were no longer recognisable.

"What happened to Mistress?" he asked in a voice that sounded just as old and worn as his clothing. "And who is Monsieur? You know we are not supposed to invite guests."

Harry blinked at the lack of horrible accent before remembering that the translation amulet Sirius gave him filtered out things like that.

"If I may?" Harry glanced at Fibbly, who pinked slightly at the sign of respect from a wizard. "She was attacked by a trio of wizards unknown to me. I happened to be nearby and was dragged into the fight. I incapacitated one of them, and the others were forced to retreat. However, one of their last curses clipped her in the neck. I applied a stasis charm, so she has some time. I was invited along in case it suddenly fails."

Betcher stared at him in silence. Harry had the weirdest urge to fidget under the appraising look.

"Very well," the elf finally said. "You have our sincere thanks, young man. How can we repay your kindness?"

Harry smiled awkwardly.

"Well, you see, I was a bit lost. If I am no longer needed, then could you transport me to the entrance of Long Jardin?"

"Fibbly, do it. I will summon Monsieur Meareu."

As the female elf nodded and reached for Harry's arm, a loud, reverberating gong sounded, coming seemingly from the walls themselves. Both little creatures froze in their places while the teen winced.

"He is attacking?" Betcher was still completely unflappable about the situation. "Fibbly, take care of the young man. Afterwards, start packing old masters' works. Summon the others to help."

"Yes," she nodded and immediately popped away with the worried young wizard.

Not two seconds later, the wards around the property warped and shattered, making the old elf stagger and fall to his knees.

"Intruders… must save Master's work, must save Mistress," he grumbled, and tried to stand.

The door was blasted off its hinges, and four robed figures darted inside, wands blazing. The last thing that Betcher saw was a red spell heading straight for his head.

(O)(O)(O)

Harry ran into the hotel room, panting. Sirius, who had been lying down and reading a phone book, by the looks of it, dropped it immediately and jumped on his feet.

"Harry? What happened? Where were you?"

The teen lifted a finger while trying to catch his breath.

"Long… story. We need to get out of France, as quickly as possible. I'm afraid the exploration of nudist beaches will have to wait."

Sirius blinked. He never told his godson about his plans to visit those. Powering through the confusion, he nodded, took his wand out and started packing.

"Fine. There should be some sort of transport to Switzerland. Tell me on the way."

A minute of magically aided packing later, the duo thundered down the stairs and determinedly power-walked outside.

"So, where to?" Harry asked, looking around worriedly.

Sirius just grunted.

"I saw a couple of buses bound to Switzerland yesterday. Hopefully, at least one of them is still here."

(O)(O)(O)

Luck was finally on their side, it seemed, even if they had to search for a bus for a couple of hours until they found a tourist group who were leaving for Switzerland in the middle of the night.

Convincing a driver to let them on without any pay was all too easy with the aid of compulsion charms. The two wizards sat well back on the bus and raised simplistic wards to avert attention and muffle their speech.

After this was done, Sirius finally allowed himself to ask the questions on his mind.

"Harry, where were you? What kind of mess have you got into to warrant such a quick escape? We've been here for barely a day!"

The teen frowned and looked outside the window as the bus stopped at the red light.

"Honestly, hell if I know. It started when I got lost near the entrance to Long Jardin."

"How did you manage that? The hotel's on the same freaking street!"

"The shawarma joint confused me, I think. There were two exits, and I guess I didn't look where I was going for a couple of minutes."

"Damn, you're worse than James ever was," Sirius grumbled, "and I thought he had a problem with daydreaming at the least suitable moment."

Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"In any case, twenty minutes later, I was absolutely lost…"

(O)(O)(O)

Betcher came to consciousness instantly, like a switch was flipped, with a mild headache forming from the rude jolt of an Ennervate. He dare not complain, though: as soon as he opened his eyes, he froze in horror. Or, maybe, that was the work of a petrification charm.

A very tall, wide-shouldered, dark-skinned man was standing right above him, looking at the prostrate elf thoughtfully. His robes were of a cut clearly not European in origin, ornate and hinting at African make. The wand in the man's hand was also intricately carved, patterned and encrusted with small red stones.

"I have come to something of a quandary, my little friend," he spoke, seemingly to the air, a faint hint of Haiti in his accent. "I have come here to acquire a certain object, which your former master created. It should have been here, and yet it is not."

Betcher licked his lips and tried to surreptitiously break the spell on him. He was unsuccessful.

"This is most dissatisfying, as you might guess. Still, there are ways for me to get what I want. Care to guess them?"

The Tall Man smiled slightly and nodded to someone outside the elf's view. When Betcher looked in that direction, he saw his mistress being levitated out of the side room. Her neck was healed, from what he could see, but she was still deathly pale.

"Seeing as your mistress didn't know anything of value, you have two options here, my little friend. You can bring me what I want, and I and my men will leave, never to return. I will not hurt your mistress anymore, as I would have no reason to. Or, you can be obstinate, and I will have to start getting my hands dirty. Am I understood?"

The old elf nodded fearfully, his eyes glued to the still form of the young woman.

"So, what do you choose?"

Finally, Betcher looked at the Tall Man.

"The stone is always on the mistress."

"No, no, I have already searched both her and all of the mansion. She doesn't know its whereabouts either, which makes you the only living being who might know its location. I'm running out of patience, elf."

The little creature whined softly, and then an idea popped into his head that made him screech in outrage.

"The boy! The boy must have it!"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The boy helped mistress fight your people. He's the only one who could have taken the stone from mistress."

"Is that so?" The Tall Man leaned slightly to the side, as if listening to something that no one else could hear. His face cleared after a moment. "Well, it seems that you are indeed correct. You're going to keep your mistress. Now, tell me about this boy."

Ten minutes later, the Tall Man exited the manor, a couple of people waiting for him in the garden.

"Have our men conduct a search for a young wizard," he ordered tiredly. "Long dark hair, green eyes. British."

"That's not much to go on, boss," one of the men answered apologetically. He wore some sort of open, shortened robe that looked more like a coat worn over a pair of militaristic-looking pants and shirt. He was powerfully built, exuding an air of calm watchfulness, starkly in contrast to his partner, a reedy, twitchy figure who has so far been silent. "We're not likely to get anything. Especially if he has left the country, which I am pretty sure he must have if he has any amount of sense in him."

"Muggle channels," the Twitchy muttered, the fingers of his left hand drumming on the pocket of his trenchcoat. An outline in the shape of a carton of cigarettes could be seen inside of it. "Bus or train. Less hassle, no trace at all."

Their employer sighed and turned to look at the manor's door, which opened to allow the last of his people inside to leave.

"This is most dissatisfying," he said and hummed in thought. After a few seconds of thought, he waved his hand in frustration. "Do the search anyway. I'll have to consult the spirits on this. They will find him, but it is a very lengthy process."

"Sure. By the way, we recovered Rickardson. He's been hit by a lightning spell. There are no burns, though," the Calm Man adopted a faintly puzzled look. "Still, he's a bit frazzled and gets confused easily. Not to mention the fact that his heart stopped five minutes into his debrief. It's lucky we had a medic on hand."

"Will he make a full recovery?"

"We believe so, yes."

"Has he said anything to help identify the young man?"

"No. Just that he was obviously trained, if an amateur. He's also crafty and used some sort of artifact to shield himself."

"Toys? Budding enchanter or noble," Twitchy supplied, finally giving in and lighting up a cigarette. After a long drag he added: "Narrows the search a bit."

"Agreed," the Tall Man nodded and looked around at the gathered company of fifteen wizards. "We are done here."

A multitude of cracks later, the small garden was empty.

(O)(O)(O)

The duo exited the bus in Geneva, stretching their legs after the long journey. Harry winced at the summer sun and tapped his glasses, making them darker and reinforcing the glamour that covered his face. Sirius glanced around and started walking towards the lake lazily. Harry followed.

"So, what's the plan?"

"In Switzerland? Well, there's not much in Geneva aside of the ICW headquarters and a lot of law enforcement. We better get a move on as soon as possible," Sirius muttered under his nose, and his shoulders hunched a bit.

"We could have stayed with that group, you know," Harry pointed out. "They were going to Lausanne, next."

"We need to visit an old acquaintance of mine. He has his eyes everywhere, and can give us some direction and news. Lesson one of being on the run: learn as much as you can about what's going on in the countries you are in or plan to visit. Same goes for cities."

Harry hummed in agreement as they entered a small antique shop off the road.

The acquaintance turned out to be an older gentleman of distinctly Hispanic appearance, immaculately, if a bit extravagantly, dressed and with a constant half-smirk that made it look like he was aware of some joke about you. After Sirius verified that they and the owner were the only ones in the store, he dropped his glamour for a couple of seconds.

"Mr White! What a wonderful surprise!" The owner called out merrily from behind his counter. "Come in, come in. And you have company! What happened, have you forgotten your contraception some time fifteen years ago?"

Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes.

"As if I could forget something like that. No, this is my godson, who is actually also on the run. I would appreciate if you kept things quiet."

The store owner looked affronted as he closed the store (opened barely ten minutes before) and put out a sign.

"Of course, who are you taking me for? Anyway, come in," he motioned, tapping a huge wardrobe just next to the entrance with a wand that was not in his hand a moment ago.

The wardrobe opened with a slight creak, revealing a staircase that was much larger than that wall should have been able to house. Sometimes, Harry decided, magic put just a little too much stress on his spatial thinking.

"Who is he?" he asked quietly as they followed the owner downstairs, the wardrobe clicking shut behind them.

"His name is Gabriel Suero. He's a big name in muggle and magical antique restoration, as well as the head of the largest and most successful smuggling operation of Europe," Sirius answered quietly as the man they were talking about started tapping the walls in no discernible pattern. "He's got ears everywhere and has a lot of favours accumulated."

"I can also find anything and anyone for the right price," Gabriel threw over his shoulder, opening the door to the basement. "Or make sure that someone won't be found."

"Whoa," Harry breathed as he entered the room. The walls were almost completely hidden by tall bookshelves, full of tomes that made the books of Hogwarts Library look new. He had seen something like this in the Black library, but the sight was impressive nonetheless. What little wall space the bookshelves left was occupied by paintings of muggle origin if Harry wasn't mistaken. It was all finished with an oak table and four chairs, each intricately carved and immaculately kept. The ever-so-slight scent of old things hung in the air.

"Welcome to my humble abode," the owned said, sitting down behind the desk. "I have always been partial to the old principle: business before pleasure. Let us discuss what you came for, shall we?"

The duo also sat down.

"Business first, huh?" Sirius mused. "Well, first of all, we are planning to take a rather big trip all around the magical world. It would be appreciated if you told us of anything of note that has happened or is going to happen in Europe."

Suero didn't even blink at the query, merely leaning back in his seat as he started recounting details.

"If sightseeing is your aim, then I advise you to visit Germany first. The magical park near the Black Forest opened a couple of months ago. It has been quiet there for the last couple of years, nothing of note – the local crime, such as it is, is solidifying its positions and doesn't take any risks. Aurors are unlikely to pay much attention to your comings and goings," Gabriel smirked slightly and started riffling through a thick folder.

"Eastern Europe as a whole should be avoided – the political climate is unstable there, and the local law enforcement is extremely wary and volatile. Not many exceptional spots for recreation, either.

"As to the south – well, Greece is always a unique experience. So many magical creatures on a given square kilometre it required a specific mutual avoidance charm to ensure secrecy.

"Also, I think you should visit Egypt – there's an Artificers' Assembly in a month. Hell, I would go, but business doesn't leave much time for things like that."

Sirius nodded. "Thanks. We would also appreciate it if you gave us a couple of contacts in case we need a quick getaway."

The contrabandist hummed in thought.

"Possible, but it will cost you. Your shenanigans can draw attention to my people, potentially setting me back months."

"Hopefully, we will not need it. I'm asking just in case."

"Mr. Black, I am rather familiar with your… unique luck. Do you, perchance, remember that little accident a couple of years ago in August, Majorca?" Harry's godfather rubbed his forehead bashfully and averted his eyes. "And those incidents in Las Vegas, barely a month after? No, I think that if I granted you the use of my people, you would use it much more often than I'd be comfortable with. Therefore, if you wish such a privilege, you will pay two thousand galleons now and five hundred whenever you employ my men."

The meeting concluded only a couple of hours later, after Sirius was done extracting the information he needed about the state of business in most of the countries they planned to visit as well as haggling the price of Suero's assistance down to one and a half thousands.

After a few hours to look around the town, they found a nice spot to sit and look at the great fountain as the sunset bloomed in the west.

"Say, Harry, do you have any muggle currency on you?" Sirius asked, eyeing an ice-cream stand.

"Yeah, there was something left from the shawarma," Harry muttered and started searching his pockets. After a moment, he adopted a surprised expression on his face and took his hand out of his front pocket.

In his palm was… an oval rock. It looked rather plain, if polished to soft shine and warm to the touch. At one end, it had a hole through which a silver chain was put through, hinting at the fact that the stone was meant to be worn on the neck.

"What's that?" Sirius asked lazily.

"Beats me," Harry murmured, trying to recall where he got it, but not quite managing. After a couple of seconds, he shrugged, put the chain around his neck and hid the stone inside of his shirt.

Unseen, a reddish glow surrounded it for a second.

(O)(O)(O)

Harry and Sirius were sitting on a couple of conjured chairs in the shade of a large tree a couple of meters from the edge of the lake. The duo had just finished their mandatory tour of Montreux and were relaxing on the shore with a couple of bottles of butterbeer from their stash.

"So, Germany?"

"Yep. This Black Forest sounds like a lot of fun. I've heard that the real Black Forest was concealed from the muggles when the Statute went into effect. Too many magical creatures, they said," Harry took another swig of the drink, sighing in satisfaction as the pleasant warmth spread through his body.

"It's not like that these days. Hell, even back then the forest had already lost the majority of its occupants. The name came about because of elves – true elves, not the house ones – and they have left for parts unknown a thousand years ago," Sirius noted.

"I know. Still, I reckon it will be interesting," Harry went silent for a couple of moments, a wry grin on his lips. "Is it wrong if I don't much care about where we're going as long as I see that Assembly in Egypt?"

His godfather shook his head.

"You and your enchanting. No, it's not wrong - you're interested in what you are good at. And you are good, kid, especially considering your age."

A corner of Harry's mouth twitched.

"Anyway, what we're going to do is visit Bern tomorrow, and take a tourist bus to Munich. Then we're getting to Baden-Baden on rail."

"Fine by me. Say, what if we just apparate there?"

Sirius laughed.

"Apparition doesn't work like that. You need to know where you're going, for one. I've never been to southern Germany - I had to come to Berlin a couple of times on Order business, but not anywhere else. Also, there's also the way that the ministries have ways of detecting long-range apparition and ones that cross over the borders. I was nearly captured once when I forgot about that little fact."

"Damn. I didn't really like travelling by bus. Too much time wasted."

"I hear you, Harry, but there you have it."

"By the way, before I forget, I need to learn how to Apparate. It's too useful a skill not to have."

"Sure. I'll teach you when we get to the forest. Plenty of secluded spots," Sirius went silent as a gaggle of laughing teenagers passed by them, a couple of adults trudging behind with long-suffering faces. "Have you thought about becoming an animagus?"

Harry snorted.

"Yes. Many times. Not worth it."

His godfather choked slightly on his butterbeer and sent an indignant and questioning look at him.

"What? Are you crazy? It's massively useful!"

"Not really. It depends a lot on the form. What if my form is a fish?"

"No, there aren't any aquatic animagi. There are only ever land creatures. I remember James being very disappointed that he can't become a bird," Sirius explained. "The only animagi that can fly are insects, and those are rather rare."

"Anyway," Harry interrupted, "I will have to drink the goddamn potion to learn my form, and that will knock me out for a week. Did you drink the potion during the summer or what?"

"No, the winter holidays. I remember James had to reenervate Wormtail as the bastard didn't wake up from his trance by the time the classes started," Sirius scowled, as he always did when the traitor came up in a conversation, but then he grinned suddenly. "The spell didn't work, and we had to invent several reasons why he couldn't leave the dormitory. After he woke up, he couldn't understand why all the girls looked at him with pity."

"I really don't want to know," Harry sighed and looked at the mountains' reflection in the still waters of the lake.

So far, life in exile was surprisingly good. If everything went according to the plan, it would continue to do so.

Of course, when was life that simple?

Author's note

I'm very unhappy with this chapter, but it kept resisting me until the bitter end. In any case, the exams are coming, and I doubt I will be able to publish anything new until July. After that I will have much more time to write, plus, my outlines are much better for the chapters after the third, so there shouldn't be any accidents like the contrabandist who arrived in the file without my express knowledge and demanded that I rewrite more than a couple of future plans to suit his needs.

Cheers!