Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft.

-_- Eryr -_-

Chapter 6

Into The Unknown

Number 4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

July 9, 1994

Hannah Mueller adjusted the helmet in her arms as she stood in front of the downed man while he gazed at her face in shocked recognition.

"Hannah?" muttered Harry incredulously as he stared at the waitress he had met just the day before - and who was currently one of the three assailants who had attacked him. Oh, and also attacked his family.

The woman continued to watch him warily as he struggled to get into a sitting position, wincing when pain erupted from between his shoulder blades, his nerves still tingling from the electrical shock he had suffered just a few minutes earlier. He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself and recover. He could also feel his magic reacting to his emotional turmoil and the wizard did his best to tame the tempest that was his magic, as he was well aware of the consequences of unconstrained magic. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to process what had just happened.

Closing his eyes, he could hear Hannah's two accomplices moving about, no doubt trying to secure and restrain Vernon and Dudley before the two Dursleys could regain their senses.

When Hannah noticed that the teenager in front of her had closed his eyes and was trying to regain his wits, she motioned for her two team-mates to begin their work. They had a mission to finish, and then get away from this place as fast as they possibly could. She did not know why, but something about this house felt very wrong to her.

Hearing the sound of exhalation, she came out of her momentarily distracting thoughts and once again concentrated on the young man sitting on the floor before her. His messy black hair was more tousled than ever and his pyjama bottoms were disheveled, a result of their earlier scuffle. She slowly walked around to get a better look at her detainee and determine his condition. When she did see his back, she winced in sympathy. Due to the large tear in his shirt, she could see a sizable bruise already beginning to appear on the teenager's well-muscled back, no doubt due to being harshly slammed to the floor by her larger colleague. Even though the big guy was a quiet and solemn person most of the time, he was very aggressive and brutal in combat, and quite prone to using excessive force when attacking, evidenced by his treatment of the young man in front of her.

She could also see the two barbed probes from their taser still clinging to the skin of his back where they had pierced him right between the shoulder blades. Though her team-mates had cut the conducting wires attaching the probes to the taser, they had decided it was not safe to approach Harry and remove the prongs still embedded in his back, even though he appeared incapacitated; they had made the mistake once, when they had assumed him to be out-of-action after he had been smashed into the floor, only for him to unexpectedly attack and subdue her when she had approached him. It was only due to the swift actions on part of her partners that she did not currently sport a dislocated shoulder, which was most likely what would have happened if the big guy had been a few seconds too late in targeting the young man with his taser.

Still, she was impressed by Harry's ability to tolerate such pain. She knew first-hand how ruthless her taller team member could be even in regular melee training, and he could become very dangerous if he was not stopped in time. She silently admired the teen in front of her for being able to even move properly, let alone attack her consciously, after being tossed so violently. She wondered what his pain threshold must be, because he had not whimpered when he had been thrown onto his back, and even after being tased, he had only made a few gasps.

Hannah was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned her gaze away from the almost-motionless teenager in front of her to watch her two team-mates walk up to her to report the outcome of their rummage. After all, she was the leader of this mission.

When they came to a stop in front of her, she merely raised a brow in askance. The two shared a brief glance before the shorter man decided to answer her.

"Well, the wife was already asleep, so I merely made sure that she won't be waking up for at least six hours," he stated, his voice muffled as he fumbled with the chin-strap of his helmet, trying to remove it. Finally succeeding in his endeavour, he breathed in the fresh oxygen that his stifling helmet unfortunately blocked.

His light brown hair was short and his angular face was clean shaven, with a slightly crooked nose which appeared to have been broken at least once. Standing at around five foot five inches, he was of average height and an athletic frame. He had green eyes which were sharp and alert, serious at the moment, but a playful glint could normally be seen in them. His name was Michael "Mike" Prader.

Hannah swept her eyes over her other team-mate, who was in the process of deftly removing his own head gear. Around six feet tall and dusky, with well-defined muscles and sturdy body, this individual would not look out of place in an underground fighting tournament. His long ebony hair was held away from his face by a head-band, which covered a scar running diagonally across his temple. Generous stubble was visible on his broad face. He possessed deep-set brown eyes under a thick brow and a wide nose. Hints of an intricate tribal tattoo - possibly Polynesian in origin - could be visible on his left arm where it was not covered by his T-shirt. The name of this man was Mandip Dhami, but he usually preferred to answer to his nickname "Manny".

Manny cleared his throat before speaking, his voice surprisingly soft yet strong.

"I couldn't find anything in the rooms. The main bedroom's obviously used by the husband and wife, but nothing important was there in any of the drawers, though I did uncover a secret compartment in the husband's closet. It had quite a diverse collection of porn movies," he said, sharing a conspiratorial grin with his male accomplice.

"Yes, yes, he's a big lecher, now continue," she demanded, while rolling her eyes at her team-mates' perverted nature.

"Er. . . yes, well, the second largest bedroom belongs to the junior whale. Probably the worst-smelling room in the house, and that's including the toilet," he said, grimacing as he recalled his experience. "Didn't find anything but empty boxes of sweets squashed under the mattress and a lot of useless stuff."

"The next room appears to be a spare bedroom for guests," said Mike, before adding, "Looks like it hasn't been used for a while though."

"Last one is the smallest bedroom and is probably used by this guy," Manny added, frowning as he nodded towards the young man on the ground with his head bowed.

"Are you sure we should leave him unrestrained?" Mike interrupted as he too glanced at their only conscious hostage. 'Not for long, I think,' he pondered absent-mindedly.

"You going to approach him, Mikey? Because I certainly won't be," replied Hannah.

"Er. . . let's continue," Mike hastily replied before he could be coerced into approaching the unpredictable teenager by Hannah.

"Why would anyone have a cat-flap installed on a bedroom door?" queried Manny, brows furrowed in confusion. "Especially when they don't own a cat?"

"No idea, mate," muttered Mike with a frown of his own.

"Well, anyway, I found a bird cage, a lot of broken toys and old books. All the furniture also appears damaged in some way," Manny continued with his report, "There was a loose floorboard under the bed, and found quite a lot of snacks and other less-perishable food items. A trunk filled with weird books, calligraphy stuff like quills, strange type of paper and wizard costumes."

"Wizard costumes?" inquired Hannah with a grin.

"You know, cloaks, pointed hats, robes, that kinda stuff," muttered Manny with a small shrug.

"Maybe he's one of those Wiccan cultists?" mumbled his partner with a grin, but quieted when Hannah glared at him.

"There's nothing in the living room or the kitchen," Mike finished with a wry smile.

"Well, our people scouted the place for a whole week, and we even spotted one of their high-ranking members here for God's sake, so we should find at least something here!" exclaimed Hannah, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. She palmed her face, trying to calm herself down and proceed logically. This was her first mission as a leader and she did not wish to screw it up by making irrational judgements.

"Okay, first tell me, what is the status of the two…?" she inquired.

"Dursley," Manny murmured helpfully.

"Right, so what of the two Dursleys?" questioned Hannah.

"Well, Manny over here got Junior pretty good with the taser. The wimp fainted in shock right away," answered Mike with an amused grin. "And you got Senior with a dart to the neck. He'll be out for at least five hours. And a lot of pain too when he wakes up."

His grin widened as he added in a conspirational whisper, "You kicked him in the nads, didn't you?"

Manny's eyes widened at his friend's statement and he turned to gaze at Hannah with surprised wide eyes, before he began laughing in amusement at the actions of his female companion.

Hannah only glowered at the two men with narrowed eyes, grumbling under her breath about "perverts" and "He deserved it!"

"What about that one?" asked Manny after he stopped laughing, nodding towards the young man still on the floor.

"Keep an eye on him, but don't approach him. We don't know if he will try to attack again or not, and I don't want to take any chances," muttered Hannah while rolling her shoulders; she could still feel the slight pain from the earlier incident. And she was sure that she would not be able to run properly for a few days due to the bloody kick to her leg.

When the two men nodded, she continued, "Take Senior and Junior to their respective rooms. Senior has no idea what happened and will not be a problem. Junior, on the other hand, did see and feel the attack. However, once Boss gets here, he can give all of them his special cocktail so they won't be remembering much, if anything at all."

Again the two men merely nodded. Everyone was silent for a few seconds before they started to move, heading to finish their given tasks. Mike had one last question to ask though.

"When will Boss get here?" he queried as he moved to assist the big guy in moving the two beached whales to their rooms.

Hannah moved towards their motionless quarry, glancing at the digital watch strapped to her wrist before answering her team-mate's question.

"He'll be here shortly," was her brief answer.

Mike must have noticed her tense as she approached the inert youth, because he remained silent and proceeded to help his friend haul the two overweight individuals up the stairs.

Hannah stood at a safe distance from Harry with a hand on the knife attached to her thigh, keeping an eye on him while constantly looking out of the living room window towards the main road, waiting for the arrival of her superior.

She was startled when a voice suddenly broke the silence of the room.

"Who are you?" asked Harry, his voice hoarse as he moved ever so slightly to lean against the nearest wall. He looking up at the young woman through his disheveled hair, his emerald eyes somewhat unfocused.

Hannah glanced at him but did not bother answering the question. Once more, the room was silent.

"Are you with the Templars?" questioned Harry, this time the steel in his voice quite obvious.

The young woman jerked slightly as if shocked, then rounded on the wizard with such a sharp glare that Harry almost shuddered from the venom in her blue eyes. He opened his mouth, but before he could even make a noise, he was interrupted.

"Shut the fuck up! If you make any fucking sound, I'll kill you!" hissed Hannah through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowed in anger. She pursed her lips, uncannily reminiscent of Professor Minerva McGonagall when she was angry. She scowled before turning away to look at the door when they heard the sound of a car pulling back into the driveway.

Harry - though he might have seemed to be very disoriented - had been eavesdropping on the conversation between the three invaders and had heard enough to know that the 'Boss' of his current 'house-guests' would be arriving soon, and the car entering the driveway probably belonged to that mysterious 'Boss'. He heard the clunk of the car door being shut and his muddled mind imagined the phantom footsteps on the path as the unknown person made their way towards the front door.

Harry kept his head bowed as the front door was opened with a creak as it swung on its hinges before it was closed with a soft thud. He kept his eyes rooted on the floor, having no wish to gaze upon the latest intruder. But his ears were still active, picking up the muttered conversation taking place between Hannah and the latest 'house-guest'.

The sounds of conversation petered out and a few moments later, black loafers appeared in his field of vision. Harry slowly lifted his gaze to look at the stranger, his sharp eyes taking in the appearance this 'Boss'.

'Boss' wore black trousers and a plain white shirt, over which he wore a grey Donegal tweed jacket. Probably in his late 40s, the man was tall, standing around five foot ten inches and appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent. Olive-skinned, with dark brown, almond-shaped eyes, short black hair and a trimmed beard, the man could pass for a scholar.

When his eyes met with the young Novice, his lips twisted into a phlegmatic smile. For a moment, it seemed as if the brown eyes were glowing golden with an inner light, but it disappeared immediately, making Harry wonder if he merely imagined it. The man leaned forwards, as if to get a better look at the teenager.

Harry was about to react but before he could even twitch a muscle, both of his arms were grabbed by the two thugs. Mike and Manny hauled him to his feet, the larger man gripping his arm with almost bruising strength. 'Boss' grabbed the neophyte magus' face with his long-fingered hand, turning his head from side to side, as if he were inspecting a particularly interesting specimen for deformities. Harry struggled to get out of their hold, though his efforts were completely futile.

'Boss' did not notice this, and even if he did, he simply ignored it. With his other hand, the middle-aged man moved the hair that was blocking his view of the boy's face. He noticed the lightning bolt scar on the boy's forehead; it was not an accidental injury but appeared to be deliberately inflicted, perhaps carved into the skin with a sharp object. Brown eyes again seemed to flash golden for a few seconds before resuming their normal colour and thin lips curved into a smirk.

"Well, well, well," he drawled in a deep, distant voice, moving a few steps away from the boy to stand next to Hannah, "Isn't this interesting. . . "

Hannah glanced at her superior with a confused expression, as did her two comrades. Their 'Boss' did not satiate their curiosity but instead he turned and whispered something to Hannah. Harry could not hear what was being whispered, but when he noticed Hannah's eyes widening slightly and her furtive glances, he realized it probably did not bode well for him.

The man handed Hannah something and shot him one last fleeting look before he marched out of the room. The creaking of the stairs indicated that he was moving to the second storey of the house, most likely to administer his "special cocktail" to the three Dursleys.

Harry was distracted enough by the sudden departure of the older man that he almost did not notice when Hannah approached him. In one hand she held a plastic syringe filled with a clear liquid while with her other hand she tapped the syringe to make sure the air bubbles floated to the top. She pushed the plunger to get rid of the air bubble and a little amount of the liquid was also squirted out of the tip of the needle, after which she noted the exact volume of the liquid remaining inside the syringe.

'Bloody hell, I'm fucked! That liquid certainly ain't water! I guess I'm being given a taste of the special cocktail as well. . . ' realized Harry with panic, his eyes firmly rooted on the woman approaching him with the syringe-full of unknown liquid, chest heavy with sudden apprehension.

When he discerned what his fate was going to be, the wizard began to struggle against the vice-grip of the two thugs, but his efforts only earned him a sharp elbow to his gut, enough the make him wheeze due to the force of the sudden blow.

"Stop struggling, resistance is futile," murmured Mike as he and his friend tightened their hold on the slippery ruffian. At his words, Hannah shot him a glare before once again concentrating on her current victim.

While Manny and Mike held him in place, she rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt to expose his muscled upper arm. She gripped his forearm and with a finger, she checked for the median cubital vein in his cubital fossa, colloquially known as the elbow pit. Immediately finding it, she gestured to Mike to hand her the alcohol-soaked cotton, absently noticing that the pulse of her victim/patient was sky-rocketing. Swabbing the area to disinfect it, she put the tip of the syringe near its designated entry point. Taking a deep breath, she pierced the skin and slowly but steadily pushed the plunger until every ounce of liquid inside the cylindrical tube was pumped into Harry. She removed the needle and with another piece of alcohol-soaked cotton, she once again swabbed the area before quickly backpedaling, wishing to stay out of reach of the volatile young man.

Compared to the pain he was experiencing from the current state of his back, as well as from almost his entire body, the syringe-needle piercing his skin felt like a minor itch. After about a minute, when he felt the two goons releasing him from their clutches, Harry was puzzled and a little optimistic. Perhaps they were confident that whatever the "special cocktail" they had injected into his body would paralyze him, but since it was tailored for incapacitating Muggles, it would not properly work on him due to his magic.

All his hopes were dashed only a few seconds later. As he tried to move forwards, he staggered and fell to his knees, trying to keep himself upright. His vision, which had been recently restored to its full potential, became blurred. He tried to look around the room, trying to focus on the three intruders in the room, but for some reason, it seemed as if the whole room had started spinning rapidly around him. His perception of time and space was altered. His reflexes slowed as signals from his brain were delayed. The pain which he had been feeling almost disappeared except for a dull throbbing at the back of his skull. He collapsed onto the floor as he tried to breathe in deep gasps of air, but he could feel his breathing slow.

"Whaaa. . . deed. . . yahoo. . . taamee. . . " he slurred, his tongue feeling as if a thick and slimy slug was trying to crawl down his throat, the muscle beyond the control of his own body.

Harry would have begun hyperventilating had he not lost consciousness as he rolled sluggishly on the floor. Laying on his back, he became very still, almost corpse-like, except for rise and fall of his chest as he took strenuous gulps of air.

The three conscious occupants of the room observed the unconscious denizen for a few minutes. Hannah moved forwards to make sure that he was actually out cold and not faking it; she felt his pulse and noted that it was even. When she confirmed that he was out like a light, she directed her attention to Mike and Manny.

"How much did you give him?" asked Mike, finally breaking the silence. Hannah was quiet for a moment before she responded.

"The entire ampoule," she muttered as she shared a glance with her teammates.

"Damn! And it still took a minute and a half to knock him out completely!" exclaimed Manny in an astonished tone, looking at the fallen teen with something akin to admiration in his eyes. Mike grudgingly nodded in agreement to his partner's words.

"It shouldn't have taken a minute and a half to knock him out," said Hannah with a frown, "I was already giving him a higher-than-necessary dosage compared to his body weight. It should've knocked him out in 10 seconds, maximum 30 seconds, but no more."

"Maybe he has a resistance to such 'cocktails'?" suggested Manny, "I know a few people who do."

"Yes, and they must have already been familiar with the 'cocktail' and have it administered to them dozens of times," argued Hannah, still trying to work things out logically.

"I agree with Hannah, mate," stated Mike. A scowl was firmly affixed on his face as he continued, "This one's a tyro to the 'cocktail', so how did he almost resist it? Something's fishy here. . . "

"Maybe he has an innate resistance to the drug," proposed Manny, trying to be the voice of reason.

Before any of the two could begin a counter-argument, they were cut short by the reappearance of their 'Boss'. The man glanced at his subordinates before focusing on the unconscious youth.

"I want you two to go upstairs and pack up his things. Make sure you remove all traces of his presence here," said the older gentleman to the two younger ones, before turning his attention towards the girl. "Is he…?"

"Yes, Boss, he's completely under," replied Hannah.

"Excellent. While the boys finish their work, help me get this one to the car," the man ordered his subordinate. He gripped the unconscious teenager under his arms while the young woman grabbed his legs.

"Fuck, he's heavy!" grumbled Hannah as she lifted the young man as they carried him towards the parked car.

"Indeed," replied her Boss as he supported the younger man with one hand while the other reached behind his back to open the back door of the car.

With a grunt, Hannah roughly tossed Harry into the backseat of the car and closed the door. Her Boss looked at her with a glimpse of amusement in his dark eyes at her rough treatment of their 'prisoner'.

"So what did he do to make you so angry at him, my dear?" queried the man with a smirk.

Hannah just blushed lightly and did not meet his gaze, instead looking around the neighbourhood to see if anyone was watching them and their questionable activities.

When she did not reply, the man's smirk simply widened as he moved towards the driver's side door, getting ready to leave this dull place as soon as his other two subordinates returned from their assigned tasks. After all, he now had a very intriguing person lying unconscious in the backseat of his car who he had to interrogate when he woke up.

They waited in silence for a few minutes before the front door of Number Four opened as Mike and Manny trudged out, carrying out a large and heavy cabin trunk, on which was a precariously balanced iron bird cage. They immediately headed for the black delivery van with that had "Shephard's" on the side, Hannah hurrying forwards to open the rear doors. They quickly loaded the trunk and bird cage into the vehicle and Mike clambered into the driver's seat to start the vehicle.

"You two make your way towards the hideout. Take the longer route, just in case you need to throw off anyone following you, alright? I'll ride with Boss," Hannah shared a meaningful glance with Manny as she added, "Get a room ready for him, will you?"

Manny nodded seriously before climbing into the passenger seat and they drove off, the car soon disappearing into the darkness of the night.

"Well, let's get going, my dear. I have some important things I need to discuss with our guest.I know someone else might also be interested in what I can find out," said the older man, looking over his shoulder to Hannah who was walking over to her Boss's modified silver Volkswagen Golf.

"Boss, not to be rude or anything, but what the the fuck do you want with him?!" Hannah almost yelled at her superior as she got into the vehicle. The man did not give any indication that he had heard her as he calmly put on his seat belt and adjusted his side view mirror. Hannah noticed this and almost growled in anger at his nonchalant attitude but reigned in her temper to preferably get an answer.

"You'll find out soon enough, Hannah," her Boss assured as he started the vehicle, "Soon enough."

Without another word, the car pulled out of the driveway of Number Four Privet Drive and swiftly drove away from the suburban streets of Little Whinging. What they did not notice was a pair of amber eyes following them as they disappeared, nor did they notice the white blur that chased their car from above.

Darkness.

Wherever he looked, in whichever direction he tried to focus, no matter how far his gaze could travel, there was only darkness. Nothing but all-encompassing darkness.

And silence. . . debilitating silence. . . endless silence. . .

Then all of a sudden, he began hearing a multitude of whispers, many voices trying to speak at once, screaming, shouting, chanting, crying, laughing. . .

Finally, all the different voices were muted, and there was suddenly there was once again an oppressive silence. The silence and the darkness were despotic, as if trying to smother him with nothingness. And then Harry heard a voice.

"Who are you?" the voice asked. It was clearly feminine, but it seemed almost robotic, mechanical. The voice seemed to echo, as if the person was speaking to him over a long distance.

Then in the darkness, a pinprick of light appeared, steadily glowing brighter with each passing second. When the light became too bright, Harry closed his eyes, shielding it from the sudden illumination with his hands.

When he opened his eyes, Harry almost died of shock when he unexpectedly found himself face to face with the Sun. In front of him, floating serenely in the black vastness of space was a gigantic spherical ball of hot plasma. All around him, there was the black darkness of space, interspaced by twinkling stars and gleaming planets. Harry noticed different planets, massive asteroids, beautiful comets with visible coma and long graceful tails, as well as a multitude of celestial bodies. It was as if he had suddenly materialized in space. Occasionally, swimming in the space around him, innumerable numbers, runes, glyphs, calculations, formulae, words and icons, flickered and materialized from time to time, most of them not making any sense. It was pure chaos.

"You are not Desmond. Who are you?' came the voice, this time from directly behind him. Harry swiftly turned around and found himself looking at the source of the voice. She was clearly a female, about his height, wearing a flowing white robe, with a strange domed helmet adorning her head. He would say she was had a graceful beauty about her, but it was her eyes, a glowing golden colour, which made him more wary of her. Her face had an ageless quality to it, making it difficult to predict her age, but those golden eyes. . . they showed an uncanny intelligence, but underlying everything was a soul-deep sadness. Those eyes did not match the rest of her expressionless face, as they were too expressive of her innermost feelings.

"Who are you?" the woman asked again.

Harry wanted to speak, but whenever he tried, no words came out nor could be make any noise. It was as if he was under a Silencing Charm which had rendered him completely and utterly mute.

"Who are you? . . . Who are you? . . . Who are you? . . . "

The words seem to echo in this endless darkness. This time, when he tried to speak, no words came out, but at least he was able to make some noise. He tried his best to speak and finally managed to say, "Hello. . . "

"Who are you?"

"You know, it's not polite to ask someone who they are without introducing yourself first," he said, finally irritated with the unknown woman for asking the same question over and over again.

The woman's eyes flashed with annoyance before she replied, "I have been called by many names, stranger. Some called me Mera, others Merva. You may refer to me as Minerva." She paused for a moment before she continued. "Now I ask again, stranger. Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter," replied Harry, before asking a question of his own. "Where am I?"

The woman looked at him in shock when he asked that question, though for the life of him he could not fathom why she was surprised.

"You do not know what this place is?" she asked, clearly dismayed.

"No. . . should I?" queried Harry, now internally a little worried.

But it seemed that Minerva had not heard him, because she was muttering to herself. "How is this possible? No one can come here, not unless one of us summons them! And none of the others summoned this stranger!"

Deciding that he needed answers, and that too as quickly as possible, Harry cleared his throat loudly, interrupting the ramblings of Minerva. "I'm asking again, where am I?" he questioned, this time a bit more forcefully.

Minerva's face became expressionless as she heard the question again. She waited for a while before she answered, "You are in the place which we refer to as the Nexus. It is a disruption in time; from here, probabilities are calculated so that the proper path may be chosen."

Harry was about to ask another question when suddenly a memory emerged from the depths of his mind.

"Many names. When I died, it was Minerva. Before that Merva, and Mera. And on and on. The others, too: Juno, who was before called Uni; Jupiter, who was before called Tinia."

"You are. . . gods."

"No. Not gods. We simply came. . . before. Even when we walked the world, your kind struggled to understand our existence. We were more. . . advanced in time. Your minds were not yet ready. Still not, maybe never. No matter. You may not comprehend us. But you will comprehend our warning. You must."

"When we were still flesh, and our homes still whole, your kind betrayed us. We who made you. We who gave you life! We were strong. But you were many. And both of us craved war.

So busy were we with earthly concerns, we failed to notice the heavens. And by the time we did. . . the world burned and naught remained but ash. It should have ended then and there. But we built you in our own image. We built you to survive. And so you did."

"Few were our numbers. Your kind and mine. It took sacrifice. Strength. Compassion. But we rebuilt. And as life returned to the world. . . We endeavored to ensure this tragedy would not be repeated. But now we are dying. And time will work against us. Truth turned into myth and legend. What we built, misunderstood. Let my words preserve the message and make a record of our loss. But let my words also bring hope."

"You must find the other temples. Built by those who knew to turn away from war. They worked to protect us – to save us from the fire. If you can find them. . . If their work can be saved. . . so too might this world."

"Be quick, for time grows short. And guard against the Cross, for there are many who will stand in your way. It is done. The message is delivered. We are gone from this world. All of us. We can do no more. The rest is up to you. . . "

Suddenly, Harry knew who the woman standing in front of him was. "Ah, so you're one of those who came... before?"

At this words, Minerva froze. After a moment she spoke. "So it seems we have a descendant of Ezio Auditore amongst us. . . "

Harry simply looked at her, not replying.

"You are an anomaly, Harry Potter," she said after a lengthy pause. "You are a variable. You are not included in my calculations, you never were, which I'm beginning to realize was a mistake on my part. I do not understand how I could have missed such a critical component. . . "

"What are you talking about?" hissed Harry in annoyance.

"Do you believe in Divination, Harry Potter?" Minerva asked out of the blue. "Do you believe that numbers have the power to predict the future? Divination through numbers. There is a pattern to existence. To comprehend the calculations is to tame time."

"Divination?" asked Harry, as if trying to comprehend why someone from such an advanced civilization would believe in such an ambiguous form of magic.

"Yes, Harry Potter, Divination," she said with confidence. "I created a device which allowed me to determine the pattern of existence. So we took measures to make sure that the most beneficial probability would come to pass, so that our mistakes would not be repeated once more. You weren't included in my calculations because you shouldn't even exist, and yet here you are in front of me. It seems that you are a variable, an anomaly, a glitch."

Harry wanted to reply immediately, to say that Divination was nothing but a crock of shit, the people who made such predictions nothing but charlatans, and the people who believed such things to be utterly gullible and laughably dumb. But before he could say anything at all, he noticed that the scenery around him was flickering, as if it were an image on a television. Minerva must have noticed as well because she too was looking at her surroundings with a slight frown marring her features.

"Well," started Minerva, "it seems that our meeting has come to an end. It's time for you to go back. . . "

"Wait. . . " was all Harry could exclaim before everything around him started to blur and merge together into random splotches of colours that did nothing but make him disoriented and dizzy.

"We will meet again, Harry Potter, but it is you who will have to find me. Good luck, Harry Po. . . "

That was the last thing Harry heard before he was once again embraced by the blissful silence of darkness.

Unknown Location

July 9, 1994

Harry opened his eyes to see a white glass-like screen in front of his face. Before he could try to read whatever was written on the screen, it moved away from his face and withdrew into the dome-like structure above his head. When his eyes adjusted to the bright white light of the room, he noticed that he was a small room with a lot of mechanical gadgets filling it. He himself was seated in a comfortable recliner-like chair, but that was where the similarities ended. The chair he was sitting on was heavily modified, a lot of external wiring emerging from the sides of the chair. There was small pedestal with a monitor on top of it placed on one side of the chair, to which most of the wires emerging from the chair were connected.

And that was when he noticed the catheter emerging from the tip of his left index finger which was connected to the chair. He also noticed a wire emerging from under the light blue shirt which seemed to be connected to his chest right over his heart. He slowly blinked a few times as he looked around the room he was in, and saw an empty chair directly opposite his own seat. He tried to get up from the recliner, but for some reason his actions felt very sluggish to him. He also had a very persistent headache, but it wasn't bad enough to be debilitating.

'Where the bloody hell am I? What the fucking hell did I get myself into this time?!' was all he could think of as he tried to move.

He struggled for what felt like the better part of an hour to get out of the chair, but in actuality it was only fifteen minutes. However, that struggle was enough to tire him out and as he collapsed back into the chair, he realized that the reason for his current predicament was most probably the 'special cocktail' his kidnappers had used on him, and probably on his relatives as well.

'Did I really meet Minerva just now? Did I really meet one of Those Who Came Before?' thought Harry as he breathed in deeply, trying to calm his mind, 'Or was I merely hallucinating because of the drug?'

A small creak was heard as the door to the room opened and in came the same older fellow who his kidnappers referred to as 'Boss'. He was closely followed by a woman wearing a labcoat.

"His brain activity was very unusual. I was detecting both beta waves as well as delta waves, which is quite unusual," the voice belonged to the female.

"And why is it unusual, if I may ask?" drawled the man. He removed his tweed jacket as he entered the room, placing it on the back of the chair as he began to fold back his sleeves.

"Beta waves indicates that the brain is highly involved, active, engaged in some kind of difficult mental activity," the woman answered, a slight irritation apparent in her voice, "Delta waves, on the other hand, are observed when a person is in a deep sleep."

"Alright, so what's the problem?" the man asked.

"The problem," the lady sounded angry at the blasé attitude of her male accomplice, "is that you only see one type of brain activity at a time. And generally, when a subject is in the Animus, we observe only beta waves, because while the body is resting, the mind of the subject is highly active. Delta waves have never been observed when a subject is using the Animus."

There was a pause in the discussion as the man seated himself in the only unoccupied chair in the room while the woman leaned against the wall, glancing at the papers in her hand.

"Why did you place him in the Animus when he was unconscious anyway? That's just a waste of electricity, you know that right?" muttered the woman.

"Let's just call it a hunch," replied the man with a smirk.

"We don't do things on a hunch, Omar," hissed the woman in annoyance, glaring at the person seated in the chair. Said individual was oblivious to his companion's ire and if he did notice, he was completely nonchalant about it.

"Anyway, he's all yours. Have Hannah call me if any further help is required," said the woman as he clicked her pen.

"Of course, Janice dear," was the reply.

"And tell Mike to put a limit on his intake of Indian food," ordered 'Janice' as she was leaving the room, "I know it tastes good, but it's not worth it if he has to sit on the loo for the next forty-eight hours."

She shut the door behind her, leaving Harry and 'Omar' in the room.

Harry was completely still as he stared at the man, wondering who he actually was and what these people wanted with him.

"Who are you?" croaked Harry, his voice cracking due to his parched throat. The man seemed oblivious to his words, as he merely settled himself comfortably in the chair and continued to gaze at the screen on the pedestal.

"What do you want?" rasped Harry. It seemed that the odd man finally heard him, because he turned to looked at the weakened wizard.

"Names have power, Mr. Potter, I'm sure you are quite aware of that," he said in a low voice, his brown eyes boring into the emerald eyes of the younger man in front of him. "But since you asked so nicely, I think I'll oblige you."

"People know me as Omar Al-Sayf," he stated proudly. On hearing the man's last name, Harry was surprised. The name Al-Sayf was the family name of a notable family of Assassins from Masyaf, the ancient fortress of the Brotherhood of Assassins, and one of the notable member of that particular family was Malik Al-Sayf, a close colleague, valued advisor and good friend to Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

The man noticed the expression on Harry's face, but he simply smiled nonchalantly and continued.

"Manny, can you get please get Mr. Potter a glass of water?" asked Omar out loud. "I'm sure he has some questions of his own. And he'll want to hear what I have to say to him. I'm sure he won't be attacking any of us or attempting to run away."

The two occupants of the room continued to observe each other in silence while the order was being carried out. A minute later, the door opened and Manny entered the room with a plastic tray which he held in front of Harry, a glass of water and a tablet sitting innocently on it. Harry just glanced at the tray before once again focusing on Omar with a raised eyebrow.

"It's for your headache," supplied Manny helpfully when his superior remained silent.

Harry was not inclined to believe him, but the headache was starting to get worse by the minute and he was seeing a strange white mist all around the room. Some ghostly figures were also slowly becoming visible and he was beginning to feel a dull aching pain behind his eyes. So he decided to trust his kidnappers for the moment; he took the glass of water with shaking hands, causing some of it to spill onto him, but he ignored that as he popped the small brown tablet into his mouth and gulped down the entire glass in seconds.

Manny helpfully took the empty glass from the young wizard's shaking hands and walked out of the room. When he opened the door, Harry sneaked a glance and could not see anything in the outer corridor except for 'Animus Room' written on the doorplate of the room he was currently in.

Once again, everything was silent. Omar busied himself with observing the monitor, occasionally touching something on the screen. Harry immediately thought of trying to make a break for it, but in the end, after some quick evaluation, he realized that with the current condition of his body, he would not even make it out of the door before he was once again apprehended. That was him being generously optimistic. And with him being held in a completely unknown places, his chances of getting out were reduced even more. Besides, he wanted to know what this man wanted to speak to him about. This man could be his possible link to the Assassin Brotherhood in the modern world, that is if it still existed and he was not just connecting the wrong dots.

The younger man gazed at the older man with piercing green eyes, while the other continued observing his quarry with shrewd brown eyes. Harry closed his eyes for a second before opening them. Brilliant emerald eyes with flecks of gold now observed their latest target, trying to determine whether the person in front of them was a friend or a foe. The individual in front of him appeared to glow with an ethereal bluish-golden light, a colour which was very unusual for the Novice Assassin. Blue was an ally and Gold indicated a target or object of interest. For this man to appear bluish-gold perchance meant that he was a potential ally who was also a source of information.

"I see that you have awakened the Sixth Sense," stated the middle-aged man, leaning forward in his seat.

Harry's eyes narrowed. 'He knows a lot of things, it seems. Things he shouldn't know about.'

"Now, now, no need to get angry. After all, I'm here to help you, Mr. Potter," drawled Omar, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, how did you receive your new skills?" asked Omar.

Harry remained silent as he deliberated whether or not to reveal any information about himself. If this was to be an exchange of knowledge, then he would have to answer some questions to get some answers in return. But he knew that he could not ever reveal the fact that he was a wizard to anyone, because even if it wasn't for the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, he knew that revealing such that fact would be tantamount to freely handing out invitations for being experimented upon. And if these people were really Templars in disguise, he was absolutely screwed as it was.

His Eagle Vision, though a budding talent, was a skill that had been perfected by his ancestors and he was reasonably confident that if the man sitting opposite him was not red, then he was not an enemy, for now. So he decided to reveal at least what little information he could without giving away the fact that he had the ability to perform magic.

"I had a little accident at school last June, and that was when I activated my. . . ability," answered Harry with a shrug. It was the truth, after all.

Omar was silent as he processed the very vague information he received. He knew the kid was hiding something, something important, but right now, forcing him to reveal that information would be really counter-productive to his goal. He knew how to be subtle when extracting vital information, and if this soft interrogation failed, there were always other alternatives.

"May I ask a question of my own?" queried Harry. Omar nodded and gestured for him to proceed.

"Who are you? Where am I? Why am I attached to this thing?" asked the young wizard.

"I believe I already answered that; I'm Omar Al-Rahim Al-Sayf, a professor of religious iconology and symbology at Cambridge," the professor replied with a smile. "As for where we currently are? I'm afraid that will remain a secret for now; you know, for security reasons. As for why you are attached to this 'thing', as you call it, it was to save you, or more specifically, save your mind. You were suffering from intense mental strain, and we had to strap you here so that you could recover from it without falling into a comatose state."

Harry grew a little worried that he had almost fallen into a coma, but then realized something. "Hey, the reason for me almost falling into a coma was because of you!" he ground out.

At that, Omar grimaced. "Yes, there were some unexpected side-effects as the drug wore off. I do apologize for that little mishap," said the man, seemingly apologetic.

Harry scowled slightly at that. "Are you Assassins?"

Omar's smile widened at the question. "Ah, finally, you ask the right question, Mr. Potter!" he exclaimed.

"But it's my turn to ask a question now, so I will answer yours after you answer mine," the man said before sighing. "What do you know?"

Harry contemplated for a moment. 'Can I trust him? Them? Can I reveal what I know? Should I reveal what I know? They saved my life, even if they were responsible for it being in danger in the first place. I guess I have to take this risk if I wish to find out about the Assassins.'

"Well, your question is quite broad, so I'm not sure how I should answer. . . " trailed off the Potter heir.

"Very well, I'll be a little more specific. My first question is this: You seem to know about Templars. Tell me what you know of them," said Omar as he leaned forward.

"Templars," Harry almost spat, "Bloody cockroaches! Always want to dominate and create the perfect world. Fucking morons don't realize that as long as there are humans in the world, it's never going to be perfect, because humans are never going to be perfect! They don't realize that by controlling the free will and freedom of individuals, they are crippling the growth of the individual as well as the society as a whole. If they control the minds of each and every human being, how will new ideas emerge? How will fascinating discoveries be made? Effing blockheads!"

As Harry ended his rant, his breathing had become erratic and ragged, so he closed his eyes and tried to pacify his raging mind. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that Omar was watching him with wide eyes and a wry smile.

"That. . . was not what I was expecting," muttered Omar as he shook his head, "Though it is quite accurate. And quite passionate too, I must admit."

"What I really want to know," continued the professor, "is how much you're aware of the Templars and their activities in modern times."

"Not much, I'm afraid," replied Harry with a shrug.

"Would you like to know?" asked Omar. Harry nodded, but before the older man could speak, he interrupted.

"While I'd really like to know what nefarious deeds the Templars are up to, you haven't answered my earlier question," said the wizard with a frown marring his face, "Are you Assassins?"

Omar massaged his forehead as if trying to curb an oncoming headache but he looked at the young man opposite him as he finally answered, "Yes. . . "

"And why did you kidnap me? What do you want with me?" questioned Harry, his voice hard. "And how do you know I'm against Templars anyway?"

"The same way you know I'm not your enemy, Mr. Potter," replied Omar, his eyes flashing golden before returning to their normal brown, so swiftly that Harry thought that he had imagined it. "You are not the only one who has awakened the gift of our ancestors, Mr. Potter. Do you know what we call it?"

"Eagle vision. . . " both Harry and Omar said at the same time.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter, you are correct," continued Omar, "It is the use of every sense of your body at once. And as you train the ability over years, you can listen to a person's heartbeat if you concentrate hard enough, you can pick up trails of humans and animals, you can tail an enemy or locate a disguised one. . . the possibilities are endless, one just has to keep on exploring it."

"Yes, it's almost like. . . " murmured Harry, "magic. . . "

At that, Omar began to laugh, and it was quite some time before he could stop himself. Finally, he brought his amusement under controlled as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

"I know you are a wizard, Harry Potter," said Omar with a smile.

Number 4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

July 9, 1994

When Petunia Dursley woke up early the next day, she immediately put on her dressing gown and freshened herself up in the attached bathroom. When she returned to her bedroom, she noticed that her husband was still fast asleep. Deciding to not disturb him until completely necessary, she left the room, closing the door noiselessly as she slipped into the corridor.

She passed her darling Dinky Duddydums' room and noticed that the door was slightly opened. She peered through the gap and noticed that her beloved son was sprawled on his bed, unaware of the world around him. Giving a fond smile towards her sleeping son, she closed the door fully and continued her trek.

Next she came to the room which housed the one person whom she despised in the world, her freak sister's son, the Potter brat. She knocked loudly on the door with multiple padlocks, knowing that while her husband and son were very heavy sleepers, her nephew on the other hand was the opposite, waking up at the slightest noise. After all, that was one of the main reasons why he was put in the cupboard under the stairs. After about ten knocks, when she did not hear his answer, she frowned and went to open the door, but noticed that it was already open.

When she entered the smallest bedroom of her house, the first thing she noticed was that the bed was empty and appeared to be undisturbed. The next thing she noticed was that the large wooden trunk which her nephew used to carry all his 'freak' stuff was missing, along with the cast-iron cage which housed the ruddy owl. All of this pointed to one thing, the freak had left in the middle of the night, without asking or informing her.

Not that Petunia was very much concerned with the absence of the boy. While he did come in handy during the summers for various household tasks such as weeding the garden, watering her precious roses, cleaning the house, cooking the food, and a multitude of other tasks, the fact that he was gone would definitely make Vernon, Dudley as well as herself infinitely happier.

With that thought in mind, the female Dursley closed the door to the bedroom and headed downstairs to the kitchen to prepare a special breakfast for her beloved family. With the way the events of last night had culminated, her Vernon making a successful business deal and her darling Dudley charming the beautiful rich daughter of an influential businessman, both of them deserved something special, so she would ignore the diet plan just for today and shower her family with the love and affection they deserved.

And so the sudden disappearance of Harry Potter would not be reported and no one would search for the teenage wizard. At least not until the end of the eight month.

Dedicated to the fanfiction authors who are not with us anymore, they will be missed.

Well, hello…

Not much I can say... except that a lot has happened in this update. Loved it? Disappointed? I do hope that everyone enjoyed the chapter.

After a year and half, you see the next part of what many have told me to be the "biggest fucking cliffhanger". We find out what happens to Harry after the end of the last chapter. I've introduced a few new characters. Some of them will play a role in the long run, while some of them might just end up as random characters I've created to play around with. I'll just say that if you're familiar with AC lore, you might recognise or relate some of the new characters.

I appreciate all the reviews and PMs, and as always, I'm grateful to all the loyal readers for being so patient with me. I just hope that you're as patient till the next chapter. Hehehe...

Until next time, my friends, be safe and be happy!

(Version 1.0)