Faded into Blackness

Chapter One.

Eight years later....

Detective Inspector Harry James carefully lowered himself into his favourite chair with a groan and a soft sigh and picked up his glass of scotch from where he had temporarily set it on his coffee table before crossing the room to close his curtains against the orange glare from the streetlight outside the window. Kicking off his shoes he lifted his aching feet to set them on the table when he noticed the small red light on his answering machine blinking and reached out a hand to press the button; taking a sip of his drink while he waited for the mechanical and for some strange reason he had yet to work out, American accented, female voice to inform him that he had "One new message. Received today at twenty one oh four hundred hours."

There was a quiet beep and then Harry heard his girlfriend's angry voice fill the room. He cringed, suddenly remembering that he had promised to phone her.

"Harry? It's Elizabeth. Are you there?" There was a pause, followed by a sigh. "Fine. Ok, look, I didn't want to do this with a message but as you're no doubt still out working like some bloody obsessive......" Another sigh. "I'm sorry Harry but I don't think that this is working. I can't keep trying to compete with you're job and there's this guy at work, Mike....." She trailed off. "So, anyway. I'm sorry but it's...it's for the best. Just....take care of yourself. Ok?"

Another small beep then silence.

Harry sat staring absently at his answering machine and wondered if maybe he should be more bothered by this turn of events before quietly acknowledging that perhaps it wasn't wholly unexpected. He raised his glass to his lips and drained it in a gulp, gasping slightly as the burning liquid hit the back of his throat. Another one bites the dust he thought wryly to himself re-filling his glass from the bottle of Glenfiddich that he'd sat by the side of his chair so it would be near at hand. He lifted the glass in a silent salute before draining it again and glanced around his sparse sitting room. Elizabeth was the third in six months, which he thought, must be a record. At least she had left a message; as he picked up the bottle once more his now slightly fuzzy mind reminded him that Kate had sent a friend with a note.

As he ran Elizabeth's message over again in his head, had she ever mentioned a Mike before? Harry tried to remember why he'd decided that his attempts at relationships were worth the trouble, when they always seemed to fail so spectacularly. Maybe it was the fact that his small flat always seemed so much more cold and lonely when he was on his own; or maybe it was because a warm body pressed against his own during the long nights helped keep away the nightmares of flashing lights, loud bangs and terrified screams that he could never remember clearly when he woke sweating and shaking, but which still left him with feelings of terror and despair firmly lodged in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was both. But he was on his own once again now and tonight all he had for company was the bottle of whisky, half a cold 'veggie supreme' pizza he'd had delivered from Dominoe's last night - when he'd forgotten to meet Elizabeth for dinner - and the television.

Running his hand through his short, dark hair, thereby making it stick up even worse than usual, he dished out the remote control from where it seemed to be perpetually lodged between the cushion and the side of the chair and switched on the TV. As he did so he pressed the once more re-filled glass to his forehead in a futile attempt to sooth the burning ache that never seemed to go away; which was always worse when he was tired and which seemed to emanate from the strange lightening bolt shaped scar.

Harry wasn't sure when or where he had got the scar but he had always assumed that it must have been in the accident where he had also lost his memory. When he had awoken scared and confused in Cambridge's Addenbrookes hospital the doctors had told him, according to the eye-witness reports, that he had simply stepped off the grass verge and straight into the path of a van. When the emergency services had reached him, he had had no form of identification or anything else on him apart from a broken stick clutched in his right hand and a torn piece of paper with Harry James written on it, which they'd taken to be his name, in his left. Despite hours of questioning and prodding however, Harry, had not been able to say why he had done such a thing or even what he might have been doing on the side of the road in the first place as could not remember anything from before he'd woken up in that hospital room eight years ago now, not his age, not if he had got any family or friends - he assumed not as no-one had ever come looking for him and the police had found no missing persons reports - nothing. After six months of trying everything they could think of, with no success the doctors had sent him away with the dubious reassurance that he could get his memories back any day and, as they had estimated that he was about seventeen years old, the prospectus of the local college and the address of a hostel.

Shortly afterwards, Harry had got a job in a local supermarket, put himself through night school and miraculously, university, before joining the police and moving to Oxford. Harry was naturally good at his job; so good in fact that he had just been promoted to DI after only four years, a remarkable achievement but he knew he had a tendency to get caught up in whichever case he was working on and his personal life suffered for it.

The theme music for the local news caught his attention and Harry tried to focus his gaze on the television where the newsreader was talking, looking appropriately sombre.

"Tonight's main story. Early this morning a man's body was found just outside of the Forest Hill area in South Oxfordshire. The man, said to be in his early twenties was discovered on the side of the B4027 by a local resident out walking her dog. Police sources say that so far no identification of the body has been possible but that a murder investigation is currently underway and so far the police are denying that there is any connection to the three other murders of two men and one woman that have occurred in the area during the last two months. "

Harry groaned and switched the TV off again, he had spent all day working on the case in question, since he had received the phone call about the discovery at 6:15 that morning and they were still no closer to working out who the man was. They only thing they could be certain of was the fact that the four murders the news had mentioned were, indeed connected. All the bodies bore the same mark, gruesomely etched onto the chest. A skull, with what appeared to Harry to be a snake coming out of its mouth. Harry sighed suddenly exhausted and pinching the bridge of his nose closed his eyes. He only meant to rest a moment but when he opened his eyes again it was to find sunlight creeping into the room through the small gap in the closed curtains.

Scowling fiercely Severus Snape shuffled through the numerous rolls of parchment that were currently littering his desk and tried to remember again why he had agreed to take the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry in the first place. Grumbling silently to himself he lifted his wand to incinerate the latest letter from the Ministry of Magic asking his opinion on the idea of introducing speed limits for broomsticks - a preposterously stupid idea - but before he could even open his mouth to voice the necessary incantation a shimmering silver mist appeared in front of his desk, his own addition to the various charms in place in the immediate vicinity of the office, announcing the arrival of a visitor to his office.

Glancing up he could not prevent his scowl from deepening even further when the mist showed him the image of Sirius Black giving the current password - "Monkswood" - to the stone gargoyle which still guarded the staircase leading up to his office. Fixing his most threatening glare on the door he waited for the sharp knock, barking a curt "Come in Black!" when it sounded.

The door opened slowly to admit an extremely grim and agitated looking Sirius who crossed the room in three long strides and thrust his arm out brandishing copies of several newspapers towards Snape.

"Read the papers this morning?" he asked.

" No." Snape answered through gritted teeth, taking the proffered papers from Sirius who immediately threw himself, uninvited, into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs facing Snape's desk. Ignoring both the other man and his own murderous impulses for the time being Snape turned his attention to the front page of the Daily Prophet and blanched slightly as his eyes settled on the glaring headline.

3 GO MISSING

Fears of Dark Activity.

Reporter: Mavis Phillips.

"Yesterday the Daily Prophet received reports that a further three wizards seemingly vanished into thin air late Monday evening and haven't been heard from since. The three in question, who cannot be named have no obvious personal connections, only that they are all muggle-born wizards who studied at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizadry at the same time as the still missing and presumed dead Harry Potter....."

Snape glanced briefly up at Sirius but the other man's face was blank of all emotion, though his knuckles were white where his hands were gripping the arms of the chair. Snape turned back to the paper.

".....These are the latest in an increasing series of mysterious disappearances of muggle-born witches and wizards the likes of which haven't been in since He-who-must-not-be-named was at the height of his powers over eight years ago.,,,"

Having read enough Snape threw the Prophet aside to see that the other papers Sirius had given him were all Muggle ones and that they all bore similar headlines. He glanced through them.

"MYSTERIOUS BODY FOUND IN WOODS"

"UNIDENTIFIED MAN DISCOVERED ON ROADSIDE"

"PUBLIC FEAR GROWS AS POLICE INVESTIGATE FOURTH MURDER IN TWO MONTHS"

Snape sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes slumping back in his chair. "Bugger."

"It's getting worse. The muggles are noticing." Sirius' voice was quiet.

"I know. I can read Black". Snape snapped, for once unfairly taking his increasing bad mood out on Sirius. He waited for a retort and was surprised when none was forthcoming. He sighed again. "I think they're supposed to though." He mused.

Sirius' brow creased slightly "What do you mean?" Snape shrugged.

" I'm not sure yet. Have you managed to find out anything useful?"

The other man looked up. "Not much, no. I did manage to follow Crabbe to an abandoned building last night but he must have apparated or used a port key because when I finally managed to get inside there was no sign of anyone and no-one came back either. He wasn't the only one to go there though, I picked up five different scents."

Snape allowed his lip to curl up in distaste at the reminder of Sirius' animagus form; he had never been overly fond of dogs. The fact that this man could turn into one only managed to heighten his dislike even further.

"You should go back tonight. See if you can find out where they're going."

"I'd planned to."

There was a moment of silence and then Sirius cleared his throat,

"Do you think...." He paused again and Snape could see he was trying to collect his thoughts. "Do you think there's anything in what the Prophet says? The connection to Harry I mean?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. Through the long years of the war leading up to the final defeat of Voldemort and the imprisonment or death of many of the most prominent Death Eaters the two men had managed to develop a somewhat cordial working relationship. Despite this though neither of them had ever been able to completely let go of their mutual animosity forged over decades; their stilted conversations never usually made it past business and occasionally forced pleasantries and it made those odd occasions such as this one all that more difficult for Snape, not known as the most sympathetic of souls in normal circumstances, who now stared at Sirius thoughtfully for several moments whilst he tried to think of what he could possibly say that he, and others, had not already said to Sirius countless times since Harry Potter's simultaneous victory and consequent mysterious disappearance.

" I don't think so. Coincidence." Sirius grunted, his eyes not meeting Snape's.

"Look, Black. It's been eight years. We would have heard something....there would have been a sighting by now if...." He trailed off as Sirius quickly got to his feet, scraping his chair back noisily.

"I should go. I told Remus I'd drop in on him before I went out again. I'll bring you a report as soon as I know more." With that he turned on his heel and left the office. Snape watched him go without a word. He sighed. In the eight years since Potter's disappearance he had had to watch the man go from a loving, jovial personality into little more than a walking, talking, barely breathing shell and as much as he may still dislike the man he could not help but be bothered by it. If it was left up to him and him alone, he would take the animagus away from any kind of physical or surveillance work, but Sirius was adamant that he wanted to keep battling any remaining dark forces and Snape was sure that it was only the other man's conviction that Harry was being held somewhere and that one day he would find him that kept Sirius alive from one day to the next. As much as Snape may not like the man, even he could not bring himself to take that away.

He turned back to the papers on his desk. "Bloody Potter."

Harry was more than fed up. It was currently nine o clock in the morning and he had been at work for an hour, after waking up at six thirty again but this time with a stiff neck from falling asleep in his chair. His third cup of coffee had now gone cold and he was still no further forward on the case of the nameless murder victim than he had been when he left to go home the night before. Sitting stiffly in the green directors chair he had drawn up to the fold up desk he had been assigned in the chilly town hall they were currently using for an incident room he found himself callously wishing the man could have waited a bit and been murdered in July instead of the last week in November.

"Mr James? Sir?"

Harry looked up from the pathology report he was slowly leafing through and tried to smile at the rather nervous looking young man slowly shifting from foot to foot in front of his, surprisingly untidy, desk.

"Yes Clive?" Harry managed successfully to fight the urge to tell the younger man to stand still.

"The DCI wants to see you sir." Harry sighed.

"OK, I'll be there in a minute." He waved a hand dismissively at the other man and turned back to the report taking a sip from his cold coffee as he did so. It was only after he had replaced the cup back down on the brown ring now stained onto the top of the desk that he realised the man was still shifting in front of him. He looked back up, raising an eyebrow in question. Clive cleared his throat and glanced nervously over his shoulder as if expecting to see the DCI or a hungry lion bearing down on him. Harry rolled his eyes. Had he ever been that green?

"Er.. sorry sir, but he said he wanted to see you....well, now sir." Sighing again Harry nodded and closed the pathology report with a snap before taking a final large swig of his coffee and standing up. Slipping his black jacket on over his jumper he picked up the file and nodded at the young man as he swept past making his way for the small office at the other end of the hall.

He knocked briefly on the Perspex window making it rattle slightly and turned the handle, stepping quickly inside the surprisingly warm room and closing the door firmly behind him. Glancing around Harry noticed with a slight frown the small fan heater humming away happily in the corner. Typical.

"Ah Harry lad, sit down, sit down. Tell me what you've got."

Stepping over to the desk Harry sat down in one of the plastic chairs and faced his boss. DCI Peter Anderton was a short, stocky, brusque man of approximately 55. Native to Yorkshire he had relocated to Oxford in his late twenties when he had got married and had stayed ever since despite the failure of said marriage fifteen years ago now. Harry knew all this and more from the discussions they had had in the pub whilst partaking in post-conviction drinks. The DCI had a habit of becoming rather chatty when inebriated and he and Harry had developed a friendship of sorts. Today though, the DCI was all seriousness, his chin resting on his steepled fingers, elbows propped up on the edge of his desk. He was surveying Harry intently, waiting for him to begin speaking. Harry shifted slightly trying to get more comfortable.

"I've been going through the pathology report." He told him, holding up the file in question.

"And?"

"Just as we thought. No clear cause of death. No evidence of asphyxiation, or strangulation. No signs of cardiac arrest or head trauma. No marks anywhere on the body save for the symbol etched onto the chest, which was done after death, same as the others." Harry sighed, shrugging. "According to the pathologist it's as though he simply stopped functioning."

Anderton's usual frown increased. "Do we know anything?"

"We know that the time of death has been confirmed as somewhere between six and ten Monday evening and the body was moved to where it was found, afterwards."

"Well that's useful as always. Thank you Harry." The sarcasm was thick and Harry grimaced slightly, dropping the file onto the desk in front of him and leaning back in his chair.

"All we got." He said with a shrug.

"Ah well, that's where you wrong my lad" Harry raised his eyebrows. Anderton stood up and moved over to where he had a map of Forest Hill pinned to a board on the wall, gesturing for Harry to join him. "This" he said, pointing to a road with a red pin next to it. "Is where our mystery man was found yesterday morning. Now, this morning, when you were still nicely tucked up in bed, we had a phone call from a man who said he saw a group of figures in dark cloaks of some sort going into the woods here" He pointed to a second pin two inches, or ten miles, from the first one "at approximately five thirty on Monday evening, on his way home from work."

Harry frowned/ "Didn't we have a similar report two months ago after the first murder?"

Anderton glanced at him. "We did, yes. Nice to know you do pay attention." Harry scowled slightly but ignored the familiar jibe.

"Nothing came of it though. We searched the area and nothing was found. Not even any tracks or footprints." He said instead.

"Hmmm...yes which means we have nothing to go on. We have no evidence to lead us to this...cult so you need to go out and find some."

"Sir?" Harry was rather unsure as to how he was expected to find clues that simply did not exist.

"House to house Harry." Anderton told him, as though it should have been perfectly obvious in the first place. Harry groaned, he hated house-to-house enquiries. They hardly ever turned up anything useful and he always ended up baby-sitting some new and over eager detective constable. As though reading his mind, Anderton looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to Harry with a slightly disturbing gleam in his eye.

"You can take Clive"

Moving silently the large black dog circled around the outside of the derelict warehouse before cautiously entering through the glassless window he had found the night before. Dropping down inside with a soft thus the dog paused quietly, extending his senses to search for any signs of other life forms within the building. Finding none the dog moved further into the room where with a soft pop he disappeared to be replaced by a thin, gaunt looking man with shoulder length black hair.

Pulling his wand from a long pocket hidden in the inside of his black winter cloak Sirius whispered 'Lumos' and held the now faintly glowing object in front of him in order to better survey the room. The area he was standing in was almost exactly how he remembered it from the previous night; the bare concrete floor was covered with a scattering of bits of straw and wood with a heavy coating of dust. There were several sets of footprints leading from the door opposite into the centre of the room where Sirius saw the only new addition to the room, a pile of six or seven red bricks. Smirking Sirius moved quickly over to the pile and crouched down examining them as closely as he could, without actually touching them. If he was right, and he strongly suspected that he was, these bricks would lead him straight to the site of the next in the long string of murders. He sat back on his heals still looking at the bricks and tried to decide on the best course of action. Probably the most sensible plan would be to head back to Snape, report what he had found and then come up with a plan together, more tempting though was the desire to take one of the port-keys now and to try to solve this before he missed his chance. The decision was taken from him though as his sensitive ears suddenly picked up the sound of someone trying to open the door. There was now nothing for it; cursing silently Sirius reached out and grabbed hold of the topmost brick. He felt the familiar jerk at his naval before the floor moved from under him and he was spinning away into darkness.

On reflection, Harry decided, it had probably been one of the most trying days of his life, that he could remember of course. After being told of his bosses' evil and quite frankly sadistic plan to send him on house to house, Harry had been shunted quickly and efficiently from the small, temporary office only to find Clive, all nervous smiles and perpetual fidgeting, waiting for him huddled in a thick beige duffle coat of all things and holding Harry's car keys. Harry had snatched the keys with a grunt, picked up his mobile phone from his desk, where he generally preferred to leave it and left the hall without looking back to check whether the other man was following him or not. Unfortunately for Harry he had been and the day had just got progressively worse from there. Countless uneventful and pointless hours had now passed and with the time just ticking over to six o'clock Harry was finally on his way home after having relieved himself of 'Bloody Clive', as he had taken to referring to the younger man, outside of his Headington flat scant minutes before.

Being the middle of winter it was already well past dusk as Harry slowly made his way down Headington Hill behind the number 7A bus which he could see was, as always, full of university students. Cursing at the traffic lights who had the audacity to turn to red just after the bus had passed successfully through, Harry stopped rather a bit too quickly, the front wheels of his new, silver Toyota Avensis just inching over the white line and waited. Drumming his fingers on his steering wheel in time to the latest, pitiful offering from Geri Halliwell, who should have really quit while she was behind in his opinion, Harry glanced to his left and gazed absently out over the wide expanse of South Park that was visible behind the wrought iron railings.

It was only after a moment that Harry realized that the black shadows he was looking at were not the bushes his tired mind had at first assumed but that they were, in fact the forms of several people moving slowly across the grass and wearing, Harry swore, what looked like long black cloaks. Startled suddenly by the blaring of a car horn behind him Harry realized the lights had finally turned to green but instead of continuing straight ahead towards his own flat in St Clements he instead made a quick right into Morrell Avenue and receiving another horn for his troubles. Pulling over quickly Harry his engine off and fixed his eyes back on the park. Finding the figures still moving steadily away from him he quickly left the car and entered the park himself, before his brain could talk him out of it.

To be continued.....