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Chapter One: Playing With Fire

By Gaerdir

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"Guilt is heaviest with a survivor."

– The Book of Regret

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January 3, 2004

Godric's Hollow

He thought it would have been obvious where he would go when it was all over.

Impregnated clouds hung over the overcast skies, adding to the poignancy of the moment. It seemed it had been decades since his last visit a few years ago. He was no longer the guilt free teenager seeking salvation from his strenuous task.

He was now a man, a man whose conscience continually pulled him down, a mental warfare whose battleground was splattered with the blood of hundreds of comrades. His hands were splotched with guilt. His head was bent and heavy with regret.

He had expected jubilance upon victory. Glee that was unattainable by any other means other than completing your one mission in life.

How naïve he had been when he was just a few short years younger.

Harry walked past the same fence, resisting the urge to touch it and witness its wondrous magic again, a testament unharmed by time. There would be time for that later.

The streets were strangely absent of any life whatsoever. No sapling grew from the odd crack in the asphalt. Bathilda Bagshot's grisly murder must have struck terror into the little village.

Bathilda Bagshot… It was strange that such an underdeveloped town could be home to events that shaped history…

Harry kicked open the gate to the cemetery. Rusty, it moved erratically before finally screeching to a halt, dangling precariously on its ancient hinges. Corrosion had eaten away the foundations of the gate. It had once been a proud entrance, Harry could tell that much. It was now reduced to a dissipating shadow of its former self. That wouldn't do.

"Reparo!" he intoned.

The door seemingly gained a mind of its own for a few seconds. It straightened, bringing its long broken top socket to its corresponding hinge. Metal flowed over, resealing the gate into its original position. The paint reformed, bringing alive the fence with brilliant hues that had long since faded.

It stood out, paranormal among its mundane surroundings.

Harry tested the gate, and then wiped his palms on his jeans. Glancing quickly around, he strode towards the gravestones.

Hermione wasn't with him this time. Conjuring up flowers, he gently placed them in front of his mother's and father's graves. He knelt gently in front of the white stones, on the packed soil.

"I did it," he said, pausing as though the simple statement had taxed his oratory powers.

"I did it. I killed the Dark Lord. Your murderer. This should be a time of widespread joy and celebrations. And it is. The news is spreading, and the oppression the people felt…" He paused. "For most people. I, Harry Potter, the 'Chosen One', lived up to the expectations. I rid the world of the dark plague that had been corrupting it for decades. I've ensured that the children of the witches and wizards of our day will have children with long lives. Only–" he paused again, "Only there will be fewer kids this time around."

A mourning wind blew, arousing the newly born leaves of the trees with its lamentations. The silence around Harry escalated into Nature's own orchestrated symphony.

"Maybe you know that already. I don't even know if you can see things from up there, or if you can even hear me now. But I was sick of being used by Dumbledore, and I let my hot head get in the way. Rationality gave way to impulses. Impulses led to mistakes. And mistakes led to deaths. Others tell me that I am not to blame. It was Voldemort's doing that removed the innocent students that were yet to strike a chord in the universe. Through my rebellion against wrong, I doomed children of Hogwarts to horrific deaths before they could grow to fully-fledged men and women, masters in their own chosen fields. I feel like that I sacrificed the future to save the present. Is that right? Is that wrong? Can anyone even answer that question? Perhaps their deaths were not my fault, yet I still feel the weight of each one."

"In my own way, I am just as viable to be prosecuted as any Death Eater." A humorless chuckle. "The Ministry seems to want that. Apparently, if I have political ambitions, my popularity 'may cause a severe disruption in the proceedings of the ministry.' I'm being followed, chased everywhere, no time to myself, no personal bubble to languish in."

Harry was now rubbing the dirt, penetrating its uppermost soil with his finger.

"At times I wonder, why me? Why should I be the one with my parents dead? Why should I have survived? Why couldn't I die? And suddenly Dumbledore appears in my head: 'Everything that has occurred has been pre-ordained. You are a part of a greater plan, Harry,' he says. What greater plan? Why was the manipulative old coot in my head? My friends are dead. I just want to be left alone now. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?"

Harry took a several deep breaths. "There is too much burden on me and too few by my side. Everything that has happened to me seems planned, and I need to find out who's at the bottom of this."

And so…, Harry thought. I have another mission… Perhaps it was meant to be. But meant to be according to whom?

He suddenly wished Hermione was still alive, more than ever. She had been his level-headed friend, helping him work his way out of the shady corners of his mind…but that was fantasy, wishes that Nagini had ruined on their visit.

They had been captured and tortured, and soon the rest of the Weasley family was with them, suffering the pain of the Cruciatus a thousand times over, along with various inventive Muggle torture methods. For a pureblood, Bellatrix had been quite knowledgeable. In his delirium, he had lost control over his tightly bound magic. He snapped to his senses, but it was too late. His magic had cried for the blood of sacrifice, and it had received it. He had fallen unconscious after the episode, but woke up to find his prison destroyed and his enemies broken.

He had also found the shattered, bleeding bodies of his loved ones, of his fellow prisoners, who never even stood a chance.

It had been then that the realization hit him. His magic had done this. He had done this. What sort of monster was he?

For Hermione… For Ron… For the Weasleys… And for Ginny… I must find out who planned this. At any cost.

Even if the world burns. I will find out. They unleashed me. It's time they realize that you can't play with fire… without getting burned.

Unbidden, the memory of his encounter in his mind came to him. He had sunk to the lowest pits of despair, his body wracked with disgust at what he had been forced to do to ensure his survival. Somehow, the thought of joining them entered his mind, and from there, it took root, and grew everywhere, occupying his thoughts almost completely until one day…

But he hadn't died, his magic had weakened the Cutting Curse just enough for him to survive. But he had an unwelcome visitor waiting for him in his head. The old coot himself.

"There are many categories for a wizard to be in, Harry. Not many know this, as they are hardly released to the public, but the lowest category is 'Squib', and the highest is 'Warlock'."

Dumbledore took a deep breath.

"But that is not the limit, Harry. If a wizard feels the pain of killing a loved one with his own hand, his magic unlocks a natural limitation on his potential. He becomes a Mage, Harry. And there are classifications in this type of magical being as well. I am a mere Mage, level four. You, my dear boy, through your actions tonight, have become an Archmage. The highest level of power possible, right above an Arcane Sorcerer, level one."

"With the sacrifice of your dearest friends and family, you have gained the power to defeat Voldemort."

"But you have a greater purpose, Harry. All this has been done for a reason. It has all been pre-ordained. You are part of a greater plan, Harry."

Harry stayed silent for a while longer; fuming internally, before he stood, cloak swirling ominously.

"Whoever you are," he spat out loud, "You made a grave mistake when you messed with me and mine. Hear this, puppeteer. I will find you. I will make you pay for every death you have added to my burden. I will find out why. And then, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. And you will suffer. This I promise you."

Harry's eyes glowed with restrained power, before he simply disappeared, going to the one place he knew might hold important information.

XXX

The Leaky Cauldron was normally a lively pub, being the main entrance to Diagon Alley and a long-standing fixture in Magical Britain's backdrop. Everyone knew the Leaky Cauldron. It was especially famous for its comfortable rooms, and handy service.

The barkeeper, Tom, he had been part of the Leaky Cauldron for nearly his entire life, but he had never seen it as empty as it had been today.

Damn Dark Lord, he thought viciously, wiping down the bar counter, messing around with my customers. I've only got one left upstairs now. The rest don't even bother to come now.

The door opened with a bang, startling Tom from his bitter thoughts.

A gaggle of excited wizards and witches rushed in, chattering and increasing the noise levels in the pub to heights it hadn't seen in over ten years. Tom continued to wipe the bar, puzzling over the sudden crown when an obviously drunk middle-aged wizard walked up to him with a lopsided grin on his face.

"Ya hearrrrd the newsss, Tooom?" He stretched out his words, grinning.

The entire bar became as silent as it had been before the crowd entered; the atmosphere was tense, as if they were waiting for something to happen before they acted.

"No, not at all... why? What happened?" Tom asked, curious.

The bar seemed to draw in a breath before the wizard spoke.

"Heeee-Who-Muuust-Not-Be-Naaaamed… he's been defeated."

The bar erupted once again, home to noise levels that hadn't been heard since that fateful night around twenty three years ago. Tom struggled to make himself heard above the noise.

"Who did it? Do you know who did it?"

The bar paused again as his question made its way around.

"Why… that Potter boy of course! I was there! I saw it with me own eyes!" The wizard answered.

"A round of Firewhiskey, and Butterbeer for the young 'uns, Tom! On me tonight!" An older, more distinguished looking wizard shouted from the back.

Tom grinned. "Coming right up, Frederick! We have many things to celebrate for tonight!"

As the barkeeper left, he could hear the wizard who had told him the news begin to get pestered with incessant questions about what had happened in the battle. Tom began to chuckle. After the bar was closed up, he would go tell his guest the news.

He wanted to see if the young man would be scared… or defiant.

XXX

Harry materialized in Diagon Alley, making sure to keep to the shadows to avoid the obviously excited mobs roaming excitedly in the now lively looking magical shopping district. He snorted.

Sheep, he thought angrily. Cower until someone else takes care of the problem for them… and then celebrate like they'd been freed from suffering. Any moment, some smart-arse bastard of a politician will get the smart idea of blaming me for the 'loss of promising magical talent', and throwing me in jail. And then they'll all continue with their lives like nothing had happened for the last 10 years.

The Ministry of Magic had been very accommodating when they first heard he had gotten rid of the 'magical terrorist' who had been 'holding Magical Britain hostage'. They bestowed an Order of Merlin, First Class on him in front of the Minister himself, and had also added a hefty sum into his already full vault. They had added a portrait of him in the Ministry, and even offered him a sponsored position at Hogwarts, or a high-end job in the Ministry itself. But when he refused to take a job… the Minister for Magic was quick to warn him.

"I hope you don't plan on running for the position of Minister or a seat in the Wizengamot, Potter. Not only would I be sure to lose, but your popularity would cause severe disruptions in the proceedings of the Ministry. And we can't afford to get no work done!"

Harry had half-chuckled and assured the slimy ex-Auror that he wasn't planning on entering active politics any time soon.

But inside, his cold rage burned even more brightly.

Even an imbecile could have heard the distinct undertone of warning in the Minister's tone when he spoke to him about his future. It had not even been a few hours, and already the sharks were beginning to plan out their attacks to gain the most power in the vacuum that had been created by the long war.

They disgusted him.

Sometime he wondered what it was like in the other magical nations that covered the world. Were the politicians there just as opportunistic and cold-hearted, or were they better? Or worse? It was something he kept asking himself.

Now he wondered if his search would take him abroad, because there sure as hell wasn't anyone in Britain who could command Dumbledore. As annoying as the old man had been, his power wasn't something to scoff at.

Harry shook himself, bringing his attention back to the job at hand.

He knew that his target had been holed up under Tom's protection for quite a few months now, staying in one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron. But he also knew that the pub's spellwork on its walls prevented direct Apparition onto the floors that held the rooms.

It was also impolite.

Harry sighed. It looked like he was going to have to show his face in the now obviously crowded pub to get to speak to Tom.

He shuffled closer to the wall that led to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and began typing out the pattern as he had seen Hagrid do so many years ago. He ended with three taps on the brick that was 'three up, two across", Hagrid's gruff voice echoing in his head. Harry stepped through the slowly growing hole that had started in the middle of the last brick he had tapped, letting a rare smile cross his face. That kind of magic never ceased to amaze him.

Harry crept closer to the door that would allow him to enter the famous landmark. He pushed it slightly open and looked inside the room through the crack. It was slightly brighter than he remembered, and way more full than it had been when he had first been here.

He could still remember that first experience of the Wizarding World; the dark, grubby place with a couple of hags in a corner, old wizards talking over a bottle of Firewhiskey, and a little man in a top hat talking to the barkeeper, Tom, who looked rather like a bald walnut.

A loud, raucous voice broke through his thoughts.

"–and then, right when we were being beaten down near Mould-on-the-Wold, You-Know-Who appeared at the head of his army. It was like a lightning bolt struck us; we were all so paralyzed, it was supposed to be our last stand, see, but none of us imagined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would appear. We thought we would end yesterday buried six feet under. And then, out of nowhere, there was this blaze of light! It was like those pictures you see of when Headmaster Dumbledore came out to defeat Grindelwald, right? And out steps this boy, no older than twenty five, and I was like 'Blimey! That's Harry Potter!'."

"He just turns to us and says 'You did well. I'll take over from here.' Or something like that, but we're all still frozen, see. So, Potter just nods at us, and then wham! He's gone! All around us, those damn Death Eaters are dropping like flies, and we could see that Potter was going full out. And then, when we all unfrozen, we ready our wands and start stunning them bastards. Potter's magic is whipping up a storm you know, attacking like five foes at once, and he's taking on ten others with his wand!"

"And then, I swear on Merlin's saggy left…" At this the wizard paused and beadily eyed the wide-eyed children, and then said, "Well, you know what I mean…" getting a few appreciative chuckles.

He continued. "He brought You-Know-Who into the fight as well. We'd taken care of the rest by then, and we're just watching this young man battling some ten Death Eaters, and their godforsaken master… all at once."

The bar seemed to be frozen in awe at the middle-aged wizard's story. Some of the people seemed to have brought their drinks halfway up to their mouths, and then forgotten about what they were doing, opting instead to stare incredulously at the speaker.

"One by one, Potter finished the Death Eaters off, all the while fending off the attacks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And boy, when the young man finally got rid of the rest, and turned his full attention towards that pasty-faced bastard, was the Dark Lord pissed." The last word was hissed out with a menacing undertone.

"And, by golly, I daresay Potter and You-Know-Who had a battle that easily outmatched the one from the old times, the Dumbledore and Grindelwald one. Y'all old folks remember that one? With all the transfiguration of the debris and the cagey defensive styles of both? I wouldn't know; I'm quite young myself, but my old man Jack told me. Well, whatever you do remember, this was ten times better. The two of them didn't stick to just one style. There were curses of all sorts flying, hitting the ground explosively, a couple of them even melted through the walls of the nearby houses!"

"And at one point, You-Know-Who got Potter's wand into his own hand, and was wielding two. We were ready to volunteer to hand over ours, when Potter just shook his head, stood up, and began shooting the same curses out of his hands. He had this visible aura of magic, and his eyes were fucking glowing, and he just takes the fight to the surprised Dark Lord, and offs him there and then. He pries his wand, as well as the bastard's, out of his opponent's still warm grasp, and just walks away, nodding to us. No victory speech, no posing for admiration, nothing. He just did what he came to do, and left."

Harry sighed wearily. At least the man was very clear about his thoughts toward Harry. He was appreciating the actions of Harry completing his duties, that's all. Not like the rest of them, who hadn't seemed to register the last sentence the man had spoken. Harry, deciding the crowd was far too large for him to brave, conjured a light cloak and hood to cover himself with. Donning the conjured garments, he pushed the door fully open and strode in, fully ignoring the surprised and suspicious glares directed at him by the bar's occupants, moving directly towards the silent Tom.

"Tom," Harry nodded, before letting his hood fall back enough for his green eyes and fading scar to be visible, "I need to see your… guest."

The barkeeper's eyes widened, but that was the only obvious reaction he outwardly displayed, as he nodded back, and whispered the room number to him. Harry took in the information with a grateful smile, before straightening and taking the stairs behind the bar counter two at a time.

"Hey, Tom! Who in Merlin's name was that?"

"Just an old friend wanting to meet another. That's all."

Harry allowed himself a smirk as he heard the barkeeper's words.

Old friend, indeed.

XXX

The young man sat silently in his dark room, which was flickering in the candlelight. He stared silently at the papers in front of him. For months he had been trying to work out what his father had been doing before he had been suddenly killed.

It seemed as though his father had been playing a far larger game than he or his mother had expected.

There were secrets here, hidden in these agreements, deals, statements and receipts. Secrets that would lead to the person behind all the circumstances that had led to his father's death.

He tensed suddenly.

"You know, your father was a kind of man that I had never imagined before. He, no matter what kind of despicable acts he committed, was always worried about his wife and son. In the end, I guess, he was just a husband who wanted to ensure the safest life for his family." The intruder spoke from the shadowed corner of the room.

"How did you get in?" The young man asked shakily.

"Quite simple, my friend, I used the door."

"I set up extremely dangerous wards there…"

"We both know that wouldn't stop a man like me."

"Yes, well…"

"You could hope, of course." The intruder allowed graciously. "Have you got anything for me? Anything worthwhile after what I asked you to do four months ago?"

Draco Malfoy stood and turned around, facing the corner.

"You never came at a better time, Potter."