Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Lemon Drops and Blood Pops	By : TokiMirage Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12423 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JKRowling owns all that is Harry Potter. I own everything else. I make no money writing this.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Lemon Drops and Blood Pops
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Chapter Nine:
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A/N: Sorry for those of you who wanted the Halloween party. I decided not to. I will try to have suitable taunting, however, in this chapter. :)
I’d also like to apologize ahead for the shear amount of cussing in this chapter. Harry gets angry.
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“Harry!!”
It took all of Harry’s skills as an actor and assassin to not jump in abject ter- er, surprise. These skills, however, didn’t save him from becoming Darcy’s favourite squeezable teddy bear. Since when was Darcy so affectionate in public?
“Dar… cy… ribs…”
She let go with an abashed look, ignoring the stares of the students in the entrance hall. He’d been heading to lunch when she’d shown up out of the blue and atta- er, hugged him. Irene was standing to one side, a box floating along beside her, a peaceful smile on her face.
Darcy grinned at him, adjusting his robes after they’d been scrunched. “Harry! You haven’t visited us in nearly a month. And you don’t send nearly enough letters. How have you been?”
Did women just like shouting his name for no apparent reason, or what? He felt like taunting her about ‘respectable adult behaviour’, but didn’t want her to close off on him. So he wisely kept his mouth shut. For once. “I’ve been good. The children are giving me grey hairs, though. We’re covering boggarts right now in a few of the classes, and some of the things I’ve seen have terrified.” He widened his eyes in horror. “I will never look at bunnies the same way again.”
Darcy laughed. “I’m sure.” She turned and motioned Irene forward with a smile. “We brought 30 sticks, like you asked. Irene’s already put the twigs on them and everything. She managed to find a group of trees that were relatively similar, so the sticks should respond nearly the same once you have them enchanted.” She gave him a stern look. “Mind telling me why we’re donating so many brooms to Hogwarts?”
Harry grinned. “I’m paying you, so why are you complaining?”
She gave him a look. “I’m not complaining, I’m just curious. And why didn’t you want me enchanting them myself?”
Harry opened the large box and glanced in side. He nodded his head and smiled at Irene, who was blushing prettily and smiling. He couldn’t help but pat and rub her head in affection. She hadn’t shucked him off yet, so he figured it was still allowed no matter how old she was. She smiled brightly, looking even cuter with her mussed up hair. Darcy came over and combed it to lay flat with her fingers.
“I didn’t want you tiring yourself out for something that wasn’t bringing in any money. You’re busy enough with the regular orders. Speaking of orders, are there any customs waiting for me?”
Darcy pulled a muggle spiral-wound notepad from her pocket. Both she and Harry were known for using muggle supplies if they were more convenient than quills and parchment. Sometimes the wizarding world was just too bloody backwards. “You have two brooms on convenience order, and one on rush due for three days from now. I really need a better way of getting a hold of you, you know. I can’t try to firecall the Headmaster every time a Quidditch professional breaks his backup broom thirty minutes into a game.”
Harry nodded. “I’ll charm a bracelet or something that’ll let me know when you need me. Can I get it to you along with the rush order broom?” She nodded. “Great. Has Irene already picked out the wood following the specifications of the customers?” Darcy turned to Irene expectantly, and so did Harry.
The petite woman smiled. “Yes, Harry. The rush order broom is in the box with a list attached to it, and the other two custom orders I’m finishing carving today, so you can finish those at your leisure.” She spoke softly, but far more confidently than she had years ago. Harry smiled.
“Perfect! I’ll get the rush order back to you in the next couple days, and I’ll pick up the other two over the weekend.”
Darcy nodded, then grinned. “When are you going to charm the donations? Are you going to do it all at once? Because I want to watch.”
Harry laughed. “I was thinking of doing it now, actually. The first years have another flying lesson later this afternoon, and I’m doing the teaching, so I’d rather they not break their necks.”
Darcy opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, eyes flashing to something beyond Harry’s shoulder. He turned around, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Albus! I hadn’t noticed you there.” He turned to his girls. “Darcy, Irene, this is Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster. Albus, this is Darcy, whom I’m sure you’ve already met through panicked firecalls, and this is Irene. They run my store now that I’ve, ah, ‘retired’.”
Blue eyes twinkling brightly, almost as brightly as his blue robes with yellow stars and moons, Dumbledore walked forward and shook the hand of Darcy while kissing the hand of Irene. The silver-eyed girl turned a light pink as she smiled and nodded shyly in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my ladies. Harry has spoken highly of you during our intermittent chess matches.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry incredulously. “You know how to play chess?”
Harry deadpanned, “Yes, Darcy, I have a greater intelligence than a cucumber.”
She smirked. “Hey, you said it, not me.”
He rolled his eyes and looked inside his box again for something to do, wanting to hide his – he was loathe to admit it – embarrassment.
“Did I hear correctly, Harry? Are you donating broomsticks to Hogwarts?” Dumbledore looked positively tickled.
Harry sighed. “Yes. I wanted it to be a surprise.” He shot a glare in Darcy’s direction. She just shrugged.
“Would you mind terribly if I watched the enchanting process as well?”
Harry blinked and looked up from his box. “Of course not! I would hardly keep you from a possibly educating experience, Albus.” He smiled. “I know how you like your puzzles.”
Dumbledore looked surprised for a moment before he covered it with a jovial smile. “Wonderful! May I ask when?”
Darcy interrupted Harry before he could open his mouth. “It had better be now, because we can’t keep the shop closed longer than lunch.”
Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “Of course I don’t even get to eat before you begin demanding things of me. Fine.” He waved a hand at the open doors of the Great Hall and an apple came zooming into his hand. He munched on it as he made the box float and follow him outside.
It was cloudy but not raining he discovered as he walked out onto the open field. He could see the lake in the distance, as well as a few students sitting about studying and talking, but this didn’t make him change venues as he opened the box and started putting the brooms on the ground, ignoring the custom broom with the paper around it that he would do in a few days after his magic had recovered whatever enchanting 30 brooms cost him. If he lost too much magic, he could always use the potion Snape had created for him. He’d had to replace his supply a few weeks ago when they passed their expiration date. Generally the potion lasted for a year, so he’d had to throw away the seven unused vials. He always had ten on him in case it came to a war situation. Preparing the potion took nearly two weeks, after all, so he never let his supply run below five.
Confident that Darcy would make sure spectators didn’t get too close – she knew his pet peeves of spell casting, after all – he placed the last broom on the grass and admired his almost-circle. If he didn’t know where the end of the line was, after all, he might accidently recast spells. Normally he would never enchant so many brooms at once, but school brooms only needed a certain level of capabilities. Their safety features were more important than whether they could reach 100 km/hr in five seconds.
Pulling out his wand, he glanced at his audience. Spying Minerva, along with a couple of curious students, he grinned.
“Why, meooow, hello Minerva!”
The look of dark fury on her face was totally worth it. “If you don’t stop meowing every time I see you, I will transfigure you into a cat, Underwood!”
He grinned. “I thought we already established during Halloween that your transfigurations don’t last on me?” Grinning ear to ear, he made a clawing motion with his hand when she nearly hissed at him. “Getting on in cat years, are you?”
“I will transfigure certain limbs into twigs for that comment, Underwood!”
Dumbledore and the girls had suitably sympathetic expressions on their faces as they got the threat. The younger students looked confused.
Harry just grinned and turned back to his work. Confident she wasn’t going to send a curse at his back – but he still kept his senses open just in case – he closed his eyes and took out his wand. Moving to the first broom in the series, he started casting the first spells.
By the time he was finished, lunch was almost over and he was down half his core. Since magic recharged faster if there was more in the core, half would only take a week to replenish. If he pushed it to near empty with the custom orders and classes, however, he was going to have to take one of Snape’s potions. There was no way he was going to wait three weeks for his magic to recharge, after all.
Letting Darcy put a signature on the handle of each broomstick, he placed the final weathering charms on each before they were complete. Finally.
Sitting on the cool grass, he let himself flop backwards and land on the ground as Darcy and Irene started loading the brooms back into the box, leaving the unfinished custom on top. As they did this, Dumbledore sat on the ground next to him.
“That was quite the display of spellmanship, my friend.”
Harry peaked an eye open and glanced at the older wizard. He couldn’t get anything from the blank, pleasant smile on his face. “So it was.” He took in a breath of air and let it out. He was rather tired. Dumbledore probably thought he was empty on magic after that. Wizards with large cores were very rare, after all, and he had just proved himself to be a very powerful wizard indeed to his old Headmaster. Er, new Headmaster. Whatever.
“May I ask why you decided to do it all in one day?”
Harry kept his eyes closed and focused on the gentle scratch of cut grass against the backs of his hands. “To eliminate inconsistencies. If I do all the spells in the same order, the same length of time between them, each broom will act almost the same. Normally all my brooms are cast according to the properties of their wood, but this batch I had picked for its particular bland personality and malleability. The perfect brooms for children to learn on. For example, one of the spells on it prevents the user from flipping upside down or sliding off the front or back. This decreases the chance of a student falling off, as they would literally have to stand and jump off to get around the spellwork.”
“Impressive.” When Harry made a noncommittal ‘hm’ in response, Dumbledore continued, “Why is broom making not your passion, Harry? You seem particularly good at it.”
Harry shrugged. “I can create the spells for the brooms, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I like teaching DADA better. Carving sticks was just to put food on my table until something better came up.”
Dumbledore actually snorted softly at that. “You seem to be making a lot of money from something you don’t particularly care for.”
“Money is useful, but not everything, Albus.” He opened his eyes and looked up into blue. “I much rather have a good cup of coffee during a chess game.”
Dumbledore’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Oh, so it’s the chess you prefer. Not the company.”
Harry grinned. “The company’s not all that bad,” he said nonchalantly.
The older man chuckled softly, but the twinkle in his eyes belied how pleased he was.
“Hey, Harry! Irene and I are going back to the shop. I locked the box for you. Shall I just leave it here?”
Harry didn’t feel like sitting up. “Yeah, that’s fine! Thanks Darcy!”
He heard what might have been a snort, followed by two girls giggling and laughing quietly before he heard soft feet walking away.
“Are Minerva and the students still here?”
Dumbledore shook his head. “No, they’ve gone to classes. I take it you have a free period?”
Harry nodded. “Thank goodness for that. The apple didn’t really tie me over.” As if to agree with him, his stomach growled. He made no effort to get up, though, and neither did Dumbledore. They sat there in comfortable silence intermittent with small conversation for quite some time before leaving.
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It was during dinner, with Harry slowly leeching power from Hogwarts the natural way so he wouldn’t have to use one of Snape’s potions, that the letter came. Pulling out his wand, he cast his usual detection charms wordlessly over the letter before he even removed it from the owl’s leg. The bird looked quite annoyed, but he never took any chances. He was rewarded for his efforts when the letter temporarily glowed purple in response to one of the last spells he used, one of the more rare detection charms. It was aimed towards a particular set of dark arts spells that cursed various body parts to slowly melt over a week-long period. This particular curse had been directed at his wand hand.
Paling dramatically, he rushed through the rest of his usual list, adding a few more of the rare ones just in case the first curse was a cover for something worse. Ignoring Dumbledore on his left, who had placed a hand on his shoulder to either get his attention or for comfort, he finished the last spell and took a breath before beginning the complex removal of the purple curse.
By now he had the attention of the entire staff table, along with most of the student body. He’d been flashing colourful spells for the past five minutes, so it was understandable. By the time he had removed the flesh-melting curse, his grip on his wand was clammy and so was his face. Removal of curses like that was no mean feat. One mistake and it blew up in your face rather spectacularly.
Leaning back in chair, he downed his pumpkin juice in one swallow. It refilled, and he took another drink. Putting the goblet down, he leaned forward and took the letter carefully from the bird’s foot, feeding it a generous piece of sausage. After the letter was in his hand, he pushed the plate towards the owl in case it wanted any more food, and put a glass of water in front of it as well. No point in being angry at the bird for delivering a fatal letter to him. The bird drank some water and helped itself to the rest of his sausage before taking off.
“-ry? Harry?”
Harry turned to Dumbledore, letter still clenched in his hand. The blue eyes looked extremely worried. “Do you want to take this up to my office, Harry?”
He opened his mouth a few times, looking back and forth between the letter and his attentive audience. “I… I think that may be best.”
The Headmaster nodded and gently urged him to his feet, hand still on his shoulder. The moment they were clear of the Great Hall, voices exploded behind them for a moment before the side door closed and cut off most of the racket.
The trip to the gargoyle was made in silence, Dumbledore’s hand on the small of Harry’s back the entire way, and the half-vampire found that he didn’t really mind the contact. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was in a letter with that dark of a curse on it. It would have been extremely difficult to remove had he touched the letter before checking it. It… it might have even caused permanent damage. That was what scared him the most at that moment, aside from the unknown contents of the letter. It wasn’t the pain of the curse he worried about, but that he might have lost his right hand for good. He was ambidextrous, for the most part, but losing a hand… he would never be able to return to his old vocation. An assassin with a fucked up right hand was useless, and right now he needed that right hand if he was going to cut off the head of the fucker that sent him this letter. The letter that he still hadn’t read.
The gargoyle opened with a murmured ‘butterbeer’, and the next thing Harry knew they were in Dumbledore’s office and the older man was gently pushing a cup of coffee into the hand not viciously grasping the letter. He took a fortifying drink of the liquid before putting it down on one of the small tables. Dumbledore conjured a plush armchair to sit not directly in front of him, but slightly to the side, and Harry appreciated the sentiment. He wasn’t sure what he’d do right now if someone ‘threatened’ him with chair positioning, and he snorted to himself in derision at the thought before taking another drink of coffee.
When he had put the cup back down, he found Dumbledore gently gripping his left hand. He looked up from where he was burning holes in the letter with his eyes. Blue eyes were no longer twinkling at all, and he found himself fascinated by the change. He blinked.
“Albus?”
The hand gently ran over the skin of the back of his hand before the Headmaster pulled slowly away. “I know you probably don’t want to know what is in that letter, my friend, but I want you to know that I am here to help you. All you have to do is ask.”
Harry blinked in confusion as he sorted out what exactly that was supposed to mean, and his mouth formed into a small ‘oh’ of comprehension when it clicked. “Thank you, Albus.” The man smiled sadly at him as he turned to the envelope crinkled in his hand and flipped it over. It read a simple ‘Harry Underwood’ on the front in simple black ink, and the parchment was the same that could be bought in any store, except it was of a slightly higher thickness and grade. It was when he flipped it over to the back that tension spread through his entire body, for on the back was a very familiar black wax seal.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, not even realizing it, as he reached up his sleeve and pulled out one of the knives there that Dumbledore was probably not supposed to know about, but the seal had knocked his common sense right out of his brain. Every assassin was trained in History, as well as all the other physical and magical courses, except the history was of course more killing-oriented. The seal he was currently staring at belonged to the major magical crime boss of Russia that had been in power from the end of World War II until halfway through the Cold War. It had been Harry’s Agency that had taken the hit ordered by the President, and Harry’s Agency had been the main reason why Russia never came out on top.
What the fuck was the White Tiger doing sending him this letter? Did he know, somehow? Or was it because of Harry Underwood, and not Agent Phoenix? What. The. Fuck.
Sheathing the knife, he opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. Unfolding it, he began to read the thick black ink.
Dear Mr. Underwood,
It has come to my attention these past few years that you are making quite a name for yourself as an up and coming broom salesman. While your brooms were remaining in Western Europe, this was not a problem. It became a problem, however, when they started interrupting the business here in Russia. You see, my little brother is running a very good business, making much money selling to the teams and population here in Russia, but your amateur little store has been stealing money from his business. This does not please me.
I am a man of many friends. And you would do best to become one of those friends. I will tell you how to do this. You will not involve the Ministry of Magic of that little island of yours, and you will not involve any law enforcement of any country concerning this matter. Things like this are easily solved among friends, yes? You will sell your company to the associate of my little brother when he comes to you in two days, no questions asked, no problems made. You will then forward the earnings of your company to the muggle bank number at the bottom of this letter. You will accept the 2000 galleons my associate will give you for your store and merchandise, and you will never make and sell another broom.
Now, you may ask yourself, why would I do this? What could possibly happen if I do not listen? I will tell you, Mr. Underwood. If you are not already aware of the significance of the seal you just opened, you had best do your research. You should know who it is exactly that has your two little broom makers.
BIC: 089473024
IBAN: 30174536210980903024
Harry felt ice race down his spine for an instant before pure fury burned the cold from his limbs and nearly destroyed Dumbledore’s office before he contained it. A few shiny trinkets fell over from the force of the explosion, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the year Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy. Taking huge gulps of air, he focused on his glamour to make sure it hadn’t fallen. It was still intact. He felt the letter get pulled from his hands, and he let it, pulling his legs up off the floor and pushing himself back in the large chair. Heals digging into the edge of the cushion, he dug the heals of his hands into his eyes and tried not do destroy anything. He wanted to. He so badly wanted to.
He focused on his breath, drawing on every single meditation lesson he’d ever absorbed over the years to keep himself from combusting. How the fuck had something as innocent as broom making brought the fucking Russian Wizarding Mafia down on him?
A hand landed gently on his knee, and it took every ounce of his control not to respond to instinct and remove the head of the interloper. He looked up when the hand gently squeezed, meeting burning blue eyes that were both sympathetic and furious on his behalf.
“Harry? What are you going to do?”
Harry rubbed a hand over his face as he thought. He wanted to go over there and wipe the White Tiger off the face of the earth. He knew it wouldn’t be feasible, however. The mafia was too deeply entrenched in society. Killing them all would be nearly impossible, especially without the Agency at his back.
He could convince them never to fucking bother him again, though. Give them incentive. Paint one of their bases red and then have a very convincing meeting with their leader. Yes. That was feasible. Not smart by any means, but feasible. He was the most powerful and experienced soldier on the planet. This could work.
It had better fucking work. Or Darcy and Irene were dead.
It vaguely occurred to him that he could just roll over and meet their demands, but every instinct in his body, every ounce of training he had ever gone through demanded justice. And if Darcy and Irene died, then he would just devote ten years of his life to wiping out the Russian mafia. To him, it was a simple as that.
Well, not really simple, but-
“Harry?”
He would use the time turner. Dumbledore would never know. Now, how to- “I’m going to call in a favour.”
Dumbledore looked confused. “A favour? From who?”
Harry smiled bitterly. “An old friend.”
Blue eyes looked worried. “You aren’t going to do anything rash, are you, Harry?”
Harry bit back his annoyance. “I’m going to do what I damn well have to, Albus. Period.” He felt his stomach twist at the sight of the hurt expression. He bit his lip. “I… I’m sorry, Albus, but I can’t…” He thought of the money he needed to bring rights to all the magical beings being abused every single day. “I can’t just give in to their demands.”
The hand on his knee tightened. “Why ever not? Why risk the lives of those two women? You don’t even like making brooms. Why risk it all?”
Harry shook his head. “You don’t understand. To not do anything would risk it all. Would risk everything I’ve worked so hard building up this company from the ground for. This isn’t about me, or about money, it’s about…” He ran a hand over his face again. Did he want to tell Dumbledore? No, not really, but he couldn’t bear to see that look in his eyes anymore. He didn’t want to lose this man’s respect. “You need money to start a revolution, Albus.” Dumbledore looked particularly unhinged at that statement, but Harry pressed on. “Every day vampires die for no god damn reason. Every day centaurs are banished deeper into the forests, or killed when a witch or wizard gets too close and gets themselves hurt by sheer stupidity. Every single fucking day werewolves are ostracized from society because of a disease that only affects them once a month! A disease that could easily be controlled! But no, wizarding society doesn’t accept anything that’s different. Fucking dark purebloods torture muggles for sport because they think they’re superior! Mudbloods, Magical Creatures, WE ARE REAL PEOPLE! And it’s about goddamn time that this backwater society got with the program!”
He could feel the furious burning in his eyes that let him know he was close to tears, but he stubbornly kept staring at Dumbledore, whose expression for a few moments gave nothing away. Then, the walls came down and relief shone so strongly in those blue eyes that Harry was taken aback. He blinked in surprise when Dumbledore collapsed onto the ground in front of him and wrapped his arms around Harry’s curled up form. The younger wizard went stiff for a few moments in shock before relaxing slightly into the hold. What…?
“I was so worried,” Dumbledore whispered softly. “I thought that you… that you were like…”
Harry blinked. “That I was like what?”
“Gellert.”
And holy fuck didn’t that explain everything.
“Personally, I always hated the ‘greater good’ slogan.” He tried to crack it as a joke, but Dumbledore didn’t laugh, just shuddered slightly against him. Awkwardly, he untangled his arms and put them around broad shoulders. He tried rubbing a hand gently up and down Dumbledore’s back, but he didn’t have much reach with his legs in the way, and he really wasn’t good at this comforting thing. It seemed the wound of Grindelwald’s betrayal still hadn’t healed over like it had in Harry’s time. Dimension. Er, whichever.
“I’m not going to go on some holy genocide to wipe out another species, Albus, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Oh and Jesus, how had Harry forgotten? Dumbledore was rumoured to be gay, wasn’t he? Didn’t that just up the awkwardness level. Well, he supposed, it would be worse if he was straight himself. But still. Dumbledore had been his mentor.
Dumbledore pulled back with a shaky smile. “Sorry,” he murmured, pulling himself off the ground and sitting back in his chair. Did he actually look embarrassed? Harry took another good look. Holy shit, he did.
“Don’t worry about it, Albus.” And wow didn’t that get him a twinkling smile. “But seriously, Albus, I have to… I have to go… and contact my… my friend.” He stood up nervously, running a hand through his hair.
“Can’t you just firecall him?”
Harry shook his head, running with the lie. “No, with him… it’s not quite that simple.” He smiled and went for apologetic, and Dumbledore seemed to understand, even though he apparently didn’t want Harry to leave. Picking up the letter that had fallen to the floor, Harry folded it and slipped it back into the envelope. “Thanks for your… offer, Albus. But I… my friend will help me with this one. I do appreciate, though…” And Dumbledore seemed to accept the stuttering apologetic gimmick, because he was nodding in acceptance as Harry nearly raced out the door.
He made it all the way to his quarters without running into anyone by generous use of secret passages and his extramagical sense. He was out for blood, and he wasn’t going to be slowed down.
The portrait opened after he snapped out the password, and he was yanking out his molar before it even closed behind him. The first thing he did was suck back one of Snape’s potions, opening his channels to Hogwarts and pulling the ambient energy into his core as he dressed in his acromantula silk armour. It took him a total of ten minutes to completely kit up, and he’d been doing this for years. Ten minutes equalled a lot of weaponry secreted away. He didn’t cast any spells until he’d topped off his core, though. Since it was only half that needed to be replenished, he only had to sit painfully still for another ten minutes before he was done. Shrinking the molar, he popped it back into his mouth and opened his window. A glance at his watch marked the time as 7:53. He heard a taptap… tap, taptap at his portrait, and grinned. He jumped out the window and transformed into a black eagle. He disappeared into the night.
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“I don… Don’t know where Tiger! Simple servant! Don’t know! Don’t know! Please, no kill, no ki-“ The voice cut off with a gurgle and a crack, before hitting the ground with a thump. A samurai sword glinting red in the light, a katana, was wiped of blood before being sheathed. With a click, all sight of the killer disappeared into shadow.
Harry resisted the urge to growl under his breath. He’d been through three lower servants of White Tiger in the past hour, and he still hadn’t found what he was looking for. Apparently mafia bosses didn’t let the indentured slaves know where he was holed up. He’d ended up killing all three of them, because when he searched their minds with legilimency, they were either rapists or killers themselves. The lowest of scum in the Dark alleys of the wizarding world. And besides, he’d been trained not to leave witnesses. Of course, he’d never followed that rule to the letter, because he refused to kill an innocent, but he’d killed his fair share of people-who-were-there-at-the-wrong-time before.
Swearing in five different languages, including Russian, inside his head, he moved on, shadow to shadow. He knew enough Russian to be considered fluent, but he hadn’t had to use the skill in 15 years, so he was a bit rusty. He ended up speaking multiple languages on his search, just to fuck with whoever it got back to that someone was looking for White Tiger. He wasn’t stupid. He knew there were people following him. He just hadn’t lulled them into enough sense of security yet to get close enough to remove their heads.
“Cherchez-vous le tigre blanc?”
:Are you looking for the white tiger?:
Harry turned around, annoyed. A vampire. They’d sent a vampire to deal with the ‘intruder’ this time. The French accent wasn’t that great, but it was easily understandable. Especially since Harry’s own accent wasn’t stellar either. Ha.
“Qu’est-ce que vous pensez je cherche? Un vin rouge? Peut-être quelqu’un qui peut me dire où est ton patron, parce que j’ai besoin de savoir où je peindrai ton sang.”
:What do you think I’m looking for? A red wine? Maybe someone who could tell me where your boss is, because I need to know where I will paint your blood.:
The vampire laughed, and it grated on Harry’s ears. The vampire had him up against the wall before he could blink, fangs on his neck.
“Tu es un vaurien, non? Je dois goûter ta provocation dans ton sang. Je pense qu’il sera… vraiment délicieux.”
:You are a rascal, no? I must taste your defiance in your blood. I think that it will be… truly delicious.:
Harry laughed, and the vampire went stiff, digging his sharp fingers into Harry’s shoulders. Sure, he could feel the pressure, but the claws wouldn’t cut as the vampire was expecting them to. With a wandless burst of magic, the vampire was thrown against the other wall of the alley with a thud, a curse already beginning to boil the blood in its veins. He hissed pathetically, rolling on the ground in pain as he was burned from the inside out. Holding back the curse enough so Harry would be able to get the information he wanted, Harry gripped the vampire by the neck and lifted him up, slamming him back against the alley wall.
“Tu me diras où es le tigre blanc, ou bien où set trouve ton patron. Je vais connaître ta réponse, ou ta mort sera infiniment plus douloureuse. Choisis!”
:You will tell me where the White Tiger is, or your boss. I will know your answer, or your death will be infinitely more painful. Choose!:
Harry tightened his hold on the vampire’s neck, and soon he was gasping for breath.
“Tu me tueras seulement parce que je suis un vampire. Pourquoi est-ce que je te croirais, humain?”
:You will kill me only because I am a vampire. Why would I believe you, human?:
Harry flashed his fangs, and the vampire went very still, eyes wide.
“Je te tuerai parce que tu refuses de me dire où est le tigre blanc. Cette bataille n’est pas politique. C’est simple. J’ai besoin d’une réponse, et tu ne la donneras pas. Donc, je te tuerai.”
:I’ll kill you because you refuse to tell me where the White Tiger is. This battle isn’t political. It’s simple. I need an answer, and you won’t give it. So, I’ll kill you.:
Harry slipped his wand from its holster and lifted it to the vampire’s head. Glowing blue eyes widened in pain and horror.
“Attends! Attends! Je ne veux pas mourir pour un humain! Je te le dirai! S’il te plaît! S’il te plaît!”
:Wait! Wait! I don’t want to die for a human! I will tell you! Please! Please!:
The vampire’s voice cracked miserably at the end, eyes wide and pain pumping through his veins. Harry kept his wand steady at the vampire’s temple, and lessened the burn in its veins a bit, but by no means let go or lowered his guard. Vampires could be tricky.
“Dis-moi.”
:Tell me.:
“C’est :La rose noire:, un restaurant! C’est en dessous! Il y a beaucoup de tunnels. Le tigre blanc est là! S’il te plaît, ne me tue pas.”
:It’s :The Black Rose:, a restaurant! It’s under the restaurant! There are lots of tunnels. The White Tiger is there! Please, don’t kill me.:
“Pourquoi? Convaincs-moi.”
:Why? Convince me.:
“Parce que… Parce que… Je peux te donner une réputation.”
:Because… because… I can give you a reputation.:
Harry made a thoughtful noise. He’d had a reputation, back home. Agent Phoenix. The assassin you didn’t want to fuck with. Now he was just a nobody, and it was very hard to find somebody, he was discovering, when he had no connections.
“D’accord. Je m’appelle le phénix noir. Don’t fuck with me. Compris?”
:Okay. I call myself Black Phoenix. Don’t fuck with me. Understand?:
“D’accord! D’accord, je comprends. Vraiment. Le phénix noir.”
:Okay! Okay, I understand. Truly. Black Phoenix.:
“Bien! Au revoir.”
:Great! Goodbye.:
And with that said, Harry set a timer on the release of the blood boiling curse and disapparated without a sound. He wasn’t worried about the vampire following him. He had cast every espionage spell in his arsenal, including ones that hid scent and magical signature. Vampires didn’t have magic. If the virus ever infected a witch or wizard, they were guaranteed to wake up magicless. Well, this was true for everyone except Harry-Bloody-Potter, of course. Which was why he was the only magical half-vampire in existence. Dumbledore still hadn’t popped that particular question.
wWwWw
Harry was sitting in the big boss’s chair, picking the blood out from under his nails with his sword when the door burst open with a bang. He looked up and raised an eyebrow at the sight of a very pale, very fat man with blond hair and multiple tattoos. Really. He’d killed more than 30 men to meet this piece of trash?
The two bodyguards that had been leading the White Tiger from the Fucking Room – yes, there was a room where the old pig had three women lavishing him with kisses and cunt – were already raising their wands at him when he ‘tutted’ disappointedly. Their heads were rolling on the floor before they got their curses off. They hadn’t felt the clean cut, but the moment they’d walked through the door the flesh and bone had already been severed by a silent and invisible curse.
Some bodyguards.
The White Tiger, or rather, White Pig, slipped in the pool of blood on the floor when he went for his wand. Over all, it was a rather disappointing show.
“I spent three hours combing the streets for your scum, one hour finding this fucking restaurant, and fifteen minutes killing everyone in this building for what? A fat pig who couldn’t pull his wand out of his ass if his hookers located it for him? Jesus fucking Christ!”
The sound of his voice cracking thunderously through the room had the man on the floor pissing his pants. Harry’s respect dropped to nil.
“You’re the fucking White Tiger, crime boss of Wizarding Russia, and I wipe out your little kiss-ass club in fifteen fucking MINUTES?!”
At this point, he was standing and making his way around the desk. He’d been sitting there preparing for a witty and showy face off with a man who ate babies for breakfast, not this… this… FUCK! All that goddamn trouble. The letter that eluded to dangers unknown, and this was what he got. A paper-pushing-
The pig’s head blew apart in a show of red paint. Harry didn’t blink and cast a wandless shield. The blood hit it and dripped to the ground. It was a morbid sight, but one he was familiar with.
A blond-haired man with broad shoulders and a suit that looked like it cost a fortune stepped into the room and around the corpse. His blue eyes were menacing behind dark lashes, and he looked particularly pissed.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “And who the fuck are you?”
“I am White Tiger,” he said in a heavy Russian accent. “And I do not appreciate you killing all my men. They are hard to find.”
Harry sat his ass down on the desk and raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Who’s the pig, then? And I care about your men, why?”
The Russian tilted his head to the side curiously. “He was… decoy. You are very… interesting, for assassin. Whatever they pay you, I will pay more.”
Harry forced himself to stop his blink. It was a bad habit to do it every time he was surprised. In the real world, maybe not, but in this world… well, the kiddie gloves came off, as did the masks of ‘normal society’. Harry was out of practice, but not that out of practice. He just hadn’t killed anyone in a while. The 30 bodies outside made him feel better. Some of them had actually had some skill.
“This isn’t a matter of money. It’s a favour for a friend.”
Slowly, golden eyebrows rose in surprise, and soon he was laughing raucously, eyes open and glinting at Harry. “You come and kill 30 men for favour?”
Harry nodded, confused as to what was so funny.
“If you do that for friend, I want to be friend! Ha ha!” He was still amused, but Harry hadn’t lost sight of the wand in a large hand. He could sense this man was dangerous, in more ways than one. This had been what he was expecting when he busted into this place looking for blood.
A weird chill ran down his spine when the blue eyes examined his form where he sat on the desk. Was a mafia boss checking him out?
“So, it is not money that you want? What is it you want.”
Harry adjusted the grip on his katana. He wondered if he’d need to drop it and replace it for his wand. “I want you to leave Harrison Underwood the fuck alone.”
“Underwood… Underwood…” Comprehension entered those eyes and the White Tiger actually looked surprised. “A broom maker has you for friend? No fucking way.”
Harry grinned. “Fucking way. I’m here to negotiate terms, or, in the event that fails, kill you.”
A golden eyebrow rose. “You think you can kill me?”
Harry wiped all expression from his face, and from one time he’d seen himself in a mirror, he knew his face was a sight to behold with his furiously glowing green eyes and wind-blown black knives. The White Tiger’s foot twitched backwards, as if to take a step, but the man was too proud to follow his human instincts. The condensation building on his brow, however, betrayed his nerves. “I’m a powerful and pissed off motherfucker. Where are Darcy and Irene?”
A muscle twitched in the White Tiger’s jaw. “They are being held in Britain. Oversees travel difficult for captives. Easier to kill there.” Those eyes were running over his form again, eyeing the muscles that were in no way hidden by the acromantula silk clinging to his skin. “I did not think it would be difficult. Did not think… Underwood had friends like you. What is broom maker doing with top grade assassin for friend?”
“Friend would say it’s none of your fucking business. Can we negotiate? Or does this have to get ugly?”
The blond looked curious. “What would you do if I say no? If I did not check in in hour with captors, and Darcy and Irene throat slit in fifteen minutes? What you do then?”
Harry let out a sigh. “I would spend the next ten painstaking years killing every person in the Russian mafia.” Blue eyes widened slightly, disbelieving. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not waste ten years of my life. I have better shit to do than clean up a mess like this.” He vaguely waved his hands at the décor, as if uncaring. From his experience, targets were more terrified of the crazy mofo that acted normal and killed with a genteel smile than the ones who were automatons. If he could maneuver this guy into a corner, Darcy and Irene wouldn’t have to die. It was a tricky business, gambling with lives. Unfortunately, someone had to do it at some point. Harry would rather it be him, than someone unprepared or too stupid for it. That way, it was his already-pulverized conscience that would be keeping him awake at night.
“I think it best we negotiate. Deal?”
Harry nodded. “You need your desk for this? Or can I sit here. My ass is rather comfortable.” He smiled.
The White Tiger looked sufficiently freaked out in his I’m-a-mafia-boss-nothing-scares-me way. “I may need desk to make call.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You use phones? Brilliant. I wish Britain weren’t so backwards. Fires are so 19th century.”
The White Tiger blinked. “Y-yes.” He walked closer, and though he put up great effort trying to hide how scared he was, Harry could smell it on him. He decided to get up anyway, not wanting to be any closer to this mofo than he needed to be.
“You got a name besides White Tiger? Or should I just call you T? WT sounds so lame.”
The Russian sat behind the desk cautiously, wand still in hand in case Harry decided to decapitate him. He pulled the phone off the hook with his left hand and started dialing. “Would it offend if I did not want you knowing real name?”
Harry grinned, flashing his human teeth. “I would be tickled pink! There is no greater compliment.”
The White Tiger nodded and stopped dialing. Harry’s slightly elevated hearing picked up the other line. There was a click, and the Russian started speaking in his home language. Harry picked up enough of it that he was convinced the mafia boss was actually doing as he’d asked.
“I want to talk to the captives before they are released, so I know they are still alive, and as well, I’d like to know their exact location in Britain.”
The White Tiger listened to him and rattled off some more Russian. He held the phone out to Harry and the half-vampire picked it up with his left hand, sword never leaving ready position and eyes never leaving the mafia boss. “Hello?”
There was silence for a moment before two terrified female voices started jabbering. As much as Harry loved them, he didn’t have the patience for it considering the circumstances, so he was quick to shout, “SHUT UP!” into the receiver.
Blessed silence.
“Darcy?”
“H-hello?”
“Confirm this is one Darcy Whittleton.”
“H-how d-do I d-do th-th-that?” Oh, she was close to sobbing. This sucked.
“How much did Mr. Underwood pay you for your shop, how did you meet Irene, and how does Mr. Underwood like his coffee?”
There was silence over the line for a moment. “I-I’m not t-telling you f-fuckers anyth-thing about my b-boss!”
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and glow with pride all at the same time. “Miss Whittleton, I am currently negotiating your peaceful release. If you do not comply, we are going to have difficulties.”
“O-oh.” It was soft and confused. “Well, he paid me a-around 1000 galleons, I m-met Irene at the shop after she r-ran away, and Harry likes his c-coffee black-thank-you-very-much.”
Harry grinned. “Beautiful. Thank you for your assistance Darcy. Please put Irene on the line.”
There was silence for a moment, then an even softer and hiccoughing voice came on the line. “Y-yes?”
“Irene-whose-last-name-is-still-unknown, please confirm that you are Irene.”
“U-um… I like trees… My f-father h-hit me… H-harry…” Here she sobbed. “H-harry gave me a j-job, a-and, and…”
“That is good, Irene. Thank you for your cooperation. Did your captors physically abuse or sexually molest you during your stay?”
“Th-they h-hit… to keep u-us qu-quiet, b-but not the… o-other.”
“Are there any broken bones or cut flesh?”
“N-no, j-just some b-b-bruises.”
“Very well. Thank you Irene, you may put the captors back on the line.” He handed the phone to the White Tiger, masterfully masking the fury burning inside him. They touched his girls.
The White Tiger raised an eyebrow. “Thirty dead men for some bruising? Is this acceptable?”
Harry stared him down. “Along with their peaceful release, and you telling me their location, and you will never threaten Underwood or his associates in any way every again. Is this an acceptable deal?” The White Tiger looked like he wanted to disagree, but eventually nodded his head. “Good. Their location?”
The Russian rattled off an address, and Harry took a moment of searching through his Occlumency-memorized map of Britain to locate it before he was gone with a crack. It was hard to apparate that far without making a noise, and he didn’t really care at that point.
He appeared outside the house in the middle of midnight-quiet suburban London and had to give it to the Russian crime boss. Who the hell would look for two magical captives in the middle of muggle London. He made his way to the door and opened it wandlessly. Slinking silently into the kitchen, he found Irene and Darcy waiting there, sitting at the kitchen table, with the two Russian guys talking to the phone, confused. He cleared his throat, and four terrified sets of eyes turned to him leaning in the doorway. He was quite the sight, covered in blood and dark gray armour, katana sheathed on his back and peaking over one shoulder. And they were only seeing the weapons he wanted them to see.
“You Darcy and Irene?”
They stared at him in shock, and, feeling bad because they were his girls, he wandlessly cleaned off all the blood before taking a step closer. “I’d like to get you two back home, if you’d take my hands? It’s easier to side-along you back to Underwood’s shop.” It was so easy to pretend that he and Underwood were two different people, but he knew it wasn’t true. He was very much assassin material. He’d lived and breathed it for ten years, after all, and that wasn’t something you could just forget and become a normal citizen after.
His girls tentatively stood from their chairs, obviously wondering if trading one captor for another was such a good idea.
Not wanting to be there any longer, Harry snapped, “This century, if you please. I don’t have all day.” They were quick to latch onto his arms after that, and Harry disapparated with a quiet displacement of air.
He took them home – not the shop as he’d said in front of the captors – warded the house enough that it could survive a nuclear bomb, told them to stay inside until Underwood came for them, and disapparated to Diagon Alley after placing a glamour on himself to hide the assassin suit.
He hired a bird from the wizarding equivalent of the post office, which was open all hours of the day, wrote a fake note in neat, flowing handwriting that would never be mistaken for his own chicken scratch, and sent it off to Hogwarts addressed to ‘Underwood’. The bird stared at him in confusion for a moment before he tossed it into the air and disapparated. Owls were too smart for their own good.
Appearing in the Shrieking Shack, he cracked his molar and changed into the set of clothes he’d been wearing before he left. The assassin gear went back into the box in an untidy bunch – he’d fix it up later after he cleaned everything. After casting his Underwood glamour, he pulled out his time turner, checked his watch – 3:50 AM – and started spinning the little hourglass.
The world disappeared in a swirl around him, and he finally let out a sigh of relief. Now that the hard part was over, he just had to pretend to be a distraught man and seek Dumbledore’s comfort or something until the note would appear.
He really wanted to sleep.
-Toki Mirage-
I came up with the brilliant plot for this chapter as I was rereading chapter six or something. *grins* I hope it was worth the nearly two month wait. And I hope it was sufficiently kick ass, cuz I was squealing just thinking about the ending.
Oh, and I know Agent ‘Phoenix’ isn’t all that original, but Harry took that name to honour the Order and those who fell during the war. So if you don't like it, Cryyy me a rivaaah
Sorry if you guys got sick of the French and translation, but indulge me please. :) I wanted to try out my ‘one-year-at-uni’ skillage. I’d like to thank Lady Idyllic and felly16 for their wonderful French assistance post the updating of this chapter. If anyone else is bilingual and has suggestions, please feel free to make them.
Repost June 25/09: Change made in regards to Harry killing the three people with no reason in response to serene saber’s Forum comment. French adjustments made in response to Lady Idyllic and felly16. THIS FIC IS POSTED ON FF.NET IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO ADD IT TO YOUR ALERTS :) Details on my profile
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