Dark Clouds
Chapter 4
By Kinsfire
He awoke to find himself in St. Mungo’s, shackled to a bed. He was surprised that he didn't hurt more, considering what had been used to bring him down. One of the people at the foot of his bed immediately stepped out of the room, and no more than two minutes later, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a woman whose posture screamed Auror entered.
"And who might you be? Chief Torturer or Head Doctor to make sure that I don't get too badly hurt during your games?"
"Why do you have such hatred for us?" she asked. "According to Auror Shacklebolt, you wanted to be an Auror while you were at Hogwarts."
"Well, that's pretty well fucked now, wouldn't you say?" snarled Harry, stressing the word 'fucked'. "Not being able to finish Hogwarts gives one problems with such lofty career plans, and life imprisonment in Azkaban makes it a tad difficult to get to my training classes, I'd think. Let's not forget that I'd probably fail out of the mandatory Torture and Abuse of Prisoners classes required for all Aurors."
"Where is all this anger coming from?" Shacklebolt asked in bewilderment.
Harry glared at the man. "Hmm, you come to Azkaban to take me from my cell, stun me just to make sure I don’t break your fucking neck as you so richly deserve for abandoning me to that hell-hole without making any effort to find out if I was even guilty, and you wonder why I’m angry?" Harry yelled. "Scrimgeour shows up regularly to taunt me about how the wizarding world hates me again, showing once again that the wizarding world let their newspapers do their thinking for them, and all my so-called friends immediately accept that what the Ministry says is true. I’d have thought that at least one of them would trust that I wouldn’t murder Vernon Dursley no matter how much the fat fucker deserved it, but not even that bushy-haired cunt thought that something was out of line. I have rotted in that God forsaken prison for about a year because witches and wizards are too fucking stupid to think for themselves, and you wonder where this anger is coming from? You pull me from that pit to do your dirty work before throwing me back in, and you wonder why I’d gladly kill you, Shacklebolt?"
The woman looked at him for a very long time. "We’ll deal with the rest of your complaints at a later time," she finally said. "'Life imprisonment', you said. When was your trial?"
"How the fuck should I know, you stupid bimbo?" he yelled at her. "I was tried in absentia in both the Muggle and wizarding courts and found guilty. As you well know, I might add. I’ve been in Azkaban for about a year, though, so that should narrow it down. I was given a sentence of life in prison with no possibility of parole, and that's because the man I supposedly murdered was only a Muggle, so it wasn't like I killed anyone human. The only thing that kept me even remotely sane in that shithole was my desire to see Tom dead, preferably with as many of you dead as I can manage."
"For your information, Muggle courts don’t do trials in absentia. And their system is so slow, if you’d been charged with murder, you’d still be awaiting trial. Who told you you'd been tried in a Muggle court?" Shacklebolt asked in confusion. "We've looked for you for this last year and only ever saw the arrest and later the escape notices in the newspapers." His look went hard. "And we only found those because someone you owe a major apology to found the references. I believe you just called her a ‘bushy-haired cunt’?"
Harry sneered. "You guys are good, I’ll give you that much. Trying to pretend that you know nothing about the situation, hoping that I’ll believe you, and then when I finally fulfil that fucking prophecy of Trelawney’s, you’ll trot out that old case and throw me right back in so that Scrimgeour can be the fucking hero of the Ministry. Go ahead, try to convince me that all my old friends really trusted me the whole time before they stab me in the God damned back again when everything is done." He sat up as best he could in the bed, noting that while he hurt, it certainly wasn’t enough to keep him in the bed. "If they loved me so much, then where the fuck were they when it came to visiting me? The only visitor I ever had, other than your friendly neighbourhood Aurors, was Rufus Scum-gouger, so that tells me that visitors were allowed."
"We didn’t even know where you were, you little arsehole!" Shacklebolt yelled, finally fed up with the verbal abuse he didn't feel he deserved. "With the furore around the happenings at Privet Drive, we didn’t know where you’d disappeared to!"
"A likely story," Harry snorted. "You guys are pretty well trained in all sorts of techniques to break a guy down. Very few Aurors are worth anything, though. You’ve mostly got lapdogs like Dawlish who follow anyone with some power. I remember that little altercation you all had in Dumbledore's office. Did you ever get in trouble for helping a fugitive escape, Shacklebolt?" He paused only long enough to take a breath. "I guess the most vicious ones are sent to Azkaban to beat up on the prisoners, though. I must compliment the Auror division on their excellent technique. I hadn’t known that sandbags on the back before beating someone with a truncheon will prevent bruising. Did one of your people discover that by accident, or was it in higher level Auror training?" He paused again for a moment of thought. "Why all the questions? Did my case get handed to a new department? Are you the new Head Abuse Agent or something?" He aimed that last at the woman that had accompanied Shacklebolt.
Shacklebolt growled. "She happens to be my superior, Senior Auror and head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Connie Hammer. You know, the one who took over for Madam Bones when she was killed?"
Harry laughed with no humour. "So it is the entire Auror department involved in this." He sighed. "What do you want out of me?"
The woman scowled. "Can you tell me what happened a year ago, please? Assume that I know nothing about the situation, and that I had nothing to do with your incarceration. That's true, but I doubt you'll believe it right now."
He looked at her for a long moment before he sighed again. "Okay, I'll play your game, Director Hammer. My uncle, Vernon Dursley, came home screaming louder than usual about something being my fault. Never did find out what I'd supposedly done this time. Came up the stairs and pulled out this huge handgun and aimed it at me. Fired at me once and pretty much deafened me for a while. We fought, and at the top of the stairs, the gun went off again. He fell down on me and we both went down the stairs. I woke up in a Muggle hospital, under guard. I was questioned after I'd healed a bit and informed that my cousin and aunt were going to testify against me for bringing the gun into the house and killing my uncle. They took me off to what they called a holding cell. That night, two Aurors came in and removed me to Azkaban, where I've lived ever since. Not much to it."
"How did you find out about the life imprisonment?" Shacklebolt asked.
"Remember my telling you that my only visitor was Scrimgeour? He's the one that told me about being convicted in the Muggle world, and about how the Ministry was trying me for murder as well."
Hammer's face went blank, as if it had been suddenly replaced with a mask of steel. "Wonderful. We got rid of Fudge, who liked to throw people in prison without a trial, and now we have Scrimgeour, who apparently likes to throw his enemies into prison without a crime. And we can't even begin to prove it."
Harry's eyes blazed. "What do you mean, 'without a crime'?" he asked coldly.
"Just that, Potter," Shacklebolt responded. "From our point of view, you simply disappeared in early July of last year. First the Order, and then a number of other sources have been trying to locate you ever since."
Harry stared at them for a very long moment. "You realise that I have no reason to believe you. I've spent a year being beaten and tortured by Aurors in the Ministry of Magic's main prison. Everything that Scrimgeour told me fits perfectly with the way that the wizarding world has treated me since the day I joined it. Hell, the way the entire world has treated me. No one ever noticed the lousy clothes that I wore. No one ever asked after the bruises and such. For as long as I can remember, I've been referred to as a student at the St. Brutus School for Incurably Criminal Boys. Then I went to Hogwarts and became alternately the Saviour and the Dangerous Psychotic." He paused for only a moment. "Well, it fits the pattern. My sixth year was me being 'The Chosen One'. This last year was obviously time for me to be the Dangerous Psycho again. Now you guys need me for something again, so 'The Chosen One' is being trotted out again. Or is that being pulled out of his hole?" He shrugged as best he could. "Tell you what, though. Point me where you need me to go, and I'll make sure that I earn Azkaban afterwards, okay?"
Both Aurors looked at him with worry. "What do you mean by that?" Director Hammer asked.
"Simple. Assuming that you're telling me the truth, which I seriously doubt at the moment, that means that I'll want to hunt down and kill Scrimgeour for doing what he did to me. For the taunting he put me through, lording over me his position while I was in that cell - well, killing him sounds like a good idea anyway."
"You can't -" Shacklebolt began.
"Fuck you," Harry snarled, his temporary calm shattered in an instant. "I spent a year in that prison for the crime of being a victim yet again, and you have the audacity to tell me that I can't do something like that? Do you really think I fucking care? If it weren’t for the fact that there are a handful of Muggles out there that are nice guys, I’d just as soon leave England and Europe to Riddle, and let all of you die like you deserve." He paused. "Since I’m your weapon of choice, can I assume that the Horcruxes have at least been found and destroyed?"
"Who was using Horcruxes?" Hammer gasped.
"Why must you insult my intelligence?" Harry asked with a growl. "You know damned well who’s psychotic enough to do that! You think that wouldn’t be the method he’d come up with to be immortal? It gives him his jollies to commit the murders and to know that he can use them to stay immortal." He scowled at the pair of Aurors.
"Yes, they have been found and destroyed," Shacklebolt said, drawing a sharp look from his boss. "In between times trying to locate you, Granger and a surprisingly large number of Weasleys went looking for them. Led to an interesting row between the youngest one and Molly."
Harry actually smiled at that thought. "Ginny always was something of a firebrand. Did anyone record it? You'd make a fortune selling it."
Any possible humour of the moment evaporated when a certain man with a leonine appearance arrived at the doorway. "Director Hammer, I was told you were here. May I speak with you and Auror Shacklebolt for a moment?"
Shacklebolt scowled for a moment before smoothing out his clothing. He clapped Harry on the shoulder and said, "I'll be back at some point to talk with you some more. Keep an ear out for things, all right?" The large black man left the room, and Harry looked at the shoulder that he'd just clapped.
There was a flesh coloured ball of string there, and Harry immediately got what he mean. He stuffed the Extendable Ear into his own and motioned the other end to the door. It was at the door jamb moments later.
"… without speaking to my office first," Scrimgeour was saying softly. There was a tone of warning in his voice.
"I didn't think we had to run every missing persons case across your desk, Minister," Hammer replied neutrally.
"Yes, but this is the Boy-Who-Lived," Scrimgeour said back, the warning tone gone.
"He hates that title," Shacklebolt said.
"He needs to learn to live with it. It can open a lot of doors for him, if he knows how to use it."
"Be that as it may be," Hammer said, "I've heard a rather disturbing story from that young man in there. He reports that he was taken from a Muggle holding cell into custody at Azkaban and told that he was tried in absentia in both the Muggle and Wizard worlds. You were his only visitor, according to him."
"…and I undoubtedly taunted him and told him that things would be different if he worked with me." Harry couldn't see it, but the pause just seemed to hint that the man was shaking his head. "It sounds as if he's cracked under the pressures of being the Chosen One. Our last conversation had been less than pleasant, I must admit, and he told me that he was Dumbledore's man, through and through. Whatever made him crack caused him to fixate on that, I'd wager."
"Then it would probably be a good idea to consider moving him to the long term care ward here when he's healed up," Shacklebolt said.
"Any idea when that will be?" Scrimgeour asked.
"I asked the Healers before going in to talk to him," Shacklebolt answered, "and they think that it will be three to four days before they'll be willing to release him. If he's staying here, then I'd recommend letting them have their say and keep him here."
"Very well, Auror Shacklebolt," said Scrimgeour. "Just make sure that he's guarded well. Director Hammer, may I speak with you for a minute?"
"I'll head back inside, Minister," Shacklebolt said and then made good on his statement by entering the room and closing the door behind him. His face was a mask of rage. Whispering, he said to Harry, "I'll swear a binding magical oath to let you hospitalise me if you want to, but just promise me that when you eventually go after Scrimgeour, you let me help." Shacklebolt was nearly vibrating, he was so angry.
Harry's eyebrows rose. "Huh, so maybe you were telling the truth," he finally said. "Can I assume that your little decision to get me put in the long term care ward was simply an excuse to help me get out from under Scumgripper's thumb?"
Shacklebolt snorted softly. "Officially, no." The look the large black man was giving him, however, told the truth. "Also, you're actually to be released tomorrow, rather than in three or four days. I'd recommend that you find somewhere to hole up for a short while." He scowled. "The problem is figuring out where that might be. I'd offer an Auror safe house, but with the attitude toward us that Scrimgeour managed to instil, that one's right out. You ran from the Weasleys once already, so I doubt that you'll be willing to stay there now."
"That's a safe bet. I can't go back to Privet Drive, because too many know about it."
"That and the fact that Petunia still lives there. Well, after simple Muggle forensics showed that it had been Vernon carrying the gun, they had another conversation about the day he died. A rather long one, I understand. Dudley was a little surprised to discover that people were suddenly willing to come forward about his crimes, so he’s currently doing about fifteen years for several robberies that he forced others to do. Petunia had insisted on her story to the end, so she was hit with a charge of perjury, and she’s scrambling to stay out of jail herself. She’s got the house up for sale to pay for her own trial defense, as well as all of Dudley’s appeals. As it currently stands, the taxes are about to cause Number 4 to go up for sale."
Harry grinned. "If I’m not actually a criminal, then I think I’m going to want to purchase the place. I think it would give her a surprise to come back and discover that all the locks have been changed, and she has nowhere to live." He paused. "Actually, has anyone thought of the fact that she knew what Vernon was doing? Doesn't that make her an accomplice to my attempted murder, and possibly even an accomplice to Vernon's accidental death?"
Shacklebolt looked interested. "I'll put a bug in the ear of the right people in the Muggle court system. I need to talk to them to get the charge of escape dropped anyway, given what was discovered about the way that the Dursleys 'raised' you." The big black Auror's voice was dripping with sarcasm and not a little menace.
"I'll find somewhere to hide," Harry finally said. "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, simply because it feels like you're being honest with me. Besides, I have little left to lose and no other real options. I have to remember that you worked with Dumbledore, however, and he was the reason that I was so rudely forced to live in Little Whinging."
"I'd like to say that he knew what he was doing, but the fact that someone already inside the wards managed to deal such a major blow to us by doing something that allowed our dear Minister to try to frame you for a murder tends to point otherwise. All I ask is that you give us a chance to show you otherwise at some time in the future."
"We'll see," was all that Harry would say. Shacklebolt took the hint and left him alone in the room.
Harry stood up from the bed and looked around. His wand was in a drawer in the table next to his bed, and clothes in his size were waiting for him in a small closet. He quickly dressed and thought carefully about where he next wanted to be and then illegally Apparated to the front steps of Gringotts.
He was in the bank before anyone noticed him and was more than a little surprised by the lack of customers. He headed to a counter and waited to be noticed. "Key please," the goblin said.
"No idea where it is," Harry replied cheerfully. "Probably taken by the same sons of bitches who locked me up."
The goblin looked a little shocked, which was unusual. He murmured to another goblin, who ran off somewhere. Moments later, another goblin appeared. "You say that your key was stolen?"
"Can we talk somewhere private? I'd prefer that the gossips not get any more of a pay-off from the Daily Prophet than they’re already going to get - word that I'm back is powerful, but word of my Gringotts business? Not theirs to know."
The goblin smiled and motioned him to an office. "Not to be rude," Harry said, "but I really need to get some money and be out of here before the Ministry can get their hands on me again."
"Right to business," the goblin said. "I like that. Now how is it that you came to be here without your key?"
"Short answer is that the Ministry grabbed me and threw me in Azkaban for a year. Without a crime, from what I'm told. Scrimgeour wanted me out of the way, since I won't support his doing nothing against Riddle. So I can only assume that he has all my property as well." He scowled. "Actually, no.. My wand and trunk were in Little Whinging, so maybe the rest of it is as well. But I can't be sure of that."
The goblin smiled, showing no teeth. "I can call the key here, if you're willing to submit to a test to prove that you are whom you claim to be."
Harry stuck his arm out. "I expect it involves blood, so you might as well take what you need."
The goblin laughed. "Nothing so crass. We have the master keys for all vaults. If you are on the list to have access to the vault, then the key will appear."
"What if I'm someone like Draco Malfoy under Polyjuice Potion?"
"You die. We are not fooled by simple potions."
"Fair enough. What's the test?"
"Simply put, the master key for your vaults." The goblin reached into a drawer and pulled out a ring much larger than could possibly have fit in there. He flipped through them for a moment and then held out a single key. "Grasp this and we shall know. If you are not a Potter, you will die a rather painful death."
Harry shrugged and reached out for the key. "Hold!" the goblin suddenly said. "You have proven to my satisfaction that you are whom you say." He set the keys back into the drawer. "I am sorry for testing you, but only the insane would be so willing to touch a key not their own, knowing it meant certain death. You are not insane. Therefore …" he finished, reaching into a different drawer, "your keys."
"I thought that I only had one," Harry said.
"You have reached the age of maturity in the wizarding world, so the remainder of your parents' wills came into effect."
"Do you have a copy here?" A sheaf of papers was slid toward him. After a moment of perusal, his eyebrows rose. "I wonder if Lupin knows about these properties." When he looked up, the goblin was smiling at him slightly. "Sorry, mind wandered. It appears that I have properties in Wales, Scotland, France, and apparently a nice hideaway in Pennsylvania, in the United States." He grinned. "Think I've found my hidey-hole." He shook his head. "Well, I think it's time to get my arse in gear and get some money. You guys have any branches in the U.S.?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter. The closest to where you seem to be thinking of is in New York City."
"Excellent. I'll get some money here, change it to pounds, and then buy a ticket to the United States. Unless, of course, I'm lucky enough to find a Portkey in the vault."
—-
Harry settled back into the comfortable chair on the porch of the large home in the mountains of Pennsylvania. He'd found a Portkey in the vault, as well as a lot of information on his family history and finances that he was currently working his way through. He had a goodly chunk of money available, so he certainly didn't have to work. He was working out some, trying to get his strength back. As much as it seemed a wonderful idea to just tell the wizarding world to go screw themselves, Riddle had a love of making the Muggles suffer for his insanity, and Harry wasn't about to allow that. If for no other reason than he owed it to Charles and all the other Muggles like him.
According to Shacklebolt, the Horcruxes were all eradicated. This led to Harry's curiosity about Nagini, who Dumbledore had been sure was a Horcrux. Damn. I'm going to have to contact someone about this question, and the second I do that, they know where I am. I don't get a moment's peace after that. He looked to Hedwig, who had spent some time trying to catch up with her wizard, and had luckily succeeded before he left England. He hated to think of the cuffing he would have received if he’d forced her to fly to the Americas. "What do you think, girl? Should I call them and bring them after me, or leave them to themselves?"
His owl merely looked at him and barked in the manner that he had learned years ago meant, "Your decision, boss." He loved the looks that he got from people - everyone else's owls hooted in one way or another, but Snowy Owls tended to make a noise closer to a bark.
Shaking his head, he said, "Best to know now, rather than let lots of people die, or worse, go running in and assume I've killed him just to watch him rise again if they haven’t found all the Horcruxes." He sat down and wrote a letter.
—-
Miss Granger:
Perhaps it's Mrs. Weasley by this point; I can't say as it really means a damn to me.
I am writing because a mutual acquaintance made a reference to a certain bit of soul searching that you were involved in. He said that you'd found all the knowledge that you needed.
I need to know that you were successful. More precisely, I need to know exactly how successful you were. Did you root out all of the dark corners?
Please respond soonest in regards to this information. It will be a deciding factor in the speed of my recovery.
As some proof, might I mention a certain incident at Privet Drive, involving a complete lack of light and a momentary reversal of direction? Only three people know of it, to my knowledge.
Harry James Potter, ex-prisoner
—-
Letter in hand, he Apparated to New York City and looked in on the goblins, managing to get their help in hiding where the letter was sent from. He was sure that he'd be seeing a response from her before very long.
He wasn't wrong. When he awoke the next morning, he found Hedwig holding a letter. "I know you didn't fly to England to pick that up, girl. Just wanted to make sure I read it, huh?" He mock-scowled at the self-satisfied noise that his faithful friend made and sat down with the letter.
—-
HarryMr. Potter,
My apologies for the informal beginning. I don't wish to waste parchment for a single mistake, however.
Your mention of that incident secured the fact that you are in fact Harry Potter.
As for the soul searching, as you phrased it, I would appreciate a chance to meet you in a face to face situation to be a bit more precise in telling you of my therapy. Such things are certainly not for insecure channels such as letters.
I give you my witch's oath, as evidenced by my signing this letter in my own blood, that I will make no effort to steer the conversation away from the information that you are after. Unless you choose otherwise, the conversation will regard my therapy and your part in it and nothing else.
Hermione Jane Granger
—-
He was surprised to see that the letter was in fact signed in blood. After several minutes of thought, he contacted the goblins in New York and asked for a small conference room where he could speak privately with Hermione, which they gladly made available. For a small fee, of course.
—-
Miss Granger,
Your letter tells me more than perhaps you are aware. I find myself hoping that you and a few guests might be able to meet me in New York City on the first day of July and perhaps even stay a few days. In my researches, I found that the Americans rather enjoy celebrating the day that they declared independence from the British Crown. Given my feelings toward the current government there, I am looking forward to the festival myself.
Perhaps, if things go well, we might enjoy it together.
I apologise in advance for how I may react to certain things. A year in Azkaban will affect a man, so you can well imagine how it might affect the boy that I was.
I look forward to your response. If it is possible, we will meet in New York City at the Gringotts branch there, known affectionately to the Muggles as the Federal Reserve Bank. Yes, for all intents and purposes, the United States government needs the goblins.
Due to the circumstances, I would ask to dictate the guest list, should you decide to come. I would prefer to see no more than yourself, Ron and Ginny Weasley, and perhaps Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, if you are in any sort of constant contact with them.
I look forward to discussing your therapy - thoughts of it are foremost on my mind at this time.
Yours,
Harry
—-
He sent his response on June 24th via the goblins and was fairly certain that, if things hadn't changed too much, that at least Hermione would be in New York City no later than the 27th. He expected the 26th, to be honest. He wasn't sure how she (or they, he admitted to himself) would arrive, but he was quite certain that they would contact the goblins to make sure that he was made aware of their presence in the city.
He received a falcon on the 25th, informing him that four people had arrived via international Portkey and had asked that he be made aware of their arrival. His eyebrows rose, and he smiled to himself. She wants us to be friends again. I'm really going to have to fight the last several months of anger at them.
He headed to New York on the 26th to tail them as best he could. He wanted to hear them talk without knowing he was in the area.