Fugitive Prince

Chapter V

"That's something that you'll have to tell me, Comrade Rodin," returned the strong, deep voice of the American President. "Several minutes ago, I received a call from Admiral Miller, Commander of our Pacific Fleet. I'm afraid that he had some disturbing news. Less than an hour ago, a Soviet IL-38 relay plane ditched in the Pacific near Midway Island. A single survivor was picked up by one of our helicopters and transferred to the Carrier

John F. Kennedy, where he is at present."

Counterforce

, Richard P. Henrick

The neighborhood echoed quietness. Harry turned in his sleep, trying to escape a dream:

He was walking down a path, much younger--perhaps four or five. All around him was darkness. His skin seemed to glow, pale as it was.

"Hello," he yelled out, his voice echoing then splitting and bouncing back in different tones, and was answered. Crickets called out to him, birds sang their songs, and the forest was brimming with life. Ferns reached out to touch him, leaves brushed at his hair like a mother's fingers, and everything was right.

He kept walking until he came to a small clearing and suddenly everything was silenced. Harry looked around but the silence didn't bother him. Neither did the indistinct hissing in the background, sounding like a thousand war drums from far away. His forehead started to hurt, but that too was normal in this dream. He walked into the clearing and saw two small boxes, gold and green, locked with silver latches.

Without thinking about it, he reached out a hand and opened the latches, lifting the silver locks and opening the small boxes. A thousand butterflies flew into his face, leaving small kisses with their bright wings. He raised his arms, the quietness becoming alarming even as the hissing became louder and he knew with a certainty that his parents were dead.

He knew with a certainty that he was supposed to be dead too. A thousand snakes slid into the clearing, opening their jaws to strike, their fangs dripping with poison that set the forest on fire--

Harry jerked awake to the sounds of birds chirping and for a second he thought he was still dreaming. It was still very early, too early for the sun to be out though the eastern sky was beginning to brighten. It was probably around three or four, given the early rising of the sun in the summer. He slowly raised his head, a furious pounding echoing in his skull. He brought a hand up, touching his fingers to his forehead. They came in contact with hot liquid and when he pulled them back to look at them, he found them covered in rich blood.

Last night... a memory, blurry and blurry, came to his mind, of him challenging Voldemort and of their split-second connection. He could remember, seeing that green light coming at him, hitting him almost, before being...turned away, turned back against its caller. Something had exploded--Harry had exploded or at least the pain made him feel like he had. His father's screams and mother's voice echoed in his head. The blood on his fingers made sense because he could recall feeling that green light hitting his forehead, the light becoming some sort of soul-sucking demon, trying to tear his life away from him. He could remember fighting against the pull and then the pull suddenly being thrown away, thrown back the way it had come.

The Death Eaters had scattered. He could remember the sounds of their apparating just before he lost consciousness, but he could remember nothing after that. "It's a terrible mistake to make friends with Death Eaters," his father had once told him. "Because they will never go against the will of their master, of Voldemort. They'll turn on you if he tells them to."

"But dad," Harry replied. "They really are my friends. My best friends--my only friends. They'll never hurt me." James had sighed, rubbing his face with a hand tiredly, but then he'd smiled at his son sadly and said, "I hope you're right, Harry."

He got to his knees shakily, blinking in the bright sunlight, and shivered in the cool morning air. All around him was chaos: the previously orderly circle of houses with their perfect fences now lay liked child's toys, tossed every which-way in whatever fashion for whatever purpose. Everything spoke of the battle from the previous night, yet there were no bodies, only black pools of ash.

The only two bodies recognizable as bodies were the cool bodies of James and Lily. Harry choked as he saw his father, glasses dangling off one ear, arm thrown hazardously over a broken fence post, hair as messy as ever. He nearly collapsed as his eyes found his mother's limp form, still spread out like a broken doll, mouth still smiling in the same way as she'd died, sacrificing her own life for those of her children. Her hair was spread out like a fiery halo.

Of Voldemort, there was no sign, nor any of Peter the betrayer. Peter, whose treachery had been discovered just a few months before Harry's birth, had long been hunted but never found. Harry shivered to think that the man who his father had warned him of was the same as the man who had often played with him. His father had been right and he'd been a fool for believing that Death Eaters could be good, could be friends.

The dark ash pools could have been the bodies of his dead followers, burned unrecognizable as his orders commanded. Harry looked at them then turned away, wondering if any of the dead had been a 'friend.'

Harry dragged himself to his feet and walked over to his mother. "Mum..." He brushed her eyes closed and closed his own in silent tribute.

"Dad..." Harry pulled his father's limp form from the fence and dragged it to a rest beside his mother. They looked so peaceful there, sleeping almost were it not for the weaves of blood on each face, body, and garment. Harry knelt before them, whispering soft apologies and good-byes.

Then he stood again and wiped the tears from his eyes, starting on the task he dreaded most: finding Leo. He wanted nothing more than to never see his baby brother again if it meant finding yet another body.

The babe was still where Harry had left him the night before, lying against the fence and hiding from view beneath long grass strands. Harry choked up again at the still figure simply lying there and then bent his head again, letting his tears fall unstopped.

Unseen, Leo let out a soft breath, disturbing the grass around his head. One particular strand wiggled, already weighed down with the morning's dew. When Leo breathed again, disturbing it again, it finally gave in to gravity and stooped over. Its dewdrop fought against gravity before sliding down and dropping against Leo's nose, spilling into a million pieces.

Leo shook suddenly, slowly blinking open his golden eyes. Then his mouth opened in a gaping O as he yawned, squeaking slightly. His arms came up and brushed away the water then spread out in a pointless stretching. Leo blinked again then, seeing Harry, he smiled and pushed against the ground to get to his feet and walk his duck-walk to his brother.

"All alone..." Harry muttered quietly to himself, unawake of his brother's waking. Tears were pinching his closed eyes. He shook his head and fell to the ground with a sob. "Why am I always alone?" He rolled his hands into fists and pounded against the ground. "Why didn't anyone help me!"

Leo stopped when Harry fell, popping a thumb in his mouth uncertainly but at Harry's sobs the year-old babe started walking again. He stumbled and fell into Harry's shoulder, making the older boy jump in surprise. "Bah, da nya mm," Leo stated seriously, pushing against Harry to get back up to his feet and start walking again. "Mmm."

"L-Leo?" Harry's teary green eyes widened and he grabbed the younger boy in disbelief, turning the small body over as he inspected his brother. "Y-you're alive!"

Leo smacked his brother's head then grabbed at his glasses, pulling them off with a smile and he sat down with a thump, playing with them. His stomach growled and he stopped playing, turning to look up at his brother. A whimper started in his throat that ended with a full-scale wail.

Harry looked around in despair but remembered the baby bag his mother had the night before. It had been left inside the house and Harry picked up Leo, racing inside the house and finding the bag. The house was much warmer than outside, something that Harry was grateful for as he realized how cold Leo was to the touch.

There was a bottle inside the bag, prepared for feeding and Harry hurriedly grabbed it, popping off the leak-proof cap. Leo saw it and reached for it hungrily, settling down immediately. Harry sighed and put the baby down on a couch, grabbing some blankets from a room to wrap Leo in. Then he went back outside.

The sun would still be awhile in coming and Harry was grateful for the darkness, for the covering that would hide his tears.

In the distance, Harry could hear the sounds of approaching muggle police and smiled cynically. Muggles could get here faster than the ministry. But then a problem presented itself as Harry realized that his parents' bodies would raise many questions if the police saw them.

"Mum, dad, I'm sorry," Harry murmured as he withdrew his wand. "... Incendio."

*

"Attention all units, attention all units: disturbance reported at housing grounds, Duke's Circle."

The cop raised his hand and grabbed the two-way radio. "Copy that, I'm heading down there right now."

The radio fuzzed up then the operator spoke again. "Be advised: suspected assault and arson."

"Copy that. Over and out." He placed the two-way back in its hanger and carelessly flicked on his alarm, spinning the car around. He knew where the street was--his wife was looking at a house over there and he seemed like a pretty good neighborhood. New houses kept popping up, new people moving in. Just the other day, he talked with a fellow straight out of London who had come down here looking for a new home with his wife and kids, two smart-looking boys. Nice family.

Cars let him go, pulling over to get out of his way and getting back onto the street when he passed. The town was a close-knitted community so as he went by, he got several strange looks from people he knew, people who'd be sure to ask him later what was up.

The drive took a few minutes, maybe more, and he pulled up into the newest circle of houses, not one of them having owners yet.

When he pulled up to a stop, he got out, mouth open in shock. The entire street looked like it had been bombed. Wooden fences were plucked out and smashed, the grass lawns looked singed, and there was a smell of burning flesh in the air. Many of the houses looked ready to collapse, sporting burnt scars on their wooden surfaces. Several piles of ash scattered in the wind, brushing up into the sky like many black bats. One pile looked fairly fresh but dusted away like the rest. But the thing that caught his attention most was the green skull, hanging in the sky, laughing at him.

He lunged back into his car, grabbing the radio. "Unit 721, reporting on the situation on Duke's Circle. Everything's... everything's been destroyed. I need backup right away."

"Unit 721, your backup in on the way. Please describe the situation."

"It, it looks like someone had a major fight over here. Evidence of fire, perhaps small bombs or fireworks, dynamite even. Smells like burning flesh, and there's this thing hanging up in the air. No idea how but it looks like a green skull with something--maybe a snake--coming out of its mouth."

"Copy that. Hold all suspects until detainment is possible-"

There was a brief struggle over the operating line before a new voice took over. "Unit 271-"

"721," he corrected. "And who the hell is this?"

"This is the coordinating officer of all North-Britain communities. My officer's code is 12-19-52, Lieutenant Dan Murray. You are ordered to stand down. Repeat, stand down, and retreat."

"What the--I can't do that, sir! The bad guy might get away!"

"Officer, the 'Bad Guy' has already gotten away. I repeat, your orders are to stand down and retreat. Do you copy?"

He scoffed off radio but dutifully answered, "Copy that. Orders to stand down and retreat received. Over and out."

He threw the radio back up then stepped out again, digging out a coat to keep him warm as he started walking around. He kicked up one fence post, picking it up and examining it but tossed it down uselessly. Starting at the nearest house, he kicked the door in and charged, gun out, looking for suspects.

He'd gone through seven houses and was about to charge into the eighth when a bright white leash caught his attention. It was hooked up to the front fence. Hesitantly, he followed it around, followed it as it wound about the house and to the side of the house.

Flies buzzed in and out of his ears and he gagged as he saw what they were feasting on: a little pile of white fur. He brought up his hand, covering his mouth and nose, and started forward, kicking at the flies. They buzzed angrily as he disturbed their meal but flew out of the way, leaving for display the dead body of somebody's puppy.

He gagged again and backed away, going back to the front of the house and starting for the door. He had barely touched the knob when he heard someone shout "Petrificus Totalus!" from behind him.

*

"Pay up."

"Ah man..." The Hit Wizard sighed but reached into his pocket, pulling out ten Galleons even as the Obliviators and Muggle Protectors picked up the frozen muggle and headed out, stuffing the police back into his cop car.

His partner laughed, pocketing the money in her pants. "I told you he wouldn't listen. Muggles never listen--they're too stupid."

"Hey!" someone shouted. "My mum's a muggle so watch your mouth."

She rolled her eyes but shut up as the Aurors showed up. Instantly, everyone on the scene snapped to attention as three stepped away from the pack, coming closer to inspect the scene.

The first stopped at one pile of ash, one of the few that hadn't already been blown away. He fingered it thoughtfully then snapped his fingers and two Inspectors rushed up, bagging the sample. The Auror stood slowly, straightening his white robes, and looked around. "Looks like the Dark Lord's done his homework," he commented softly. "He knows we can't process this stuff!"

"W-we're close to finding a process to-"

"Close?" the Auror bit out, stopping the Inspector mid-sentence. "Close is not good enough in this world! It's either 'we've got it' or 'we're dead,' got it?" The Inspector nodded quickly, forehead wet with nervous sweat. The Auror glared at him a moment before snorting and looking away, going back to studying the scene. Several people let out sighs of relief.

"Look at this," another Auror pointed out and the three were soon huddled together. The other Ministry workers looked at each other and raised eyebrows but when they tried to peek at what the big deal was, all they saw was a dark stain on a fence.

"Blood," one Hit Wizard mouthed and they all nodded in sudden understanding. Voldemort had come up with a spell much more powerful than a simple burning spell and when a corpse was burned with it, the remains were much too fine to get any sort of identification, even magically. It made morgue work hard, especially when there was no clue as to who the victim was and whether he/she/it was an ally or enemy. But blood samples... yea, those were still workable. Voldemort was a bastard when it came to being smart, however, and everything doubted that even blood samples would be of any use for much longer.

"And this," the third Auror murmured, fingering the remains of a burned corpse--affectionately dubbed 'ash hole' by morgue workers. "They didn't use the spell."

"What does this mean?" the second questioned softly. "Are these Death Eaters? Innocents?"

"There are no innocents in this war," the first reminded roughly. "This could be traitorous Death Eaters, spies of the Ministry."

"If they are, we should-"

"Or they could be Death Eaters killed by their victims," the first continued. "We can't be sure."

"You think the Order had something to do with this?" the second asked after a moment of silent thinking.

"Maybe," the first replied slowly. "Maybe." He stood and glared at the other wizards and witches. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get cleaning up. We can't stay too long." The scene, which had slowed slightly as the others listened into the Auror conversation, buzzed back to work and soon the neighborhood was back to normal, everything repaired and cleaned off.

In a second floor window of the eighth house, Harry watched behind window curtains, his green eyes taking in every detail.

*

"Unit 721, report in. Unit 721?"

"Uh..." He shook his head, trying to get out of his daze and looked around. "Unit 721, reporting in on Duke's Circle. No damage. It looks like someone had an overactive imagination."

The operator, a friend of his, chuckled appreciatively. "Yea, we seem to be having a lot of those lately. Alright, go back on your patrol."

"Roger that." He gave the empty street another look over, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu before pulling away and driving back to the main roads. Later, when his friends or simply acquaintances asked what he was so rushed about that morning, he'd answer that there's been another false alarm, another in a series of false reports calling police in about imagined attacks.

Lately, more and more people would call the police, describing people dressed in odd clothing--robes, usually black--and using magic of all things. When the police arrived, either the people would deny their calls or else the place would be completely...destroyed. Void of life. Nothing more than a hole in the ground, holding nothing that resembled the life it once held.

He whistled an old tune, one that he had forgotten since childhood, and drove down his assigned patrol, thanking whoever or whatever was listening that nothing had happened on his duty. Vaguely, he remembered a family of four, two with bright green eyes and two with bright gold eyes, but even that memory faded in time.

*

Harry had wanted to rush outside when the police officer had arrived, had wanted to throw himself in the officer's care, spilling all magical secrets in return for something concrete, something stable in the chaotic world his had become in the last twenty-four hours. But then the officer had pulled out his gun, had gone from house to house, and Harry knew he couldn't be trusted.

When the first wizards had arrived, Harry had felt none of that. He instead had faced pure and blind panic, the panic of what people might think. He had burned his own parents bodies, watched their skin and bones crumble into some unrecognizable monster, just to protect himself from some muggles' questions. He'd faced down and fought the most powerful Dark Wizard and lived to tell the tale--him! A nine-year old! They'd think he was a threat, a menace, a Dark Wizard whose powers exceeded those of Voldemort's. How else could they explain his survival?

They'd also ask where he'd learned his magic. His mother had taught him, true, but no one would believe that a nine-year old could master such advanced spells. No, Harry shook as he saw the wizards round up the muggle just before the officer came into the house he was in, treating the muggle like something that shouldn't be touched without gloves.

Leo, mercifully, had remained quiet the entire time, having fallen asleep after drinking his full. Harry had moved him upstairs onto the master's bed, tucking in beside the babe, and praying that Leo was smart enough to stay asleep.

Now that they were gone, Harry didn't know what he should do.

He looked out the window, looked back to the perfect neighborhood that had witnessed the fall of the Potter family, and wanted to cry but crying scared Leo. So he looked to the place his parents' had laid and burned that place in his memory before turning away.

"Leo..." He carefully lifted the blanket off Leo, gently shaking the babe awake. "Leo, you have to wake up. We have to go." Leo ignored him, rolling over and sticking his thumb in his mouth. Harry smiled softly at his brother's antics and gave up, falling in the bed as well with a sigh. A few more hours of sleep couldn't hurt anyone.

Sleep didn't hurt, but the dreams did.