Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Only One	By : blade-of-the-shadows Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 14081 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from Harry Potter, all credit goes to Rowling and I do not make any profit from this fanfic

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Starts off in Harry’s third year, just before he meets Sirius
Chapter 1
Harry sighed deeply as he played with his food, spinning his fork around his plate. Beside him, Hermione was oblivious to his anxiety as she was deeply immersed in her book, and the same applied to Ron, who was busy stuffing his face. Harry sighed again, slumping over his food. In truth, he had been questioning exactly how much his friends cared about him.
It was possible that two years ago, he would’ve scoffed had anyone asked him such a question, but now…both of his friends had been awfully distant since they met at Fortescue’s. At first, the two seemed happy to see him, but then their conversation turned to the escaped convict Sirius Black and they suddenly closed off on him. They’ve been the same since. It was almost as if they were avoiding him; trying to keep something from him. He was a tad depressed without his friends keeping him company, but Harry did have Neville and Luna by his side, and Malfoy and the Zabini kid were always there to bother him. Though even they seemed less vehement in their insults and hexes. It bothered Harry endlessly and many times he could be found deep in thought, brow furrowed in worry as he combed through his memories, trying to find anything he did wrong to make his friends act such a way. But every time he came up blank.
An indescribable piece of food landed near Harry’s plate from Ron’s mouth and a vein in Harry’s temple twitched. His best friend became more and more piggish as the years passed, going from slightly annoying to extremely irking. Combined with Hermione only looking up from her book to yell at Ron about it—which always ended up with the two fighting—and their ignorance of Harry’s turmoil…he didn’t know whether to scream or cry.
Right on cue, Hermione looked up with what Harry was beginning to believe a permanent frown on her face and began berating Ron. From what he could comprehend from their argument, a piece of Ron’s food flew onto Hermione’s book, which was what caught her attention in the first place. Boiling rage built up in Harry’s chest, so hot that his lips twisted in a snarl as he bent over himself. This was accompanied with a searing pain that suddenly blossomed in his forehead, right in the center. Tears of pain built in his eyes but with a growl, he held them back. He happened to glance up and saw Malfoy looking at him with a vaguely worried expression, Zabini’s expression very similar. The pain suddenly disappeared and a sense of tranquility filled Harry.
At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall boomed open—reminding Harry quite distinctly of his first year—but instead of a jittery faux Professor entering, two particularly handsome men entered, eyes scanning the crowds.
The first man was clearly dangerous; anyone could tell that from a glance. His hair was deep blood red and tumbled down his back in messy waves, the unruliness of it quite similar to Harry’s own mop and his eyes were just as vibrant green. His face was rather feminine, but he had so many silvery, thin cuts and red scars criss-crossing along his face and chest that no one would dare contradict that he was in fact manly, and his skin was as olive as Harry’s own. He was extremely tall, definitely towering over six feet, and muscular, which was easily shown by his bare chest, torso and arms. He wore black, cargo-like pants, a sleeveless, black leather trench coat that fell easily to the floor, and combat army boots with silver chains dropping and crossing from the top. Strapped to his back was an unusually large broadsword and to each hip was a gun secure in their holsters. Harry could see the hilts of what he assumed were knives or daggers poking from the top of the man’s boots.
The second man was less hard-core, but emitted a dangerous aura no less scary than the red-haired man’s. His waist-length hair was literally pure silver, shimmering slightly in the candlelight, and his eyes were dark purple swirled with a lighter purple. His face was also feminine, but he carried no noticeable scars to nullify it; in fact, he seemed to purposely enhance it, and his skin was pale, milky white. He was about two or three inches shorter than the red-haired man and his muscles were more lean and sinewy. He wore a black silk dress shirt that shimmered blood red when he moved, tapered black slacks, with the same boots as the red-haired man’s, but with fewer chains. Two long Japanese swords—katanas—were strapped to each hip and he also had two knives/daggers sticking from the top of his boots.
Suddenly the loud click-clack of heels echoed throughout the Great Hall, growing increasingly louder and faster. Two more people entered; both with shared furious expressions. Harry couldn’t help but gasp at them.
The first was a woman, and what made Harry gasp was the fact that she looked almost exactly like his mother, except with longer, black hair and laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. Eyes the same exact shade of Harry’s and his mother’s, and coincidentally of the red-haired man’s. She wore bright red lipstick and a form-fitting, floor-length white dress that accentuated her pale tan skin, a black robe resting on her shoulders. Harry caught a glimpse of white pumps as she strutted towards the head table. A thinner broadsword than the red-haired man’s was strapped to her waist by a dainty, yet strong-looking, silver chain.
The second person, who was in fact another man, actually made everyone in the Hall draw in a surprised gasp. His curly black hair was washed and trimmed, as was he himself, and he wore a nice white dress shirt with a black suit jacket left unbuttoned and black tapered slacks, but unlike the other two men he dressed with black loafers instead of combat boots. His electric blue eyes no longer carried the look of dementia as in the picture in the Daily Prophet, but had a hint of panic as he too searched the crowds. He carried no obvious weapon as the others, but Harry could tell by the way he carried himself that he was just as proficient in wand usage as any Professor in Hogwarts. He might’ve been cleaned and dressed, but he was easily recognizable. It was the escaped convict, Sirius Black. Harry vaguely noted that Professor Lupin half rose from his seat.
A girl from the Hufflepuff table rose from her seat, pointed at Black, screamed, and fainted. Many others girls followed suit. A low murmur spread throughout the Hall, but Harry did not join in. Something about Black seemed to call him; the man’s presence felt familiar, comforting. Dumbledore rose from his seat and called for silence. The woman’s eyes flashed as she stopped in front of the head table, a hand resting rather dangerously on the hilt of her sword.
“I suggest you seat yourself and seal your mouth, Albus Dumbledore.” Her voice carried a sense of authority and even though she spoke in quiet tones, it whipped throughout the room. Dumbledore paled and sat down quickly. “I am beyond angered with you. How dare you keep the well-being of my grandson from me? The death of my daughter. I leave to settle controversy between wizarding Britain and America, leaving my pregnant daughter and her husband in your care, and return to find her dead, her husband in Azkaban, and her son left with Muggles? I have never in all of my years…Albus, I ought to smite you where you stand. It would do all of us some good. You are not the man you once were; I fear that power may have corrupted you.”
Murmurs once again spread across the room. Harry was stunned. She couldn’t possibly be talking about his mother…could she? Was what she said true? Harry looked up at Dumbledore and found his answer. The Headmaster was deathly pale and he sat fidgeting in his seat, watery blue eyes darting around the room. Beside him, Professor McGonagall looked a cross between pissed and confused. The woman who reminded Harry of his mother pursed her lips.
“Silence.” She didn’t raise her voice, but her command carried throughout the room, effectively shutting everyone up. She nodded once. “Thank you. To all of you students, and also to you staff, I apologize for disrupting your supper, but this situation is quite dire. I have ashamedly been fooled by your Headmaster and I was rather eager to find my grandson.” Her voice softened, as did her eyes as she scanned the crowd. “Harry, my child, please stand up.”
Harry, literally being the only Harry in the school—of which always bothered him as Harry was a very common name—swallowed and stood, ignoring Hermione’s whispered, half-panicked “Harry, no!” He shivered at the feeling of eyes zeroing on him, hating the attention he was getting. But he held his head high and met the eyes of the woman. Her lips parted and her eye widened, shining with unshed tears. Sirius Black took a step towards him and she stopped him.
“Not yet, Sirius.” She looked up and met Harry’s gaze. “Harry, do you know who I am?”
Harry licked his lips. “No, ma’am.”
She sighed. “Then it would be best if you came with us immediately. We must get you out of this place but first there are many things we must do.” She again looked through the crowd. “Harry, be a dear and choose four people. People you believe you can trust with your life. Whose loyalty you have no doubt of.”
Harry bit his lip. That immediately eliminated Ron and Hermione. He wished his best friends weren’t so untrustworthy at the moment, but they’d been acting suspicious for a while. Even now, they were tense. Especially when Sirius Black came in. He sighed and made his choice.
“Neville…Luna…Malfoy…and…Zabini.”
The woman closed her eyes with a small smile at his choice and nodded. “Alright, so be it. Of those who name Harry has called, rise and follow me. You too, Harry.”
With a bit of hesitation, except for Luna who rose immediately upon hearing her name, the others stood and joined Harry as he followed the woman out of the Great Hall. Just as they took a step out, Dumbledore suddenly rose.
“Harry, my boy, please wait!”
Harry turned and shook his head. “Something is going on, Professor, and I will find out what it is.” He walked out of the Great Hall. The two men who first entered closed the doors behind them and followed after them, still and silent.
The woman led them to an abandoned classroom, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the state of it and waved her hand. The room suddenly was no longer dusty, sunlight streaming in from the now clean window, and the chairs and tables were no longer broken; the room gleamed and smelled vaguely of lemon scented disinfectant. She gestured for the four to take a seat as she and the trio of men made their way to the front.
“I know that Harry does not know who I am, but do any of you other three?”
Malfoy leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. “Morticia Diablo, most commonly known as Queen of wizarding Britain, otherwise known as Lady Death.”
She arched a brow. “I did not believe someone so young would know my…other title.”
Malfoy shrugged. “My father made sure I knew anyone and everyone related to the Wizarding world as if they were my immediate family.”
“A wise man, your father…most of the time, anyway.”
“You know my father?”
She snorted. “Who doesn’t? Lucius Malfoy is a very notoriously known man,” She turned to look at Harry. “But there is one thing you are missing about my identity.” She stepped forward and gently caressed Harry’s cheek. “I am Harry’s grandmother. “
Harry sucked in a sharp gasp as his head suddenly burst in excruciating pain. It felt as if a thousand hot needles were piercing his skull and slowly drilling their way into his brain. He clutched his head and screamed, tears streaming down his face. Over his own hands, cool hands gently grabbed his head, and a soft voice murmured something into his ear. The pain slowly dispersed and Harry slumped onto his table with a soft, relieved sigh. He opened eyes he didn’t know he closed and looked up.
“Thank you.” His voice was hoarse from his scream, but the person above him heard him clearly and smiled. It was the silver-haired man who, upon closer inspection, Harry realized had to be much younger than he previously looked.
“It is my pleasure, my lord.” He smiled again and returned to his position beside the red-haired man. Harry’s eyes widened at the man calling him ‘my lord’ but thought it’d be best not to say anything about it. The Queen’s face suddenly appeared in his vision, lined with worry.
“Harry, dear, are you okay?”
Harry sat up slowly and nodded. “I’ll be fine. The pain is nearly gone.”
Her face softened with relief. “Good. It would seem that someone has placed a block on your mind, maybe even more than one, but this one in particular seems to cause you pain upon learning something someone did not want you to know.”
“Why would someone do that?”
She looked surprise for a moment before smiling softly and rubbing his cheek. “I sometimes forget how innocent a young one can be. Before we continue, Harry, it would best if we removed those blocks on your mind lest we trigger something else.”
Harry nodded. “Yes, please.”
The Queen crooked a finger and the red-haired man approached, his face impassive. They locked gazes for a moment and the man nodded, turning away and crouching in front of Harry.
“This is going to hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt before.” His voice was soft and hard at the same time. “You have every right to scream and kick and punch and scratch and curse, you hear?”
Harry nodded and pursed his lips. “I am ready.”
The man smirked. “Brave kid.” He grabbed Harry’s head and pushed their foreheads together, whispering something Harry couldn’t understand.
Suddenly the pain from before returned, but a hundred times worse. At first, it seemed like it was only in his head, but soon it trickled throughout the rest of his body. He knew he was crying but couldn’t move to stop the tears; he knew he was screaming, but he couldn’t close his mouth. His arms jerked and flailed and he grabbed onto something. He didn’t care what it was, but dug his nails deep into it, trying someway, somehow to dispel his pain. At some point he bit his tongue and began to choke when his blood filled his mouth, even as he continued to scream. Someone patted his back, but that only increased his pain and he jerked away. The pain continued for minutes, hours, days, months, years, it seemed, when it suddenly and abruptly stopped. Harry’s scream choked off and he slumped forward, unable to hold his own weight. He would’ve fallen straight from his chair if the silver-haired man hadn’t caught him. His limps trembled from the stress he placed on his muscles from being so tense.
One of the cool hands from before, belonging to the silver-haired man, ran through his hair and Harry sighed softly as calm waves passed through his mind, filling him with tranquility and ease. His blurry vision suddenly cleared and he looked around slowly. The Queen had her lips pursed so tightly they were nothing but a thin red line; Sirius Black was pale and had his fists clenched tightly; Malfoy and Zabini were also pale and stared at Harry with wide-eyes; Luna was buried in Neville’s side, crying softly, and Neville himself was pale and clutching onto Luna as if she was his lifeline. He swallowed the blood in his mouth, grimacing as it rubbed on his raw throat, and looked up at the red-haired man.
“What the bloody hell did you do to me?” His voice was less than a faint whisper, barely heard in the dead silent room.
“I removed the blocks.” He arched a red brow. “But seems like there was more to it than simple memory blocks.”
The Queen, composure now regained, snorted. “Of course there was. He is my grandson. His power levels should be astronomical with his lineage.”
The silver-haired man was still stroking a hand through his hair, and Harry relaxed deeper into the man’s embrace, feeling completely content where he was, even if it was on the floor. “My lineage?”
Her face became grave and she waved Sirius Black forward . “Harry, what do you know of your parents?”
Harry shrugged as best as he could. “My mom was Lily Potter, a Muggleborn, and my dad was James Potter, a Pureblood. They died fighting against Voldemort to save me. They were Aurors, the best of their time—.”
“That is enough, Harry.” The Queen’s voice was strained. “Everything you have been told is a lie.”
“…What?”
“Yes, your mother is Lily, but your father was not James Potter.” The Queen looked at Sirius Black and Harry’s gaze followed hers, eyes widening.
“No way…but, he’s…a criminal…he killed innocent—.”
Sirius Black stepped forward, a pleading expression on his face. “No, Harry. I was framed. I didn’t do it; I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well…flies are…”
Harry struggled to sit up and the silver-haired man helped him. “Prove that you are my father, then.”
Sirius smirked. “Look at yourself in a mirror, then.”
The Queen conjured a mirror and handed it to Harry. He looked down at gasped at his reflection. He looked the same, but…not. He had the same mop of messy, black hair, but it was more curly and longer than before; his eyes were the same vibrant green, but were narrowed into a more almond shape. Most of all, the regal look in his face was further defined; his nose straighter, his jaw curving more elegantly. He looked a lot less like James Potter, who always carried a more rugged look…and more like the refined appearance of Sirius Black. He looked up.
“…How?”
Sirius crouched in front of him. “Your mother and I were married, once upon a time. We were happy, so happy. I am reluctant to say that I was once the best friend of James Potter; I knew your mother longer than James did and always loved her, but she dated him first. He was always a huge playboy and tried to show her off; your mother was definitely the most beautiful, smartest girl in Hogwarts. She didn’t like that and broke off with him, coming to me. I couldn’t help but love her, and she loved me back and…after graduating Hogwarts, we got married and she got pregnant with you and everything was great. But James was a jealous man. He wanted her badly. When Morticia left for America…” Sirius looked away and Harry could see tears forming in his eyes.
“I don’t even know how it happened. I came home from work one day—it was your first birthday and I wanted to come home early—and the house was burned down, your mother was lying in the rubble, dead, and you were…gone. I knew it was James and chased after him, but he conspired with Peter Pettigrew—the little rat—and Dumbledore and framed me.”
Harry gaped at the man, his heart racing a thousand kilometers a minute. He couldn’t believe but he knew in his heart that it was right. The story Dumbledore told him about his parents always seemed choppy and wrong. And that prophecy…nothing ever added up. He looked up at the Queen.
“You are…my grandmother then?” The Queen nodded. Harry looked at Malfoy. “Then if Sirius is my dad…and he is a Black…Malfoy you’re…”
Malfoy’s jaw dropped. “Bloody fucking…Harry you’re…”
Sirius grinned. “You two are cousins.”
Beside Malfoy, Zabini snorted. “Two years of animosity…wasted. The both of you are idiots.”
Malfoy sneered at him. “Get bent, Blaise.”
“Not in front of the Queen, Draco.” The way Zabini said it made everyone in the room blush and Harry cleared his throat.
“…May I ask, who are the other two?”
The red-haired man stared at him incredulously before bursting out with laughter. “Harry, you are one funny kid.” He leaned into Harry’s face. “Don’t I look familiar?”
Harry shrugged. “Well, to tell the truth…”
The man laughed again. “Harry, I am your dear mother’s younger twin brother. Your uncle and, coincidentally, your godfather. The name is Jon, Jon Diablo.”
Harry gaped. “Uncle?! Twins? But you two look nothing alike.”
“Did I say we were identical twins?”
Harry scowled. “You implied it.”
Jon smirked. “Did I? Or didn’t I?”
Harry tensed and growled, but before he could move, the silver-haired man grabbed him and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Okay, my turn, then.”
Jon laughed and sat back. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
The silver-haired man ran a hand through Harry’s hair, effectively calming him before he could snap at his uncle. “I am known as Meelo, my lord. I am your Keeper.”
Harry craned his neck back to look at Meelo. “Keeper?”
The Queen stepped forward. “A Keeper is similar to…a guardian of sorts, Harry. He is your protector, your healer, your servant, anything and everything you need him to be.”
Harry gaped and, once again, craned his neck. “You agreed to something like that? That’s practically being a slave!”
Meelo smiled and nodded once. “It has been destined since your birth, my lord. I have done nothing more than make myself to—hopefully—your liking.”
“My lik—…since birth? How old are you?”
“Fifteen, my lord. Two years older than yourself.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. Fifteen? He would’ve guessed eighteen at the least. There was no one Meelo could look the way he did and yet be so young. Almost as if he was reading Harry’s thoughts, Milo smiled.
“I am not human, my lord. My race physically matures faster than humans until we reach full maturity at seventeen, my lord, then we stop aging completely.”
“Umm…could you…stop saying ‘my lord’? It’s kind of weird.”
“Yes, my—.” Meelo stopped and cleared his throat, ears growing red. Harry smiled up at him and patted his hand in thanks.
Malfoy cleared his throat, drawing attention to him. “Well, if introductions are going around, it would only be proper if we also introduced ourselves, as I am sure you are unaware.”
The Queen nodded. “That would be adequate.”
“I am Draco Malfoy, third year Slytherin.”
Zabini straightened when Malfoy elbowed him. “I am Blaise Zabini, also a third year Slytherin.”
Neville squeaked and blushed when it was his turn. “Ne—Neville Longbottom, third year Griffindor.”
Luna smiled serenely. “Luna Lovegood, third year Ravenclaw. May I ask you another question?”
he Queen smiled. “You may, Luna.”
Luna’s gaze went from dreamy to sharp in less than a second, surprising everyone in the room. “Why are we here? Something is coming—something bad—and I will not sit here dallying around when it happens. Harry needs us for some reason, and I think you know why.”
The Queen’s smile grew. “Yes, Luna, you all are here for a reason. The reason I asked Harry for four people who he could trust and depend on their loyalty is because you four have an extremely important role. You all are Harry’s men-in-arms. His comrades in war. His soldiers.”
Harry sat up. “Soldiers? Why would I need soldiers?”
“Because I saw war approaching, my lord.” Harry turned to Meelo, eyes wide. “I am a Seer. I saw war coming, and it was not pretty. So much death, anger, hatred. But it can be stopped. I saw you, my lord, standing brave and strong in front, with four silhouettes behind you, just as brave and strong, and you five stopped the war.”
“But…we’re only kids. How are we supposed to stop a war?”
Meelo laughed, a loud, tinkling sound. “Not now, my lord. First you must train, develop, learn, mature.” Milo’s eyes suddenly unfocused and the dark purple was overtaken by the lighter purple. His voice deepened. “And when you are ready, with Death watching over, you will succeed and conquer. But what happens after…the one thing that cannot be taken away is free will…the choice is yours to make…build, or destroy…one will save all and one will save a few…but you will not know which until it has happened.” His eyes darkened and Meelo shook his head, placing a hand to his temple, and buried his head into the nook between Harry’s neck and shoulders with a moan.
Silence ensued throughout the room as everyone pondered what Meelo said. Clearly, he just had a vision about this war. Harry could feel his heart beating hard against his ribs, rushing blood so fast throughout his body he could hear it; it was all he could hear. He knew he wasn’t breathing, but couldn’t make himself do so. His mind was racing a kilometer a minute. So it would seem that no matter who his parents were, he would still have to fight. He shoulders slumped and his body sagged, the small light of hope that he could possibly now have a normal life extinguished.
The Queen gave a shaky smile, trying to lighten the somber mood. “Well, that was certainly enlightening. Did that answer your question, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Harry, we will leave this place soon, but there are a few more things we have to do.”
Harry looked up at his grandmother dully. “Yes?”
“We must first assign your roles, and then there are a few things we must tell to others. A few things about you, Harry.” She waved her hand and, in a shower of white light, a small multi-colored bag appeared, about the size of Harry’s fists put together. “Harry, as leader you are the General, so you will go last. We will start with Luna.”
Luna smiled gently and stood gracefully, approaching the floating bag without hesitation and immediately dipping her hand inside. She let out a gasp of surprise and her eyes widened. When she pulled her hand out, a white light poured from the bag onto her. The light grew so bright that all had to turn away; when they turned back, Luna looked different.
Her long, nearly white-blonde hair was a lot shorter, cropped to a tapered point on the nape of her neck, her bangs elongated and swept to the right, curling down to cup her cheek and chin. Her face, while still retaining that child-like roundness, was sharper and her crystalline blue eyes carried a glint of wisdom. Her body was thinner, lither, and she stood relaxed, yet on-guard; nearly standing on the balls of her feet. In her right hand, she held a bow and arrows, and on the back of her hand was a strange symbol. It looked like something Harry had seen when he accidentally glanced at Hermione’s Ruins homework and gave himself a headache. In her left hand she held a thin rapier, the blade glinting silver in the candlelight and the simple hilt gilded gold. She no longer wore the standard black school robes, but charming cream robes, cinched tightly to her bodice and flowing to the floor. Beneath it, she wore a tight, white dress that went a bit lower than mid-thigh and white combat army boots, lacking any chains.
The Queen stepped towards her and grabbed the hand with the symbol on it, looking at it closely. Then she looked up with a grin. “An Ezi’ot. Seer of all.”
Luna tilted her head, inspecting the symbol on her hand. “Ezi’ot? It sounds so…nice. It flows.”
“Yes, you have a very important role, Luna. Even though you stay in the shadows, you see all. In a fight, you are always two steps ahead, even when you don’t realize it.”
Luna bowed her head and curtsied. “I take this role with honour.” She returned to her seat beside Neville.
The Queen smiled. “Okay, Blaise you next.”
Zabini stood a little shakily, looking pale under his dark skin. His hand trembled as he reached into the bag and just as Luna, his eyes widened and he gasped loudly, pulling out his hand. Once again, light poured out from the bag onto his body, but unlike Luna, his light was grayish-black. When the light disappeared, he had also changed as Luna did.
His black hair was swept up into a ponytail, his bangs nearly covering his dark eyes. His body was smaller, thinner; he stood with a mysterious, almost hidden air about him and Harry couldn’t sense his magic at all. Harry couldn’t see much of his face, but somehow knew that it was slimmer, his features more angular. He was dressed completely in black, literally from head to toe. A black cloth mask covered the bottom half of his face—from the bridge of his nose and tucked down into the collar of his black, form-fitting turtle-neck shirt. He wore tight black pants tucked into black leather boots that molded to his calves. Harry could see the hilts of two daggers poking from the tops of his boots, just like Jon and Meelo, and when Blaise pulled up his sleeve, Harry noticed the thin knives strapped to his forearms. On his right hand was a symbol similar to Luna’s. Strapped to his back was a short katana, the hilt poking over his shoulder.
The Queen, once again, stepped forward and grabbed the hand with the symbol, squinting at it before smiling up at Blaise. “Assa’i. Spy, assassin.”
Blaise’s brow lifted. “Assa’i? Hmmm…I could get used to that.”
“I should hope so; you are the informant of the group. You sneak where you need to, gather as much information as possible, in any way possible, and you try not to get caught. You’re loyalty is very important, Blaise. Harry needs you.”
Blaise’s eyes widened and he glanced at Harry, cheeks flushing dark red. “I understand. I accept this role with honour.” He bowed and went back to his seat beside Draco. Harry noticed Draco put a comforting hand on top of Blaise’s, under the table, but gave no reaction. He snuggled deeper into Meelo’s arms—he’d never been much of a cuddler, but for some reason he couldn’t get enough of being in Meelo’s arms—and watched as his grandmother called up Neville, who stood with shaky legs and nearly fell approaching the bag.
He had the exact same reaction of Luna and Blaise, gasping and withdrawing his hand, but his light was dark blue. The light disappeared and Harry could swear that Neville went through the greatest change of them all.
He no longer stood with his shoulders hunched, but thrown back with his chest puffed proudly and his back straight. He lost all of his baby fat, but still had some child roundness to his features, hints of a strong jaw and sharp traits showing beneath. He was taller and a lot more muscular, his muscles nearly causing his shirt to strain across his frame—though the shirt was awfully tight. His brown hair was long and slightly shaggy and his brown eyes were narrowed. He wore a long sleeve, navy blue shirt, black cargo pants not unlike Jon’s and combat army boots. A flash caught Harry’s eyes and he focused on the dog tags resting on Neville’s chest. In his right hand was a large broadsword, a huge sapphire in the pommel, and on the back of his hand was yet another one of those strange symbols and in his left he held an unusual looking gun with intricate designs along the barrel.
The Queen snorted and grabbed Neville’s hand, only looking at it briefly before smiling up at him. “Si’ilo. Soldier.”
“S—si’ilo? Soldier? But, I—I’m not—.”
“Yes you are. You fight with all your strength, not stopping until the enemy is eliminated.”
Neville blushed deeply, but bowed. “Th—thank you, ma’am.”
The Queen snorted again, waving him to his seat, and leveled her eyes on Draco. “Well, then, come on pretty boy.”
Draco gave an indignant snort and stood gracefully, approaching the bag with no hesitation and dipping his hand in. But unlike with the first three, he didn’t not gasp and pull his hand out—he didn’t have the time to before a bright, dark silver light covered his body immediately. The light grew and grew, surrounding all of them and heating the room, before suddenly disappearing just as quickly as it appeared, instead of slowly fading out. Harry blinked away the black dots blocking his vision and gaped when he saw Draco, who was standing there in a daze.
His white-blonde hair was…well, now a silverish white color and was tied in a neat braid, nearly reaching his waist, and two long bangs framed either side of his face. His features were still sharp and carried the same effeminate grace, but was somehow different. Draco looked…older. A thin sword—Harry thought it was a rapier—was in his left hand and another, bigger sword was strapped to his back, his wand in his right. Harry noticed that Draco didn’t have a symbol on his hand, but just in the center of his collar bone, which shone through the open part of his shirt. He wore a shirt similar to Meelo’s but instead of black, his was dark silver; nearly-black dark grey, tapered slacks, a sweeping, black robe and—the seemingly customary—black combat boots. At his feet was some type of feline-like creature with bright silver fur, reminding Harry of panthers, but somehow knew that it wasn’t.
The Queen didn’t approach Draco; just looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Ci’ir-ay. Commander.”
Draco blinked at the title, still slightly stunned “Ci…ir…ay?” His eyes cleared and he bowed at the Queen. “It would be my pleasure to accept this role.” He walked dazedly to his seat, not even reacting when Blaise put his hand on his arm.
The Queen pulled a smile and turned to Harry. “Come on, Harry dear. You’re last, but not at all least.”
Harry had a small battle with himself before he was able to pull himself from Meelo’s arms. As if reading his thoughts, Meelo chuckled softly and gave Harry a gentle push. Harry stumbled to his feet and quickly approached the bag to hide his embarrassment. He was slightly hesitant to put his hand in the bag—he was afraid nothing at all would happen—but did so either way. A suddenly suck-like feeling pulled at Harry’s gut and a black light surrounded him, blinding him.
It felt like every bone, every fiber in his body was…oh, he couldn’t explain it. His body felt like, weightless, and yet this strange tingling feeling ran through him. He could feel it going along his scalp, on his face, across his skin, swirling inside him. It was a warm, bubbly feeling, but alongside it was another, darker, colder feeling. At first he resisted the second feeling, not liking it at all, but something began to whisper in his ear, telling him to accept it; that it was a part of him. Harry took a deep breath—or at least he tried to—and slowly relaxed, feeling the cold wash over him. A heavy weight suddenly landed on his right shoulder, another sliding along his left arm and again another in his hand, and before he could react, the black blanket was gone and he blinked at the sudden light filling the room. He heard many gasps, sounding louder than they should, and cringed, trying to blink away the black dots so that he could see.
Once his vision cleared, he looked around the room to see everyone staring at him with their jaws dropping. Well, Luna, Neville, Draco and Blaise anyway. His grandmother looked on at him proudly, as did Sirius, Jon was clapping and whistling, and Meelo looked at him with an awestruck expression.
Harry frowned and looked down at himself. He wore no shirt, instead two leather straps crossed on his chest to make an ‘x’, holding two long swords to his back. He also wore a black trench coat like Jon’s, but with sleeves and instead of leather, his was made from some soft cloth, swishing quietly and easily when he moved; black, really baggy trousers—they vaguely reminded him of when he had to wear Dudley’s pants, but these were in much better condition—that had five pockets down each side of his legs with a large belt that barely held the pants on his hips and had a bunch of compartments on it—Harry assumed it was one of those utility belt thingies—and black army combat boots like the others but his nearly reached his knees. In his left hand, he awkwardly held his wand—something told him he wouldn’t need his wand anyway—and a beautiful black snake was coiled around his arm, sleeping from the sounds Harry heard from it, and in his right he held a gun. He couldn’t tell if he had one of those symbols on his hand or not because he wore leather, fingerless biker gloves. He kept his small Seeker build, but the slight muscles he got from Quidditch were just a bit more defined and—embarrassingly enough—everyone could see his rib cage easily poking out. Eating little to nothing a week for eleven years was a hard habit to break, you know. A sudden trill sounded by his ear and his head whipped up—he vaguely noted that his hair was longer, reaching just past his shoulders—and stared wide-eyed at the phoenix sitting on his shoulder. By now, he was rather familiar with Fawkes and through the friendly bond the two shared, he was fairly comfortable with phoenixes, but this one…was a lot different. For one, it was bigger than a normal phoenix, nearly the size of a few months old baby dragon, and two…it was black and blue. The phoenix trilled again, nudging Harry’s head with its own, and a voice filled his head.
*It has been so long before I have finally met you, Master. I am so happy.*
The voice was clearly female, and Harry suspected that it belonged to the phoenix. He swallowed and attempted to send his thoughts back to the majestic bird.
*What is your name?*
*In your language, Master, my name is I’deenaylokee, but I would rather be called Idée if it pleases you Master.*
*Well, if you’d rather that be your name, then who am I to change it?*
Idée trilled, spreading her wings behind Harry’s head and flapping them happily. From his peripheral, Harry noticed his companions flinch and felt this cold laughter build from his gut, bubbling to come out. He swallowed it with a frown; he’d felt a change in his persona when he accepted that coldness but that did not mean he would laugh at his friends…well, maybe not yet. When they were older and much closer, then probably. His eyes flashed across the room when his grandmother moved towards him. He froze, watching her closely as she cupped his cheek with a sad smile.
“You remind me of my husband so much, Harry…You’re named after him, you know. Well, his name was Harrison and you’re just Harry but…” She sighed wistfully. “I can see him in you. You might have my eyes, but that cold stare is all his.” Idée trilled, capturing the Queen’s attention. “Well, hello there, Idée. It has been a long time. You’ve waited years to meet Harry, haven’t you?” Idée trilled again, only able to communicate with Harry.
Tell her I said it’s good to see you!
“She says hi.” Harry said quietly. The Queen smiled.
“It’s good to see you to, little Idée.” She suddenly clapped her hands. “Now that everything is settled, we shall…return to the Great Hall.”
Jon stepped forward. “Tish…”
She glanced at him. “Ah, yes. Harry…oh well you tell him Jon.”
“Harry, there were more than simple memory blocks on you.” Jon grabbed him round the shoulders and sat him in a chair, sitting in the one beside it. “I found…a few strange things. The easiest to identify was well…the charms. You had a hate charm and it was connected all the way back to the Great Hall…and to Draco and Blaise.”
The three shared a look and Blaise snorted. “I bet the rest is connected to all the Slytherins and to Snape.”
Harry nodded. “That would make the most sense.” He turned to Jon and motioned for him to continue.
“The next is…a variation of the cheer-up charm. It’s supposed to make you only think positive thoughts about something—or someone—in particular. It also goes back to the Great Hall.”
“Dumbledore and the Griffindors.” Harry clenched his fists and growled. “That was probably why I made the Sorting Hat put me in Griffindor even though it wanted to put me in Slytherin.”
Harry jerked in surprise at Draco and Blaise’s shrieked ‘What?!” and stared at them with wide-eyes at they scrambled to his side.
“The Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin—?!”
“You persuaded the Sorting Hat—?!”
“Why’d it want to put you in Slytherin—?!”
“How’d you do it—!?”
A vein in Harry’s temple throbbed and he growled for them to shut up. They quieted immediately, leaning away from their position in his face. He sighed and rubbed his temple.
“Yes, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin; the only reason he put me in Grinffindor was because he said I also have the characteristics to be a Griffindor, after my request to not be placed in Slytherin. Now shut up and let Jon continue.”
The two quickly returned to their seats, a little red in the face. Jon laughed but sobered at Harry’s glare and cleared his throat. “Anyway…Harry you’re probably going to be pissed at this one. It’s a love potion, one that has actually been banned because of its potency.”
Harry paled, Idée squawking and his snake shifting in his sleep at the whirling emotions rushing through him, and only one name came to his mind. Ginny. The younger girl had been stalking Harry since he saved her from Tom last year, always staring at him with a hungry look in her eyes. She was beginning to really creep Harry out, but he couldn’t bring himself to dislike the girl. Now he knew why.
“You should be lucky; you’re DNA kind of prevents things like that from really working.” Jon leaned back in his chair. “Anyways…not counting the memory blocks, you had two other blocks. One’s kinda more like a charm, changing your features so that you look more like James, and the other was a power block. Harry, you’ve been using less than 30% of your magic here. You’ll blow up that stinkin’ wand trying to use it with your power now.”
Trying to keep his cool, Harry only nodded, closing his eyes. Idée nipped at his ear affectionately, trying to help calm him. He took a deep, calming breath—trying not to rely on Meelo, who was fidgeting to the side—and opened his eyes, turning to Jon. “My guess is that Dumbledore’s the one who put all the spells?”
The Queen stepped forward. “That is our guess, yes. Other than myself or Voldemort, he is the only one living strong enough to hold those spells for twelve years.”
Harry nodded again and stood. “So then, what is it we need to tell Dumbledore now?”
Meelo stepped to his side, his close proximity easily soothing Harry’s headache. “My lord, I saw more than just the war…about you. And I…kind of wrote it down.” He held out his hand and three leather bound books appeared. “It’s your past two years and what this year would’ve been like for you if we hadn’t came, my lord.”
Harry stared at the books and swallowed hard. “You’re going to…read them to everyone in the Great Hall?”
“Not all of it, my lord. Just a few excerpts. So that they can get a taste of the life you live’ what you would’ve lived.” Meelo’s face darkened with anger. “They put so much pressure on you, so many responsibilities, without any thought of how you felt.”
“…Okay.” Harry nodded and took a deep breath. “Okay, we can do that, right?”
The Queen smiled and ruffled his hair. “Good job on controlling your emotions, Harry.” He blushed. “But before we go…there are a few fire calls that must be made…”
I had to put this at the end as to not give away anything; *this* means Harry’s talking to Idee and “this” means he’s talking to his currently nameless snake because it’s out loud
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The Only One