Disclaimer: I am not J.K.Rowling. I did not create Harry Potter, nor any
of the other characters in Rowling's books. However, I will respectfully
yet shamelessly drag those characters face-first through a thick (and in
Harry's case, sometimes painful) plot for your entertainment. I am not
making a Knut off of this work, but I am doing it for the pure joy of
writing and a desperate need to distract myself while waiting for the 5th
book.
Author's Notes and Summary: The search for power has blinded the greedy for thousands of years. As Voldemort began his rise to power, he was certain he would be different. He knew his past, he knew the mistakes of others, and he knew his heritage. Unfortunately for him, he didn't know the heritage of his enemy as well as he would like to have thought... and as they say, what you don't know CAN kill you.
As Harry is to find out, sometimes what you DO know can kill you just as easily. Lucky for Harry, he's got a habit of beating the odds, but how many times can you draw an ace from the same deck of cards?
And so the mystery behind the Potters begins to unravel. The fate they've sealed for Harry, the legacy he has to bear. What could a scrap of parchment, a thousand-year-old cover-up, and a raven named Bram have to do with Harry and the secret behind is miraculous survival?
That... is the Potter Legacy.
Enjoy.
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Prologue: The Heir of the Lion
Part 1: Foreign Relations
It was late fall of 1942. A young man was standing on the doorstep of his parents' house in Godric's Hollow, far from the chaos of the Muggle world. The skies were grey, and the wind whipped his coal-black hair into his hazel eyes. No matter, his hair was always a mess. A drop of rain splashed onto the right lens of his glasses. He sighed, took them off, and wiped them on his robes as he turned and walked back into the house. His mother was sniffling slightly, and his father was putting up a brave front. He forced a jovial laugh, trying to live up to his finest Gryffindor traits having only graduated from Hogwarts three and a half years ago.
"Now mum, you act as though I'm going straight to the front lines. I'll be perfectly fine. I'll come home for holidays whenever I can, you know that." His mother didn't seem convinced.
"You're barely grown and they want to send you to war!" she whimpered. "Fighting dark wizards . . . ooh, why on earth did they have to get involved in this war the Muggles are fighting? The dark wizards cause enough trouble, and now, manipulating Muggles, undermining military efforts. It's too much!"
"I know you're brave, son," his father interjected suddenly, "but don't do anything outrageous. You have a tendency to stick your neck out, taking risks that you don't need to take."
"It's not up to me this time. I'll be working for the American Committee of Magic at their headquarters in Salem. It's up to them what I do, and whatever I do, it's for the good of us all, wizard and Muggle alike."
"Son, you've grown up." The worry in his father's voice was partially replaced with a vibrant sense of pride. "I never thought I'd see the day."
Harold suddenly realized just how old his parents were. They hadn't been young when they'd had him and now, with the stress of the war and their worry over him, their age was showing on their faces.
"I'll be home soon as possible, I promise." He picked up his trunk and walked to the door. The ministry car was pulling up in front of the house. He would receive final instructions at the Ministry of Magic headquarters, and then take a Portkey directly to the Salem Committee of Magic headquarters. The rain began to splash against his glasses again, and he was grateful that the rivulets running from his eyes would hide nicely in the water splashing down from the darkened sky.
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Harold Potter had been in Massachusetts for two months, and had adapted to life there quickly. He had already proven himself invaluable to the ACM's efforts. The ACM was stretched to its limit. There were few trained wizards and even fewer experts in this part of the world, and a tremendous Muggle military and government under their jurisdiction.
The depth to which the dark wizards had involved themselves in this muggle war was phenomenal. Speculation about how far up the military and political ladders these wizards had gotten was immense, and more of it was confirmed every day. Many people were quite certain that the initial inspiration for the mass murders and atrocities in the heart of the Axis powers came directly from dark wizards. Rumor had it that Adolph himself had been a graduate of Durmstrang, and had disguised himself in his bid to begin wiping out unwanted populations directly through the Muggle government. All these things were on people minds, but they were secondary to the immediate struggle. Already, dozens of dark wizards had been uncovered within the American military, and had been apprehended by the Special Wizard's Assignment Taskforce, or SWAT, the very team to which Harold had been assigned.
Those raids were simultaneously thrilling and nerve-racking. Harold found himself amazed by the power of the Muggle technology and intricacy of their security systems. However, none of these systems took magic into account and while this permitted the dark wizards to infiltrate them more easily, it also allowed SWAT to apprehend them with relative ease.
Harold shuddered when he thought back to the team leader's reaction to his first mission. "That was easy!" he had said with a grin. In that case, "easy" had involved breaching four top-secret security checkpoints, identifying three wizards from among a group of upper-ranked military officials, and engaging them in a wand fight. They dodged not only stunning curses but also Unforgivables, and finally managed to stun all three wizards. After resuscitating five members of their own squad, modifying the memories of every person in the building, and erasing all recording equipment, they had managed to get their asses out of there before anything actually went wrong. "Easy" apparently meant that nobody had died. Thus far, all his missions had been easy.
Harold was sitting back in his room at the Headquarters one evening when his team leader knocked on the door and poked his head into the room with a weary grin.
"James! Come in!" Harold got up and pulled a chair around for his boss and surrogate father. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, and obviously preferred to avoid shaving whenever possible.
"Hey Harry. I've got some good news for you." James spun his chair around and straddled it, as was his habit.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Harold chuckled aloud.
"It just seems to suit you, that's all. You don't mind, do you? I tend to use nicknames with my friends."
"Ok, ok," Harold said with a grin. "So what's the good news?"
"The squad has the week off. A team from the west coast has sent us some backups, and Merlin knows you all need a break. I can't let you go back to Britain. We may still need to call you back at a moment's notice, if something happens. Still," he paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "there's plenty to do. I'd recommend a trip into Boston. There's lots to see there, lots to do. I'd tell you to visit some of the finer points of Salem, but you've been stuck in town here long enough. Besides, you might just meet a lady-friend in the city. That'd do you right."
James's grin had erupted into a face-splitting smirk.
"Oh my." Harold's ears turned a bright shade of magenta, which stood out absurdly against his normally pale complexion. "Is it my imagination, or did my boss just tell me to go find some action?"
James stretched and stood up. "Well," he said, pacing thoughtfully, "you never know who you'll meet, and I just want you to have a good time, that's all. We have too little of that these days, so I just wanted to give you some ideas, so you can spruce yourself up. Be ready to impress some lovely American witches at a moment's notice. Turn on that British charm."
James paused, turned back to Harold and raised an eyebrow. "Does your hair ever lie flat?"
Harold's cheeks suddenly matched his glowing red ears. "Nope."
"Well, some of the ladies are sure to find it charming. You may even start a new fashion."
"Cut that out!" Harold picked up his pillow and chucked it at his boss. James's laugh rang loudly.
"See you later, Harry! You'd better bring back some good stories!"
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Tom Riddle was pacing around the Slytherin common room. He had just received more news about the war from a Slytherin who had graduated the year before, one of the growing number of Tom's followers. He mused to himself about how many people in his house had recognized, feared, and respected his power as early as his second year. Many of them had begun to follow his lead, even those who were several years his senior. This encouraged him further, and now, in his 5th year, his own spy network was spread far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.
"What a fool! What a bloody FOOL!" Riddle swore with a low growl. "Hitler is working WITH the Muggles. He's in contact with filthy Muggles."
"But Lord Voldemort, he is being rather effective." Nott, a second year, peered at him nervously. "Look at how many he has wiped out, and he's gaining power every day. His spies have broken into every Muggle government . . ."
"YOU DARE TO CORRECT ME?" Riddle didn't even have to raise his voice to give the impression of completely overpowering the younger child. "Idiot! He works too closely with the Muggles. They are impressionable, but they are animals. You cannot work with them, you cannot trust them. It's not the way of a proper Wizard. It is only a matter of time before he will fail."
"Then, m-m-my Lord, how will you gain power such as Hitler has done? You will not use muggles?"
"Oh, perhaps we can use them, but not in quite the same manner. Hitler gives them power. Some of them are his right-hand men. That will never happen once I step up. We must defend the purity of Wizard blood. Muggles will never be permitted in such positions of power, even if only as disguised servitude."
Nott looked at his feet, obviously confused. "So, you'll control them, but without their consent. How can that work?"
"Ah, young snake, you are closer to the answer than you think. The ability to control a person's mind lies in being able to enter their mind. I can certainly manipulate a person, control them to a degree, but the person must be willing to allow me into his or her mind." He allowed himself a small smile. "The mere memory of me is enough to control a person. The power of the written word is something which I have come to value. It is a useful skill, but the power I seek runs deeper. Much deeper."
"Like Imperious?"
"Such ignorance. No. It is an ancient power, and much more vast. My search for its source continues."
At this, young Tom Riddle turned his back to Nott, signaling an end to their conversation, and stared into the fireplace. The future was his. All that would come to pass was his to control. His eyes sparked like ice against the fire, and he laughed softly to himself. It was not a pleasant sound.
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That evening found Harold sitting in a small café in downtown Muggle- Boston. Dressed in clean-cut Muggle attire, he fit right in visually, but still felt damned uncomfortable. He sipped at his tea, and looked around the café. What had James been thinking? How could he find a woman just like that? Sure, some female companionship would be nice, and would probably be just the ticket after two months of grueling work, but what chance did he have? He had never been a charmer. He had been sight seeing all day with Robert and Nathan, but they had wanted to see a Muggle motion picture, and he hadn't felt like it. So, there he sat, alone, in a small café, feeling absolutely ridiculous. He shook his head to himself, and began to look back down at his newspaper . . . when something made him look back up.
The most stunning eyes he had ever seen were staring straight at him, as though they could look right into his mind. He felt his heart jump into his throat. On the far side of the café, a dark-haired woman was sitting by herself, but she was looking right at him, smiling softly.
He swallowed, smiled back at her weakly, and forced his heart to slow down. He never quite figured out what made him do it, but he found himself standing up and moving across the room to her table, his cup of tea forgotten. He opened his mouth to ask if he could join her, but before he could speak, she laughed. He flushed a furious shade of pink, already certain that he had done something to embarrass himself.
"Of course you can join me!" she said lightly. His eyes began to widen in surprise. Was it his imagination, or had she just answered the question before he had asked it? Before he could formulate words to respond, she continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "A dashing wizard such as yourself has no business sitting by his lonesome on a Friday night."
Harold balked. "H-how did you know?" he asked, lowering himself uneasily into the chair across from her.
"A little birdie told me." She signaled the waitress. "An English tea for the gentleman, two sugars, please, and another coffee for me."
Harold was thoroughly intrigued by this whole exchange, in which he had barely spoken at all, but got the distinct impression that he didn't need to. Whether that was comforting or not was another matter.
"So, what brings you to Boston today?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. "I can't believe you're here by yourself."
"I had the day off, and a couple of my co-workers decided to give me the grand tour," Harold began, accepting the small-talk, but still not yet entirely comfortable. There was something unusual about this woman, but he could not quite put his finger on it. "They wanted to go watch a Muggle motion picture, but I wanted some quiet time, so I found this spot. The tea is quite good here."
He stopped, having no idea what else to say. Why couldn't this be easy, like infiltrating the Pentagon? And why did he have the strange feeling that she could read him like an open book?
She smiled at him again, and he couldn't help but to relax somewhat. "You're working here through the International Wizarding Wartime Cooperative, aren't you."
He felt his heart skip a beat. That wasn't a question; she knew. "How do you know about that?"
"I work as an Independent Operative for the Upper Council," she explained, straight-faced. "Or, you might say, as a spy."
That was a relief. Of course there was a logical reason for her to recognize him. "Ah, so you've seen my picture and file?"
Her casual confidence ebbed and she actually blushed slightly. "Well, no," she said, barely above a whisper.
"Then how did you know?" Harold was doing his best not to show how confused, and to say the least, frustrated he was.
She sighed. "It's a skill of mine, passed down from my mother. Most people call it a 'mind touch' for lack of better terms. As far back as I know all the witches in my family have it. Sorry if I intruded unwelcome, but, well." She paused. He raised an eyebrow. The light shade of pink that had graced her cheeks suddenly burned to a much richer hue. She leaned forward slightly and whispered across the table.
"I wanted to know who you are because I find you very handsome."
The waitress placed the drinks on the table. Harold didn't even notice. He was too busy trying to keep his lower jaw from hitting the table. He almost let himself forget the fact that this woman could look right into his mind, because his mind was still reeling from the blatant compliment. She was being completely honestly with him; he could see it in her eyes, somehow. He had never experienced such openness from a complete stranger. Now that he had gotten past the initial shock of it all, he found it strangely refreshing, and somewhat.intoxicating.
He took a deep breath. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
Harold left a tip for the waitress, and held up the young woman's coat for her. She smiled and accepted the gesture, then reached up to the coat rack and offered his jacket in return, completely unorthodox, but he liked it. His head was swimming as he shrugged the jacket over his shoulders. He had never met a woman quite like this. He didn't even know women like this existed. He opened the café door, pulling a light whorl of snow into the room, and they walked out into the night.
"By the way . . . " he caught her attention, as she took his arm as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Yes?" The chill New England wind ruffled her dark curls around her face.
"What is your name?"
"Janice, but please, call me Jan. And you are?"
"Harold," he replied, but he had a suspicion that she already knew.
She smiled softly at him. "I like that. Mind if I call you Harry?"
His laugh rang out across the walkway, echoing off buildings, muted as it traveled through the falling snow. They walked away from the café, the lights from the shops casting shadows away from them. They didn't notice Robert and Nathan watching their progress from across the street, chuckling silently and looking very pleased with themselves.
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"G'morning Harry," James greeted him upon his return to the office the following week. "How did your little vacation go?" He raised his eyebrows and flashed a lopsided grin.
"Well, I did some sightseeing, visited some museums, explored Revolution Alley."
"And the woman you met?" James prodded, with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Well, I was at this café the first night . . . HEY! How did you know?"
"Hmmm . . . let me think. You didn't come back to your room at headquarters once the entire week, you've got circles under your eyes, you've got a little spring to your step. Besides, Nathan told me all about it."
"Nathan? How did he . . . oh." He'd been set up. Of course, he was also rather pleased with the results, so he couldn't really complain, could he?
"Not to worry, Harry. I know who Jan is; she's a very nice woman, very special, too." He winked at Harold. "Treat her like the goddess she is. Nobody's ever been able to catch her romantic interest before, although not for lack of trying. She's very independent; we were surprised that she took to you like that. The guys are already calling you the ladies' man."
"Oh no," Harold groaned inwardly. Just what he needed; to be the talk of the entire headquarters. However, his grimace softened almost immediately. It was all worth it. No matter what, it was all worth it. They would be meeting again soon. Jan had promised a letter sometime that day.
"Harry? Harry!"
"Huh? What?"
"Snap to!" James was laughing at him. "Yup, you've got it bad! No matter, you have plenty of time for daydreaming later. For now, we've got a mission briefing to attend. We'll be leaving tonight, around 1700h. That's all I know. We've got to get down to the briefing room."
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"This mission will be a bit different than the last ones we've been on."
The SWAT team exchanged nervous glances as Edward Johnson swept into the room and sat down at the head of the table. Johnson, or Big Ed, as the SWAT team affectionately called him, always had something positive to say about each mission before anything else. This statement, while not negative, was not consistent with his usual style.
"We have an unusual piece of intelligence, provided to us by one of our spies. The muggle Secretary of Defense is holding a council meeting tomorrow morning in the Pentagon with various other foreign ministers of defense. There will be delegates from Canada, France, Spain, Russia, and Britain, among others. The report indicates that the Russian delegate is, in fact, a Dark Wizard, and will be using this opportunity to place several high ranking officials under the Imperious Curse."
At this piece of news, a thick undercurrent of whispering broke out. Ed sat back and allowed the news to percolate. He looked over at Harold, who was not speaking, but instead, was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on some unseen object of interest. He almost pitied the young man. His task would be the most difficult and if Ed's assessment of his expression was correct, Harold had already figured out, at least partially, what that task would be. The undercurrent died down and Ed resumed his briefing.
"Our only chance at preventing this catastrophe is to substitute one of our people for one of the delegates. We can't replace the American Secretary of Defense. He has too much background information and his habits are too well known. Nobody here sounds enough like any of the other delegates, except one."
Everybody turned to look at Harold, who still had not moved from the position he had assumed at the start of the briefing, still staring straight ahead. Without blinking, he said softly, "What do I need to do?"
"You will need to Apparate directly into the British delegate's guest room tonight, while he is asleep. Stun him, then send him back here with a Portkey so he won't be discovered. We'll return him at the end of the mission. We'll be sending you with a flask of prepared Polyjuice Potion. You'll need to assume his appearance, and replace him at the council meeting in the morning. You need to confirm whether the Russian delegate is a Dark Wizard or not, and if he is, apprehend him. Cause as little uproar as possible, but take him down at all costs. We'll be ready to come in as backup, but only as a last resort. This is a mission best conducted as a precise, strategic strike. Certainly, you can see why. Do you understand the mission?"
Harold finally looked up; his eyes were clear and steady. He nodded.
"Ok then," Ed continued. "You have the rest of the morning and afternoon to prepare. Get some rest. You'll need it. Report to me with at 1600h. You too, James. The rest of you, report at 1630h. Dismissed."
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Harold paced around his room. He sat down and pretended to read the copy of the Daily Prophet his parents had sent to him. Tossing the paper aside, he stood and began to pace again. He was about to try the newspaper once more when he heard a scratching sound at the window. Looking up, he was simultaneously surprised and relieved to see a raven was perched on the sill outside. It had to be from Jan.
Harold jumped up and opened the window as fast as his shaking fingers allowed. The raven hopped onto his shoulder and held out her leg, to which was attached a small roll of parchment. Untying it, he gently unrolled the note. The message was written in an elegant script.
Dear Harold,
It's only been a day, and I miss you already. I can tell you're slightly upset over something, and I wanted to know if you're ok. I know about the mission you're going on and I'm guessing that's what has you so nervous. I was the one who spied for the information leading to this mission. I know you'll be ok. You're incredible like that. Would you like to meet for lunch today? I should take you to the Broomshed. It's a lovely little place in Revolution Alley that I don't believe you've visited. Meet me at the entrance to the ACM building at noon. I'll see you there.
Love Always,
Jan
For the first time since he had received his mission that morning, Harold's mind was elsewhere, if only momentarily. Still, it was enough to let the tension that had been building in his mind begin to bleed away. He grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and scribbled down a quick reply.
Jan, I'd love to meet you for lunch, but you probably already knew that. I'll meet you at noon.
Harold
The raven held out his leg expectantly, and Harold swore the bird winked at him as he tied the note to its leg. It immediately took off out the window. As Harold turned back into his room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
"I'm a mess," he said to nobody. "My clothes are a mess, I've got dark circles under my eyes, and my hair is a mess." He tried to flatten his hair with his hands, then reached for the comb.
"You're fighting a loosing battle, dear," the mirror told him in a gentle voice.
At 12:00, Harold found himself on the front stairs of Salem Headquarters. He paced back and forth, still trying to work off the stress from the morning's announcement. He almost jumped when the door opened behind him.
"My, my! You've got your socks in a bind today!" Jan winked at him mischievously.
"No, I mean, well.yeah. I'm just nervous."
"I can understand why," she said, showing absolutely no sign thinking poorly of him for admitting his fears. "It's not every day a person goes on a solo mission. You'll have to rely on yourself, and yourself alone. But then, I would think that would make you feel even more confident."
"Why on earth would you say that?" he asked, bewildered.
"Because I can't think of anybody I would rather rely on than you."
"You have a way of making everything sound good."
"Is there a reason why everything can't be?"
"So, are we going to lunch or not? My stomach is screaming at me."
She laughed and offered her arm. "Hold tight now. We'll Apparate there." With a faint pop, they disappeared from the steps.
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"Harry? Harry! Pay attention. Are you ok?" Big Ed was looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Oh, uh, yes, yes sir. I just had my mind elsewhere."
"Now is not the time to let your mind wander. Do you need some strong coffee?"
"Er, perhaps a cup of tea?"
Ed nodded to James, who stuck his head out of the office door, called the Headquarters' resident house elf, Mimi, and asked her for some tea. She was dressed in a clean mauve toga, probably made of a new woolen blanket. She smiled widely, and squeaked in a thick Boston accent, "Right away, sir. Will Sir be wantin' sugah in his tea?"
James smiled. "Yes, two please."
When James pulled his head back inside, he found Harold listening in rapt attention to Ed's instructions. They were both looking at a diagram of the inside of the Pentagon, with another showing the building in which the delegates were being housed. Tiny dots were moving around the pieces of parchment like ants, each one labeled with a small epithet, such as "Sergeant Major of the Army", "Colonel, Military Intelligence", "civilian technician", and "Secretary of Defense." Harold was fascinated by those maps, and was determined to figure out how to make one himself.
"This is the room where they will be having the meeting. When the meeting starts, we can trick the cameras for you with magic, so you won't have to worry about recording devices. If anything unusual or threatening happens within the meeting room, act immediately of course, but try to see if you can lure the Russian delegate out of the meeting, or catch him in a bathroom. We can shield whatever room you're in. You'll be monitored at all times on the maps we'll keep here. We're linking you to James through a monitoring charm. It doesn't give us much detail, but we'll know if you're in severe pain."
"Oh, that's a lovely thought." Harold's humor was starting to return to its usual sarcastic edge.
"You're welcome," James interrupted with a grin. "Your headache is my headache. Your neck is my pain in the neck."
"Hey, it is good to know I won't be totally alone."
At that moment, Mimi appeared carrying a teacup on a saucer, and a small roll of parchment.
"Sir, the lady outside asked Mimi to give this to you. Here is your tea, Sir! Let Mimi know if you want anything else, Sir!" She squeaked a smile, and vanished with a crack.
"Unroll it, Harry! What's it say?"
Harold turned to the side, unrolled his parchment, and read quietly to himself. The note said:
Dear Harry,
You're never alone. Always remember that.
Jan
"What's it say?" James asked again, more emphatically this time.
Harold just smiled, took a sip of his tea, turned back to the other two men and said, "I think I'm going to be just fine."
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Harold Apparated into the dark room which he had studied so carefully on his Living Map. He was met by soft snores and the quiet ticking of a nightstand clock. He walked towards the bed of the sleeping British delegate, who Harold now knew to be Richard Winthorpe. Just as he was reaching for his wand, his foot found a briefcase that had been left of the floor. He fell with a muffled thud, causing the delegate to sit bolt- upright in bed.
"W-w-what?" he stuttered sleepily.
Harold jumped up, aimed his wand directly at Winthorpe. "STUPEFY!" he said as forcefully as he could at a whisper. The spell hit the sleepy man directly in the chest, and he fell softly backwards onto his pillow. Harold got to his feet, shaking slightly. Thirty seconds into the mission, and he had already made a near-fatal mistake. He couldn't dwell on it now.
Grasping a section of the man's hair, he pointed his wand at the roots, and muttered a severing charm. The hair came neatly loose in his hand. He unscrewed the top of the flask of Polyjuice Potion and dropped in the hair. The contents of the flask bubbled slightly as the hairs activated the potion. Harold pulled from his pocket a paperclip which had been turned into a target-specific Portkey, and placed it in Winthorpe's limp hand. The delegate disappeared in a flash, transported safely to Salem Headquarters for his own safety. Harold swirled the flask of Polyjuice Potion, stifling a gagging sensation as the rank odor of overcooked cabbage met his nose. With a grimace, he took a quick swig, and braced himself as the transformation process ran its course. Finally, with a tap of his wand, his robes - which were now quite snug around the middle - became a proper set of muggle nightclothes.
He pulled his Living Maps from the pocket of the pajamas. "Lumos." He shined the light from his wand onto the maps. Nobody was running towards his room. The building was quiet. Phase one was complete. He looked over at the clock, which read 10:30. The alarm was set for 6:00. A quick change to a 3:00 wake-up call gave him three extra hours to read as much of Winthorpe's paperwork as possible. He stole a quick glance in the mirror. Partially bald, skinny with a small potbelly, Richard was as inconspicuous of a public figure as one could imagine. Harold nodded slightly. It was as perfect as he could ask for. With that, he crawled into the bed, and tried to catch some sleep.
At 8:00 the next morning, Harold was ushered to a waiting limousine, complete with police escort, and was driven to the Pentagon. He had been there before, but the other times, he had been there with his entire team. At 9:00, the meeting started. The room was quickly filled with intense yet utterly dry banter and plotting, discussions of battle ships and aircraft, medical supplies and combat support. Harold said no more than he needed to, occupied with his careful observations of the Russian delegate. The man was obviously trying to test the limits of this coalition. He was suggesting very minimalist international cooperation, with each nation contributing its own loosely affiliated efforts. He recommended that the United States not become so deeply involved in European affairs. One plan he proposed involved bargaining with the Axis powers. Harold took very little time deciding that this man needed to be eliminated from this meeting, but he still needed proof that this was a Dark Wizard. His opportunity came soon enough.
The American Secretary of Defense called a recess to the council, and the delegates each stood and went to refresh themselves. Harold found a small, private washroom, and immediately pulled out his map of the Pentagon. The Russian delegate was easy enough to locate. "Demetrius Vorak" was walking down a relatively quiet hallway towards a private washroom. Harold waited until Vorak had entered the washroom and began to follow him, trusting that his team back home had managed to blank out the electronic devices and shield him from prying eyes. He arrived outside the door to the restroom, pulled his wand from his sleeve, and muttered, "Auditus Acclaro." He could hear Vorak speaking in a strained voice.
"Commander, they are determined to continue their course of action. Shall I put them under the Imperious Curse immediately?" A pause. "It shall be done. Heil Hitler!"
Harold suddenly realized what a stupid position he was in. He was standing in an empty hallway, wand in hand. There was only one possible course of action.
The doorknob began to turn.
"Stupify!" Harold cried, but Vorak hadn't been directly behind the door, and the spell ricocheted into the room, harmless.
"Petrificus Totalis!" Harold found himself frozen, but conscious, being pulled into the room.
"So, what have we here? Our little British Muggle is more than he appears." Vorak snatched Harold's wand from his rigid hand. "What is your name, really now? Winthorpe? I'm not so certain." He stuck the extra wand into his breast pocket and turned the other on Harold.
"Finite Incantatum." Harold slouched to the floor. He knew he had to think fast before Vorak did something. He didn't have long to wait. "Not answering me? Crucio!"
Harold thought he was on fire, only he didn't think a person could burn from the inside. He was writhing on the ground, clenching his fists, gritting his teeth, but not making a sound save for the laboured gasps for air. "Finite Incantatum."
"Perhaps you'll be a bit more cooperative now."
He pushed himself part way off the ground. Filled with a sense of pure loathing, Harold did the first thing that came to mind. He spit at the dark wizard. It was not a good decision, and earned him a swift kick to the side. There was a sickening crack, and Harold felt his breathing became difficult. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his ribs. Seconds later, the boot connected with the side of his head. He lay there for a brief moment, dazed, then slowly brought his hand up to his ear. When he pulled it away, it was covered in blood. He looked up at the Dark Wizard.
"You'll cooperate with me, fool. Imperio."
Suddenly, the pain was forgotten. Sensations felt muted, and everything became soft as though seen and heard through a thick, cottony fog. Then he heard it in his mind. "Get up. Walk back to the meeting room. You will agree with me. We will control the Muggles."
Harold wanted to agree. It would be so easy to agree. Why not? It made perfect sense. So simple, so easy . . . so utterly wrong. He looked up at the wizard standing over him, and suddenly his head cleared. Moving faster than he thought possible, he leapt up and, putting all his weight behind the blow, slammed his fist into Vorak's temple. The wizard went flying backwards into the wall and slumped to the ground. Shaking, Harold reached over and retrieved his wand. Then he snatched up Vorak's wand and swiftly snapped it in two. It emitted a small cloud of smoke and a few hissing sparks before Harold tossed the pieces aside. Suddenly, he heard a noise outside the door.
"Alohomora!"
James came bursting in to the room. "Harry!"
Harold looked down at the unconscious wizard, then back to James. He chuckled weakly and said, "That was easy." Then he realized that the room was getting cold and dark. Everything was moving strangely. As he slumped to the ground, James rushed to catch him. He vaguely heard James yelling his name before everything went black.
************************************************************************
"Harry? Harry, c'mon, please. Open your eyes."
Why would I want to do a silly thing like that? I'm asleep, can't you see? I was having the strangest dream too. Something about me as a lion, and there was a bird sitting on my shoulder. I want to finish my dream.
"Harry?" The voice was a bit louder now, slightly frantic.
Ok, ok. I'm opening my eyes.ouch! Bright light, no, I'm keeping them closed, thank you very much.
"Close the curtains! The light is too bright for him."
Harold felt someone shaking his shoulder lightly, and his muscles screamed in protest to the slightest touch. Stop that! It hurts. Can't you just leave me alone? He heard a very faint moan escape from him. Then, he heard another voice, a soft woman's voice.
"Harry? I know you're in there. Wake up."
Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. A pair of dark eyes were peering into his, the face in which they were set was lined with concern. Jan sighed with relief. "Oh thank goodness. Even I was starting to worry."
A wet cloth was removed from his forehead and replaced with a fresh one which sent a trickle of water down his temple. He was grateful; his head was throbbing mercilessly. His still-sore ribs were protesting vehemently with every breath. Without moving his head any more than absolutely necessary, he checked his surroundings. He was back in his room at the ACM's dormitory.
"Wh-what happened?" he croaked.
"What happened?" repeated James incredulously. "What happened! You single- handedly took down the very wizard who turns out to be the ringleader of the group that infiltrated the Russian government, that's all!" He looked at Big Ed, who was looking both very relieved and very proud.
"Not only did you do the IWWC proud, but also your own Ministry of Magic. With the information we gathered from Vorak using Veritaserum, we're going to be able to crack our way through most of the entire northern European network of Dark Wizards." Ed paused. "Harry, you're being called a hero in your own rights."
Harold laughed, which caused his ribs to ache even more. "Ouch. If being a hero hurts this much, leave me out of it."
Everybody broke into laughter at this, and it was at this point that the team's Mediwizard, Arnold, tore into the room.
"You're all riling up my patient? Out now! Shoo!"
"Wait," James interrupted. "Can she stay?" He inclined his head towards Jan.
Arnold looked like he was about to argue, but something in Jan's expression stifled him. "Ok, she can stay. Now the rest of you, out!"
After a series of rushed congratulations and well wishes, the room quickly emptied. Arnold set to work patching broken ribs and doling out remedies for concussion and post-Cruciatus trauma, all the time muttering comments about how crazy it was to send kids on dangerous missions, and something about how terrible is was that the war was destroying the innocence of today's youth. Harold blushed with embarrassment over being referred to as a youth, but Jan squeezed his hand and gave him a smile to let him know that she didn't think of him as a child. Arnold finished quickly, and Harold felt as though he had a new body. He made a move to stand up.
"Oh no you don't, boy! You lie right back down there. You're not going anywhere until tomorrow!"
"But I feel fine!" Harold protested.
"I can watch him," Jan said, but Arnold wouldn't hear of it.
"He's staying here. He needs to let everything settle down. Besides, I can mend bones easily, I can treat magical trauma, but he's also had a concussion, plain and simple. You can only do so much for those. The brain is a delicate thing. I need to check on him every couple of hours tonight. Last thing I need is for this kid to lapse into a coma on my watch. He's delicate right now."
"I AM NOT DELICATE!"
Jan and Arnold both turned to look at Harold in surprise, who gave the distinct impression of smoking at the ears.
"Ok, compromise perhaps. Jan, you can stay here tonight, provided you wake him up every two hours. I'm giving him a mild sleeping potion - no arguments Harry - to help him sleep, but not so strong that you can't wake him up. Notify me immediately if there's a problem. Tomorrow, you can take him wherever you want. He's getting a week off to recover from the mission."
Jan nodded, not wanting to push her luck. Arnold set a bottle of sleeping potion on the table, turned to walk out the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder at Jan. "Oh, and you let him rest. No monkey-business in here tonight, you hear me?"
Jan's mouth started to open in protest, but Arnold cracked a huge grin, chuckled, and walked out the door closing it softly behind him.
Harold rolled his eyes. Great, he thought. First, the hero's welcome, then the hormonal-teenager treatment. Jan noticed his irritation, and sat down on the bed.
"You were absolutely brilliant, you know."
"How do you know? You weren't there."
She laughed lightly. "I told you, you're never alone, right?" Harold nodded dumbly.
"Well," she continued, "suffice to say for now that I was paying attention to your every movement. You did a wonderful job of throwing off the Imperious Curse, if I do say so myself." She smiled at him knowingly and squeezed his hand. "You were brilliant."
Too tired to dig for more answers, Harold nodded again and returned the smile.
She leaned over and ran her hand through his shock of disorderly black hair. "Your hair's a mess."
Before he could respond, she had tilted up his chin and brought her lips to his. The kiss was long and sweet, and Harold found himself thinking that it ended altogether too soon.
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Christmas Eve came quickly, and the holiday did indeed bring Harold home Godric's Hollow. After nearly being hugged to death by his mum, they finally were able to relax around the fireplace with cups of wassail.
"It's really exciting," Harold was telling them. "We brought down an entire set of Dark Wizards within the ranks of the Marine Corps. It's amazing how many Muggles they had under the Imperious Curse. You can imagine how much work the ACM had cut out for them after that!"
"How much did you get to see of that?" his father asked.
"Well, I stunned two of them on that mission, but then I got stunned myself and they only revived me after the rest of it was over."
His mother looked horrified by the thought. "Oh Harold! They didn't!
"Mum, it's fine, really. Nothing like the solo mission I went on." Immediately, Harold knew he'd spoken too soon. His parents dragged the story out of him. His father beamed with pride, but his mother had gone a strangely pale.
"You did well son. Joanne, dear, you see he's fine. He's a strong young man."
"I know, but I like to see my son happy, not in the middle of all this fighting."
Harold cleared his throat in an attempt to change the line of conversation and touched his mother lightly on the arm. "I, uh, do have some happier news, if you'd like. You see, I, er, met this woman, a beautiful witch named Janice who works at the ACM. She and I have been dating for over a month now."
He'd found the right subject. His mother was beaming. "Oh, my dear! Why didn't you tell us? I'm so happy for you! Is she with her family for the holiday? You must bring her to visit!"
His father was shaking his head, but grinning ear to ear. "Congratulations, son. Seems like you've got the old Potter charm."
The conversation relaxed into more pleasant topics made merry by the holiday drinks. The holidays were cheerful, but passed by quickly, and soon Harold was packing his trunk. He was almost as happy to leave. He wanted to see Jan again.
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Arduous months went by with little time to rest. Harold spent every free moment possible with Jan, making the most of the time they had together. War was not pretty. When they cleared out the Dark Wizards inhibiting the nuclear weapons development, they battled with their consciences for weeks upon weeks afterwards. They lost some people. Robert, who had been one of Harold's first friends in the States, was hit by a killing curse during a wand-fight. Still, the squad pressed on.
Harold was making quite a name for himself through his actions, willingness to risk himself for his squad, quick thinking, and occasionally brilliant decisions that were sometimes quite reckless. The strength and bravery that had long been associated with the Potter name had not missed Harold, and he seemed to have finally found a niche that suited him. Then, in November of '43, an unexpected letter arrived at Headquarters from the Ministry of Magic.
The squad had been sitting in the lounge in the early evening when a scratching at the window alerted them to the huge eagle owl that had landed there. James opened the window and the owl flew in, landing on the coffee table in front of Harold. Although confused, Harold automatically untied the parchment and unrolled it. As he read, his expression tightened.
"What's going on, Harry?" prodded Nathan. Everyone was looking at him.
"It's a letter from the Ministry of Magic in Britain. They're calling me back for an 'undisclosed' mission."
"WHAT?" roared James. He snatched the letter and read it aloud, while Harold slumped back into his seat, too stunned to argue.
Dear Mr. Potter, Your service to the International Wizarding Wartime Cooperative has been exemplary, and you have demonstrated great honour to Britain. Because of your expertise, we now require your participation in an effort on the European front. More details will be provided upon your arrival at M.O.M. headquarters. You are expected to report in two weeks. A Portkey will be provided. We once again thank you for your service in these difficult times.
Sincerely,
Lugus Weatherby
Harold was speechless. He didn't want to leave his team, his family, in the middle of this struggle, but as he once told his father, it wasn't up to him. He looked up at James, whose expression begged him to say it wasn't true. Harold swallowed, and said, "I guess I'm leaving."
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That night, Harold couldn't sleep, and the sunrise caught him walking the streets of Salem aimlessly. How could he leave his team? How could he leave Jan? Why now? It was then that a familiar raven swooped down and landed on his shoulder causing him to cry out in alarm.
"Bram! Why did you startle me like that?"
He untied the parchment from its leg, and read the note quickly. He got the feeling that the bird was reading over his shoulder.
Harold,
Please just come right over. I'm awake, and I don't like you being this upset. We'll talk. Don't worry, it'll be ok.
Jan
"I guess I'd better go now, huh?"
Bram squawked a reply, and took off again.
A minute later, Harold was in Jan's living room. She threw her arms around him and held him for a long moment. When she pulled back, he could see tears threatening to spill from her eyes. He'd never seen Jan cry before.
"Have a seat. I made you some tea, dear. Please, just talk to me. Tell me everything on your mind. I just want to hear you talk."
Harold showed her the letter and all the worries he'd poured over the night before came spilling out. They held each other and he talked until his tea had gone cold, still untouched. He finally stopped and looked down at her.
"I want you to come with me."
"You know I can't do that. Right now, I'm vital to the ACM's mission. I don't even have a last name right now, did you know that? It was magically erased to make it harder to track me. It's part of my job. My life is my job right now. I can't."
"There's always a way! We'll find a way!" Harold searched her face frantically, but through her tears, her resolve was stone hard. She shook her head.
"We'll just have to make the most of the two weeks we have."
And so they did. They visited historical sites, explored New England, and went sailing on the Charles River together, but mostly they sat and talked. Harold was exempted from missions those two weeks but visited his friends from the squad daily. They took him to the Broomshed one evening as a going-away party. Finally, his last night arrived.
He and Jan sat in front of her fireplace, silent for the first time in two weeks. After a long time of sitting wrapped in each other's arms, Harold pulled back slightly from Jan and turned to face her.
"I wanted to give you something to keep with you until we meet again." His voice wavered slightly. "It's small but I hope you like it."
He pulled out a small, flat box and opened the cover. Inside sat a silver pendant on a chain. The pendant was a crest, designed as a lion's head set into a simple but elegant framework. "Do you like it?"
She looked up at him, then reached into the box and fastened it around her neck. "I love it, almost as much as I love you."
"I'll never forget you, you know. Never. We'll see each other again, soon, after the war."
Jan sighed. "Actually, that's what we need to talk about." She cupped his face in her hands. "You're going to protest, but this is the way it's going to have to be. You will forget about me. You have to."
"No! That's impossible."
She shook her head. "It's not. Tomorrow morning, you'll wake up in your bunk, ready to go back to Britain. Your entire memory of me will seem to you like nothing more than a pleasant dream. Like a dream, it will fade away."
"H-h-how?"
"I told you once why I'm such an important spy. The Mind Touch. I can hear people's thoughts. I can also modify memories. If I wanted to, I could even control people's minds from the inside. These abilities are rare, and are closely monitored by the Magical Government. I never use them outside of the line of work, and as a spy, people can't be attached to me. I'm too dangerous to them. I'd be too dangerous to you, on your mission. I was ordered to do it."
She choked back a sob and continued. "I can't tell you how much it hurts me to do this. I do love you, more than anything, but they need me here. Someday when my tour of duty is over, and I'll never know when that will be until it happens, I'll come find you. If you're single, I'll find you. I promise, then you'll remember everything. I'll never forget you. Never."
Harold couldn't speak. Tears were overflowing his eyes, and his throat was tight. They wrapped their arms around each other, and stared into the fire. Harold finally found his voice.
"I love you, Jan. We'll see each other again. Somehow."
The following July, a girl was born, with a head full of black hair.
Author's Notes and Summary: The search for power has blinded the greedy for thousands of years. As Voldemort began his rise to power, he was certain he would be different. He knew his past, he knew the mistakes of others, and he knew his heritage. Unfortunately for him, he didn't know the heritage of his enemy as well as he would like to have thought... and as they say, what you don't know CAN kill you.
As Harry is to find out, sometimes what you DO know can kill you just as easily. Lucky for Harry, he's got a habit of beating the odds, but how many times can you draw an ace from the same deck of cards?
And so the mystery behind the Potters begins to unravel. The fate they've sealed for Harry, the legacy he has to bear. What could a scrap of parchment, a thousand-year-old cover-up, and a raven named Bram have to do with Harry and the secret behind is miraculous survival?
That... is the Potter Legacy.
Enjoy.
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Prologue: The Heir of the Lion
Part 1: Foreign Relations
It was late fall of 1942. A young man was standing on the doorstep of his parents' house in Godric's Hollow, far from the chaos of the Muggle world. The skies were grey, and the wind whipped his coal-black hair into his hazel eyes. No matter, his hair was always a mess. A drop of rain splashed onto the right lens of his glasses. He sighed, took them off, and wiped them on his robes as he turned and walked back into the house. His mother was sniffling slightly, and his father was putting up a brave front. He forced a jovial laugh, trying to live up to his finest Gryffindor traits having only graduated from Hogwarts three and a half years ago.
"Now mum, you act as though I'm going straight to the front lines. I'll be perfectly fine. I'll come home for holidays whenever I can, you know that." His mother didn't seem convinced.
"You're barely grown and they want to send you to war!" she whimpered. "Fighting dark wizards . . . ooh, why on earth did they have to get involved in this war the Muggles are fighting? The dark wizards cause enough trouble, and now, manipulating Muggles, undermining military efforts. It's too much!"
"I know you're brave, son," his father interjected suddenly, "but don't do anything outrageous. You have a tendency to stick your neck out, taking risks that you don't need to take."
"It's not up to me this time. I'll be working for the American Committee of Magic at their headquarters in Salem. It's up to them what I do, and whatever I do, it's for the good of us all, wizard and Muggle alike."
"Son, you've grown up." The worry in his father's voice was partially replaced with a vibrant sense of pride. "I never thought I'd see the day."
Harold suddenly realized just how old his parents were. They hadn't been young when they'd had him and now, with the stress of the war and their worry over him, their age was showing on their faces.
"I'll be home soon as possible, I promise." He picked up his trunk and walked to the door. The ministry car was pulling up in front of the house. He would receive final instructions at the Ministry of Magic headquarters, and then take a Portkey directly to the Salem Committee of Magic headquarters. The rain began to splash against his glasses again, and he was grateful that the rivulets running from his eyes would hide nicely in the water splashing down from the darkened sky.
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Harold Potter had been in Massachusetts for two months, and had adapted to life there quickly. He had already proven himself invaluable to the ACM's efforts. The ACM was stretched to its limit. There were few trained wizards and even fewer experts in this part of the world, and a tremendous Muggle military and government under their jurisdiction.
The depth to which the dark wizards had involved themselves in this muggle war was phenomenal. Speculation about how far up the military and political ladders these wizards had gotten was immense, and more of it was confirmed every day. Many people were quite certain that the initial inspiration for the mass murders and atrocities in the heart of the Axis powers came directly from dark wizards. Rumor had it that Adolph himself had been a graduate of Durmstrang, and had disguised himself in his bid to begin wiping out unwanted populations directly through the Muggle government. All these things were on people minds, but they were secondary to the immediate struggle. Already, dozens of dark wizards had been uncovered within the American military, and had been apprehended by the Special Wizard's Assignment Taskforce, or SWAT, the very team to which Harold had been assigned.
Those raids were simultaneously thrilling and nerve-racking. Harold found himself amazed by the power of the Muggle technology and intricacy of their security systems. However, none of these systems took magic into account and while this permitted the dark wizards to infiltrate them more easily, it also allowed SWAT to apprehend them with relative ease.
Harold shuddered when he thought back to the team leader's reaction to his first mission. "That was easy!" he had said with a grin. In that case, "easy" had involved breaching four top-secret security checkpoints, identifying three wizards from among a group of upper-ranked military officials, and engaging them in a wand fight. They dodged not only stunning curses but also Unforgivables, and finally managed to stun all three wizards. After resuscitating five members of their own squad, modifying the memories of every person in the building, and erasing all recording equipment, they had managed to get their asses out of there before anything actually went wrong. "Easy" apparently meant that nobody had died. Thus far, all his missions had been easy.
Harold was sitting back in his room at the Headquarters one evening when his team leader knocked on the door and poked his head into the room with a weary grin.
"James! Come in!" Harold got up and pulled a chair around for his boss and surrogate father. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, and obviously preferred to avoid shaving whenever possible.
"Hey Harry. I've got some good news for you." James spun his chair around and straddled it, as was his habit.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Harold chuckled aloud.
"It just seems to suit you, that's all. You don't mind, do you? I tend to use nicknames with my friends."
"Ok, ok," Harold said with a grin. "So what's the good news?"
"The squad has the week off. A team from the west coast has sent us some backups, and Merlin knows you all need a break. I can't let you go back to Britain. We may still need to call you back at a moment's notice, if something happens. Still," he paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "there's plenty to do. I'd recommend a trip into Boston. There's lots to see there, lots to do. I'd tell you to visit some of the finer points of Salem, but you've been stuck in town here long enough. Besides, you might just meet a lady-friend in the city. That'd do you right."
James's grin had erupted into a face-splitting smirk.
"Oh my." Harold's ears turned a bright shade of magenta, which stood out absurdly against his normally pale complexion. "Is it my imagination, or did my boss just tell me to go find some action?"
James stretched and stood up. "Well," he said, pacing thoughtfully, "you never know who you'll meet, and I just want you to have a good time, that's all. We have too little of that these days, so I just wanted to give you some ideas, so you can spruce yourself up. Be ready to impress some lovely American witches at a moment's notice. Turn on that British charm."
James paused, turned back to Harold and raised an eyebrow. "Does your hair ever lie flat?"
Harold's cheeks suddenly matched his glowing red ears. "Nope."
"Well, some of the ladies are sure to find it charming. You may even start a new fashion."
"Cut that out!" Harold picked up his pillow and chucked it at his boss. James's laugh rang loudly.
"See you later, Harry! You'd better bring back some good stories!"
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Tom Riddle was pacing around the Slytherin common room. He had just received more news about the war from a Slytherin who had graduated the year before, one of the growing number of Tom's followers. He mused to himself about how many people in his house had recognized, feared, and respected his power as early as his second year. Many of them had begun to follow his lead, even those who were several years his senior. This encouraged him further, and now, in his 5th year, his own spy network was spread far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.
"What a fool! What a bloody FOOL!" Riddle swore with a low growl. "Hitler is working WITH the Muggles. He's in contact with filthy Muggles."
"But Lord Voldemort, he is being rather effective." Nott, a second year, peered at him nervously. "Look at how many he has wiped out, and he's gaining power every day. His spies have broken into every Muggle government . . ."
"YOU DARE TO CORRECT ME?" Riddle didn't even have to raise his voice to give the impression of completely overpowering the younger child. "Idiot! He works too closely with the Muggles. They are impressionable, but they are animals. You cannot work with them, you cannot trust them. It's not the way of a proper Wizard. It is only a matter of time before he will fail."
"Then, m-m-my Lord, how will you gain power such as Hitler has done? You will not use muggles?"
"Oh, perhaps we can use them, but not in quite the same manner. Hitler gives them power. Some of them are his right-hand men. That will never happen once I step up. We must defend the purity of Wizard blood. Muggles will never be permitted in such positions of power, even if only as disguised servitude."
Nott looked at his feet, obviously confused. "So, you'll control them, but without their consent. How can that work?"
"Ah, young snake, you are closer to the answer than you think. The ability to control a person's mind lies in being able to enter their mind. I can certainly manipulate a person, control them to a degree, but the person must be willing to allow me into his or her mind." He allowed himself a small smile. "The mere memory of me is enough to control a person. The power of the written word is something which I have come to value. It is a useful skill, but the power I seek runs deeper. Much deeper."
"Like Imperious?"
"Such ignorance. No. It is an ancient power, and much more vast. My search for its source continues."
At this, young Tom Riddle turned his back to Nott, signaling an end to their conversation, and stared into the fireplace. The future was his. All that would come to pass was his to control. His eyes sparked like ice against the fire, and he laughed softly to himself. It was not a pleasant sound.
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That evening found Harold sitting in a small café in downtown Muggle- Boston. Dressed in clean-cut Muggle attire, he fit right in visually, but still felt damned uncomfortable. He sipped at his tea, and looked around the café. What had James been thinking? How could he find a woman just like that? Sure, some female companionship would be nice, and would probably be just the ticket after two months of grueling work, but what chance did he have? He had never been a charmer. He had been sight seeing all day with Robert and Nathan, but they had wanted to see a Muggle motion picture, and he hadn't felt like it. So, there he sat, alone, in a small café, feeling absolutely ridiculous. He shook his head to himself, and began to look back down at his newspaper . . . when something made him look back up.
The most stunning eyes he had ever seen were staring straight at him, as though they could look right into his mind. He felt his heart jump into his throat. On the far side of the café, a dark-haired woman was sitting by herself, but she was looking right at him, smiling softly.
He swallowed, smiled back at her weakly, and forced his heart to slow down. He never quite figured out what made him do it, but he found himself standing up and moving across the room to her table, his cup of tea forgotten. He opened his mouth to ask if he could join her, but before he could speak, she laughed. He flushed a furious shade of pink, already certain that he had done something to embarrass himself.
"Of course you can join me!" she said lightly. His eyes began to widen in surprise. Was it his imagination, or had she just answered the question before he had asked it? Before he could formulate words to respond, she continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "A dashing wizard such as yourself has no business sitting by his lonesome on a Friday night."
Harold balked. "H-how did you know?" he asked, lowering himself uneasily into the chair across from her.
"A little birdie told me." She signaled the waitress. "An English tea for the gentleman, two sugars, please, and another coffee for me."
Harold was thoroughly intrigued by this whole exchange, in which he had barely spoken at all, but got the distinct impression that he didn't need to. Whether that was comforting or not was another matter.
"So, what brings you to Boston today?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. "I can't believe you're here by yourself."
"I had the day off, and a couple of my co-workers decided to give me the grand tour," Harold began, accepting the small-talk, but still not yet entirely comfortable. There was something unusual about this woman, but he could not quite put his finger on it. "They wanted to go watch a Muggle motion picture, but I wanted some quiet time, so I found this spot. The tea is quite good here."
He stopped, having no idea what else to say. Why couldn't this be easy, like infiltrating the Pentagon? And why did he have the strange feeling that she could read him like an open book?
She smiled at him again, and he couldn't help but to relax somewhat. "You're working here through the International Wizarding Wartime Cooperative, aren't you."
He felt his heart skip a beat. That wasn't a question; she knew. "How do you know about that?"
"I work as an Independent Operative for the Upper Council," she explained, straight-faced. "Or, you might say, as a spy."
That was a relief. Of course there was a logical reason for her to recognize him. "Ah, so you've seen my picture and file?"
Her casual confidence ebbed and she actually blushed slightly. "Well, no," she said, barely above a whisper.
"Then how did you know?" Harold was doing his best not to show how confused, and to say the least, frustrated he was.
She sighed. "It's a skill of mine, passed down from my mother. Most people call it a 'mind touch' for lack of better terms. As far back as I know all the witches in my family have it. Sorry if I intruded unwelcome, but, well." She paused. He raised an eyebrow. The light shade of pink that had graced her cheeks suddenly burned to a much richer hue. She leaned forward slightly and whispered across the table.
"I wanted to know who you are because I find you very handsome."
The waitress placed the drinks on the table. Harold didn't even notice. He was too busy trying to keep his lower jaw from hitting the table. He almost let himself forget the fact that this woman could look right into his mind, because his mind was still reeling from the blatant compliment. She was being completely honestly with him; he could see it in her eyes, somehow. He had never experienced such openness from a complete stranger. Now that he had gotten past the initial shock of it all, he found it strangely refreshing, and somewhat.intoxicating.
He took a deep breath. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
Harold left a tip for the waitress, and held up the young woman's coat for her. She smiled and accepted the gesture, then reached up to the coat rack and offered his jacket in return, completely unorthodox, but he liked it. His head was swimming as he shrugged the jacket over his shoulders. He had never met a woman quite like this. He didn't even know women like this existed. He opened the café door, pulling a light whorl of snow into the room, and they walked out into the night.
"By the way . . . " he caught her attention, as she took his arm as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Yes?" The chill New England wind ruffled her dark curls around her face.
"What is your name?"
"Janice, but please, call me Jan. And you are?"
"Harold," he replied, but he had a suspicion that she already knew.
She smiled softly at him. "I like that. Mind if I call you Harry?"
His laugh rang out across the walkway, echoing off buildings, muted as it traveled through the falling snow. They walked away from the café, the lights from the shops casting shadows away from them. They didn't notice Robert and Nathan watching their progress from across the street, chuckling silently and looking very pleased with themselves.
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"G'morning Harry," James greeted him upon his return to the office the following week. "How did your little vacation go?" He raised his eyebrows and flashed a lopsided grin.
"Well, I did some sightseeing, visited some museums, explored Revolution Alley."
"And the woman you met?" James prodded, with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Well, I was at this café the first night . . . HEY! How did you know?"
"Hmmm . . . let me think. You didn't come back to your room at headquarters once the entire week, you've got circles under your eyes, you've got a little spring to your step. Besides, Nathan told me all about it."
"Nathan? How did he . . . oh." He'd been set up. Of course, he was also rather pleased with the results, so he couldn't really complain, could he?
"Not to worry, Harry. I know who Jan is; she's a very nice woman, very special, too." He winked at Harold. "Treat her like the goddess she is. Nobody's ever been able to catch her romantic interest before, although not for lack of trying. She's very independent; we were surprised that she took to you like that. The guys are already calling you the ladies' man."
"Oh no," Harold groaned inwardly. Just what he needed; to be the talk of the entire headquarters. However, his grimace softened almost immediately. It was all worth it. No matter what, it was all worth it. They would be meeting again soon. Jan had promised a letter sometime that day.
"Harry? Harry!"
"Huh? What?"
"Snap to!" James was laughing at him. "Yup, you've got it bad! No matter, you have plenty of time for daydreaming later. For now, we've got a mission briefing to attend. We'll be leaving tonight, around 1700h. That's all I know. We've got to get down to the briefing room."
***********************************************************************
"This mission will be a bit different than the last ones we've been on."
The SWAT team exchanged nervous glances as Edward Johnson swept into the room and sat down at the head of the table. Johnson, or Big Ed, as the SWAT team affectionately called him, always had something positive to say about each mission before anything else. This statement, while not negative, was not consistent with his usual style.
"We have an unusual piece of intelligence, provided to us by one of our spies. The muggle Secretary of Defense is holding a council meeting tomorrow morning in the Pentagon with various other foreign ministers of defense. There will be delegates from Canada, France, Spain, Russia, and Britain, among others. The report indicates that the Russian delegate is, in fact, a Dark Wizard, and will be using this opportunity to place several high ranking officials under the Imperious Curse."
At this piece of news, a thick undercurrent of whispering broke out. Ed sat back and allowed the news to percolate. He looked over at Harold, who was not speaking, but instead, was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on some unseen object of interest. He almost pitied the young man. His task would be the most difficult and if Ed's assessment of his expression was correct, Harold had already figured out, at least partially, what that task would be. The undercurrent died down and Ed resumed his briefing.
"Our only chance at preventing this catastrophe is to substitute one of our people for one of the delegates. We can't replace the American Secretary of Defense. He has too much background information and his habits are too well known. Nobody here sounds enough like any of the other delegates, except one."
Everybody turned to look at Harold, who still had not moved from the position he had assumed at the start of the briefing, still staring straight ahead. Without blinking, he said softly, "What do I need to do?"
"You will need to Apparate directly into the British delegate's guest room tonight, while he is asleep. Stun him, then send him back here with a Portkey so he won't be discovered. We'll return him at the end of the mission. We'll be sending you with a flask of prepared Polyjuice Potion. You'll need to assume his appearance, and replace him at the council meeting in the morning. You need to confirm whether the Russian delegate is a Dark Wizard or not, and if he is, apprehend him. Cause as little uproar as possible, but take him down at all costs. We'll be ready to come in as backup, but only as a last resort. This is a mission best conducted as a precise, strategic strike. Certainly, you can see why. Do you understand the mission?"
Harold finally looked up; his eyes were clear and steady. He nodded.
"Ok then," Ed continued. "You have the rest of the morning and afternoon to prepare. Get some rest. You'll need it. Report to me with at 1600h. You too, James. The rest of you, report at 1630h. Dismissed."
**********************************************************************
Harold paced around his room. He sat down and pretended to read the copy of the Daily Prophet his parents had sent to him. Tossing the paper aside, he stood and began to pace again. He was about to try the newspaper once more when he heard a scratching sound at the window. Looking up, he was simultaneously surprised and relieved to see a raven was perched on the sill outside. It had to be from Jan.
Harold jumped up and opened the window as fast as his shaking fingers allowed. The raven hopped onto his shoulder and held out her leg, to which was attached a small roll of parchment. Untying it, he gently unrolled the note. The message was written in an elegant script.
Dear Harold,
It's only been a day, and I miss you already. I can tell you're slightly upset over something, and I wanted to know if you're ok. I know about the mission you're going on and I'm guessing that's what has you so nervous. I was the one who spied for the information leading to this mission. I know you'll be ok. You're incredible like that. Would you like to meet for lunch today? I should take you to the Broomshed. It's a lovely little place in Revolution Alley that I don't believe you've visited. Meet me at the entrance to the ACM building at noon. I'll see you there.
Love Always,
Jan
For the first time since he had received his mission that morning, Harold's mind was elsewhere, if only momentarily. Still, it was enough to let the tension that had been building in his mind begin to bleed away. He grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and scribbled down a quick reply.
Jan, I'd love to meet you for lunch, but you probably already knew that. I'll meet you at noon.
Harold
The raven held out his leg expectantly, and Harold swore the bird winked at him as he tied the note to its leg. It immediately took off out the window. As Harold turned back into his room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
"I'm a mess," he said to nobody. "My clothes are a mess, I've got dark circles under my eyes, and my hair is a mess." He tried to flatten his hair with his hands, then reached for the comb.
"You're fighting a loosing battle, dear," the mirror told him in a gentle voice.
At 12:00, Harold found himself on the front stairs of Salem Headquarters. He paced back and forth, still trying to work off the stress from the morning's announcement. He almost jumped when the door opened behind him.
"My, my! You've got your socks in a bind today!" Jan winked at him mischievously.
"No, I mean, well.yeah. I'm just nervous."
"I can understand why," she said, showing absolutely no sign thinking poorly of him for admitting his fears. "It's not every day a person goes on a solo mission. You'll have to rely on yourself, and yourself alone. But then, I would think that would make you feel even more confident."
"Why on earth would you say that?" he asked, bewildered.
"Because I can't think of anybody I would rather rely on than you."
"You have a way of making everything sound good."
"Is there a reason why everything can't be?"
"So, are we going to lunch or not? My stomach is screaming at me."
She laughed and offered her arm. "Hold tight now. We'll Apparate there." With a faint pop, they disappeared from the steps.
***********************************************************************
"Harry? Harry! Pay attention. Are you ok?" Big Ed was looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Oh, uh, yes, yes sir. I just had my mind elsewhere."
"Now is not the time to let your mind wander. Do you need some strong coffee?"
"Er, perhaps a cup of tea?"
Ed nodded to James, who stuck his head out of the office door, called the Headquarters' resident house elf, Mimi, and asked her for some tea. She was dressed in a clean mauve toga, probably made of a new woolen blanket. She smiled widely, and squeaked in a thick Boston accent, "Right away, sir. Will Sir be wantin' sugah in his tea?"
James smiled. "Yes, two please."
When James pulled his head back inside, he found Harold listening in rapt attention to Ed's instructions. They were both looking at a diagram of the inside of the Pentagon, with another showing the building in which the delegates were being housed. Tiny dots were moving around the pieces of parchment like ants, each one labeled with a small epithet, such as "Sergeant Major of the Army", "Colonel, Military Intelligence", "civilian technician", and "Secretary of Defense." Harold was fascinated by those maps, and was determined to figure out how to make one himself.
"This is the room where they will be having the meeting. When the meeting starts, we can trick the cameras for you with magic, so you won't have to worry about recording devices. If anything unusual or threatening happens within the meeting room, act immediately of course, but try to see if you can lure the Russian delegate out of the meeting, or catch him in a bathroom. We can shield whatever room you're in. You'll be monitored at all times on the maps we'll keep here. We're linking you to James through a monitoring charm. It doesn't give us much detail, but we'll know if you're in severe pain."
"Oh, that's a lovely thought." Harold's humor was starting to return to its usual sarcastic edge.
"You're welcome," James interrupted with a grin. "Your headache is my headache. Your neck is my pain in the neck."
"Hey, it is good to know I won't be totally alone."
At that moment, Mimi appeared carrying a teacup on a saucer, and a small roll of parchment.
"Sir, the lady outside asked Mimi to give this to you. Here is your tea, Sir! Let Mimi know if you want anything else, Sir!" She squeaked a smile, and vanished with a crack.
"Unroll it, Harry! What's it say?"
Harold turned to the side, unrolled his parchment, and read quietly to himself. The note said:
Dear Harry,
You're never alone. Always remember that.
Jan
"What's it say?" James asked again, more emphatically this time.
Harold just smiled, took a sip of his tea, turned back to the other two men and said, "I think I'm going to be just fine."
***********************************************************************
Harold Apparated into the dark room which he had studied so carefully on his Living Map. He was met by soft snores and the quiet ticking of a nightstand clock. He walked towards the bed of the sleeping British delegate, who Harold now knew to be Richard Winthorpe. Just as he was reaching for his wand, his foot found a briefcase that had been left of the floor. He fell with a muffled thud, causing the delegate to sit bolt- upright in bed.
"W-w-what?" he stuttered sleepily.
Harold jumped up, aimed his wand directly at Winthorpe. "STUPEFY!" he said as forcefully as he could at a whisper. The spell hit the sleepy man directly in the chest, and he fell softly backwards onto his pillow. Harold got to his feet, shaking slightly. Thirty seconds into the mission, and he had already made a near-fatal mistake. He couldn't dwell on it now.
Grasping a section of the man's hair, he pointed his wand at the roots, and muttered a severing charm. The hair came neatly loose in his hand. He unscrewed the top of the flask of Polyjuice Potion and dropped in the hair. The contents of the flask bubbled slightly as the hairs activated the potion. Harold pulled from his pocket a paperclip which had been turned into a target-specific Portkey, and placed it in Winthorpe's limp hand. The delegate disappeared in a flash, transported safely to Salem Headquarters for his own safety. Harold swirled the flask of Polyjuice Potion, stifling a gagging sensation as the rank odor of overcooked cabbage met his nose. With a grimace, he took a quick swig, and braced himself as the transformation process ran its course. Finally, with a tap of his wand, his robes - which were now quite snug around the middle - became a proper set of muggle nightclothes.
He pulled his Living Maps from the pocket of the pajamas. "Lumos." He shined the light from his wand onto the maps. Nobody was running towards his room. The building was quiet. Phase one was complete. He looked over at the clock, which read 10:30. The alarm was set for 6:00. A quick change to a 3:00 wake-up call gave him three extra hours to read as much of Winthorpe's paperwork as possible. He stole a quick glance in the mirror. Partially bald, skinny with a small potbelly, Richard was as inconspicuous of a public figure as one could imagine. Harold nodded slightly. It was as perfect as he could ask for. With that, he crawled into the bed, and tried to catch some sleep.
At 8:00 the next morning, Harold was ushered to a waiting limousine, complete with police escort, and was driven to the Pentagon. He had been there before, but the other times, he had been there with his entire team. At 9:00, the meeting started. The room was quickly filled with intense yet utterly dry banter and plotting, discussions of battle ships and aircraft, medical supplies and combat support. Harold said no more than he needed to, occupied with his careful observations of the Russian delegate. The man was obviously trying to test the limits of this coalition. He was suggesting very minimalist international cooperation, with each nation contributing its own loosely affiliated efforts. He recommended that the United States not become so deeply involved in European affairs. One plan he proposed involved bargaining with the Axis powers. Harold took very little time deciding that this man needed to be eliminated from this meeting, but he still needed proof that this was a Dark Wizard. His opportunity came soon enough.
The American Secretary of Defense called a recess to the council, and the delegates each stood and went to refresh themselves. Harold found a small, private washroom, and immediately pulled out his map of the Pentagon. The Russian delegate was easy enough to locate. "Demetrius Vorak" was walking down a relatively quiet hallway towards a private washroom. Harold waited until Vorak had entered the washroom and began to follow him, trusting that his team back home had managed to blank out the electronic devices and shield him from prying eyes. He arrived outside the door to the restroom, pulled his wand from his sleeve, and muttered, "Auditus Acclaro." He could hear Vorak speaking in a strained voice.
"Commander, they are determined to continue their course of action. Shall I put them under the Imperious Curse immediately?" A pause. "It shall be done. Heil Hitler!"
Harold suddenly realized what a stupid position he was in. He was standing in an empty hallway, wand in hand. There was only one possible course of action.
The doorknob began to turn.
"Stupify!" Harold cried, but Vorak hadn't been directly behind the door, and the spell ricocheted into the room, harmless.
"Petrificus Totalis!" Harold found himself frozen, but conscious, being pulled into the room.
"So, what have we here? Our little British Muggle is more than he appears." Vorak snatched Harold's wand from his rigid hand. "What is your name, really now? Winthorpe? I'm not so certain." He stuck the extra wand into his breast pocket and turned the other on Harold.
"Finite Incantatum." Harold slouched to the floor. He knew he had to think fast before Vorak did something. He didn't have long to wait. "Not answering me? Crucio!"
Harold thought he was on fire, only he didn't think a person could burn from the inside. He was writhing on the ground, clenching his fists, gritting his teeth, but not making a sound save for the laboured gasps for air. "Finite Incantatum."
"Perhaps you'll be a bit more cooperative now."
He pushed himself part way off the ground. Filled with a sense of pure loathing, Harold did the first thing that came to mind. He spit at the dark wizard. It was not a good decision, and earned him a swift kick to the side. There was a sickening crack, and Harold felt his breathing became difficult. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his ribs. Seconds later, the boot connected with the side of his head. He lay there for a brief moment, dazed, then slowly brought his hand up to his ear. When he pulled it away, it was covered in blood. He looked up at the Dark Wizard.
"You'll cooperate with me, fool. Imperio."
Suddenly, the pain was forgotten. Sensations felt muted, and everything became soft as though seen and heard through a thick, cottony fog. Then he heard it in his mind. "Get up. Walk back to the meeting room. You will agree with me. We will control the Muggles."
Harold wanted to agree. It would be so easy to agree. Why not? It made perfect sense. So simple, so easy . . . so utterly wrong. He looked up at the wizard standing over him, and suddenly his head cleared. Moving faster than he thought possible, he leapt up and, putting all his weight behind the blow, slammed his fist into Vorak's temple. The wizard went flying backwards into the wall and slumped to the ground. Shaking, Harold reached over and retrieved his wand. Then he snatched up Vorak's wand and swiftly snapped it in two. It emitted a small cloud of smoke and a few hissing sparks before Harold tossed the pieces aside. Suddenly, he heard a noise outside the door.
"Alohomora!"
James came bursting in to the room. "Harry!"
Harold looked down at the unconscious wizard, then back to James. He chuckled weakly and said, "That was easy." Then he realized that the room was getting cold and dark. Everything was moving strangely. As he slumped to the ground, James rushed to catch him. He vaguely heard James yelling his name before everything went black.
************************************************************************
"Harry? Harry, c'mon, please. Open your eyes."
Why would I want to do a silly thing like that? I'm asleep, can't you see? I was having the strangest dream too. Something about me as a lion, and there was a bird sitting on my shoulder. I want to finish my dream.
"Harry?" The voice was a bit louder now, slightly frantic.
Ok, ok. I'm opening my eyes.ouch! Bright light, no, I'm keeping them closed, thank you very much.
"Close the curtains! The light is too bright for him."
Harold felt someone shaking his shoulder lightly, and his muscles screamed in protest to the slightest touch. Stop that! It hurts. Can't you just leave me alone? He heard a very faint moan escape from him. Then, he heard another voice, a soft woman's voice.
"Harry? I know you're in there. Wake up."
Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. A pair of dark eyes were peering into his, the face in which they were set was lined with concern. Jan sighed with relief. "Oh thank goodness. Even I was starting to worry."
A wet cloth was removed from his forehead and replaced with a fresh one which sent a trickle of water down his temple. He was grateful; his head was throbbing mercilessly. His still-sore ribs were protesting vehemently with every breath. Without moving his head any more than absolutely necessary, he checked his surroundings. He was back in his room at the ACM's dormitory.
"Wh-what happened?" he croaked.
"What happened?" repeated James incredulously. "What happened! You single- handedly took down the very wizard who turns out to be the ringleader of the group that infiltrated the Russian government, that's all!" He looked at Big Ed, who was looking both very relieved and very proud.
"Not only did you do the IWWC proud, but also your own Ministry of Magic. With the information we gathered from Vorak using Veritaserum, we're going to be able to crack our way through most of the entire northern European network of Dark Wizards." Ed paused. "Harry, you're being called a hero in your own rights."
Harold laughed, which caused his ribs to ache even more. "Ouch. If being a hero hurts this much, leave me out of it."
Everybody broke into laughter at this, and it was at this point that the team's Mediwizard, Arnold, tore into the room.
"You're all riling up my patient? Out now! Shoo!"
"Wait," James interrupted. "Can she stay?" He inclined his head towards Jan.
Arnold looked like he was about to argue, but something in Jan's expression stifled him. "Ok, she can stay. Now the rest of you, out!"
After a series of rushed congratulations and well wishes, the room quickly emptied. Arnold set to work patching broken ribs and doling out remedies for concussion and post-Cruciatus trauma, all the time muttering comments about how crazy it was to send kids on dangerous missions, and something about how terrible is was that the war was destroying the innocence of today's youth. Harold blushed with embarrassment over being referred to as a youth, but Jan squeezed his hand and gave him a smile to let him know that she didn't think of him as a child. Arnold finished quickly, and Harold felt as though he had a new body. He made a move to stand up.
"Oh no you don't, boy! You lie right back down there. You're not going anywhere until tomorrow!"
"But I feel fine!" Harold protested.
"I can watch him," Jan said, but Arnold wouldn't hear of it.
"He's staying here. He needs to let everything settle down. Besides, I can mend bones easily, I can treat magical trauma, but he's also had a concussion, plain and simple. You can only do so much for those. The brain is a delicate thing. I need to check on him every couple of hours tonight. Last thing I need is for this kid to lapse into a coma on my watch. He's delicate right now."
"I AM NOT DELICATE!"
Jan and Arnold both turned to look at Harold in surprise, who gave the distinct impression of smoking at the ears.
"Ok, compromise perhaps. Jan, you can stay here tonight, provided you wake him up every two hours. I'm giving him a mild sleeping potion - no arguments Harry - to help him sleep, but not so strong that you can't wake him up. Notify me immediately if there's a problem. Tomorrow, you can take him wherever you want. He's getting a week off to recover from the mission."
Jan nodded, not wanting to push her luck. Arnold set a bottle of sleeping potion on the table, turned to walk out the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder at Jan. "Oh, and you let him rest. No monkey-business in here tonight, you hear me?"
Jan's mouth started to open in protest, but Arnold cracked a huge grin, chuckled, and walked out the door closing it softly behind him.
Harold rolled his eyes. Great, he thought. First, the hero's welcome, then the hormonal-teenager treatment. Jan noticed his irritation, and sat down on the bed.
"You were absolutely brilliant, you know."
"How do you know? You weren't there."
She laughed lightly. "I told you, you're never alone, right?" Harold nodded dumbly.
"Well," she continued, "suffice to say for now that I was paying attention to your every movement. You did a wonderful job of throwing off the Imperious Curse, if I do say so myself." She smiled at him knowingly and squeezed his hand. "You were brilliant."
Too tired to dig for more answers, Harold nodded again and returned the smile.
She leaned over and ran her hand through his shock of disorderly black hair. "Your hair's a mess."
Before he could respond, she had tilted up his chin and brought her lips to his. The kiss was long and sweet, and Harold found himself thinking that it ended altogether too soon.
**********************************************************************
Christmas Eve came quickly, and the holiday did indeed bring Harold home Godric's Hollow. After nearly being hugged to death by his mum, they finally were able to relax around the fireplace with cups of wassail.
"It's really exciting," Harold was telling them. "We brought down an entire set of Dark Wizards within the ranks of the Marine Corps. It's amazing how many Muggles they had under the Imperious Curse. You can imagine how much work the ACM had cut out for them after that!"
"How much did you get to see of that?" his father asked.
"Well, I stunned two of them on that mission, but then I got stunned myself and they only revived me after the rest of it was over."
His mother looked horrified by the thought. "Oh Harold! They didn't!
"Mum, it's fine, really. Nothing like the solo mission I went on." Immediately, Harold knew he'd spoken too soon. His parents dragged the story out of him. His father beamed with pride, but his mother had gone a strangely pale.
"You did well son. Joanne, dear, you see he's fine. He's a strong young man."
"I know, but I like to see my son happy, not in the middle of all this fighting."
Harold cleared his throat in an attempt to change the line of conversation and touched his mother lightly on the arm. "I, uh, do have some happier news, if you'd like. You see, I, er, met this woman, a beautiful witch named Janice who works at the ACM. She and I have been dating for over a month now."
He'd found the right subject. His mother was beaming. "Oh, my dear! Why didn't you tell us? I'm so happy for you! Is she with her family for the holiday? You must bring her to visit!"
His father was shaking his head, but grinning ear to ear. "Congratulations, son. Seems like you've got the old Potter charm."
The conversation relaxed into more pleasant topics made merry by the holiday drinks. The holidays were cheerful, but passed by quickly, and soon Harold was packing his trunk. He was almost as happy to leave. He wanted to see Jan again.
***********************************************************************
Arduous months went by with little time to rest. Harold spent every free moment possible with Jan, making the most of the time they had together. War was not pretty. When they cleared out the Dark Wizards inhibiting the nuclear weapons development, they battled with their consciences for weeks upon weeks afterwards. They lost some people. Robert, who had been one of Harold's first friends in the States, was hit by a killing curse during a wand-fight. Still, the squad pressed on.
Harold was making quite a name for himself through his actions, willingness to risk himself for his squad, quick thinking, and occasionally brilliant decisions that were sometimes quite reckless. The strength and bravery that had long been associated with the Potter name had not missed Harold, and he seemed to have finally found a niche that suited him. Then, in November of '43, an unexpected letter arrived at Headquarters from the Ministry of Magic.
The squad had been sitting in the lounge in the early evening when a scratching at the window alerted them to the huge eagle owl that had landed there. James opened the window and the owl flew in, landing on the coffee table in front of Harold. Although confused, Harold automatically untied the parchment and unrolled it. As he read, his expression tightened.
"What's going on, Harry?" prodded Nathan. Everyone was looking at him.
"It's a letter from the Ministry of Magic in Britain. They're calling me back for an 'undisclosed' mission."
"WHAT?" roared James. He snatched the letter and read it aloud, while Harold slumped back into his seat, too stunned to argue.
Dear Mr. Potter, Your service to the International Wizarding Wartime Cooperative has been exemplary, and you have demonstrated great honour to Britain. Because of your expertise, we now require your participation in an effort on the European front. More details will be provided upon your arrival at M.O.M. headquarters. You are expected to report in two weeks. A Portkey will be provided. We once again thank you for your service in these difficult times.
Sincerely,
Lugus Weatherby
Harold was speechless. He didn't want to leave his team, his family, in the middle of this struggle, but as he once told his father, it wasn't up to him. He looked up at James, whose expression begged him to say it wasn't true. Harold swallowed, and said, "I guess I'm leaving."
***********************************************************************
That night, Harold couldn't sleep, and the sunrise caught him walking the streets of Salem aimlessly. How could he leave his team? How could he leave Jan? Why now? It was then that a familiar raven swooped down and landed on his shoulder causing him to cry out in alarm.
"Bram! Why did you startle me like that?"
He untied the parchment from its leg, and read the note quickly. He got the feeling that the bird was reading over his shoulder.
Harold,
Please just come right over. I'm awake, and I don't like you being this upset. We'll talk. Don't worry, it'll be ok.
Jan
"I guess I'd better go now, huh?"
Bram squawked a reply, and took off again.
A minute later, Harold was in Jan's living room. She threw her arms around him and held him for a long moment. When she pulled back, he could see tears threatening to spill from her eyes. He'd never seen Jan cry before.
"Have a seat. I made you some tea, dear. Please, just talk to me. Tell me everything on your mind. I just want to hear you talk."
Harold showed her the letter and all the worries he'd poured over the night before came spilling out. They held each other and he talked until his tea had gone cold, still untouched. He finally stopped and looked down at her.
"I want you to come with me."
"You know I can't do that. Right now, I'm vital to the ACM's mission. I don't even have a last name right now, did you know that? It was magically erased to make it harder to track me. It's part of my job. My life is my job right now. I can't."
"There's always a way! We'll find a way!" Harold searched her face frantically, but through her tears, her resolve was stone hard. She shook her head.
"We'll just have to make the most of the two weeks we have."
And so they did. They visited historical sites, explored New England, and went sailing on the Charles River together, but mostly they sat and talked. Harold was exempted from missions those two weeks but visited his friends from the squad daily. They took him to the Broomshed one evening as a going-away party. Finally, his last night arrived.
He and Jan sat in front of her fireplace, silent for the first time in two weeks. After a long time of sitting wrapped in each other's arms, Harold pulled back slightly from Jan and turned to face her.
"I wanted to give you something to keep with you until we meet again." His voice wavered slightly. "It's small but I hope you like it."
He pulled out a small, flat box and opened the cover. Inside sat a silver pendant on a chain. The pendant was a crest, designed as a lion's head set into a simple but elegant framework. "Do you like it?"
She looked up at him, then reached into the box and fastened it around her neck. "I love it, almost as much as I love you."
"I'll never forget you, you know. Never. We'll see each other again, soon, after the war."
Jan sighed. "Actually, that's what we need to talk about." She cupped his face in her hands. "You're going to protest, but this is the way it's going to have to be. You will forget about me. You have to."
"No! That's impossible."
She shook her head. "It's not. Tomorrow morning, you'll wake up in your bunk, ready to go back to Britain. Your entire memory of me will seem to you like nothing more than a pleasant dream. Like a dream, it will fade away."
"H-h-how?"
"I told you once why I'm such an important spy. The Mind Touch. I can hear people's thoughts. I can also modify memories. If I wanted to, I could even control people's minds from the inside. These abilities are rare, and are closely monitored by the Magical Government. I never use them outside of the line of work, and as a spy, people can't be attached to me. I'm too dangerous to them. I'd be too dangerous to you, on your mission. I was ordered to do it."
She choked back a sob and continued. "I can't tell you how much it hurts me to do this. I do love you, more than anything, but they need me here. Someday when my tour of duty is over, and I'll never know when that will be until it happens, I'll come find you. If you're single, I'll find you. I promise, then you'll remember everything. I'll never forget you. Never."
Harold couldn't speak. Tears were overflowing his eyes, and his throat was tight. They wrapped their arms around each other, and stared into the fire. Harold finally found his voice.
"I love you, Jan. We'll see each other again. Somehow."
The following July, a girl was born, with a head full of black hair.