Forever and Always

Albus Dumbledore was not a paperwork-lover at heart, but as the Headmaster of a school, the leading resistance in the war against Voldemort, and Fudge's most trusted advisor, he sure ended up with a lot.

He scratched out a rather descriptive line on his opinion of the Minister, and absently scanned the reply again, just in case he missed any rather derogatory statements he might have unwittingly added.

He wasn't sure if Minister, even though I doubt your ability to think on a more personal level, I do believe Ms. Wittby should be allowed a leave of absence to grieve for her mother's deceased Doberman was an insult subtle enough to pass the Minister by. He hoped so, as he neatly folded the parchment and handed it to the sleek post owl perched on the windowsill.

Fawkes watched rather jealously, but knew it wasn't his place to deliver letters to the Ministry. Phoenixes weren't simple post owls, after all.

The Headmaster stood by the window a moment to admire the sweeping Hogwarts grounds arrayed before him. Just then, though, the Floo flared to life and an excited Tonks tumbled out with the grace of a newborn taking its first steps. In other words, she floundered like a beached dolphin.

"Headmaster! They've found him!"

Dumbledore turned to her with a confused expression.

"Who have they found? What?"

Tonks replied, "Harry Potter! They've found Harry Potter. He's a bit different than we expected. You'd better come see him, as soon as possible."

The Headmaster strode over to her, "Where is he? I'll go immediately."

Tonks babbled on, "He's at Auror Headquarters, sir. Poor kid. He doesn't stand a chance."

At that moment, Tonks would never know just how wrong she was. The Headmaster nodded and waved her into the fireplace.

"After you."

As the overzealous young witch vanished into the Floo, Albus Dumbledore pondered the mystery that was Harry Potter. After defeating Voldemort, he'd been dropped off on the Dursley's doorstep (by none other than the Headmaster himself). Apparently, that was a bad idea, because scarcely five years later, the then-six-year-old went missing. The majority of the Wizarding World had thought him dead, and the rest didn't even pause to wonder what had even happened to their savior.

Only a select few had given hope to the thought that the Boy-Who-Lived was still alive and kicking. And apparently, they'd been right. Dumbledore thanked the Gods for watching out for the now-sixteen-year-old boy, though when he pictured Harry Potter, he was picturing the polar opposite of the Harry Potter that same boy had become as a result of his admittedly short life.

With a slight sigh of relief, he followed his fellow Order member into the Floo, to see Harry.

Said Boy-Who-Lived was currently leaning casually against a cubicle in Auror Headquarters. He was slim, but lean and well built, with a wiry, whipcord strength. Spiky, silky raven hair obscured his eyes, shadowing his Avada Kedavra green gaze. He wore contacts, and was dressed in all black: black snakeskin trousers, a tight black silk shirt, and a black leather jacket. A tattoo of a black falcon, wings spread in flight, adorned his shoulders, and another of a regal black timber wolf graced his right upper arm.

Harry asked a passing Auror lazily, "When can I leave?"

She looked him up and down, then answered smoothly, "When the Headmaster's done talking to you." She registered his smooth, deep baritone and raised an eyebrow. He was only sixteen, not twenty!

He rolled his eyes. "Can I at least wander around a bit, then?" He only asked out of a rather rare courtesy, rare for him, anyway. He viewed rules and orders as suggestions, guidelines; if he wanted to do something, he'd do it anyway, and not be bothered with other people's opinions.

She paused, then nodded. "Just tell me where you're going."

He smirked and drawled, "I'm thinking I'd better register as an animagus. Wouldn't want to get in trouble with the law just because I forgot to mention a special talent of mine, now would I?"

The Auror snorted. "Why do I get the feeling you don't care about rules or the law?"

He grinned mischievously. "Because I don't," was his rather blunt reply.

She rolled her eyes and waved him away. "Animagus registration is on this level, third door on the right from the lift." He nodded his thanks, straightened up in a single fluid movement, and was out the door before she could say another word.

The Auror, who went by the name of Lain Sharp, watched him walk away with a calculating eye. He didn't seem at all like the goody-two-shoes Gryffindor Golden Boy she had pictured when she'd first heard a couple of Aurors had recognized him and brought him in to Headquarters.

From the conversations she'd heard him having with her fellow Aurors and a few others who'd passed through, he was rather Slytherin in nature. And hot, in a tall, dark, and handsome kind of way. Sly, clever, and wily, he could banter with the best of them. He seemed particularly gifted magically, and had admitted to having a few hidden talents. And, perhaps the strangest thing about him, when they'd brought him in he'd been armed to the teeth. She honestly didn't know what to make of him.

"You-Know-Who, you'd better watch your back," she muttered as she watched him slink away with the grace of a wolf, or maybe a cat.

Harry, with his rather sensitive ears, caught her quiet words, and smiled wickedly. Voldemort had better watch himself, indeed.

The trip to the Animagus Registration Office went well. He registered his timber wolf animagus form and scribbled his signature on a piece of official-looking paper. The tester, a skinny, balding man called Mitch Sheridan, had doted on him persistently and only stopped when he threatened to transform and maul him.

The image of an immense mass of glossy black fur, piercing green eyes, and razor-sharp, wicked-looking teeth and claws tearing into his pasty flesh caused him to blanch a sickening shade of paper white. But even that threat didn't stop him from calling a drawn-out goodbye as he walked away.

Harry smirked and strode out the door with a copy of the registration form tucked in his pocket. He walked down the corridor, spiky black locks framing his square-jawed face. He turned a corner and nearly walked head-long into a tall, bearded man wearing half-moon spectacles and atrocious lime green and Chudley Cannons orange robe.

He recognized the man immediately. He might not have ever met the man in person, but he DID read the Daily Prophet, and Albus Dumbledore frequently made the front page for something or other. And while he might respect the elderly man for his various accomplishments, he was shocked and appalled by his lack of fashion sense.

As it was, only his inherent wolf-like characteristics- heightened senses, unmatched grace and agility, and a knack for being quick on his feet- kept him from crashing into the Headmaster.

He looked up into the wizened, lined face, and noted to his amusement it registered shock, amazement, and surprise. Twinkling blue eyes flickered to his scar and then back to his face. He knew he wasn't exactly a role model for small children, but he didn't think dressing sharp, watching his own back, and sporting a couple tattoos classified as being a punk.

The Headmaster exclaimed, "Harry Potter? Hello, my boy, hello. I trust you're getting on well enough with the Aurors?"

Harry nodded, "I'm fine. I can take care of myself," he replied a bit frostily. After all, this was the man who'd left him in that hellhole of a house with his merciless relatives.

Albus gestured to an open door. "Why don't we talk?" Harry didn't even pause to think about it before he nodded ascent. "As you wish, your majesty," he muttered. Albus cocked an eyebrow. "What did you say? I didn't catch that last bit."

"Never mind."

He followed the Headmaster into the empty office and rounded on him instantly. "What do you want, Dumbledore?" The older man paused a moment, taken aback by his venomous tone, before he replied steadily, "I wanted to ask you a few questions, Harry."

The raven-locked youth jerked his head. "Well, get on with it, then."

Albus paused to collect his thoughts. Harry certainly wasn't anything like he'd pictured. He was nothing like either of his parents, though his short fuse seemed to come from Lily. He shoved his musings to the back of his mind to think over later, and started in on his questioning.

"Harry, why did you run away from your relatives? I realize they didn't like you very much, but surely you could have worked through that together?"

The young man laughed bitterly. "Are you joking? Of course they didn't like me! They hated me! They hated magic! They knew I would turn out to be magical, and they did everything they could to try to squash the magic out of me. I got sick of being beaten, starved, and locked away in my cupboard. I lived in the cupboard under the stairs for five years before it got so bad I couldn't take it anymore and ran away," he stated coldly. "And I have you to thank for that. You're the one that left me there to be 'taken care of' by those monsters in the first place!"

Throughout his rant Dumbledore had paled. "I knew they favored your cousin, but I never knew they were so harsh with you. If I'd known that I never would have left you with them."

Harry snorted. "Sure you wouldn't have. After ten years on my own, though, I'm better off than if I'd stayed there. Aren't you going to ask more questions, old man? My patience is wearing thin."

Dumbledore moved on quickly. "Harry, who looked out for you, after you left?"

He smiled, but it was a twisted, bitter smile. And unreadable expression crossed his eyes, and Albus froze momentarily in shock. He couldn't read Harry. He could read anyone else, even Severus, like an open book, but all he could read of Harry was the cover, and even that was foggy and uncertain.

"No one did. I took care of myself. I went through some hard times, but I have friends in high places that would help me out when I needed it. I don't trust anyone but myself. Myself and Ricky," he amended.

"Who's Ricky?"

"A friend of mine. He's a bit different than most would expect, but then again, so am I."

He shot a knowing look at the Headmaster. Albus covered his unease with a sad smile. He turned away from Harry momentarily so the younger man wouldn't see his vaguely hurt expression, but when he turned back Harry could tell what he was thinking. You're much different.

"Well, if you're done with the third degree I'll be going-"

Albus put out a hand to stop him walking away.

Harry stopped, then, with a heavy sigh, turned defiantly to face him.

"Hurry up."

The old wizard stated, "Now, there's the issue of your needing a guardian. You're not of age yet, and I understand that you can take care of yourself, but you need to have a name to put on the paperwork. Cornelius Fudge will no doubt try to make you a ward of the Ministry if you can't find anyone else."

He bit his lip. "What are my choices?"

He paused, then stated matter-of-factly, "Myself, a member of the Order, or Sirius Black. He is your godfather, after all."

Harry answered immediately. "What about Gage? He's a wizarding friend of mine, and he's legally of age."

Dumbledore nodded, then reconsidered and asked quickly, "What is his last name?"

"Sharp. I think he has an older sister who's an Auror."

Dumbledore nodded. The Sharps were a traditionally Light family, and Lain and her father Damon were members of the Order. Gage hadn't been of age the last time he'd seen him, but that had been three years ago. He would do fine, especially if Harry trusted him.

"Very well, I'll speak with him concerning the paperwork and, meanwhile, you're going to need to stay at Hogwarts. Term starts in seven days, and I'm planning on you attending classes. Are you advanced enough magically to attend classes at a sixth year level?"

Harry nodded. "I'll get by." It was always a good idea to underestimate your abilities to other people; Harry had been trained both by himself and with Ferrono Zabini, and was good friends with his daughter Blaise.

Well, maybe a bit more than friends, but they'd started out just best friends and it had advanced into something more. Ferrono approved; he trusted Harry, and the Zabinis were a Light family, even if their ambition made them seem a tad Dark sometimes. They were firmly Light, and though they were pureblooded, they didn't set stock in such things as blood purity.

The Headmaster waved a hand at the door.

"You can go and get your things, and be at Hogwarts when you're done. I'll show you to your room. In the meantime, I don't want you going anywhere alone. I've arranged to have Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks accompany you to Diagon Alley to get your school things. I've got a supply list in one of these pockets."

He pulled out a piece of folded parchment and handed it to him.

"I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Harry grinned. "Thank you sir. Do you by chance have my vault key?"

"You read my mind," the elderly man replied, and handed over the key. Your vault number is 687. Try not to spend too much."

Twenty minutes later found a wealthy Harry Potter walking out of Gringotts, galleons clinking with every step. He'd enjoyed the ride to his vault immensely; it was just like a muggle roller coaster.

In addition to some pocket money, he'd jumped on the chance to get a debit card, which was much like a credit card and worked in both the muggle and wizarding worlds. He had also gotten an estimate of how much was in the Potter family vault, which he'd have access to when he turned seventeen, and learned that he was technically a billionaire.

He walked down the street, looking in shop windows as he went. He quickly bought his school supplies, as well as a racing broom, a stack of more...questionable books, and a pet. He already had a specialized wand, an unregistered cherry wood and black unicorn hair, eleven inches, sleek and flexible.

After he'd visited all the other necessary shops, he stopped in at the Magical Menagerie. It was dark and crowded, and smelled atrocious. He wrinkled his nose. The poor animals clearly weren't being taken care of properly.

He strode down the isles, finally stopping in front of a cage of snakes. He grinned. Just what he wanted. He turned his back so the clerk behind the counter couldn't see his lips moving and hissed quietly to the snakes.

/ Who will come with me? Who wants to leave this place and go to a place of sunning rocks, fresh meat, and soft nests? /

A sleek iridescent green cobra with frosty ice blue eyes spoke first in a decidedly male voice. / I will accompany you, speaker. /

He smiled at it warmly. / Thank you, snake. You will come? /

/ Yes. I am Zane. /

/ Well, Zane, shall we go? /

/ Yes, speaker. /

Harry grinned, unlatched the cage door, and offered his left arm to the slim snake. Zane slithered onto his forearm and coiled himself loosely around his master's forearm. Harry paid the clerk quickly, and left the shop, Zane hissing his pleasure at the clear, cool evening air.

After he'd visited all the shops that caught his fancy he headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, where his bodyguards were waiting.

When he walked in with Zane on his arm, Tonks stated wryly, "Harry, snakes aren't really in fashion."

He snorted. "So? Zane's my friend; I couldn't leave him to rot in that disgusting pet shop. Filthy place."

Shacklebolt rolled his eyes. "You can be so...difficult. Keep the snake, I don't care, just don't let it bite anyone. It's not poisonous, is it?"

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically. He really did have a flare for dramatics. "Of course it is, Kingsley. Did you honestly think I would buy one that wasn't?"

He would have bought Zane anyway, even if he weren't a rare, magical Irish Searing Cobra. He was extremely poisonous, able to kill a grown man in seconds. If he were to bite anyone, the poison would kill him or her in seconds. Searing Cobras were thought to be the world's deadliest snakes.

Harry smiled mysteriously at his Auror bodyguards and stated simply, "He won't bite me."

Tonks muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "You sound so sure of that."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I know what I'm talking about. I get along just fine with snakes."

She shrugged, "Whatever, Harry. Are we ready to go?"

He nodded. "Apparation?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Can you apparate?"

He caught her eye and retorted, "Would I be asking if I didn't know how?"

She shrugged. Kingsley stepped in, sensing the tense atmosphere between them. "We'll apparate to the front of the Three Broomsticks. I dropped your stuff off at the castle while you were shopping; Albus has a room set up for you until they can get you Sorted. I assume you know about the Sorting Ceremony?"

Harry nodded. "I've read Hogwarts: A History. What more do I need to know?" he joked.

Tonks cut in, "Ready to go, guys?" Her earlier snippy mood was already forgotten.

Harry tightened his grip on the enchanted school bag he held; all his purchases were in it. He really did like bottomless feather-light book bags. They made everything so much easier.

He focused on the Three Broomsticks, visualizing it in his mind. Then the world dissolved around him, and a tingling sensation overtook him. He much preferred his own unique method of travel, sliding, but at least apparation wasn't as bad as Flooing there. The world reappeared, vastly different from the darkened pub he'd left. Tonks and Kingsley flanked him on either side.

Harry Potter had arrived in Hogsmeade.