Status: Work in Progress
Pairings: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Neville Longbottom/Hannah Abbott, James Potter/Lily Evans
Category: Wrong Boy Who Lived, Phoenix-Bond, Animagus!Harry
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Drama, Romance, Violence
Summary: When he was 10, Harry Potter was declared a Death Eater by his family. 5 years later, he has returned but is he willing to join in the war to help the brother who turned on him?
Warnings: Mild Violence, moderate swearing,
Author's Notes: N/A
Chapter One: The Suha Siblings
The early morning light shone down on the training grounds, seeping through the red leaves of the Blood trees. Surrounding the raised platform were the young Blood Elves dressed in their training clothes; a single black tunic shirt and white pants with a silver cord holding them up. On the left sleeves were stitched the badges signifying their training level, the right held the crests of their Houses and Clans.
Standing out from the assembled Blood Elves was Master Miroslav Voltair. His medium length hair was pulled into a simple ponytail; leaving only two thick strands of hair free to hang down on either side of his face, a few strands of silver-grey running throughout. He was tall even for a Blood Elf and lean from his military life. Scars from various skirmishes lined his body, including the one that bisected his left eyebrow and ran down past his left eye. His reddish-brown eyes followed the movements of the two students fighting before him.
Seraph Gregori was the oldest son of Saephiroth Gregori, Lord of the House of Gregori. An average-sized Elf, his golden brown hair was braided into a long plait, his frame packed with heavy muscle earned through intense physical training; just like his father, who was a dear friend of Miroslav.
His foot flashed out, catching his opponent in the chest. The younger boy tumbled back, flipping to his feet even as Seraph moved forward. The boy was not an Elf, but a human wizard from Britain. Shyamal Suha stood at a one and three-quarter meters, which was tall for his age but only barely average for an Elf. His thick black hair was unlike the Elves as well; spiky and short. His green eyes narrowed as he circled around Seraph, careful to keep out of Seraph's punching range. His build was lean, a necessity for those who depended on speed and agility, which was a great counter to Seraph's raw strength and heavier build.
Already, both boys were sporting minor wounds. Shyamal had a black bruise forming around his right eye, a cut lip, and sore ribs from the way he was moving even though he was trying to hide it. Seraph had a cut brow which was bleeding into his right eye and a bloody nose that was broken from the looks of it. He was also favouring his left arm; a result from when Shyamal had overextended it to get out of the submissive hold Seraph had on him a few minutes ago. Sweat drenched their neckline, covering their faces and arms.
Shyamal moved, darting in under Seraph's punch, taking full advantage of the limited range of the injured arm. Blocking the swing with his left forearm, Shyamal drove his right fist into Seraph's collarbone.
A snap cracked the air as Seraph howled in pain. The Blood Elf stumbled back. Shyamal moved back, spinning around to deliver his foot into the side of Seraph's head, driving him to the ground.
"Mark!" Miroslav shouted, ending the bout.
Shyamal immediately froze his attack before taking a step back and bowing as Miroslav stepped into the ring, The Master of Combat returned the bow, watching as Shyamal helped Seraph up from the floor.
"A valuable fight, boys. I see you both have started learning your lessons."
Shyamal was fast and agile but his speed was countered by his lack of endurance and body strength, which Seraph had in spades. Miroslav saw Seraph wince as his broken bone was jarred.
"Seraph, head to the infirmary. No doubt, you will be removed for the rest of the day as those bones heal. Shyamal, you've been summoned to the Palace. King Shahriar wants to speak with you."
Shyamal didn't say anything as he bowed his head in acceptance. As they were moving off the platform, they heard Miroslav order the next two students on the training ground.
"I wonder what the King wants to speak about with you," Seraph said, trying to not jar his bone again.
"It has to be something big; he doesn't usually summon me when I'm here." Shyamal tilted his head, taking a glance at his oldest friend. "Sorry about that."
Seraph laughed. "No worries; teaches me not to underestimate you again which I tend to keep forgetting for some unknown reason. For a second, I thought you were going to continue circling around, waiting for me to take the initiative."
"As Miroslav noticed, I was starting to tire so I had to end it or eat the ground again like last time." Shyamal gave Seraph a grin. "I remember you had me flying through the air when I wasn't able to block you because I was so tired."
"Your endurance is lacking." They paused at the infirmary door. "I'll be fine from here on out. I don't need you mothering me."
"I do not mother."
"With your siblings you do!"
The younger boy gave a snort. "I'm their older brother; I get to have mothering rights."
Seraph waved his friend off. "Go, go, before the King decides to have my head for holding you back."
"More like making you swim the Mures River."
The Blood Elf grimaced. "I'll see you when I get back."
"Sure." Seraph waved before disappearing into the door. Shyamal blew his breath out, his bangs lifting just enough for his lightning bolt scar to show. Turning around, he headed down the dirt path to where the Seraphinas for all of the young training Elves were kept.
He whistled lightly, hearing Isocrates answer with a shrill whinny. Once he was at his steed's side, he quickly untied the reins keeping the Seraphina at the rails. Shyamal led his mount just past the gates before mounting gracefully.
Shyamal silently guided Isocrates toward the ancient home where he, his younger twin brothers, and his sister had been staying for over four years; ever since he had been deemed a Death Eater by the Wizarding world and his younger siblings declared dead by their parents. He sighed into the cold Carpathian air, his breath a white mist. That night, the illusion of home with the Potters had forever been shattered, a thousand fragments of silver glass that slipped between his innocent child fingers.
Against his will, Shyamal slipped into the memory of that August night.
"Harry, I'm cold," Evie wailed softly, her small frame shivering next to him. Daniel and Alexander were both unconscious from the blood loss, their skin cold and clammy to the touch. Outside, he could hear the movement of the Aurors as they painstakingly searched the cave system for them.
"We'll be fine," Harry whispered back, afraid the softest of sounds would give them away. Fear settled into his stomach, remembering how his father had ordered the rest of the Aurors to kill him for the deaths of his youngest sons. Harry closed his eyes, trying not to see the image of dozens of Killing curses coming at him as he slipped back into the trees and ran to where he had left Evie with his unconscious brothers.
"Why does Dad want to kill you?"
"I don't know. I don't know. Keep quiet, they're getting closer," Harry said, trying to push himself deeper into the shadows.
The edge of the dim light was slowly drifting closer. There was no way the Aurors would not be able to see them. They would surely be caught. If only Harry had remembered the cave system better. They could have been safely heading toward the Quidditch pitch inside the wards and be able to prove that his brothers were still alive and not hurt.
"I want mummy!" Evie wailed again, digging her face into his shirt. "Why does daddy want to kill us?"
"It doesn't make sense." Harry pulled her closer, eyes on the circle of light on the ground right outside the cave. Second by second, it was getting brighter. Please, someone help us, Harry thought, dark thoughts of his own father killing all of them running through his head. It had to be Edward's fault. Why else was Harry being hunted like a murdering criminal?
An explosion rocked the cliffs, dust and small pieces of the ceiling falling from the rocks above them. Evie whimpered, her hands tightening their grip. Alex groaned as a particularly large piece landed on his head. Harry bent over them, trying to protect them as best as he could as a second explosion rocked the cliffs. They're blasting the caves, ensuring that they are covering every inch of the rocks, Harry thought. His eyes drifted to the silver face of the full moon just outside of the cave mouth.
A howl broke the air, but that wasn't what sent shivers down Harry's spine. No, it was the small soft growls coming from his brothers.
Please, someone, anyone, help us. We're going to die, Harry thought, praying silently to the moon. A black flash of dark flames erupted before him, a large bird dropping to the ground. Harry blinked, Evie gasped at the sight.
Was it real?
The large bird was a phoenix; a black phoenix that was staring intently at them.
Bird and boy stared at each other until finally suddenly the bird turned around; the long tail feathers brushing up against the hand wrapped around Danny. Harry had once glimpsed one of the Headmaster of Hogwarts flashing away with his familiar. The tail feathers jerked slightly, brushing his hand again.
"Evie, take Alex's hand in one of yours and grip the feathers with both hands." Harry took one of Danny's hands in his and wrapped both hands tightly around the black phoenix's feathers. Just as his hands came around, a shadow moved into the cave mouth, light pouring onto them. The next second, a jet of bright green light came at them, screaming cutting through the air. Evie screamed in fear, black flames erupting all around them as they flashed out from the cave.
Harry blinked, the black flames dying away. His hands released the feathers.
Three people were sitting at a large table, the smell of cinnamon filled Harry's nose. A tall man with silvery hair stood up, his golden eyes focused on him. The black phoenix trilled softly before taking flight.
Numbness began penetrating his muscles; shock settling in. As the blackness rose up in Harry's soul, he whispered to the man, "Please help us."
Shyamal slipped out of the memory. The flaming hooves of his mount clattered onto the paved stones of the main street of the ancient Elven city, the royal palace appearing out from the cold mist of the mornings. As he rode by, the early risers waved at him from their chores. Around him the Blood trees rose high; their red leaves created a dark red canopy above him, casting clear red shadows on the silvery white trunks. The ancestral home of the Blood Elves lay nestled among a dense gathering of Blood trees set on a low incline of the Carpathian Mountains. The palace itself was carved into the cliff face itself, expertly crafted over years of hard work when the Elves first moved into the region. This was the first Elven city and the oldest by three decades.
When Harry awoke sometime the next day, he was in a large bed, covered with thick cotton blankets. Sitting in a chair to the side of the bed was the man with silver hair, reading a scroll.
Harry opened his mouth to speak but coughed instead when his muscles seized. A cup of cool water was offered; Harry drank greedily.
"Where are we?" he asked, his green eyes fixed on the man.
"You find yourself in the Kingdom of the Blood Elves. Specifically, the Palace located in the city of Braedigh. My name is Shahriar Siofra, High King of the Blood Elves," the man- no, Elf- said. "Your brothers as recovering after their transformations from man to wolf and back again. We were barely able to secure them safely in a padded room before they started. Your sister is over there, resting still." Harry turned around quickly, catching sight of his younger sister sleeping peacefully in a bed right next to his.
"What's going to happen to us?"
The Blood Elf King sat back. "That is up to you. The four of you appeared in my personal quarters and have asked for help. Most would consider you to be refugees."
At the word refugees, tears welled up in Harry's eyes, the memories of that night slamming into him.
His own father had tried to kill him, along with his godfather. They had such crazed looks on his their faces. He felt arms going around him, pulling him against a firm chest.
"It is alright now; child, you and your siblings are safe here as long as you wish it."
It took a while before Harry's tears ceased. He pulled away from the King, embarrassed that he had cried in front of the man. "I would like to seek refuge here for myself and my siblings. I would also like for us to go by new names to hide our true identities. "
"Of course." The King moved back to his chair. "What would you like to call yourselves?"
Harry thought for a moment. "Shyamal. I want to go by the name Shyamal Suha."
That day Harry James Potter, Alexander Julian Potter, Daniel Jonathon Potter, and Evangeline Potter ceased to exist.
In their stead the Suha siblings stood; Shyamal the eldest, the werewolf twins Cosmas and Damian, and Hala, their feisty sister.
Shyamal reined in the Seraphina as he neared the royal stables, wondering if his brothers and sister were awake yet. Dismounting, he handed the reins over to the Elven worker waiting off to the side.
"King Shahriar is waiting for you in the study, young Shyamal."
Before Shyamal could head up the stairs, Aeolfwe grabbed him gently by the arm, pointing to Shyamal's face. The young teen blushed, forgetting about his appearance. He quickly healed what he could, knowing that his small injuries wouldn't be completely gone by the time he stood before the King. Nodding thanks to the Elf, he headed up.
The Royal palace of the Blood Elves was not as large as the ones built by the humans in the ages past but it was no less grand. Carved deep into the mountains itself with magic and the hands of the Elves, the palace was a natural beauty. Halls stretched with high windows allowed the sunlight to filter into the palace; gardens were placed strategically to keep the feel of the Earth all around. The natural rivers were preserved as they ran toward the Mures River that wove its way through the Carpathian passes and Magical Romania to the Dead Sea. At first, Shyamal had been surprised when he had stepped out from his assigned room to see a large garden with a waterfall at both ends, joined by a small river and pond. Almost five years of living here had him calling it home now.
Passing through the Main Hall, he walked to the study. Opening the oak doors, he noticed Akane was there with her father who stood up from where he was sitting behind the large oak desk. "I see you've received my message, Shyamal."
"Master Miroslav informed that I had been summoned but with no details as to why," Shyamal stated quietly, waiting just inside the door.
The King motioned him to one of the seats before his desk. "Perhaps, it would be best if you sit down. This conversation will be disturbing on some levels at the very least." Shyamal took a seat right next to Akane who gave him a soft smile. The King re-seated himself, sighing lightly. "As of you are probably aware, Shyamal, your brother just finished his fourth year at Hogwarts this past week. What you are probably not aware of, are the events of the last few months."
Shyamal stiffened at this. He had tales of the previous school years, regarding his older twin. The first year, there had been rumours that Voldemort had gained entrance to the famous school, almost succeeding in his plans had it not been for his brother and his friends. Shyamal knew it had to do with the Flamels who had been held in high standing with the Elves before their deaths last year.
The second was probably even more intense; the fabled Chamber of Secrets had been opened and the monster within unleashed. By the end of the school year he heard that his brother had defeated the monster, a basilisk, with help from Gryffindor and the Headmaster's phoenix. What interested Shyamal the most was the fact that on the night Edward had defeated the monster, he had a dream about a girl with bright red hair lying in a puddle of blood, ink, and dirty water. Not thinking much of it, Shyamal had chalked it up to a dream conjured by his brain. Later, Shyamal heard that people were whispering that his brother was a parsel-mouth. Shyamal had snorted at this as he knew Edward was not one. Shyamal, on the other hand, was a different matter.
The third year saw the escape of Peter Pettigrew from Azkaban. The guards, for some reason, had forgotten to replace the fading Anti-Animagus Jinx on the man. Peter had retaken his animal form and escaped through the bars. The man had the audacity to attempt to kill Edward multiple times before fleeing into the night at the end of the year; after he had almost been captured by his former friends and the Dementors.
"What happened this time?"
"It seems the Ministry had reinstated the Triwizard Tournament - which had the reputation of being near fatal for all the participants in the past Tournaments. Usually at least one combatant would die during the three tasks. Supposedly, it was to have been much safer this time around. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to the authorities, a Death Eater had managed to trick his way onto the Hogwarts staff. At the end of the Tournament, during the third task, your brother was portkeyed with another student to a place where a group of Death Eaters were waiting for him. The student was killed while your brother was prepared for a ritual that succeeded in bringing back Voldemort."
Shyamal's fists tightened on the arms, the knuckles turning white. "He's back?"
"From the statements your brother gave, yes, he is back. However, the British Ministry of Magic has turned a deaf ear to him, stating publicly that Voldemort has not returned. Already, they have begun a smear campaign against Edward and your family, as well as any others who support him. The Headmaster has already been removed from several of his numerous positions, including his position as the Chief Wizengamot."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Shahriar leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes staring into Shyamal's green ones. "The severity of this situation cannot be ignored, as you well know. If Voldemort is able to regain a portion of his previous power, Britain will fall back into the dark times of twenty years ago."
"We left that world a long time ago," Shyamal whispered.
"You know that what effects one world will soon spread through others. By the time Voldemort was originally defeated, Shyamal, his sphere of influence had already begun to spread to the surrounding countries on the coastline." Shahriar tilted his head in acknowledgement. "He will come back even more powerful than before - now that he knows who his mortal enemy is. With the illusion of safety created by the Ministry, Voldemort will take advantage of the public's denial of his return, to grow in the shadows."
"Shyamal, there's a reason why you are have been training with Miroslav. You could have settled comfortably here, without a care in the world, but instead you gathered news of what was going on in Britain, training on how to fight with your mind and body. Even your brothers have taken up studies; in the fields of medicine and the knowledge of potions and the body. These studies would, no doubt, be vital in a time of war." Akane added.
Shyamal stayed quiet, knowing Akane was right. Even though he would try to deny it, Shyamal still felt the hope that somehow they would be able to tell their parents that they were still alive and not Death Eaters. But at the same time, he was also furiously angry at his parents and his brother for ever thinking he would betray them. "They won't easily accept us back. The last time, my father was trying to kill me," Shyamal said.
"The previous Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute of Learning has fled his post, since he was a former Death Eater who refused to go back to Voldemort. Many already believe him to be dead." Shahriar tapped his desk. "A friend of the Blood Elves, Stephanos Irfan, has been voted to the post of Headmaster. If you wish, we can have documents set up that will present you as students of his school."
"Would Dumbledore not be suspicious of having four new transfers show up from the infamous Dark school of Durmstrang?"
"Not if those students were seeking refuge," Akane pointed out. "Many believe Hogwarts to be the safest place in Europe, as many know that Voldemort fears Dumbledore."
"Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are located in other countries, specifically France and Bulgaria and are under the jurisdictions of other countries, but there are some risks."
"Do you really believe Voldemort would attack a foreign school?" Shyamal could hardly believe that Dumbledore would not be naturally suspicious of four transfers from Grindelwald's former school.
"It is a possibility. He could use the students as hostages and force the Ministries to pay large sums of cash to keep them safe, which would fuel his attacks on the British Ministry. Not only that, if he were to attack during the months the students aren't there, the fortified schools would provide Voldemort with readied bases for operations in those countries, giving him a secure foothold. The added bonus is that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were built in 1085 and 1200 respectively, meaning their wards aren't as old nor as strong as the wards covering Hogwarts whose wards were built by the five greatest sorcerers of their time." Grudgingly, Shyamal had to see the logic behind that. Out of the most influential people in power right now, Voldemort only feared one and that was Dumbledore. Be default, Hogwarts was automatically the safest place in Europe.
If Voldemort was actually lucky enough to take Beauxbatons and Durmstrang with hostages, the Potters would be alone in their fight.
Go back and watch over Edward, or stay and ignore the world outside.
A single pebble can disrupt the entire surface of a pond. The larger the rock, the greater the disturbance; everything has a consequence. Even doing nothing has a consequence. It only takes the decision of one man to decide the fates of many. Miroslav's words came rushing back to Shyamal. He hated it when the Elf Master was right.
"Let me talk it over with my siblings first." He couldn't make this decision by himself. Whatever happened would affect them as well.
"They are in the twins' room. Planning something horrendous probably," Akane mused, her mouth twitching at the remembrance of the last prank.
Shyamal winced at what happened that time. "I should probably go and talk with them right now. When do you expect a decision, King Shahriar?"
"As early as possible it will take awhile for the documents to be forged cleanly enough to past inspection. I will expect a decision by the end of this week."
Shyamal nodded. "I will be sure to have a decision by then." He stood up. "If that is all?"
King Shahriar smiled. "If something else appears, you will be notified immediately, Shyamal. Good day to you." Shyamal said his goodbyes before heading out of the personal study. He headed left down the hall in the direction of the rooms where he and his siblings slept. On the way, he crossed an arched bridge that spanned the width of a tall waterfall. The hall opened up onto a rampart, created by the cliff face, stretching out below to the edge of the Blood trees.
A minute later, he was in the small courtyard that connected all three of their rooms. Sitting on bench next to the pond was Damian, reading a book on Elven medicine. Hala and Cosmas were sitting at the very edge of the pond, a small boat in his brother's hands. Hala whispered something to Cosmas who laughed as he gently placed the boat into the water. It bobbed side to side before settling itself, the tall mast tilting to the side slightly.
He watched as Cosmas waved his hand, a light breeze catching the white sails and gliding the boat across the pond.
"Shyamal! You're back early," Hala shouted, climbing to her feet. "I thought you were going to come back later today."
"I was, but King Shahriar summoned me." He walked around the pond, heading for where Damian was. "I've got something to talk about with the three of you." He sat down on the bench, waiting for his siblings to settle themselves. He started telling them what he had learned from Shahriar. At the end, Damian was looking pensive while Cosmas had a stubborn look on his face and Hala worrying her bottom lip.
"I don't want to go back," Cosmas said, crossing his arms. "It's better here. We don't get ignored and the Siofra family cares more for us than they did."
"I want to go home," Hala whispered, eyes focused on the hem of her shirt. "I want to go back and see if we can have mum and dad back."
"They want to kill Shyamal! Merlin, Hala, they tried to the night we fled." Cosmas waved his arms wildly about. "Then there's the fact that Damian and I are both werewolves. They'll probably blame that on Shyamal too. And that's not even including that Shyamal has Dark tendencies."
"We shouldn't give up on them," Hala snapped back.
"What do you say, Damian?" Shyamal asked quietly, interrupting before Cosmas and Hala could continue their argument.
"We don't know their side of the story. We just fled. I've been thinking a lot of what happened that night. Obviously they blamed you for our supposed deaths, but there weren't any bodies. Probably a lot of blood but the trail of it surely showed that we were on the move." Damian looked at Shyamal in the eye. "I'm with Hala. I want our family together again but I agree also that we can't just go willy-nilly in there."
Cosmas gave a huff. "They'll probably curse us the moment we step into Hogwarts."
"You heard what Shyamal said. Shahriar can have documents forged." Damian closed his brown eyes. "We'll just have to be very careful."
Hala nudged Cosmas. "Come on, Cosmas, I know you want them back too."
"I'm just afraid." Cosmas rubbed his face. "Fine, let's go then. But for the record, I say this is a bad idea."
Shyamal glanced at all of them. "You're all sure?" Three heads nodded. "I'll wait until this weekend before giving Shahriar our decision. It's only the first week of July and the next school year won't start until September."
Hala moved. "Can we take our Seraphinas?"
"I'll have to ask Shahriar about that as hardly anyone outside of the Blood Elf kingdom has any. I need to take care with the Blood Elf armour as that's very distinct as well."
"How are we going to pay for the books?"
Shyamal held up his hands. "We still have eight weeks before the start of the next term. I'm sure we'll have the details of what is going to happen by then."
"I wonder what has changed since we left," Hala mused, a thoughtful expression crossing her features.
"The brooms must be better. The last one I heard of that came out was the Aero 98 model."
Hala rolled her eyes. "Don't you think of any other sport besides Quidditch?" Damian and Cosmas replied in the negative.
Shyamal leaned back, eyes drifting half shut as he listened to his siblings banter back and forth good naturedly.
This was it then. They were going back to Britain after five years. Shyamal would never have allowed himself the thought of them returning. But in truth, he had tried to keep those memories in the back of his mind along with the other dark memories. It was painful thinking of that night in August, remembering his father casting the Killing Curse at him.
But maybe going back would give him back his family, whole and safe.
An image of his father flashed up, wand raised. Immediately, Shyamal killed the feeling rising up in him. He wasn't going to build an illusion around himself. Not again just to have it crushed.
Pulling up his legs, he wrapped his arms around his knees, resting his head on top of them.
Hala giggled as Cosmas leaped on her, tickling her stomach.