Touchdown – Am I in the right place?

Vincent Bode was an Unspeakable. And a fairly good one at that. He knew what was expected of him and did his best to deliver. In his long career as a member of an ancient society of warlocks, who were responsible for unravelling the secrets of magic, he had made his mark by performing admirably and undertaking projects that had found its way into many of the books detailing magical theories. Without mentioning his name of course. No, the fame was for the people whom the department selected as their puppets. The people who had moderate knowledge of the subject. Just enough to pass the scrutiny. No, he was not one to relish fame. He had other accomplishments for that.

His wards for one.

The complicated structures of runic arrays that involved the representation of a warding scheme in a three-dimensional array using a very precise form of mage sight were some of his minor achievements. Added to the fact that his protective enchantments were nothing to sneeze at, the report sitting in front of his desk right now, could be considered something rather strange from the usual events he was used to handling.

"…the safe-house seemed to be untouched. The minor disturbances in the surge readers within the area were too small to be recorded and thus the data could not be obtained from the monitoring station. The residual…"

A breach of their safe-house, while alarming, was a non-issue at the moment. The agents who had been permitted to have access to that location had all been confirmed safe. Similarly, their operations had been deemed to have been below the usual risk required for extraction. What had him boggled though was the incident itself. To have completely bypassed all the security measures and not trip any of the alarms?

A conundrum indeed.

Sighing in defeat, for the moment, he stood up. While his pride in his work would not let him forget the case, he did need to report it to his superiors. And if he knew Croaker as he did, he had quite a long briefing to look forward to.

'Oh, Joy.'

If not the vanity of his achievements then the droning voice of his boss that he was certainly about to hear certainly gave him plenty of reason to murder the crafty bugger.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was the third evening of his arrival when he came to. The light coming from the sun felt like hard piercing daggers to his eyes. Groaning, because of the lingering pain within his body, he sat up. A few moments was all it took for the realisation to set in. Not even a twitch was registered of his movements. A shallow breath came and he released it. For the second time in as many days, necessity required him to take stock. Hoping that it wouldn't become a regular thing, now that he had some breathing space, he stood up, wincing every time the sore muscles gave way to radiating pain.

A short walk in the modest-sized bedroom had him near the full-length mirror adorning the wall. Most would have been surprised to see the changes in themselves. To see a somewhat different image of your own when you knew instinctively what you looked like should have been a point of concern for anyone and a very understandable reaction. But usually, one didn't have survival experiences the likes of which left you wishing for the simplicity of an end. Usually, one doesn't have to make sure that every time they went out, they had a different face to call their own. Usually, one doesn't spend year after year as a nomad trying to save what they could, when they could. And thus, it made him indifferent to the face he could see in the mirror. The ever-present scars on his body were mere shadows of their past. Even the scar on his forehead had faded to a surprising content, at least enough to not be visible so openly as before. He still felt the lingering murkiness when he concentrated on it though. So, his hitch-hiker was still present with him, much to his annoyance. He had grown in the most minuscule amount. Just enough to call himself lanky rather than underfed. His hair were a tad bit tamable judging by the smaller ones that still had the resolute will to grow every which way unimpeded. And despite it all, there was the one thing that did saddened him the most.

He no longer had his mother's eyes.

The vividly glowing greens were now dull cerulean blues.

Another thing chalked to add onto the sacrifice tally. Another thing to lose on the way to redemption. Another invisible mark on his psyche.

Shaking his head to rid himself of morbid thoughts, he walked to the table at the centre of the room. He had achieved most of his short term goals in one night, the time and resource requirement for which had troubled him endlessly when he had been making his plans. Now, knowing what he did, he didn't have to look at the headlines of the prophet to know that things had gone exactly the way he had intended. The things he had seen in Arabella's mind had been enough for him to understand the seriousness with which Dumbledore had taken his safety when it came to the sweet ministrations of his relatives. The meddler had known. Harry had suspected that. Still, to suspect and know the reality were two different things. But it had worked out in his favour in the end. He had successfully distanced himself from the one person who had the intelligence, motive and power to ruin his plans. Now, all he had to do was to take advantage of his momentary distraction to plant a few seeds that would enable him to silently embed himself in the society as a legitimate scion of a largely overlooked Ancient House.

In his past, the discovery of the ruins of the seat of Ancient House of Kent had been something of an eye-opener for most of the resistance. To see the loss that represented a heritage – older than many, it's members – killed without reason, their fortunes – stolen by a corrupted ministry, and their name – forgotten by their own. The consequences of constant wars were clear to all that had stood in broken, rackety, ruins that had once been a modest manor home.

His Best-Friend, as per ner nature, had dedicated more than a few hours finding anything and everything she could on the Ancient House and its members. He hadn't had the opportunity to look through what she had uncovered. And after she had been stolen from him... then it hadn't been anything to do with the house itself but everything to do with remembering her.

It was within her notes that he had found his current abode. A modest-sized and fairly solitary cottage in the Lake District, conveniently situated between two of the most important locations of their community. Hogwarts, in Scotland and Ministry of Magic, in London.

Bringing his thoughts in the order he focused on something that needed him to get around again.

Information.

While being confident was well enough. To let that confidence dictate your actions without confirming the variables was the height of folly. A mistake he wasn't keen on making. Thus, with a weary mind and body, he strolled towards the front door to make his way to the only place he could get his answers. Diagon Alley.

-x-x-x-x-x-

He had expected more.

From being denigrated of being a rising dark lord to being extolled as the chosen one, Harry had plenty of experience with the overly formed and ever-changing opinions of the public when it came to the life of their favourite past time, the-boy-who-lived. But what he didn't have any clue about was what he was seeing at the moment.

It had been hard enough to see this many people going about their normal routines but to see them migrating to and fro, talking in loud whispers about the meddler and praising the ministry, boggled his mind. And it wasn't the only thing that he found suspicious and uncomforting, no. What he had trouble with, was seeing these many folks walking around just talking as if their world wasn't collapsing right this instant.

Then he remembered.

Nothing had happened for them. Not yet anyway. Their world hadn't been ravaged by the ghouls of war. Nothing devastating had happened for five years. Well, apart from the suspiciously praiseworthy ministry. That thought exploded into smithereens as soon as he laid eyes on the newspaper.

He had managed to acquire a copy of the Daily Prophet from a kindly man who had finished reading his while waiting for a friend in the Leaky Cauldron. Contrary to popular belief the presence of a kid in a popular place such as the Cauldron could not hope to bring anyone's attention. And thus, the man hadn't even batted an eye when Harry had asked for the paper. He had been hoping to see some flashing headlines depicting the gruesome end of the saviour of their world.

He was half right.

There were more than a few flashy headlines present on the front page of the paper. But what they said was something so bizarre, so inexplicable that even him, who had the added benefit of being a trans-time/reality interloper, thought it to be the work of one of the impressibly powerful imaginary creatures that a certain girl could think of. Blinking twice he read it again to see if they had changed.

The Real truth gets out

What really happened on 31st October 1981?

The real truth of the-boy-who-lived

Sirius Black – The Innocent Sacrifice?

(By Rita Skeeter)

Ministry of Misdirection!

Minister Fudge – The Man of Action, through his spokesperson, Madame Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had revealed to us yesterday, the real truth of the events that transpired on the night of 31 October 1981.

We all know the story. The Dark Lord visited the potters, who were in hiding due to their retaliatory and defensive effort against the threats posed by He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named. Though he had every intention of killing everyone in the family, he met his end at the hands of a small babe, Harry Potter, who deflected the terrifying and indefensible, Killing Curse, back on its caster thus, ridding us of the most terrible dark lord to ever seen in Magical Britain.

At least that is what has been told to us.

But imagine my surprise, dear readers, when I received an invitation from our ministry of magic to attend a press conference, the subject of which vaguely stated it was a formal get together for possible information dissemination in relation to the night in question while hinting at the presence of the minster himself along with Madam Bones, Head of DMLE, who has a standing habit of sending the media to Coventry.

I confess to being more than a little intrigued. Not only because that horrific night had happened long ago but also for the event to have the attendance of Madam Bones, it was bound to be interesting. And it proved as such.

As the panel unfolded the events right in front of us along with the showing of more than a few pieces of evidence, I could not believe in the amount of dedication that would have required to pull what this administration had. You see, the Dark Lord did meet his end at the night in question. But there is a reason that the events that took place are as shrouded as they are. We had been told that only a single potter survived that night. That baby Harry Potter was the only one to escape and that too with just a small mark on his forehead. Well as it turns out, it had been a lie. A very deliberate lie generated for the craftiest of schemes. You-Know-Who certainly ended the line of House Potter that night. There were no survivors.

How then was it then that the Dark Lord met his end, you ask?

That is a most intriguing tale.

You see, there was another person who had been there that night. A person who has been responsible for defeating another dark lord and saving us from a terrible fate once before. Albus Dumbledore, our Chief Warlock, The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, and arguably the most powerful wizard of the modern times, knew that the lives of some of his most treasured friends were at risk and knowing that, he had protected them ever since. He had set up fairly strong protections, some of the wards of his own making against anyone who intended to harm them. Other than his wards one other protection that had been added was the Fidelius Charm. An immensely complex spell involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find – unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window! The Secret-Keeper in the case of Potters was believed to be Sirius Black. Yes, my dear readers, THE MASS MURDERER, Sirius Black. But, it all had been a ruse. A ruse to find the traitor amongst their midst. Sirius Black along with the potters had formed a plan that would bring out the double agent who had been responsible for the deaths of many of their friends. Asking one of their friends, Peter Pettigrew to be the REAL Secret-Keeper, they portrayed as if they trusted Sirius Black more than any of their other friends, thinking that anyone looking for a secret-keeper would turn to him. Knowing that the traitor would then target Black, they laid their trap. But You-Know-Who wasn't the most dreaded dark lord for nothing. He had already had his clutches onto the one who would lead the potters to their demise. Peter Pettigrew had already been turned by the Dark Lord, he was the traitor the Potters had been searching for. When they trusted him with their most precious secret, he betrayed them to his master.

As the Dark Lord had been preparing to leave, he met his match in the form of a furious looking Albus Dumbledore. The vaunted Warlock, in the display of true skill and power, defeated his second dark lord that night. We, unfortunately, could not get Chief Warlock to answer the questions about the deadly duel but there is no doubt among us that it would have been ferociously epic.

On the night that Sirius Black caught up with traitor Pettigrew, he attempted to take him into custody, but the wiled Death Eater blasted the road with a dark curse that took his own life and resulted in serious injuries to the former. When asked why the innocent Black had then been shipped to Azkaban, Ministry provided us with the records for one Sirius Orion Black. According to ministerial records, there was no trial for Sirius Black. We, the reporters, were given full access to all the files pertaining to the matter and were even given the opportunity to verify their validity, we could not find any paperwork proving that Sirius Black had ever been sentenced to Azkaban.

When the questions about the current status of Sirius Black was asked, the Ministry provided us with one thing that could most certainly prove that the entire story was true.

They presented the man himself.

We have been given permission to print an excerpt from the full transcript of the small questioning session of Mr Sirius Black under the effects of Veritaserum, a ministry defined Grade-1 Narcotic, which forces the drinker to tell the truth, held right in front of all the reporters during the press conference.

Interrogator – What is your name?

Black – Sirius Orion Black.

Interrogator – Were you the secret-keeper for Potters during the period of 1980-81?

Black – No.

Interrogator – Were you in any way a part of an organisation lead by Lord Voldemort named Death Eaters.

Black – No, I would have died before I joined them.

When asked why he had done this, he responded with just a few words.

Black – James and Lily were my friends, there isn't anything I wouldn't have done to see those responsible in Azkaban.

After those moving words and even in the presence of such highly decorated faces such as the panel in front, this reporter did not shirk in her duty to ferret out the truth my readers, I asked boldly, for the reason for which all this facade took place. I hadn't truly expected any answer though, believing it to be similar to my previous attempts at gaining answers during the other investigations. But, surprisingly, I got one. And from the Minister himself. Here are his exact words. "When I came into this office, all I had was a very small group of people whom I knew, I could trust with the betterment of our community. Despite that, I pledged to improve the situation that had been left to me by my predecessor. During the course of this, I gained knowledge of certain elements that even after the defeat of their master, did not believe him gone. They were most dangerous and could go to any lengths to see their evil desires come to pass. I made a plan then. Along with the DMLE Aurors on my personal staff, and others close to me, we decided to inject some spies of our own in their midst. It was their mission to burrow themselves within the ranks of these deadly elements and bring them to justice. One of the names that stand out is my dear friend, Lucius Malfoy. He performed his role with more courage than could have been expected of anyone not having any training beforehand and his sacrifice and dedication along with those of many others led to the success of this secret operation. An operation, I am pleased to announce, reached its conclusion the night before last. There was a tactical reason behind us fanning the flames that had been the fiction of the-boy-who-lived. If the dark elements saw a clear and easily accessible hope that was the image of the boy for all of us, they were sure to target him. And that had been what we were hoping for. After various operations and the efforts of the fine officers of the DMLE working under my staff in secret, we finally defeated those dark elements. I stand here today to tell each and every citizen of the community of Magical Britain, that as long as my administration is in power, we will keep you safe, as we have done till now. The details of the operation will be presented to you by my Senior Undersecretary Madam Umbridge."

I never would have thought it possible to be more proud of our community than I was before I received that invitation. But now, knowing that the pillars of this society had risked their lives so the people who wish to destroy us, our way of living, could come to justice, brings forth a…

He didn't read ahead. He couldn't really.

Two days.

He had been sleeping for two days and the whole fucking world had shifted. He knew the person responsible. He knew who had fed that moron that called himself the minister of Magic this heap of hippogryph dung.

He clenched his fists in anger as a single thought ran through his mind.

'The fuck did you do Albus!'

-x-x-x-x-x-

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A/N - 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?

Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running.

Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it.

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