This story contains references to war and the violence and cruelty one would realistically expect with that (as opposed to the kiddie version in the books), characters being unrepentant assholes, a slash relationship (though it's almost entirely off screen and you won't see so much as a kiss between the blokes involved even when they are on screen), PTSD, cursing and heavy drinking. If any of these are a breaking point for you reading a story, please find the little cross at the top of your screen and click on it.
Harry Potter and all associated characters, locations and what not belong to J.K. Rowling and whoever she sells the rights to. I have borrowed these characters, locations and what not in order to mess around with them. In some cases I have lifted a piece of dialogue or scene directly from the books as a touchstone. I do not own anything except the plot and I am not making any money from this endeavor. This applies to the whole story.
Harry Potter was sitting at his desk in his room with a smile on his face. On the desk in front of him sat a dusty, old oil-lamp. This is going to be perfect. I just need to figure out who I'm going to hit with this. Harry had found the thing in a Knockturn Alley shop. Mum didn't know where he had snuck off to under Dad's invisibility cloak. Dad didn't either, come to think of it. All in all it had gone better than Harry thought he had any right to expect.
The Potter family had gone to Diagon Alley to shop for presents for Harry's sister, Iris. Well, Dad got lucky. He was on patrol. Her birthday was coming up soon and was always Harry's least favourite part of the Easter hols. Honestly, who would want to spend time with the little twerp? Only this year left, though. In a few more months I'll be done with Hogwarts and Mum won't be able to force me to come home to waste my time on this. The expedition had been unexpectedly worth it in the end, even if Harry had been reluctant to go at all. Harry had snuck off while Mum and Iris had been distracted by the new selection at Flourish and Blotts. He had made it all the way to Knockturn and slipped under the cloak to have a poke around. Not only was it forbidden territory, there was even the chance that he might overhear some stupid Slytherin talking about their precious Dark Lord. If he found that kind of information, the Order would have to let him join.
As he snuck around, Harry had found himself standing outside of a shop he hadn't bothered to read the name of. The important thing was that he had spotted a familiar head of albino-blond hair inside. Malfoy! Jackpot! If anyone's going to drop a hint about You Know Who, it'll be that ponce. Harry had slipped inside and crept close to where Malfoy was talking with the shopkeep. The conversation was a lot less interesting than Harry had expected. Malfoy was looking for some potions ingredients. Harry hated Potions. Probably would have hated the subject even if it wasn't taught by His Greasiness himself. While he waited for the conversation to turn to more interesting topics, like secret weapons or plots, Harry had drifted around the store. That was when he had spotted it.
Bronze Oil Lamp; 11th century; Arabic; Contains One Djinn
Uncle Moony had taught Harry about djinns years ago. They were trickster spirits that had immense powers, but were rather easily caught. It used to be thought that once caught, a wizard could force a djinn to do his bidding. It quickly turned out that the djinn didn't appreciate this treatment however. They always seemed to find a way to turn their master's wish on it's head. Harry knew that it would be foolish to try and use a djinn to make a wish as it rarely led to any kind of actual improvement in your circumstances. Harry knew this, but he didn't know if Malfoy knew it. His plan had been formed instantly and he had snatched the lamp off its plinth and hidden it under his cloak. Normally Harry wouldn't steal something so easily, but this was different. It's not stealing if it's from an evil Slytherin, after all; and who else would set up shop in Knockturn Alley?
In the end Harry hadn't gotten the information he had been hoping for, did get a way to potentially make Malfoy or some other snake look like a tit in front of the whole school and had gotten thoroughly embarrassed by his mother wailing over him when she realised he was back. She was even trying to scold me through her tears. It makes no sense. Honestly, I'm the Boy Who Lived; I'm not helpless. I even had the cloak. Harry hadn't told Mum about the cloak though. Better to not give her something to take away or prohibit than to have to break the rules to use it again; that is true Marauder thinking. Breaking the rules isn't a real problem, but it's so much more fun when someone realises that they can't get you for it.
Harry had grown up on stories from Dad, Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony about the Marauders. Mum had scolded them all if their pranks got out of hand around the house, but Harry had always been able to see the glimmer of amusement in her eyes and knew that she didn't really mean it. Accordingly he had started looking for fellow Marauders before he even entered Hogwarts. He had found natural allies in the Weasley boys. Ron was his best mate and, while they may have graduated last year, Fred and George were also brilliant. Their sister Ginny had grown up from the annoying tag-along she had been when they were younger. Harry was quite happy to have her as a girlfriend. Maybe I should write her a letter? It's not like I've got anything better to do.
Mum had sent him to his room to wait for Dad to get home and 'deal' with him. Harry was confident that he'd be able to wriggle his way out of any kind of serious punishment, but in the meantime it was boring to just sit here. Fantasising about the mayhem he could cause with a djinn was only going to keep him occupied for so long. Fine, a letter it is. What do I even say to her though? There's nothing that I really want to tell her about right now. Arggh! This isn't helping. Angrily getting up from his desk, Harry flopped down on his bed and blindly reached out to grab the practice Snitch he knew would be on his nightstand. The little ball flapped its wings pathetically against Harry's hands until he released it to fly around the room. Guess I'll just have to wait it out. At least I'll be able to argue that I've already been punished this way.
The rest of Harry's afternoon passed in a haze of nothing. Nothing he did alleviated the boredom for more than a few moments. Harry was almost excited when he heard a pop of apparition outside and heard the back door opening and closing. Dad's home! Brilliant. I'll finally be able to get out of here. Harry sat up and then decided to look properly repentant and sit at his desk. Not that sitting at a desk was particularly repentant, but it would probably look better than lounging on the bed. After ten minutes Harry was starting to get impatient. Do I have to go down there and fetch my own talking to or something? Come on already! His foot started tapping on the floor as his body couldn't find another outlet for his restless energy. After another ten minutes Harry was ready to scream in frustration. That's it. I'm just going to head down there and get this over with. Harry's decision never materialised into action as he was startled by the sound of a series of apparitions. Wait, did the Order have a meeting scheduled at our place tonight? That would explain why nobody's been up here yet. They could be preparing for the Order's arrival.
Several loud bangs that made the house shake put paid to that theory. We're under attack. Are they mad? Attacking the house of the Boy Who Lived and the best auror on the force? I'll- shit! Where's my wand? Harry raced through his room in a panic looking for his wand. He finally found it on the desk next to the lamp, buried beneath several pieces of parchment that he had used to try and start letters to Ginny. Grabbing his wand Harry turned to his window. I'll show you, bastards! I'll just pick you off one by one. Harry had only taken a single step when his door burst open and he saw his Dad standing in the doorway, looking singed.
"Harry! Get over here. We're getting out of here."
"What? No. Dad, we can fight these guys."
"No, we can't. He's here himself. This is not a fight we can win, now get over here." You Know Who's here? Harry stood frozen in shock. His father moved forward and grabbed him by the arm to start dragging him out the door. The almost ran into Mum who was dragging Iris in a similar way.
"Here! Everyone grab the portkey!" Dad said holding out a figurine of a phoenix in flight. Dumbledore's portkey. We'll be safe at Hogwarts in no time. Harry wasted no time touching a finger to the small statue. When Dad was sure that everyone was making contact with the portkey he yelled out: "By the Light!" Harry felt a jerk behind his navel and slammed into something a split-second later. With a grunt he was deposited onto a floor in a tangle of limbs. It didn't take him long to recognise his own room. What happened? Why didn't it work?
"Portkey wards!" Mum yelled out in frustration. "They'll have apparition wards up as well. What do we do, James?"
"I don't know, love." Dad sounded more defeated than Harry had ever heard him. "The best we can do is hide the kids and try to hold these bastards off as long as possible. Someone might notice and send for help." No. there has to be something else. We can't lose Mum and Dad. Harry's eyes darted around looking for a possible escape route. When he saw a flash of bronze on his desk he didn't hesitate but leapt up and grabbed it to barely heard protests from his parents. Downstairs Harry heard a door shatter as he frantically rubbed the lamp. In a billow of smoke a small man appeared in the room with black hair and completely yellow, iris-less eyes, which seemed to shine like the sun.
"Why have you woken me?" the little man asked.
"You're a djinn, right? Get rid of You Know Who for us." The djinn cocked it's head at Harry's demand.
"I do not know who, but even if I did I cannot fulfil such a harmful request." the spirit said in a frustratingly calm tone of voice. Harry could see the first black cloaks reaching the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway.
"Then get us out of here!" The djinn gave a slightly vicious smile.
"That I can do." The djinn clapped his hands and a golden smoke, the colour of sunburnt desert sands, emanated from where his palms met and surrounded the Potters without a care for such mundane things as air currents. As it surrounded them Harry could feel himself get stretched in every direction at once. He screamed in terror as the last thing he saw before the smoke completely engulfed him was a man in a black cloak and a bone-white mask firing a green curse at him. Harry couldn't say how long he was stretched and pulled but after what seemed like an eternity he felt himself slam into the ground again. This time he could feel grass under his hands. Unfortunately he could also hear cursing around him. Harry opened his eyes just in time to see a red bolt flying his way. Curse that djinn! When the Stunner touched him, Harry couldn't fight off the blackness and he sank into unconsciousness.
Harry Potter stumbled into his home and collapsed on the couch. Despite having defeated Voldemort three months ago Harry felt like every day since then had been at least as strenuous as the final battle, even if he was a lot less prone to winding up injured. I was a little idiot for thinking that Riddle's end would somehow solve all our problems. Harry had been a part of the task force that had liberated the muggleborns from Azkaban and the concentration camps. The initial reason had been that they needed someone along who could instantly be identified as a reassurance that this wasn't some twisted Death Eater plot. Harry had been desperate for a vacation, but had agreed that this need was greater. Shit. I wish I could take that back. Azkaban actually turned out to be the least disturbing place we saw. Dementors are dementors and you can't expect them to be anything but vile. What they did at those camps though... that was humans doing things to humans. The most disturbing camp Harry had liberated had been the one overseen by Rookwood.
The former Unspeakable had performed countless experiments on the prisoners in his domain. Not a single one had a beneficial application that Harry could see and most of them had driven the test subjects mad to the point where they attacked anything that moved. Considering that many of them were now capable of causing damage due to enhanced strength, poisonous claws, acid breath and spontaneous combustion, the decision was made that they had to be put down. Harry had argued long and hard that they should find a way to try and heal the afflicted. I think that I made so much headway because none of us really wanted to carry out a death sentence on innocents. The debate had been decided when the experiments had broken out of their cages. Much as the liberators might want to find a way to help those tormented souls, they couldn't offer up the rest of the people who had suffered in that camp to do so.
Harry had been at the forefront of the fight, determined that if he could not save everyone, then he would at least save most and he wouldn't send others to do what had to be done. That night had been terrible and they had only had to face experiments from one barrack. After that even Harry couldn't convincingly argue that they could save those that had lost their minds. He had only been able to ensure that the butchery would be done by those who knew what they were getting into and agreed to do it anyway. A small task force had gone into one barrack after another and done the unthinkable. Each barrack they cleared saw the number of volunteers decrease until by the last two only Harry and Shacklebolt had been left. Harry had never told anyone what they had found there and, to the best of his knowledge, neither had the Minister. Harry had been thankful that Hermione and Ron had been in Australia at the time to find her parents. Nothing from the war gave him nightmares like the camps and it was one of the few light-points that his friends had been spared that.
Shuddering as the memories assaulted him, Harry got up and made his way over to the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of muggle whisky. He had, in his short time drinking the stuff, discovered that the sweetness of Ogden's Finest did nothing to soothe his demons. The harsh smokey taste of the Lagavulin he was currently pouring into a tumbler was the only thing that offered him any solace. That's not fair, Potter. You know she tries.
Harry had picked up his relationship with Ginny after the war, but it wasn't the same. He wasn't the same. Harry sighed as he felt that first sip burn down his throat. He hadn't told Ginny anything about what he'd found at the various detention centres. I would be a special kind of arsehole if I unloaded on an innocent. And Ginny was still an innocent, as much as any of them were. She was still very much caught up in the romanticism of it all. Good had defeated Evil and now they would live happily ever after. That was not to say that she had been untouched by the war. Losing her brother Fred had been hard on her. She had not, however faced open battle. Harry and the Order had shoved as many students through the floos as they could before Riddle launched his final attack. They could also be thankful that the Death Eaters in charge of Hogwarts had not been too harsh on most of the students, since alienating the next generation was no way for an immortal Dark Lord to stay in power. Only those whose families were actively opposing the regime or were proven to be more muggle than wizard suffered punishments like the Cruciatus. Voldemort's best weapon was fear, not pain, and Headmaster Snape had understood that. The Weasley parents had also understood that and had made sure that they were never openly accused of being part of any kind of opposition, sparing Ginny the worst of what could have happened.
Harry sighed again and tried to pull his thoughts to the here and now. It only partly worked. In the here and now Harry knew that he had only two options if he wanted to get any sleep at all tonight. He could either drink until he passed out or tire himself out to the point where he passed out. Either would result in a miserable morning, but no sleep at all or night terrors would be worse. There would be a third option if I thought there was any chance of Andi letting me in to see Teddy at this hour. The little tyke always manages to tire me out enough for a good rest. Harry sighed and set his drink down on the coffee table in front of him. I have a responsibility to see this through, not drink myself into oblivion. Harry took the ring he wore under a disillusionment charm and studied it as he let the concealing magic fade. He had gone into the Forbidden Forest less than a month after he had thrown away the stone at the end of the final battle and summoned it with the Elder Wand. I didn't have a choice. We needed the help.
In the first month after the battle the focus had been on funerals and trials. They needed to bury their dead and lock away their murderers. They also needed to heal, but most people were aware that this would take a lot of time and required a continual effort, rather than a focused push. Hermione had been invaluable as she helped the Ministry set up a basic set of laws to replace the codified bigotry that had been enforced under Voldemort's rule. After the last Death Eater had been sentenced, the focus had been turned to rebuilding what was broken. The floo network was being regulated so that the government couldn't track private citizens without a warrant anymore. The Ministry and Diagon Alley were being repaired (and in the case of the fountain at the Ministry: destroyed). Harry had chosen to spend his efforts repairing the one place he had ever called home before the war. Hogwarts Castle had resisted their best efforts to repair it though. Any walls that were rebuilt crumbled overnight. After three weeks of this, Harry had gone into the forest and used the stone to speak to the four founders. They had shared the techniques that they had used to build the castle, or at least tried to. Their presence in the mortal realm was dependant on the summoner's magic power so they could only talk until Harry exhausted himself. When he had realised that an exhausted sleep allowed him more rest than even the whisky had, Harry quickly strove to learn all he could from the ancient educators. Even Slytherin had agreed to help Harry which had surprised the young wizard at the time.
It had taken Harry a week of nonstop tuition to learn the way the founders had woven the magic from the ley-lines that ran under the school into its structure. He had been trying to show the other volunteers working on the castle how to do it, but most of them lacked the magical power to pull magic from a ley-line to a point where they could tie it into the rest of the network that made Hogwarts more than a building. The result was that Harry was doing most of the work by himself. Hermione had proven that she could do it too, even if she couldn't keep it up for as long as Harry could. She should really be taking over the teaching. I'll bet she's doing it the way it was meant to be done and making me look like some kind of ham-fisted oaf; or she would be if anyone else could see what we're doing. Unfortunately she was usually dealing with the more administrative tasks involved in getting a country set back to rights where her brilliance could truly shine. Harry wouldn't be surprised if the next statue in the fountain was one of his friend. He could see her being called something like 'the Mother of a Nation'. Heh, she'd hate a title like that just as much as you would, Potter. Still, it's too bad that she and Ron don't have more time available to help out with the rebuilding of the school. Harry couldn't really blame them as they were each involved in the rebuilding of their world in their own way. Enough with the pointless daydreaming. I still need to learn about the wards that we'll need to put up once the castle is finished. Wish it was as easy as just copying out a set of runes, but nooooo, magic is about intent, so I have to know what I'm doing. At least I have a good teacher. Steeling himself for the draw on his magic, Harry turned the ring over three times and thought of the spirit he wanted to call.
"Hello again, youngling." Rowena Ravenclaw's voice echoed through the room. "I am beginning to truly wonder which of our houses you would have best fit in. I admire your drive to learn, but it is easy to see the determination that you need to continue our lessons."
"Hello, teacher." Harry said, ignoring her attempt at small talk.
"Very well. We will continue where we left off. Before we do I was asked to pass on a message from Godric. He wishes to talk to you soon about recreating that mad hat of his." Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache he could feel building. I need another worry like I need a hole in the head. Actually, I'm not sure I'd mind the hole in the head.
"I will remember, teacher." Rowena looked Harry over at his answer, but refrained from commenting.
"Good. I believe that we had covered the warning wards, which means we will now move on to the preventative wards. First are the natural disasters like fire. To build a reliable Fire Prevention Ward you will need the following:..." Harry summoned the notebook and pen he used for these sessions and started taking notes. Harry summoned the spirit of one of the founders nearly every night in an attempt to learn everything they could teach him about how they had built Hogwarts. Hermione had been devastated when it turned out that the spirits the ring summoned could only be heard by the summoner. The result was that Harry was now being forced to take meticulous notes during these lessons. At least I'll get some rest at the end of this.
My head. Where am I? Harry Potter could slowly feel consciousness returning. He kept his eyes closed like he had read about in those muggle spy books Mum had gotten him for his birthday a few years ago and tried to gather information by listening. He could hear regular breathing to either side of him and feel that he was bound in tight cords. Let's see, what's the most logical explanation? That damned djinn must have dumped us on the lawn in front of the Death Eaters. So why have they kept us alive? It must be either to have us as hostages or for some truly Dark purpose that I can't figure out yet. Hearing nothing except for the breathing to either side of him, Harry took a chance and opened his eyes to take a look. He quickly identified that he was tied up between Dad and Iris. On Iris' other side he could see Mum as well. It didn't look like any of them were awake yet, but it didn't look like they were injured either. Count our blessings, I suppose. Looking around at the canvas walls around him Harry concluded that they must be in a magical tent of some sort.
"Oi! One of 'em's awake." Shit! Harry's eyes flew to the front of the tent where a man he didn't recognise was looking in through the flaps. "Get the Headmistress!" Headmistress? Did we end up at some kind of secret Death Eater academy? The man who had called out walked into the tent and was soon followed by another. Both held their wands firmly in their hands and pointed at Harry with stony faces. They aren't wearing masks. Do they wear masks outside of raids? Should I try to provoke them? See if I can get them to let something slip? No, I'll wait for now. If they ask questions that should tell us something; I hope. Come on, Dad, wake up! We need you for this. Harry was drawn from his thoughts by the tent flap opening and three more people walking in. He barely registered the two men who walked in as he turned his flabbergasted attention on the third person.
"Professor McGonagall?" No, this can't be happening. Is McGonagall in league with the Death Eaters? How-... why-...? Harry felt his composure deserting him as he tried to work out any reason why his teacher would be looking at him with that much hostility. She'd get angry or stern, sure, but she's never looked at me like that before. And since when does she need a walking stick? This has to be a trick! That's not the professor. Having found what he was sure was the right conclusion, Harry settled in to glare at whoever it was that was impersonating his Transfiguration teacher.
"Wake the others as well and keep them covered with your wands." Not-McGonagall ordered.
"Yes, ma'am. Rennervate." Harry could feel Dad and Iris stirring next to him. He could see the exact moment Dad saw Not-McGonagall.
"Minerva? What's going on? Why are we tied up?" Dad asked sounding politely confused. Not-McGonagall's mouth thinned more than Harry had ever seen on the real McGonagall.
"You are tied up because we are going to find out if this is some manner of disgusting prank or whether you have something more sinister planned. I advise you to be honest as it will make things easier for you." Harry could see just how much this cold tone of voice shocked Dad. He'll figure it out. If he doesn't I can tell him if they try anything. "Now who are you and why are you wearing those forms?"
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Minerva. It's me; James. Did someone transfigure my face or something?" At Dad's answer all four of the guards and Not-McGonagall bristled.
"James what?" Not-McGonagall hissed out.
"Potter. Now I've-" Dad never got any further than that as all the guards seemed to lunge forward as one with snarls of rage.
"Stop!" Not-McGonagall's voice snapped through the room as sharply as the real thing. The four men pulled up and looked back at the old woman. "We have just restored order to this country. We will not dishonour that by acting like the monsters we defeated."
"But he-... he dares-"
"I know." Not-McGonagall turned her hard eyes back on the Potters with a look of loathing in them. "I will talk to Horace and the Minister about requisitioning some Veritaserum. We will know what these people were thinking soon enough." The four men shared a look between them before one of them spoke up.
"What do we tell the real one if he shows up?" The real one? What 'real one'? Not-McGonagall seemed to deflate before their eyes.
"I will tell him myself. He will probably have questions of his own and he deserves to decide if he wants to hear the answers from their mouths." That seemed to get a general agreement from their guards who filed out of the tent. Not-McGonagall shot one last venomous look at Harry and his family. "I do not know the reason for this disgusting display, but I assure you that you will face justice for it." With that she limped out of the tent. The Potters waited until her steps faded away to make a sound.
"Popkin, Iris, are you both okay?" Mum asked, sounding like she was just barely holding it together.
"I-I think so." Iris hiccupped. She always did like McGonagall a creepy amount. Almost as bad as Beaverface.
"I'm not injured, Mum."
"Good. I'm not sure what's gotten into the professor, but the Minister's a friend. He should be able to help us sort things out." Harry could tell that Mum was trying to make them feel better.
"I don't know, Mum. If it's Minister Fudge, then yeah, maybe. I don't think that was actually Professor McGonagall though. She didn't even recognise us and she's been over to the house how many times now?" Harry could see that his reasoning had taken his mother off guard. "I think that we may be caught in a Death Eater trap of some kind. Maybe they're just entertaining themselves."
"That's a good point, son." Harry sat up straighter as Dad complimented him. "I'm a little curious how we got here though. I thought that maybe you could start by telling me what a djinn was doing in our house?" The pride Harry had felt only a moment beforehand shrivelled up inside of him at that piercing question.
"I-I got that lamp in Knockturn Alley. I wanted to use it to prank some Slytherins. You know, get them to make a wish and watch it backfire hilariously." Harry's voice sounded small even to his own ears.
"And what were you doing in Knockturn Alley?"
"I was hoping to find some information on what the Death Eaters were planning. I thought that if I could prove to you that I could be useful you might let me help out with the Order."
"Taking an unnecessary and foolish risk is not the way to do that, popkin." Mum interrupted in a sharp voice.
"We'll deal with it later. Right now we have bigger problems." Dad said in a heavy voice. "I heard you tell that djinn to 'get us out of here'. Is that right?"
"Yes, Dad. I think he may have just tossed us out onto the lawn, though."
"Hmph. That would tie in with your 'captured by Death Eaters' theory." Dad seemed to be thinking something through. "Can anyone feel anything our captors may have forgotten to take off of us? Anything may prove to be our ticket out of here." Harry immediately started wriggling against his bonds to see if he could feel anything.
"Nothing, Dad. I think they took my wand too." Mum and Iris responded negatively too.
"In that case we're going to have to wait for our captors to let their guard down. If they do, I want you to make a break for it. Don't worry about your Mum and me. We'll do everything we can to make sure you get away." Harry could feel Iris trembling next to him and almost wished that his pride would allow him to do the same. Damn it, I'm the Boy Who Lived. Fate will make things go my way. I have a prophecy to back me up. We will get out of this. Harry spent the next half an hour trying to think of anything but possible ways in which his family could be killed. None of the Potters spoke to each other. I don't think any of us can figure out anything to say that won't be monstrously depressing. Eventually their boredom was relieved by the sound of approaching footsteps. Those are a lot of footsteps.
The tent flap opened and in came several men dressed in auror uniforms followed by a large, black man. Harry heard Dad suck in a breath. Yeah, that sucks. I think I can recognise most of those faces. The guy not in uniform might even be Kingsley, if Kingsley had a massive scar on his face and was blind in one eye.
"So these are the impostors." Not-Kingsley spoke up. "Do we have any word on whether Potter is coming to this thing?" Potter?! That's impossible... we're the last of the Potters. That has to be what they meant when they were talking about the 'real one'. This is too surreal. I can't even keep track of how wrong this thing is.
"The Headmistress will be bringing him along with Slughorn and the Veritaserum." The name Slughorn sounded somewhat familiar to Harry and from the way Dad stiffened he was sure that his parents knew exactly who it was; or who it was supposed to be at any rate.
"We'll wait then. I wouldn't want to get started early." Not-Kingsley and his band of fake aurors just made themselves comfortable glaring at their prisoners. I wish I could talk to Dad. He might know what they're trying here. Hell, I'd settle for just hearing his voice right now. Harry started when the tentflap opened and a fat, balding man with a mustache that made him look like a walrus walked in followed by Not-McGonagall. Everyone in the tent seemed to stand at attention somehow as a third figure walked in. This one moved with far more grace than either of the others. Harry couldn't breathe as he looked into a face that was his own... but not.
It was far thinner than his own face had ever been; the accompanying body also looked far more wiry than Harry was used to seeing. There was a scar that started halfway up the man's neck and crossed his throat until it disappeared under his collar. What had really thrown Harry were the eyes. They were the same shade of emerald as his own, but they looked impossibly old and had bags under them. The man that Harry couldn't bring himself to name in any way opened his mouth and the voice that came out was far rougher than Harry's own.
"So who are you?"
AN: If you want your faith in humanity shaken look up Josef Mengele or Unit 731. It will give you an idea of what humans are capable of in terms of experimenting on those they consider 'lesser'. Add in eldritch abominations and you'll have an idea of what Harry found at the camps.
Some of you may have already known this was coming but this will be another longer story (I'm up around 115'000 words and I haven't quite written all of it yet). So settle in for a long haul and as always: thank you for reading.
As always: thanks for reading.