Servant of a Vengeful God

Prologue

Neville,

I'm sorry. I had to.

Elizabeth's with Pansy now. She'll take care of her until one of us can get back. So don't worry about her.

If this succeeds it will end the war. But if it doesn't...I need you to replace me if anything goes wrong. And you won't be safe anywhere in England.

Please don't hate me.

I cast the spell when you were sleeping. I know you always wear that same holster, though you've better ones--tell me sometime where you got it, why it's so special, okay? And if you're getting this letter, then I thought something was going wrong, and I activated the spell, and you're in Sweden. I always thought you'd like it. And they all speak English, so you'll be okay.

You'll be okay.

Don't come back to England until it's safe. I'm It's not worth it. You're the important one now, the one they might not look for, and when they've forgotten you can come back and take them all out. I know you can. I have faith in you. Always remember that.

I'll see you again, I know it. Don't ever forget.

Please be safe.

Love,
Harry

I. No Place Like London

Dear Dad,

We're in sight of England now. The voyage went well. I'm still not used to being so far away from land, and I miss the coastal ships. But I get to see another continent! It's exciting. The weather's been good--it should be, Anthony and I have been handling it--but it's getting harder as we approach land. Anthony's going to let it go in a few more minutes, when we'll be able to make it to harbor before the storm hits.

It turns out our return cargo won't be ready for a couple of months. I guess they have to use some of the ingredients we're bringing now, so we have to wait the brewing time. So I won't be home as soon as we thought, but I get to travel! I thought I might head to Scotland and look for your old school. I'll spend some time in London first, though.

London! It still feels like a dream.

I have to go--watch just sighted a shipwreck! Supposedly with survivors. We never get anything like this on the coasts!

Hope all is well.
David

***

"I ought to thank you," said a damp man on the deck of a ship, pulling a rough brown blanket closer around his shoulders.

"Any good wizard would have done the same," said a sailor, the only other man on that part of the deck. He stood with his hands on the rail of the ship, watching as they approached a city, a lighter streak of grey against the sea and sky.

"Many wouldn't," said the first man.

The sailor turned and smiled. "To be shipwrecked so close to land..."

"Worse things have happened in England, lately." The man's lips twitched. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't worry, sir."

"What's your name?"

"I'm David Finnegan, sir." One of David's hands still clung to the wet railing; he rode the swells easily.

The older man sat stiffly, slightly off the rhythm of the ocean. He paused for a moment before speaking. "David? That's not a very Irish name."

"My dad's Irish, but I was raised in the U.S." David smiled again. "He and Mom immigrated after they left school. I've never been to Britain, though."

"Till now?" The man nodded at the skyline.

"Exactly. Have you?"

"Been to Britain? Yes, I grew up here." His lips twitched again. "I haven't been back in years."

"That's a shame, sir."

"I...yes. It is." The man paused. "How did you get out of America, David?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I thought they'd cut off anyone entering or leaving the country."

"The controls are only for Muggles; we wizards still go when we want to." David rubbed the railing a bit. "I hadn't ever left, though, till this voyage."

"I see."

"What's your name, sir?"

"Eberly. Eberly Emmett."

"Pleased to meet you."

Eberly made a coughing sound. "So polite."

"It never hurts." David turned to look back at the skyline. "London. I've heard about it all my life."

"Mmm," Eberly said. "You may not find that it matches your dreams. Few things do."

"I don't care," David said. "And isn't the reality better sometimes?"

"Depends on what you were expecting," Eberly said.

David glanced at him, then turned back to the sight of the approaching city.

***

Two guards stopped them as soon as they stepped off the ship.

"Your wands," one demanded.

Eberly looked at David, who was handing his over with no comment. After a moment, Eberly pulled a thin piece of wood, much-battered, out of his sleeve and passed it across.

The first guard held the wands while the second cast a few quick charms over them.

"Do you understand the current laws of Britain?" the first guard asked.

Eberly nodded once, grimly, but David shook his head.

The guard sighed. In a monotone, he said, "Because of dangerous criminals, no Apparition is allowed. No magic is to be performed on Muggles. Obey anyone who has the Minister's symbol on his clothing." He pointed to the Dark Mark stitched on the upper arm of his uniform. "You will not be able to perform forbidden magic; the charms placed on your wands will prevent it. Do you have any questions?"

David shook his head again.

"Thank you and welcome to England." The first guard passed the wands back and waved them through.

As they walked away, Eberly flicked his wand a bit, frowning.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"It feels...odd." Finally he tucked the wand up his sleeve.

David stared off in the distance for a moment, then turned to Eberly. "Forgive me for the presumption, but do you have a place to stay, sir?" he asked.

"I'll be fine, thank you, David."

"No, really, sir. If you need anything--money, rooms--"

"I'm fine!" Eberly said, eyes suddenly sharp. David pulled back quickly, as if slapped. "I'm sorry...London has too many bad memories, now."

"Bad memories, sir?" David looked confused.

"I can't...you know the stories, of course."

"Yes, sir." Both men glanced around; the guards were a safe distance away, and only sailors were around. "My father went to school with him."

Eberly nodded. "We were acquainted. I--it was a shock, you see. And things were worse afterwards." He glanced around again after a pause, as if it were a learned behaviour. "But that was many years ago. It doesn't matter any more." He reached out and shook David's hand awkwardly. "If you need me, if you need anything, I'll be in Knockturn Alley."

"Knockturn Alley, sir?"

"It intersects Diagon Alley. Any wizard should be able to direct you there."

"I'll remember that, sir, but I thought--" David broke off as a tattered beggar approached.

"Alms?" the beggar croaked, waving a crockery bowl. The voice was broken, but masculine; fragile hands pushed at mud-caked hair, and pale watery eyes watched the two men from a haze of dirt.

"Here you go," David said, putting a few coins into the bowl.

"Thank you," the beggar said. Suddenly intense, he turned to Eberly. "You're familiar."

"I don't know why."

"Really...I think..." He squinted at Eberly.

"No."

"You could be more familiar," the beggar said. He pressed up to Eberly's side, rubbing his pelvis against Eberly's hip. "Anything you want...suck, fuck..."

"Get off me!" Eberly yelled, shoving the beggar roughly away. The beggar fell in the dirt, then scrabbled away, calling "Alms" to the passers-by who had ignored the entire scene.

Eberly set his shoulders and took a deep breath. "I should thank you again for rescuing me."

"Any good wizard would have done the same," David said. "Good day, sir."

"Good day, David."

The younger man watched as Eberly faded into the crowd like a shadow, then blinked twice and walked off towards the more well-to-do parts of London.

***

Eberly walked through the streets toward Diagon Alley, occasionally pausing to listen to the conversations of people on the street. Finally, he stopped and peered at one pair of women before cautiously approaching them.

"It's still hard to believe," one said.

"No use thinking about it now," the other said, and turned on one heel to walk away. She stopped when she saw Eberly and blanched. "Hello, sir--"

"Hello," he said, though still tense, listening. "I'm travelling, looking for information...a story? Is there somewhere here where I..."

The second woman's eyes widened slightly, and she glanced back at her companion. The first said, "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Stories? Information? Anything..."

"There's nothing of that sort here, and you'd best remember it," the second woman said.

"No. No. Thank you, ma'am." Eberly turned and walked away.

He made his way more quickly now, still aiming for Diagon Alley. He stepped around the groups of slow-moving people, fewer than might be expected on a city street. His expression was grim. He glanced often from side to side, but it was almost like an afterthought.

Finally, he reached an open space between two buildings and stopped as if struck. The stone-paved area gaped, a strange blankness in the clean line of shops. Eberly stared for a moment, then stepped forward. When he was even with the storefronts on either side, two guards stopped him.

"Your wand," one demanded. Eberly's eyes widened. "Your wand," the guard repeated, fingering his own in a prominent sheath.

Eberly reached into his sleeve and withdrew his wand. The guard took it, glanced at it, and handed it to his partner, who did the same. The second guard muttered something and a pearly white shimmer passed up the surface of the wood. He handed it back to Eberly. "Light it up," he commanded.

Face white, Eberly said, "Lumos." He relaxed perceptibly when the tip of the wand lit, a strong yellowish glow.

The first guard smirked. "All right, go through."

"Nox," Eberly said. He thrust the wand back up his sleeve, then started forward: across the stones, then between the charred remnants of a brick wall. One hand swung outward as he passed, as if to run over the bricks, but Eberly pulled it back and walked through. Diagon Alley spread out before him.

The street was long and winding, slightly more crowded than the other streets of London. Some of the people crept along close to the storefronts, avoiding the eyes of the other wizards; Eberly joined then. Others swaggered down the street, not caring who saw them. Many of the swaggerers, but none of the creepers, wore robes with short-cut sleeves, displaying Dark Marks. Eberly walked quickly through the crowd, slouching and glancing around nervously. No one paid him attention, even when he turned off into the deserted Knockturn Alley.

For a few moments, he stood in the shadow of a boarded-up storefront. With another quick look at the street, he walked down to the third storefront, a dusty wood-and-glass affair with a small painted sign: Parkinson's Pie Shop. A smaller board sat inside the window, proclaiming, Open. Eberly opened the door, took a deep breath, and walked in.

Behind the counter was a blonde woman, slightly soft around the edges. Her hands were covered in flour, and she was kneading at a lump of dough with savage pushes. A few greyish pies were sitting on a tray at the other end of the counter.

"Hello?" Eberly ventured.

The woman smushed through the dough as her head jerked up. "Why, hello there, sir!" she said brightly, peering at him. "Come in, sit down, please!"

"You're Mrs Parkinson?"

"Pansy." She wiped her hands on a filthy rag--Eberly winced--and took a pie from the platter, setting it down in front of him. "Pardon the mess, I don't usually get customers."

"I'm sorry," Eberly said.

"Well, it makes sense. These are the worst pies in London." She said it proudly, hands on her hips, then dropped to the bench on the other side of the table. "How'd you hear about me?"

"A couple of women on the street. Said if I wanted pies--"

"Go to Mrs MacDowell's. Of course." Pansy set both hands on the table and fixed Eberly with a stare; Eberly huddled up slightly. "She uses cats, you know."

"Cats?!"

"With meat so expensive..." Pansy looked down, then back up at Eberly, suddenly coy. "But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, sir."

In lieu of answering, Eberly took a bite. His face froze.

Pansy giggled. "They're terrible, I know. I make them!" She slapped one palm against the table. "Just disgusting. Can't even get coriander for my gravy any more...can you tell?" She looked at him again. "Oh, spit it out. I'll get you a pint."

Eberly spit discreetly on the floor as she flounced to the counter and drew him a mug of ale.

"Well, whoever those two women were, they didn't send you here for the pies." Pansy plopped down again across the table and pushed the mug towards Eberly. "Out with it."

Eberly didn't answer, simply took a drink.

Finally Pansy rolled her eyes and said, "They sent you for stories, didn't they?"

Eberly glanced out the window.

Pansy reached out, flipping the sign from "Open" to "Sold Out." Eberly choked. "Wishful thinking, I know," she said, "but it'll keep people away. So. You want to know about Harry Potter."

Eberly nodded.

"Well, I knew him from school. We were good friends." Eberly stared down into his mug as Pansy spoke. "Of course, that broke off after I married Draco Malfoy. Oh, yes," she reassured Eberly, though he didn't look surprised, "I was married to one of the Malfoys...but after his death I thought I should lie low. He may have displeased the Dark Lord but I sure as Hell wasn't going to. So I started this shop--" she waved her hands around theatrically "--to make ends meet. Anyway, I was neutral, if you will, so when Harry Potter and his lover, Neville Longbottom, needed a place to stay, they came asking. And I let them have the room over the shop--stupid, but what was I going to do, turn them out? And with that baby, Harry's and...was it the Weasley girl? Yes, I think so. Well, they and the baby stayed upstairs and let me in on some of their plans. Harry always had some harebrained idea that nearly got us all killed...but they were making progress. Don't know how."

Eberly took another swig from the mug.

"Anyway, Neville followed Harry, acting as his support through everything...would have given everything up for that boy. About four months after they came to stay with me, Harry had some especially idiotic plan worked out. Neville had to go to a backup headquarters, he was a medic, you know, and they left me to watch the baby... Well, next thing I knew, they'd captured Harry. And Neville was gone; they found out later Harry had planted a Portkey on him, to take him somewhere safe if he, Harry you know, was captured." Pansy swatted a bug on the table with a rag, made a disgusted face, and dropped it on the floor.

"And Harry?" Eberly prompted.

"What about him? He was captured!"

"After that."

"Oh. You don't want to hear about that." Pansy grabbed the rag again, threw it out the door, and walked over to the counter. "So you're a traveller, sir?"

"Yes. I'd really like to know what happened to Harry."

"I told you, you don't want to hear about that. Give you nightmares." She dropped her apron behind the counter, then sat back down across from him. "Come on, I want to hear a foreign perspective. What do you think of the changes our dear Lord has made?"

"The wizards are very open." Suddenly Eberly's mouth clamped shut, like he realized he'd given away a secret. "I don't know why the Muggles haven't revolted," he said after a pause.

"Kill several thousand by Avada Kedavra, cut down their government, and close the borders to other nations...what did you think they'd do?" Pansy asked.

"More than this," Eberly said. "What about Harry?"

"I told you, dear, you don't want to hear about him...and the Muggles, they have access to wizard physicians, now, and wizard tricks...they can still Floo, even if they can't make the powder."

"I suppose." Eberly moved the remnants of the pie absently. "You've been keeping this pie shop since the war, then?"

"And you wouldn't believe what it's done to me." She gestured to her clothes. "I was a Malfoy. Now look at me. I even speak like a peasant sometimes." Sighing dramatically, she leaned against the table. "But it's worth it. I'd rather be poor and alive than rich and dead...or so I keep telling myself. But times are hard, you know." She glanced at him again in that odd way.

Eberly prompted, "Harry?"

"Don't give up, do you?"

Eberly shook his head solemnly.

"All right. Well, as far as anyone knows, they tortured him first. Cruciatus was the least of it. Lucius Malfoy was involved--that was before his death, you know--and Peter Pettigrew, and some people say Severus Snape."

Starting, Eberly said, "Snape?"

"You know him?"

He shook his head and slumped back down. "I've heard of him."

"All right. All upper-level Death Eaters, anyway. And then they broke his mind--found out everything. Neville, the baby, the headquarters of the resistance... Within a few weeks, it was over, and Harry was gone."

"What happened to the rest of them?"

"The resistance? Executed in nasty ways. Publicly. I went to a few."

"And the baby?"

"The Dark Lord had put out a call for her. The Death Eaters were everywhere, looking, looking...so I gave the baby to Ron Weasley. For safekeeping."

"But Ron was caught."

"By the Lieutenant--the worst of them. Faceless." Pansy didn't look sad; instead, she was flushed, excited from telling the story. "He caught Ron during the raids, and..." Pansy drew a line across her throat.

"And Elizabeth?"

Pansy smiled.

Eberly blanched. "The baby," he said.

Pansy smiled more broadly. "I thought it was you, Neville."

"Not Neville. Eberly. Eberly Emmett, now."

"Neville." Triumphant, she leaned across the table. "Twenty years and you're finally back in England." Her smile faded slightly, but her eyes still sparkled. "Twenty years. What changes will you bring this time?"