Disclaimer: I don't own anything you'll recognize.

A/N: Well, this story is issued from a plot bunny that bugged me since I read Caliadragon's stories: "Imprisoned" and "Freed". The credit of the initial situation goes to her.

I need a beta extremely picky when it comes to spelling, grammar and punctuation. Thanks in advance.

This will probably be a Slash story, though nothing is definitive for now… I'm still undecided.

Well, I'll let you decide if this story is worth continuing.



Chapter One: Memories

I'm sitting on the beach, watching the sun rise.

A new dawn, a new day, the sky is shining with thousands shades of color, the deep purple of the retreating night, as well as midnight blue, pale violet, dark pink, bright pink, light pink, orange, yellow, golden, even a small hint of blue, not sky blue, not yet. The clouds are pink or orange, but the thing catching my eyes is the red sun.
Red is a difficult shade to categorize, like blue... or green, or pink, I mean there is so many shades: you have the bright red, like the one coloring the fireman car, the light red, the pinky red like a blush creeping on the skin, deep red, auburn, copper red, buggundry red, crimson red... but this morning the sky was blood red.

I didn't like the color so I turned my attention back to the sky, avoiding looking at the sun. But to my disppointement, the color were already begining to fade away, flooded by a sea of blue ; so I looked back at the sun.

Blood red. Red Blood, bloody red... Have you ever seen blood? When you watch movies, particularly bad movies, you see blood spurting, splashing everyone around... I barely refrain from chuckling. No, blood do not spurt like this... unless you hit the aorta or a really big artery. No, blood leaks from the cut, more or less quickly, it depends of the thickness, the cut, the depth and many other facts, it slides down your body, leaving red lines, like a patchwork before pooling on the grounds. Do you know how much blood the human body contain? Around 5 litres, but it can take only 5 seconds to be emptied, or several hours.

I shook my head, no I didn't want to go down this road.

The sun is no longer red, it's now its bright golden self, shining on the lands. The see is shimmering and the dull noise of the waves breaking on the shore is lulling me to sleep. I take a stick laying nearby and start to draw pictures in the slightly wet sand. I'm a few meters away from the water and in an hour the waves will have erased everything I'm going to write or draw. A gush of salty wind hit my face and I relish the feeling.It makes me feel alive. Gulls are walking around, squawking to each other. Do they talk? I peer at them for a few minutes, before going back to my sand writing.

I trace lines, circles, non sensical drabbles... The sun is getting warmer, it will be a nice day. I glance at my hand, looking at the stick, then at the closing waves. Why not, after all, nothing will remain of this, the nature will take care of it.

Carefully, I slowly write something I rarely did nowadays. A name, my name. I paused, looking at my work before standing up, wincing a bit as my bones crack. Straightening my clothes and brushing the sand away from my pants, I gave a last look at the beach before walking away. Tomorrow will be a new dawn.

The gulls squawked loudly, before coming to the spot where the man had been sitting, hoping to find a bit of food, after all the noisy two-legs with the funny colors always left food behind. To their disapointement, they only found a stick of wood, not something edible, and strange lines in the sand. Having lost all interest, they walked away, leaving the stick, not pondering over those strange drawings, after all, two-legs were strange.

Gulls can't read human tongues, if they did they could have understand the two words printed in the sand.

Harry Potter


At the same time, while the gulls were pacing a lost beach somewhere in the pacific, a man entered a small house, in the middle of a quiet neighborhood.

This was the kind of neighdorhood everyone dreamt of living in. Nice looking houses with well maintained gardens, brightly colored fences, roads lined with high trees bathing the sidewalks in their shades. Children laughs, people chatting together, helping their neighbors, nice people, friendly ones. Peaceful, quiet, everyday the same routine. It could appear boring to some, but for the inhabitant of number 7, it was a blessed place.

A meow, followed by a sharp bark and a tug on the hem of his trousers brought him back to the real world.

"Hold on you two, I'm coming."

Quickly, he went through his morning ritual, gulping a cup of black coffee on his way to what he called his zoo. Minutes later, six cats and five dogs were eating their heart contents.

He had been taking in stray cats and dog for the past years. He had had to restrain himself, he knew he couldn't take in every one. But those he couldn't, he made sure to find them a good family.

One dog, a three year old German Shepard called Ares, started to push an older labrador he had named Pat. The creamy dog gave him a swat and a nip accompanied with a low growl.

"Now Pat, be nice." He pat the labrador on the head. "And you Ares, no stealing others' food." The dog sent him pitiful eyes. "And no puppy eyes!"

He looked over his pet: Ares, Pat, a golden retiever called Feather, a ten year old black Yorkshire he has been calling Scott, and Dina, a small puddle; then you had the cats: Blacky, Calypso, Bastet, Lita, Circee and Mali.

A ringing bell, made him walk to his door. Opening it, he found three children cradling a small cat, barely a year old. The poor beast was shivering and the man could see blood marring his fur.

"Good morning, M. Fergusson, we found him in the alley."

M. Fergusson nodded.

"Come in, we'll take care of him."

He led them to his back room where he kept his tools for this.

"Put him on the table and you Tris, go take a clean sheet and a bassin under the sink. Mary, you know where I put my box? Yes? Could you go take it? Dan, you're going to help me take care of this little lad."

Meanwhile, he had been examining the small animal.

Fortunately, the animal was only sporting a cut. With the help of the three kids, M.Fergusson quickly cleaned and dressed the cut.

He put the small cat on a blanket and in the room were he kept the injured animals which were brought to him.

He had arrived a few years ago in this town and had since then lived a quiet life: he woke up every morning at five, went for his usual jogging in the nearby park and along the river. At 6 am, he took his breakfast, and at 7 am, he was leaving for the journal.

He had been hired as a chronicer by the local newspaper. He was hired as a psychologist and answered people question, trying to help them with their problems. He had followed a psychology course for several years, then had applied to the newspaper. He had been given this part of the paper. He had called it Letter to No one. People would mail the newspaper, explaining their situation to him then he would either reply through the newspaper, or write them personnaly if the situation was too sensitive for being written in the papers.

He ate at the same cafe at half past noon every day, then went back to work till 6 pm. At 6, he drove back home, went to see old Miss Jenkins, who had housed him for his first three years in this town, at number 21 for their ritual tea time.

He spent the evening working on his files, requests, researching each case, speaking to his contacts... He had few friends and was reguarded as a secretive but friendly fellow. During his free hours, he was taking care of his pets and injured animals.

Today, it was a Sunday and having nothing better to do, he headed to the room where he usually worked, after bidding the three kids a good day, reassuring them on the kitten's fate.

Sitting down, he grabbed a stack of letters, he had been given at work and started to read them: you had the usual marital dilemma, either within the couple or the children, alcoholism and the teen anxiety. Making sure all of them were covering common issues, he put them aside. His secretary would write them with references to good books and address them to associations or counselling.

He flicked through the remaining ones (a third of the original stack)

One case of anorexia, the mother was writing. He made small note on this one, this he would answer himself, a drug addict, he put it on the 'to send to counsel' pile. One made him smile: a small boy, around twelve if the penmanship was any indication writing about his coming sister.

He would answer personnaly and place a smaller version of it in the paper.

Reading the next one, he frowned heavily, then put it aside. He seriously hoped this was not really serious, but he would contact Herman to be on the safe side. Herman was one his friends, a judge, and he often helped him when some of those writing to him were in situations requering the intervention of law officers.

The girl writing to him must be young, fourteen, sixteen at best and she had probably got a friend or someone else to help her write it. Maybe there was nothing, but it wouldn't hurt to ask... No child abuse should be tolerated.

He went back to his letters and quickly classed them. One of them caught his attention and hit him.

Hi Dr D.

Well, I don't really know why I write, but it seems like a good idea, then why not. Perhaps you won't even read this, but I'll go ahead nonetheless…

Did someone ever betrayed you Dr D.?
My two best friends, or so I thought did. I shared everything with them, my fears, desires, thoughts, everything. We were the popular clique, and I thought we could trust each other.

Well, I did something really stupid, but it's done. I had told no one about it but I told them, not completely, but most of it.

They assured me they woud keep it to themselves, that nobody would ever hear of it.

I trusted them. Maybe I was foolish to think so, but they were my friends.

The next day, I went to school and everyone knew. I got a lot of problems because of it. Worse, I recently learnt that one of them had been going out with my girlfriend in my back...

I don't know what hurt more...

I don't know if you understand something of what I told, I hope so. I really wanted to hurt them, to kill them…. Does it make me bad? Perhaps I'm over-reacting, well, the last part put aside, but I'm really feeling betrayed right now. Is there something I can do?

Thanks in advance


M. Fergusson's heart clenched at reading this letter and he put the paper back the table, fist trembling, biting his low lip till he bled.

Betrayal, yes, he knew betrayal... He took out some paper and a quill even after so many years he still favored the quill over the pen. He scratched a few words, stopped, pondering over what he was going to say then resumed his writing.

For an hour, the only sounds breaking the silence of his office was the soft purring of Calypso, his oldest cat: a blueish grey, long-furred Persian female with thoughtful amber eyes.

Finally he put down his quill looking over the several sheet of paper covered in a cursive, elegant script, a far cry of his hasty scrawl during his younger years.

He felt a bit more at peace. It was strange, never before had he thought of putting on paper his past, no matter how much his psychology teachers had repeated how therapeutic this act could be.

Gathering the papers, he took a clean sheet and started to word his answer to Timothy. He spent one more hour working on this then went in his living-room.

A feeling of dread started to fill him: the red sun this morning, this letter today, was it a sign? The time ticked away, seeming to slow down.

As if sensing their master's distress the cats and dogs entered theroom and settled around him, earning themselves a chuckle and a pat or a caress on the head.

The man enconsced himself in his couch, two cats plus the Yorshire on his left, two others and the pudddle on the others, two more cats on his laps, sleeping intertwined, the three remaining dogs at his feet.

Suddenly his cell-phone rang.

His chest clenched, as he moved to take the call, eraning himself some protesting mewls.

"Fergusson speaking?"

"Doug? It's Sam, you know you told me to phone you if I received any letters from this company... hmmm Gringos?"


"Yes, a recommended letter just arrived. It sounds important, given the amount of Urgent stamped on it."

"I'm coming, can you wait for me?"

"No problem, my shift ends in an hour."

"Thanks Sam."

Carefully extracting himself from his pets, he stood up with a weary sigh. Putting on a light coat, he exited his house and drove to the newspaper.

He stopped at the reception. A tall brunette was typing furiously on her keyboard.


The woman looked up and smiled.

"Good evening, Doug!"

"Good evening Sam, busy?"

"Well, you know Valery! He gave me this twenty pages report I have to type, edit and print for tomorrow..."

"That's him alright, you'll manage?"

"Yep, not the first time he does this... I put your letter in your office."

"Is it the usual format?"

"Grey color with a wax seal with a small monster bending over a pile of coins, plus the phrase: "surer than sure, stranger heads our word."

"That's it, thanks, I'll read it here."

"You know the way."

The brunette went back to her computer as Doug walked slowly to his room.

His office was fairly large with a nice view on the park, a few photos and trinkets were put here and there, some paintings and books, strange spinning, sliding, ticking devices...

As Sam had said, the letter was waiting for him on his desk.

Carefully, he turned it over, trying to find if it was a false... After a minute, he sat down and opened it slightly, as nothing happened he cut it opened and unfolded the parchment.

The Goblins were the only ones able to contact him,and even then, it was not that easy. He had left them instructions concerning his money in a letter before leaving London. They were to contact him only if no other way... In the last seven years, he must have received five letters... All of them sporting the same characteristics

He skimmed over the first lines, knowing of the Goblins' tendency to write lengthy introduction, going straight to the point of the letter.

The letter fell on the floor as he slumped in his chair, his face deftly pale. Leaning on the desk, he took his head in his hands, moaning slightly.

"It's not fair."

On the fallen paper, you could read:

"... We are sorry to inform you of the latest Ministrial decree. Following this last decision, any vaults can be seized by the Ministry if its owner hasn't presented himself to the Ministry by the first week of August. We await your instructions..."


Later in the evening, Doug was back in his home, in his attic, digging in dusty boxes.

Finally he found whatever he had been looking for.

He brought it back into the living room and started to empty it.

An average-sized trunk, filled with heaps of books, so many of them it was a wonder they could all fit in. Several blacks robes with a red and gold patch, an album, a cloak. Not much but that was all he had managed to take with him...

He opened the album, turning the pages, memories hitting him in the faces... He had really thought this was behind him now...

He had been seventeen, finishing his seventh year. During the summer he underwent an heavier training course under the tutoring of several teachers, among them Snape, Remus, Fletcher, Tonks, Mad-Eyes and to his big surprise Lucius Malfoy. The man, along with Snape had been revealed to be a spy when they had to rescue Ron and Ginny Weasley from the Death Eaters.

For two months and even after the start of the new term, he trained and trained, his every waking moment dedicated to prepare himself. After four months of this, added to his magical late puberty (not his majority), he had reached a level of power that hadn't been seen for centuries, but still lacked the controls and refinement experience would give him. Snape had once accurately compared him to a hammer. He had the power, but lacked the rest.

Meanwhile the war had intensified and everything came to an end one chilly day of November around noon. this day the Dark Lord was destroyed, to a heavy price. Many died, on both sides and Harry nearly killed himself, draining his magical core to its limits and falling in a coma once the spell he used to vanquish Voldemort was completed.

Nobody ever learnt what he did, but it was succesful as the Dark Mark started to fade over the next days. As the wizarding world rejoiced and mourned its losses, Harry was laying still in the Hospital wing of Hogwarts. He would wake up a month later,once his reserves would have been refilled. But when he awoke, only Hermione was at his bedside, as well as Remus and to his surprise some of last people on Earth he would have expected to worry for him... Mafoy Sr and Jr, Snape, Remus, the Zabinis, Lovegoods and Davies as well as Fletcher.

"Mione?" he had slurred his mind still completely fuzzy and confused.


He had found himself in a tight hug, his best friend sobbing on his shoulder.

"Mione?" He had frowned, trying to form a coheent sentence. "Wha' 'appen?"

The grip on his torso had relinquished slightly, but had not let him go.

"Mione?" His tone had held a whining quality to it. He had been confused, lost, and had not been understanding what was happening at all. He had been sure he had taken care of Voldemort for good this time, so why...

"Miss Granger, if you could please let Mr Potter go, we would be able to tend to him," had cut a silky voice.

Harry had tilted his head toward the source of the noise, but his brain had still seemed cotton-filled.


"Nice to see you back among us, Potter, now, hold still."

Deciding than complying was the best thing to do, Harry had obeyed the Potion master.

"Drink this."

Sharp, emotionless, to the point, that had been Snape, no mistake possible.

Harry had gulped the cup brought to his lips and would have cursed if he had remembered how... This had been a sleeping Draught, though there had been a strange after taste which he had never experienced in his many tasting of sleeping potions.

Later, how much, he couldn't tell, he woke up, this time much more alert.

"Awake already?"


Harry had tilted his head on the sides. Only Snape at the moment.

"You'll have to take the potions on your bedside, the order doesn't matter, just make sure to drink them all, you won't like the results if you don't..."

Knowing better than to disregard such a blatant order. Harry had started to down the numerous vials filling his bedsides, trying not to think of the things which might compose the concoctions.

For the next month, Harry stayed in the bedroom at Snape's hold. He kept himself updated on the wizarding world through the papers. Apparently his rescuers had been handed powerful position in the Ministry and were rapidly extending their influence. There had been a memorial for those who died while he was unconscious and he regretted not having been able to pay his last respect to the dead.

Albus Dumbledore disappeared after the war. Rumors said he had retired to a tropical island or that he was enjoying his late years in a sweet factory. Harry had a fairly good idea as to what had happened to the man, but would carry his secret to his tomb, after all he had been practically apprenticed to the man giving the time he spent under his guidance. They had talked a lot and his old headmaster had tried to make him see beyond the fight, sharing some ideas about what he could do. Anyway, his old mentor had done more than his share for the Wizarding world; he deserved to be left in peace.

McGonagall had refused the headmastership of Hogwarts to everyone's surprise. What had shocked many was that she had handed it to Severus Snape.

Harry couldn't have helped but noticed how the group was slowly weaving their net. It then wasn't surprising for him to see the Headline of the Daily Prophet one morning:

He had spotted the new copy of the Daily Prophet lying on a chair and had managed to get up and fetch it.

The headline and the photo underneath had had the effect of a hammer on him.


Under had stood a photos of several people standing in Front of the Ministry with satisfied smirks. Snape, Malfoy, The Zabinis, The Davies, Lovegoods, Fletcher and Remus.

It hadn't been that unexpected…. As if those hadn't been already in control. Harry hadn't expected much fighting over this, and they wasn't. The British wizards were battle-weary. They did not wish to fight anymore. Those who did not agree with the new policies fled England. Mrs Weasley, Ron, Ginny and Fred had been of those, well Ron, Fred and Ginny had been already sent away, from what Hermione had told Harry. Mrs Weasley wanted them to finish their schooling at Salem, thinking a change of scenery would be good for them, in particular Fred. From the one letter she had got from Ron, Ginny was getting used to her glass eye and his burns were healing, though there would be massive scarring... Arthur, Percy and Georges had died, whereas Bill and Charlie had decided to stay.

There had been big changes going on, once the group had come to power.

Soon after the coup, the new leaders had started to promote the old times rituals, among then, the soul mates rituals. After casting an enchantment, the people would learn who they were more compatible with, power-wise, magic-wise, DNA-wise. They would then bond together, regardless of their own preferences. This had been decided to reinforce the magic inside the wizarding community. Muggle-borns babies, as soon as they were spotted were taken from their parents and bonded into a wizarding family, becoming in every sense their children, the memories of their existence wiped from all muggles minds. Hermione had underwent a engagement ceremony to Draco Malfoy, having been found to be his match. Harry had not found it that surprising. Hermione was one of the most powerful witches in their years. She might not always have the power, but she compensated it by her intelligence; on the other hand Draco was powerful there was no denying it. Surprisingly Neville had been bound to the young Zabini's heir. That had been a surprise for many but those who knew the young Gryffindor. Sirius had already known he was Remus mate and after much talking had been swayed by his lover to the latter's point of view.

The Boy-who-lived had followed the changes imposed to the wizarding population from afar, spending his days reading, writing in the journal Albus had given him or exercising. He hadn't wanted to be harrassed by the press and had been putting the finishing touches to his plan.

He still had had to drink Snape's Potions and it had took him a month to realise that he still hadn't been handed his wand back.

When he had asked for it, Remus had been evasive, but Harry had not thought a lot of it. He carried on with his routine, gaining more and more of his strength back, though he still got tired easily.

He had been aware that, most of the time, he had a follower stuck to his heels each time he went out, but had been told it had been for his protection. He had always known it, Yta had always managed to sense them.

It had been fortunate that Yta was very small. Small, but deadly. Hagrid had given her to him at the start of the past term, telling him not to spread it around. Only he, Hagrid and Dumbledore had known about Yta. After all, it wasn't really legal to own a cross-bred between a black mamba, a diamond viper, an asp and a Basilik. Yta was as long as his forearm, pitch black, with shiny scales, apart from the diamond marking of the diamond viper. Her venom was extremely potent and lethal. Its effects, depending of the dose, ranged from a loss of consciousness in seconds to instant Death or a two month long coma. Its magic had been strangely modified. She had chameleon abilities and could paralyse with its eyes. Nobody else knew about her. Hagrid had carried this secret to his tomb and Dumbledore was not likely to show up to the Ministry to infor mthem of Harry's pet.

She had stayed with him most of the time, only leaving to go hunting.

For a year, he had remained inside what he had learnt to call Snape's Hold. The others, the few times he had seen them, had told him it had been for his protection again, that there had been some rogue Death Eaters still roaming free and wishing for his death.

He had believed it, like a fool, until that day…

He had been coming back from a walk in the gardens when he had passed by the slightly opened window of Snape's office. He wouldn't have even stopped, if he had not heard his name…

"…. Harry? He has no idea?"

It had been Hermione's voice.

"NO, and I plan to keep it this way… The least he knows, the least he will be tempted to meddle in this."


"You're right, but I think we should…."


"Sirius, we went throuh this before. You know I'd love to have him know this, but Lucius is right. Harry is too powerful to be left to his own devices…"


"Maybe, but what will happen once he learns…"

"He won't."

"Snape, how do you want to keep this from him? He's not a complete idiot! He already asked me for his wand several times!"

"Tell him, it was destroyed! After all , it's not like he can use it."

"Speaking of that, are you sure it's working?"

"It is… your dear godson is all but a squib." Snape's sneer was unmistakable. "The potions are leaving him weak enough for our charade about his so called recovery to work and the medallion won't allow him to perform even the simplest levitation charm."

Harry had been rooted to the ground. What were they speaking about? Squib? Potions, medallion?

"Very good, do you think we should increase the doses?"

There had been a small silence.

"Maybe, I think he's growing restless, but should his state be slightly worse, he wouldn't be so persistent in his demands to go out…"

He had not wanted to listen any longer. He had nearly run to his room, sensing his escort following him. He had had to be sure… he had had to know…. He knew Draco kept a spare wand in his room, a habit he had gained during the war, due to Moody's training.

All the while, he had spoken to Yta.

As he was about to enter the room, he had heard two soft thuds and a foot had appeared from under an invisibility cloak.

Thanking the skies for his luck, Harry had took the cloak and hid the bodies in another room. Their shift would end in an hour. It would be enough for him to check what he had heard. Rummaging through the drawers, the invisibility cloak within reach and Yta guarding the door, ready to paralyse any intruder, he had finally found the wand.

Taking it in hand, he had immediately known there had been a problem. He had sensed nothing. Looking at his chest, the medallion had been glowing dimly. It had been on him the first time he had truly woken up and had been told it was a reward for his actions and a protection amulet.

He had waved the wand, speaking clearly.

"Accio book."


Not even a shudder.

Concentrating more, he had repeated it a second, a third, a fourth time.


Panicking, he had switched to a simple Wingardium Leviosa.

Still nothing.

He had been about to cast it again when the door had opened and Draco, Snape and Blaise had stepped in.

There had been a moment of shock, as they took in the scene.

Harry, a wand in his right hand, standing in the middle of the room, with hurt and betrayal filled eyes.

"What did you do to me?" he wispered, taking a step back as Snape and Draco had took one forwards, raising their wands.


Draco, nor the two others had managed to say more as Yta had struck, paralyzing the three of them, putting enough power behind her eyes to prevent them from moving their bodies and speaking. Harry had took in their guilty expressions and had known it had been true. They had mad him a virtual Squib.

With hatred-filled eyes, he dropped the wand to the floor.

"Never again… I won't be caged again…"

Throwing the cloak on, he had hissed quietly and Yta had wrapped herself around his arm, causing the three wizards' eyes to widen.

He had run as fast as possible, even accelerating as alarms went off when he had crossed the limits of the area he had been restricted to, for security reasons, they had said... What a joke!

He had managed to leave the anti-apparition's wards area and had activated a portkey he had created more than a year before, thanking Albus Dumbledore for having pushed him to create himself an exit, should he have needed it.

He had cut all his ties with the wizarding world. Due to Albus' pushing he had already taken care of all the papers he would need, should he flee to the Muggle world. He had just needed to send a word to the Goblins who had been forewarned of what to do should this situation arise.

He had dyed his hair to a chestnut brown color with black streaks, bought brown contacts and some prosthetics to hide his scar. He had changed enough for his facial structure to be different enough from his seventeen-year-old features. He had grown a goatee and had his hair slightly a bit longer as to make it manageable enough. He didn't think he would recognized, unless someone spotted the medallion or used a spell on him.

This did nothing for him if he had to present himself to the Ministry. He didn't doubt Snape and co had placed wards there to warn them as soon as he crossed them. So he had three weeks to find a way to keep his vault…

Taking some parchment and a quill he started to write. First, he needed to ask Gringotts about the specifics of this decree and if it came to worse, he would write a friend…


"Do you think he will take the bait, Lucius?"

The dark haired man turned towards his friend.

"Of course he will, Severus. His vault contains everything he managed to find about his parents, he won't let it go without a fight. Why are you asking?"

The blonde ran a hand in his hair, he had not changed a lot and still exuded arrogance though it had been a bit tamed.

"I'm only concerned about his reaction."

"He's wearing the medallion. We don't have a lot to fear from him."

Severus shuddered slightly as he recalled the hatred-filled green eyes that had looked down on him, Draco and Blaise.

"You didn't see him, Lucius, you didn't… If you had seen his eyes that day, you would be worried."

"He's a Gryffondor, Severus. He'll be angry, but he will see that his place is here, not among… the Muggles." The last word was said with distate.

"What place? He's as good as a Squib!"

Lucius shrugged.

"For, now, but once he'll have accepted our control, we'll loosen the block. He's powerful, it would be a waste to see this line ends…"

"The famed Potter," sneered Snape.

"You can't fault their blood…"

"He's lived like a Muggle for nearly all his life!"

"All the easier to bind him then. You got the paperwork?"

"Sirius did, and the mutt wasn't happy about it."

"That was the only loophole I found… Black would not have had the authority needed to force him to stay. Potter is of age after all…"

"Well, your little scheme won't do much if the rabbit doesn't come out of his hole."

"I would say Potter is more of a serpent, after all, we never managed to find him."

"That's what is surprising, subtlety never was his cup of tea…"

"He portkeyed to London and took a taxi, he was last seen entering a mall and a clothes store, which had three entrances..."

There was a silence.

"He planned it, didn't he?"

"Sell, since he had no opportunity to get a portkey or create one after the victory, he must have had it ready for quite a long time…"

"Albus must have helped him."

"And since the old coot decided to pull the disappearing act, this isn't helping us… We combed England and nothing. Had several foreign ministries looking for him, nothing."

"What about the Weasel?"

"Never contacted him. We have had someone watch them 24/7… It's not like the fool would have helped us."

"Gryffindors, the whole lot. And I hope Potter won't be a true one… nor a true Slytherin"


"Because, Lucius what does a lion do when he's cornered?"

"It attacks."

"And what does a wronged serpent do?"

"It plots its revenge…"