Summary: Framed for murder, Harry finds himself sentenced to Azkaban, as the wizarding world believes themselves rid of Voldemort forever. Only Harry knows the truth, but no one will believe him. Betrayed by friends, Harry finds out his true heritage, and disappears upon his release. After restarting his life in a completely new setting, he finds out that his past has no intention of leaving him alone.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine
Chapter One: To Meet
A twist of his hand, a flip of his hair, and his body swayed on the stage. The fan flicked open, hiding his parted lips as he bent forward, long strands of hair sweeping across his face. Then he pushed off, and flew through the air, his body twisting, legs sweeping, arms flowing. And his hair flashed in the dim light, liquid silver.
Bowing to the applause, Wolf swept off the stage. His steps were quiet as he made his way to the shower. Stripping off his sweat-soaked costume, he stepped under the warm spray, slowly allowing his muscles to relax.
Long, slender fingers, calloused on the underside, swept through his hair to tie it back. Staring at his reflection, he reached up and touched his face. His cheeks had begun to fill in again, though while they were nowhere near as sunken as they had been in Azkaban, they were not yet at a healthy level. That was alright, though. He did, after all, have many, many years to fix that.
He removed the towel from his waist, then hesitated slightly, before dropping it to the ground. Within seconds, there was a faint pop, and a house-elf appeared, gave him a stern glance, and disappeared with the laundry. Still bemused by the house-elf even after all these years, Wolf changed into the fresh clothes laid out for him. He was in the middle of buttoning up the loose, dark-green shirt when a small body burst into the room.
"Papa!" Long black hair flew as the child threw herself at him.
Catching her, he swung her up into the air, delighting in her shrieks of laughter.
"Papa, are you done? Read me a story, please, Papa?" Her eyes pleaded as he lowered her to the ground.
Wolf winced internally. He had to work tonight, but how could he say no to those eyes?
"Papa has to work, dearest," and Mama to the rescue.
"Papa will read you a story in the morning," Wolf promised his daughter, Angel. He sighed in relief when the disappointment left her eyes, easily replaced with joy.
He glanced up at his wife, and shrugged helplessly when he saw the knowing look she was giving him. He walked over to her, and kissed her gently. "You know I can't resist her eyes," he murmured.
"Hmm," she replied, eyeing him. "And if I want a story tonight, too?" She licked her lips, then his as she went in for another kiss.
"I'll make it up to you," he promised huskily.
Then Angel was tugging on her mother's arm. "Mama, you mustn't distract Papa!" She scolded. "He has to work!" Her small face was set in a stern frown.
Wolf's green eyes crinkled at the corners. "She's right, Mama. Behave." He swept the hair from Naomi's eyes, and tucked it behind her hair. "I will be up once I have closed up," he promised. Then he bent down and picked up his daughter's hand. He kissed the back of it solemnly. "Now behave for Mama, and I shall be there to read to you in the morning, my little Angel."
"Of course, Papa," she smiled and kissed his cheek. "Now don't slack off!" She ordered, as she skipped back up the stairs, with Naomi in tow.
Wolf stared after her. "Where did she learn that phrase?" He asked his bonded suspiciously. Naomi just laughed.
"Teren," he greeted as he entered the busy club. "You're free to go."
"Thanks boss," the young man grinned. "Busy night," he warned. "Always is when you perform," he winked. He wiped his hands with a towel, and set it down behind the bar. "I'll be at the House tonight with Angel and Naomi. Veran's taking the night off," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Wolf gave him an amused glance. "See that you're not too tired to do your job properly," he murmured warningly. And despite the loud music, he knew that Teren could hear him.
"Of course," Teren's expression sobered. He bowed his head, eyes serious as he straightened.
"Double-check the wards," Wolf commanded as he strode past the young man. He heard Teren confirm, and relaxed slightly. But not completely. Never completely. Because to do so would mean placing his family in danger, and he would do anything to avoid that. Maybe one day it would change, but doubt lingered in his mind.
It has been nearly five years since He-Who-Betrayed was released from Azkaban. The question that resides on the tip of everyone's tongue, though, is: Where is he? Harry Potter, infamously known for his betrayal from the Light has not turned up, since the day of his release. Many witches and wizards alike stay up at night, lying in bed and fearing for their safety. With someone just as insane as Voldemort on the loose, who knows what could happen? Many question the decision of the judges to let the murderer out of Azkaban after such a short amount of time.
As a solution, the ever-resourceful Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge has offered some tips, if you find yourself under attack from a Dark Wizard:
- ministry-approved emergency portkeys in easily reach spots for quick accessibility in times of dire need.
- a meeting spot in the house, so that you can make sure that everyone has left the house safely.
- your wand with you at all times, and your children under strict surveillance. Any dark activity should be reported immediately; your children or someone close to you could have been placed under a dark spell or could have betrayed your location.
- the basic spells: Stupefy, expelliarmus, protego, to further maximize your chance of escape.
Glittering black eyes narrowed in disgust at the article. Truly, they never seemed to tire of coming up with new nicknames. It was pathetic. And the tips, if they could be labelled as such, were as useless as a muggle with a wand. It was such a blatant attempt by the Minister to appear helpful. He was surprised Fudge had not been assassinated yet, with such useless ideas.
Potter, though. That was another matter in itself. The boy had disappeared, and had yet to be found. He could not fathom how this was possible. How could such a dim-witted scrap of a wizard evade the wizarding world for so long? It should not have been possible and yet the evidence was right in front of him. He scowled and threw the paper onto his desk. It would not do him any good to dwell on such matters. He had little regard for spoiled, arrogant brats like Potter.
"Pansy dearest," Draco kissed her cheek as he sat down beside her. "A letter from Blaise?" He asked, glancing at the letter she held in her hands.
"Indeed," she confirmed. "He is off gallivanting around Italy again," she scowled slightly, disapproval written across her face. "He is shirking his responsibilities again." Her lips pursed.
"As a man, this time?" He queried.
Pansy scowled at him. "As a woman."
Draco swallowed a smile. Instead, he grabbed her hand, and ran his thumb over her palm in a soothing manner. "I am sure he will tire of it quickly and return," he assured her. Inside, he was chuckling. He knew Pansy too well to believe her facade. She was eternally disapproving of Blaise's adventures, but he knew that it was merely because she wished to be doing the same thing, traveling across Europe, rather than being stuck in England, trying to juggle the multitude of political factions that came knocking on their door. It was much easier for their friend, though, who had the delightful ability to change not only his appearance, but also his gender with remarkable ease and no negative effects. It made Pansy quite jealous.
"He had better," she sniffed. "I don't suppose he will be thoughtful enough to bring back any souvenirs, will he..."
White eyes stared into the glassy water, then closed with a frown. White cloth was tied gently around the seeing orbs.
"It is starting soon," a wispy voice. "Trust your instincts, for they shall not lead you astray, one who is no longer lone." Silken white robes danced around her. "And do not fail," she whispered. "For if you do..." the water rippled, darkening ominously as she swept away. "We are too tired to continue on like this."
She leaned against the proffered arm, fatigue marring her usually serene features. "We are too tired."
Author's Note: Rewritten March 4th, 2012. My writing style has changed and (hopefully) developed over the years. As such, I am rewriting and/or editing my current chapters, since I am not happy with a lot of them. I promise updates, too. The next chapter is half written.