Drifting Cloud
000
After telling the magical world to go fuck themselves, Harry leaves, and declares his refusal to fight Voldemort for them. They're on their own as he rediscovers the forgotten Black Legacy and steps into a brand new world.
KHR/HP, mild Old Kingdom, Kingdom Hearts, , and Ocean's 11 crossovers.
Slash
000
CHAPTER ONE
In all truthfulness, he had always been something of a coward. No, perhaps less of a coward and more just... selfish? Lazy? Impatient? Ahh, it was hard to explain. He didn't understand it fully himself, just that he had a melting point, his bullshit gauge could only take so much before the glass shattered and suddenly... his ability to care became hampered. He became, politely stated, a self-serving, selfish bastard.
Sat there, chains rattling within inches of his wrists, rough wood perfumed with the reek of old fear-induced sweat, blood from desperate fingernails and hands trying to tear their way free... He could feel the breaking point approaching and passed a thought back to those nearest and dearest, a vain hope that they would forgive him for what was about to occur. His temper was flashpoint, but his patience... ahh, that was another story. His patience. He had always prided himself on his patience. His ability to accept and deal and adapt and make the best of the worst. But he could only stand so much. And when it reached that point...
In all honesty, he was surprised they couldn't hear the sound of his teeth grinding as he had to bite back the multitude of nasty retorts brewing under his tongue.
"It's not a question of how impressive the magic was," Fudge bit out testily as he glowered at Susan Bones's Aunt, the Head of the DMLE. "In fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle!" Yes, a Muggle fully aware of the magical world, but he was conveniently ignoring that tidbit.
Those who had been frowning throughout the trial took to muttering softly in agreement, creating a low, ominous drone in the background that only served to set Harry even further on edge with the hissing undertones and captured harsh intonations. He hated being unable to hear what was being said. Even the sight of Percy's sanctimonious little nod inflamed his temper, knob-gargling little shit.
"I did it because of the Dementors," he said loudly, before any more of the self-righteous little twazzocks could interrupt him once again. One would have thought for such venerable individuals raised in Pureblood society they would know a little fucking something about manners. But when you have persons of such good breeding like Lucius Malfoy running around with Death Eaters, murdering, torturing, raping, etc, etc, well... what could one expect from such a society if that was considered the 'crème ala crème'.
He expected a derisive laugh, perhaps more muttering, but the sudden ringing silence that filled the room was somehow both ominous but also somewhat gratifying. Let them chew on that. Let them choke on the idea that there are Dementors out of their control.
Or were they?
Were they really out of the Ministry's control? The seed of doubt began to grow even as Madam Bones eyed him sceptically.
"Dementors?" she echoed, "What do you mean, boy?"
'My name is fucking Harry. Is it too much to ask for you to remember my damn name when you spend eighty percent of your time dragging it through the mud?' he thought aggressively, but he didn't say it, no matter how much he wanted to.
"I mean there were two Dementors down that alleyway and they went for me and my cousin!" he snapped at the idiot woman. Did he fucking stutter?
"Ah," Fudge suddenly said silkily, an unpleasantly superior smirk decorating his face as he turned to look around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. "Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this."
"Dementors in Little Whinging?" Bones continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I don't understand – "
"Don't you, Amelia?" Fudge asked her playfully, his eyes glittering with malicious triumph, still smirking. "Let me explain. He's been thinking it through and decided Dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see Dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient... so it's just your word and no witnesses..."
And that... was that.
Heat blossomed throughout Harry's body, the hard fluttery feeling in his stomach turned to lead and ice and his ears started ringing in rage. He felt the snap. Enough was enough. This was the breaking point.
The Broken Point.
His jaw worked soundlessly before he sighed slowly through his nose and got to his feet.
"You know what, Minister?" he asked, voice deceptively light. "Fuck you."
The sudden ringing silence was not a little gratifying. It was exceptionally gratifying as mouths opened in disbelief. Whatever anyone had been expecting, it had not been that declaration of contempt.
The Gryffindor sneered at him, whole body throbbing with rage, "Fuck you. Fuck the Ministry, Fuck you," he finished, looking directly at Dumbledore who was perhaps the most shocked of everyone there, the old man leaned back blinking in confusion and shock. Harry turned to the room at large, "Fuck all of you. I'm done. I am fucking done. You don't want to believe me that Voldemort is back? Fine. Go right a-fucking-head. But know this," he said, withdrawing a wand from his pocket. "I'm done. It's not my problem anymore. You deal with him."
Dumbledore blanched, "Harry, my boy, just what are you saying?" he spluttered in horror.
Gimlet green eyes slid down to pin him into his seat with icy contempt, "I'm saying that I wash my hands of Britain. Of the Ministry of Magic. Of you. Of Hogwarts. Of Voldemort. They don't want to believe that Voldemort is back even as his Death Eaters line their pockets with gold in order to look the other way – they are fucking WELCOME to him!" he snarled before turning and pinning Fudge with a look of scathing revulsion and steely foreknowledge, "But then shit hits the fan and they can't deny it anymore... I'm not going to be there to clean up the fucking mess. They've made their bed. They can lie in it. They can fucking wallow in it because I am not going to come back and deal with him for them. You created Voldemort. He's your problem, and yours alone."
No one moved fast enough to stop him as he brought one knee up and both hands down, a heart-stopping crack filling the room as he broke the wand over his knee and idly tossed the two halves to opposite ends of the room. He then looked up at one of the Wizengamot members, "See that, Rookwood? Go tell your half-blood son of a Squib master that I'm done. I'm not going to get between him and England. Open. Fucking. Season. He leaves me alone, and I'll leave him alone," he declared to the Death Eater.
And with that, he turned away from Dumbledore, who was too stunned to reach out and catch him before he was out of reach, and stalked to the door. He then paused when he got there and looked over at Fudge.
"Oh, and in case you conveniently 'forgot', my cousin is well aware of magic. So this whole court-case? ...Pointless," he explained flatly before slamming the door shut behind him.
He ignored Mrs Figg as she wrung her hands and shuffled anxiously, not noticing him in her distress and uneasiness at being in the Ministry of Magic as he stalked down the corridor toward the lifts.
Where to now? He wondered. As he stepped into the lift, he eyed the floor numbers before nodding to himself. He would make his mind up when he reached the Department of Magical Transportation. Once he'd decided where to go, he would call Dobby and ask the excitable elf to get his things from Grimmauld Place for him while he went off to places far away and free from the Ministry.
If they loved Voldemort so much, they could have him.
000
Harry grit his teeth furiously as he walked down the street to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He had intended on getting a Portkey somewhere nice and sunny that had never heard of Voldemort, or the Dursleys, but apparently because he wasn't Of Age, he wasn't allowed to get a Ministry Sanctioned Portkey without parental consent. And as soon as she said that the woman at the supply counter seemed to realise who she was speaking to and winced. Points to her for standing her ground though. So, with no other option than to either wait around for Dumbledore or Mr Weasley to find him, Harry made a quick escape and walked back – leaving a Ministry of Magic that was still reeling.
He was not looking forward to dealing with everyone when he got in. All of them bleating like fucking sheep about how he couldn't do this, he couldn't just snap his wand and leave England. Fuck that.
He would go in, pack his things, and then leave. He would go to Gringotts, get his money out, convert it, and then leave the fucking muggle way if he had to. Anyone who tried to stop him had better pull a wand, because he wasn't going to listen to anything those fucking enablers had to say.
Far from cooling his temper as he had hoped, the walk back from the Ministry had done nothing more than get him more and more wound up as he realised that five minutes and phial of Veritaserum would have solved EVERYTHING. ALL of his life's biggest fuck ups and problems could have been averted or avoided entirely or resolved with three drops of that one potion and five minutes of the right questions.
Sirius would have never been in Azkaban. Peter would have been outed as the Spy. His parents may very well have been alive. He may have even been a big brother by this point. And even if it was inevitable, with Veritaserum and Sirius, he could have just moved into a huge fuck-off mansion with the Durlseys living in one wing, him and Sirius in another. They would never have to interact. They would still be calling the same place home. The bloodwards would still be active, still work. He would have just been raised with Sirius, never being starved or verbally abused or neglected. He would have known about magic and about how his parents died and he would have gone to Hogwarts with some idea of what to expect and how to keep his head above the tide.
Five fucking minutes and three drops of a Potion that Snape carried around in his top pocket in order to threaten students into telling him what he wanted to know.
Everything could have been resolved.
But no. No.
That's too much to ask when trying to prove that an evil Dark Lord was back and trying to murder everyone. Can't use that potion, we may not like what we have to hear. Can't even give Sirius Black a trial. Much too busy with our constant partying in the aftermath of Voldemort's death. Nope.
He growled as he wrenched the front door open, gearing up for a fight, half expecting to have Molly Weasley, Hermione, even Dumbledore himself bear down on him like an avalanche.
Only for the house to be utterly empty.
He stared in confusion at the dust motes he could see in the midday sunbeams struggling weakly through grotty windows half cleaned. No distant sound of Mrs Weasley clattering through the kitchen, no stomping of Ginny or the twins upstairs, not even the quiet murmur of the Order trying to discuss things they didn't want children to hear but had nowhere else to talk about it. Not even Kreacher could be heard.
He closed the door behind him. The sudden lack of target for his rage made his head throb painfully with a stress migraine.
He needed a drink. THEN he would go and pack and get the fuck out of the country.
Padding quietly down the hall, he roughly shouldered open the kitchen door and made sure it shut relatively quietly behind him, his migraine being what it was the last thing he needed was Mrs Black waking up and making his ears ble-
"Harry!" Sirius yelped, "B-they – The whole Order's out looking for you!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet from where he had been sat with his head in his hands at the kitchen table.
Harry grunted, the pain was getting more than a little bit bothersome, "Keep your voice down, Padfoot," he croaked rubbing his head as he staggered to the sink.
"Harry! They said you'd run away!" the last Animagus Marauder shouted.
The younger Gryffindor recoiled from the noise in pain, "They weren't wrong. After I've packed my things I'm leaving. I've sworn on my magic that if they want to stick their heads in the sand and ignore the fact that Voldemort is back, they can have the bastard. I've washed my hands of it. I don't care anymore. I... I've run out of fucks to give," he stated coldly even as he stuck his head under the tap and greedily began to guzzle the refreshingly cold liquid that gushed out.
"But what about your parents? What on Earth would Lily and James think?" Sirius squawked.
"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHAT THEY WOULD THINK, SIRIUS, BECAUSE THEY'RE FUCKING DEAD!" the green eyed boy roared, whipping away from the sink in order to glare at him. "BUT ON THE WHOLE, GIVEN WHAT I HEAR EVERY TIME A FUCKING DEMENTOR POPS UP BEHIND ME, I'M GOING TO GO WITH THE IDEA THAT THEY WANTED ME TO LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO SEE MY TWENTIETH BIRTHDAY! AN EVENT I'M BEGINNING TO DOUBT IS EVER GOING TO HAPPEN IF DUMBLEDORE CONTINUES TO FUCK UP THE WAY HE HAS BEEN!"
Sirius recoiled away from his Godson as he advanced, eyes gleaming feverishly with anger and pain.
"VOLDEMORT ISN'T MY RESPONSIBILITY! I'M FIF-FUCKING-TEEN – ooh- " the dark haired Gryffindor groaned, his eyes crossing as his knees buckled.
"Harry!" Sirius yelped, rushing over even as the boy yelled in pain, gripping his head. He panicked as an odd purple kind of bubbling fire squeezed out from between his fingers, smelling like rancid meat and rotting fruits. "Harry, take your hand away! I need to see! Something's wrong with your scar, let me take a look!" he called in barely restrained panic as he pried the younger boy's hand away from his face.
That foul thing was bubbling. Red raw, bubbling and swelling as if something was trying to burst out-
Harry screamed as his scar tore open, exploding in gore and violet fire.
Sirius flung himself backwards, shielding his face with his arms as the room was bathed in violet light, shattering all the windows, glasses, and porcelain, setting off all the Portraits in the house and several artefacts that began whirling and whistling and screaming. He squinted against the violet light as he turned back towards his godson, arms shielding his face as the young Gryffindor moaned and panted in pain, on his hands and knees, foul black oil pouring from his forehead in greasy steaming ribbons of goop that splattered thickly onto the tiled floor.
The violet light swirled into a solid ball at Harry's forehead, scorching the foul miasma into curling ash that vanished in the air, broken up and vaporised.
And then exploded up over Harry's head.
"Harry!" the last Black yelled in horror.
The violet flame scorched backwards from his forehead over his hair and face, engulfing his whole body and – sank into his skin...?
Sirius stared as it seemingly sucked itself back into Harry's body. His formerly black hair now stained a vivid shade of purple, perfectly matching the violet flame.
The kitchen fell silent, leaving only the shrieking of portraits and the resounding whistling and whirling of artefacts in other rooms. Just the sound of heavy panting coming from the now purple haired boy as he huddled on the floor in front of the bubbling ooze, vapour gently rising from the slick oily mess.
He scooted forward nervously, one hand inching toward his wand anxiously, "Harry?" he breathed hesitantly.
Vibrant eyes, violet, the same colour as his hair, looked up at him, not a speck of green in sight. And Sirius felt his heart clench in his chest.
"S-Sirius? Ugh, my head," he groaned, those alien eyes dropping as a shaking hand came up to delicately touch his forehead, and freeze at the slick feeling of foetid magic under his fingertips. "What happened?" he asked weakly as he pulled his hand away from his forehead, staring at the slick black and red ooze on his fingertips with a disturbed expression on his face.
"You tell me," the former Gryffindor croaked, hand pausing half way to his wand.
Harry shook his head, looking positively alien with the oddly floaty violet hair that now framed his pale face, to speak nothing of the jewel-bright amethyst coloured eyes. "Fudge was being a berk. So I told him to go and fuck himself. Snapped my wand and stormed out. Told them that they were welcome to Voldemort if that was what they wanted. Stormed back. I just... When I get angry enough, I just stop caring. Gives me one hell of a headache though. I figured this was just one of them. Normally I'd go somewhere dark and quiet and just... calm down but – I feel so much better now. What happened? Why is my head bleeding and what is this black stuff?" he demanded, roughly scrubbing his forehead with a sleeve, wiping the majority of the gunk off and causing more blood to dribble down his face.
Almost reflexively, a basic Healing Charm was out of Sirius's lips before he could stop himself, second hand wand flicking through the air. Harry sighed as the flesh on his face knitted back together and sealed over. He rubbed his face again, smearing blood and black ooze but for the most part getting the worst of it off. And then Sirius gaped.
"What?" Harry demanded sharply in worry.
"Y-Your scar..." the former Gryffindor gaped.
Frowning in confusion and anxiousness, Harry jumped to his feet, staggering only a little and made his way to the mirror hanging above the fireplace.
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY HAIR?" the formerly black haired boy yelped in shock, gripping the violet strands in shock, and no small amount of horror.
"Screw your hair, Harry, look at your Scar!" Sirius snapped, coming up behind him.
The younger Gryffindor spluttered in impotent confusion and horror before doing as he was told and squinting at his forehead. However, due to the gunk, there was nothing to be seen. Licking a clean segment of his shirt-sleeve, he mopped at his forehead, clearing away the smeared ooze and blood to get a better look at his scar which –
Was... Not... There...
He gaped unattractively, staring at his clear forehead. That...
Did that mean the black gunk was – Sirius yelped in shock as Harry suddenly wrenched his shirt off and overhead, throwing it away from himself so far it nearly hit the dog Animagus in the face before he was over at the sink and sticking his head under the still running tap, scrubbing furiously at his face and arms. Anywhere that stuff had touched.
"Sirius, burn that shirt! And the black stuff!" he ordered sharply as he turned the cold tap off and started running the hot one, grabbing a scouring pad and going to town on his forehead. He was not leaving a single speck of Voldemort's magic on his skin. The smell of burning filled the room and he knew the former Gryffindor had done as he asked.
"Harry?" Sirius questioned hesitantly as his godson finally took his head out from under the tap, his forehead red raw from scrubbing, but clean.
"Dumbledore always said that Voldemort may have left a piece of himself in my scar. It would hurt whenever he was near, or touched me, or got really angry. If whatever had just happened burned my scar off, then that black ooze was probably – "
"You Know Who's magic. Right. Good call on the burning thing," the dog Animagus praised, sounding horrified as he sat down in the nearest seat, staring at the black soot-stain on the tiled floor. Dabbing his sore skin with a tea-towel, Harry stared at his godfather.
"I'm sorry about shouting earlier," he said. He wasn't sorry about what he shouted, only that he had shouted in the first place.
Sirius waved a hand, "No. You're right. You're only fifteen, You Know Who isn't your responsibility. He was never your responsibility. I've... I've let Lily and James down so much..." he dropped his head into his hands, digging his thin fingers into the tangled black mane. Harry sighed, tossing the tea-towel on the countertop.
"I can't exactly stay in England anymore. Since I've snapped my Wand and all, I'd be a sitting duck. Not to mention the abuse the general public would heap on me. Plus, you're still Wanted," he pointed out dully.
Sirius suddenly inhaled and sat upright, "Then we leave. Go somewhere else. I should have done this years ago. I should have just taken you and left that night I saw you running away from those muggles. I knew that look. It was the same one I wore when I ran away from here. Go pack your things. I'll seal the house temporarily, everyone in the Order is out scouring London looking for you right now so they won't be coming back any time soon, but better to be safe than sorry. I'll leave them a note or something about what we intend to do. Kreacher! Kreacher, damnit, get your damnable backside in here!" he roared sharply.
Almost mutinously, the elderly House Elf cracked into existence in front of him, "What does filthy Mast- YOU!" he suddenly howled, pointing a gnarled finger at Harry, eyes boggling.
Sirius snarled, "Put that finger away, Elf, and pay attention!" he snarled, the enchantments that governed Kreacher forcing him to obey the order but that didn't stop him from sneaking stunned glances every now and again at Harry from the corner of his eye. "Fetch everything that belongs to Harry, and I mean everything Kreacher. Everything that has even a smidgeon of his Magical Signature and set it into his room immediately. Do not take anything out of his room afterwards, and do not take anything out of his room before you start putting things in. You aren't allowed to contact anyone, or stop anywhere to talk to anyone either, and you are not to be seen by anyone that isn't Harry, or myself. Am I clear?" Sirius growled with narrowed eyes. Harry forcing himself not to wince in unpleasant remembrance at the very familiar tone and wording that he would often receive from Uncle Vernon.
"Kreacher understands Unworthy Master's commands and will do as Kreacher is told. Kreacher is a loyal elf of the Black Family's noble bloodline," he added with a Look in Harry's direction that was hard to decipher. He then cracked away, leaving Harry and Sirius alone in the kitchen.
"I suppose we shouldn't tell them where we're planning on going. Otherwise they'll waste valuable time trying to track us down instead of fighting You Know Who," Sirius murmured as he dug around for a quill and parchment.
Harry hummed, rubbing his arms and frowning, "I should probably issue a statement to the Daily Prophet as well. That way the Ministry can't twist what happened today for their own ends."
"Good idea. Here, you should probably write it first. Fudge moves pretty fast when he smells something that'll boost his career," the dog Animagus explained as he handed the younger boy the writing equipment, "I'll go lock the house down," he said before leaving the kitchen. He seemed strangely cheerful, Harry decided, he didn't even stop to have a screaming match with his mother as he passed. Something Harry had not yet seen him pass up.
Sitting down at the kitchen table, he penned a quick letter.
To Whom It May Concern,
As of eleven O'clock today, I, Harry James Potter, have snapped
my Wand and left England. If you wish to stick your heads in the
sand and ignore the words of myself and Albus Dumbledore, be
my Guest.
I have washed my hands of you.
I will not be your hero.
I will not fight for you.
I have even vowed upon this, as long as I am left alone, I shall
not lift a finger to defend Britain or its peoples. Open season as far
as I am concerned. I will not be here anymore. I will not save you
anymore.
To all muggleborns, there is an entire world out there. Magic isn't
solely the privilege of the British. I suggest leaving.
To the rest of you, I hope you are prepared for what is coming.
You're on your own now.
Just remember: You brought it on yourselves.
Sincerely,
Harry Potter
The Boy Who Had Enough
000
Finding a way to word the majority of his letter was difficult, if he made it obviously Anti-Ministry, they would never print it, if he made any overt reference to Voldemort, they would refuse to Print it and then mock him. Well, they would mock him anyway, but anyone with a modicum of doubt in the establishment would undoubtedly start feeling a little nervous. He also made a second letter, this one to Professor McGonagall, withdrawing himself from Hogwarts on the grounds that he felt he was not safe within her halls, also, he snapped his wand. He was no longer eligible to learn within her prestigious Halls.
"Now... How to deliver these without – um," he paused, an idea suddenly coming to him but... ahhh, he didn't know, would it be alright? Would it work? Well, he was alone in the room... no one could really make fun of him if it failed. "Dobby, do you have a spare moment?" he asked to the ceiling.
He didn't really expect anything to happen, but suddenly there was a crack, and the maniacal House Elf appeared looking positively ecstatic to see him, "Harry Potter Sirs be calling Dobby?" he chirped happily.
"Err, yeah. Do you think you could give this letter to Professor McGonagall, and this one to the Editor of the Daily Prophet?" he requested, holding the two of them out.
Dobby nodded so rapidly his ears flapped, "Of course Harry Potter sir! Dobby will, sir!" he exclaimed, taking the letters and cracking away immediately.
Harry sighed, well, he had withdrawn himself from Hogwarts, and now told the whole of England that he was leaving the country as well. He had best get to packing. He and Sirius had perhaps until seven O'clock until the Order returned from their fruitless search and found the house on lockdown. And not long after that would be the evening edition of the Daily Prophet and people would know he'd ditched out of the country. He rubbed his head as he left the kitchen and winced when he realised no one had attempted to shut Lady Black up. She was still screeching away in the hallway like a banshee.
A banshee who gagged at the sight of him, her eyes bulging out of their painted sockets as she got a good look at his purple-violet hair, "You – YOU!" she screeched, her face purpling to Uncle Vernon levels, her eyes locked with feral intensity on his hair. "HOW DARE YOU! FILTH OF THE LINE! THIEF SON OF A CHEAP WHORE!" she screeched, frothing at the mouth.
Harry stopped.
There was a peculiar ringing in his ears, he noted idly as he stared at the portrait, uncertain of the feeling that was suddenly so cold and hot and sickening as it shuddered through him, setting every hair on end as he drew a hand back.
The portrait screeched even louder, her words incomprehensible as Harry finally identified the emotion he felt as his fist – engulfed with violet flame – impacted against the canvas of her portrait.
Rage.
Sheer, unadulterated, uncompromising, rage.
No one insulted Lily Potter in front of him. No one.
Malfoy made that mistake once. He didn't do it again.
Snape never even attempted to.
The portrait exploded, taking a solid chunk out of the wall behind it and all Harry did was claw his hand and rip the remaining canvas and wooden framing off the wall and throw it aside.
"MISTRESS!" Kreacher howled, barrelling down the stairs to the broken portrait.
Harry turned and went up the stairs, leaving Kreacher to his noisy mourning, feeling oddly numb as he finally reached his bedroom and pushed it open, staring in mixed emotions at the collection of things that were currently piled haphazardly throughout the room. Several of these things most definitely weren't his. But apparently they held his magical signature, otherwise Kreacher wouldn't have taken them – he wasn't like Dobby who would pick things up that may or may not come in handy, he would follow the letter of his orders, not the spirit.
But the assorted piles of junk in his room wasn't what took his attention. It was the length of holly that was sat, nice and neat, on his bedside table. Almost in a daze, he walked across the room and picked it up, feeling the familiar rush of warmth through his fingertips and stared.
This was his wand.
Had Kreacher managed to repair it? No, he wouldn't even have bothered. So what... One of Fred and George's fakes? But surely it would have turned into a rubber chicken or something as soon as he touched it, right? Surely the wand check at the Ministry would have shown it as a fake, right?
Confused, but relieved, he tucked the length of wood into his back pocket before turning to the rest of the junk in his room. Well, he'd best start sorting it before anything else. But first, T-shirt. He was getting cold.
Things he definitely knew were his he placed on his bed next to his trunk, ready to be sorted into what he wanted to keep, and what he wanted to leave behind. Trunks and boxes that weren't his got set to one corner, books into another. Thankfully that seemed to be the majority of the things, trunks and books, with the exception of a small silver device he had only ever seen in Uncle Vernon's office that one time he was forced to go into Grunnings along with him.
A rolodex.
It caught his attention simply by being the only muggle object that didn't belong to him that was in the room, and he knew it wasn't Ron's or belonging to any of the Weasleys – it was made of solid silver and engraved with fancy runes. And it didn't belong to Sirius, otherwise he would have noticed it in the room before now – and Dung would have had it away in a heartbeat.
He sat on the floor and shook it a little, there was definitely something in it, a lot of somethings actually from the sound of it.
Popping the clasp, he edged the top of it open and stared in surprise. Phials. Almost like those perfume testers that Aunt Petunia would get for free at John Lewis but half the size, all of them set in an odd series of hanging racks. He pulled one out and held it up to the light, blinking at the odd liquid inside. Glowing white, looking a little like wisps from a patronus it seemed to be emanating from a hair. White as snow and glowing with misty inner light.
Was it a potion?
Humming thoughtfully, he stowed the phial back in place and closed the rolodex up again, he would bring it to Sirius later, once he had sorted through everything else in the room.
He dragged one of the unknown trunks to the middle of the room and popped it open, time to get started.
000
Many thanks to Reighost for allowing me the use of her plot-devices, for being my sounding board, and motivational poker (if not for her, this story would not have been written). XDDD
You guys have no idea how long this has been sat on my PC waiting to be published. I created it back in December... 2014. I didn't want to publish it until I had a sizable amount of buffer chapters, and while I don't have as many as I would have liked – I couldn't wait to update anymore. I had to update.
So here we are. I updated. Hope you've enjoyed it.