The Art of Peace

Chapter 7

Veni, Vidi, Vici

(I came, I saw, I conquered)

Severus Snape walked through the alley, his cloak protecting him from curious eyes. This area of Marseille was much too open for his tastes, and there were far too many muggles. Unlike London with its segregated Diagon Alley, the wizarding community of Marseille coexisted with everyone else. This made it much more difficult to try tracing wizards, and it resulted in Severus' current bad mood. Not a single store had seen Potter. The boy had to have gone somewhere; it just was not like him to disappear entirely. As he exited the alley, merging into the muggle thoroughfare, he paused. Just ahead of him was the last person he wanted to see right now - Lucius Malfoy. Any other time Severus would be able to explain away his presence, but traveling to France of all places just for potions ingredients would not satisfy someone as smart as Malfoy was. Snarling to himself, Severus slid into the closest store, waiting for Malfoy to disappear around the next corner. Disappear he did, but not around the corner. Instead, Lucius entered a small storefront. Squinting his eyes against the mid-afternoon glare, Snape read the sign: "Howden's Books - Spellcasting from the Ancients". Resigned to waiting now, Severus pulled a book from a nearby shelf, thumbing through it as he pretended to read.

About ten minutes later, Lucius Malfoy came out of the store, his arrogant stride opening a way through the crowd as he moved down the street. After he was gone from sight, Severus eased his way into the now almost empty shop.

"Can I help you, sir?" the old man at the counter asked.

"Yes, I was wondering if you had seen a boy in here lately. About..."

"15 years old, dark hair, bright green eyes, and a scar on his forehead, right?" the old man finished.

For the first time in years, Severus Snape was at a loss for words. "Umm... yes, that's the boy."

"Well then, just like I told the other man, yes, I saw him. He was in about two or three weeks ago I think it was. I thought he was a muggle at first, but he came in and took some of my oldest books."

"What books?"

"How much is it worth to you? The other man was willing to pay 250 galleons for the information. Can you match that?"

"Hah! No one would pay 250 galleons for such a small amount of news. 100 galleons!"

"225!"

"150!"

"210!"

"175!"

The old man looked positively gleeful as he shouted "Done!"

"Here you are then," Severus growled, handing over the money. "What were the books about?"

"Wandless magic, of course!"

"What? What could he possibly do with books like that? The concentration required for something like wandless magic is nothing he could ever hope to accomplish."

"I don't know about that, he seemed a very determined young man. It just might be that you are underestimating him, just like the other gent did. What is so important about the boy that not one but two people come after him in the same day?"

"The same day? Was the other man tall with light blonde hair?"

"Why yes, that's the one. Left just before you did, as a matter of fact. Seemed to be in a hurry too; didn't have half as much fun setting a price with him."

"I have to go," Severus said, moving towards the door. If Malfoy was after Potter, than obviously Voldemort was searching for him as well, and if the books the boy had bought were any indication, he now had a place permanent enough to study. It was surprising that Potter could even come up with an idea like that, let alone carry it out. Of course, being basically a muggle-born wizard he did not know the difficulties and dangers inherent in wandless magic. If he had already blown himself up there would be hell to pay, Snape realized. An angry and distraught Albus Dumbledore was not the sort of thing a person pondered lightly.

Leaving a slightly depressed shop owner behind him, Severus dashed out of the store. If Potter was living here in Marseille, and there was no indication he had left, his house must be within walking distance. Starting in a spiral around the store, Severus worked through the streets, marking down apartments and houses on a small map of the area. It was long work, but by the end of the day he had narrowed the map down to six blocks where the boy was likely to be. Now if only he could get there before Malfoy did.

Harry rolled out of bed with a groan. He had sore muscles on top of sore muscles, and getting up early did not help any. Mentally suppressing the pain, Harry walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. A few minutes later he was sitting with Sifu eating breakfast, a fresh cup of tea having gone a long way towards waking him up. No matter how confident he was in his removal of the Death Eaters' memories yesterday, it was probable that they would not be the last. Whatever Claude had seen, it had been enough to catch the attention of Voldemort or one of his lieutenants, and that was not a good thing. It had been Harry's experience that the more something was denied Voldemort, the more he wanted it, now matter how much it hurt him. Why else would he constantly try to get Harry? If Claude were in the same position it would be much worse and probably a much shorter chase due to Claude's apparent lack of magical ability. Harry sighed. It seemed that no matter where he went he ended up having to save someone. The stupid hat should have put him in Hufflepuff since they were supposed to be so loyal. Of course, the hat had wanted to place him in Slytherin as well and he definitely had the qualities that would make him fit in there, so maybe it was just that Gryffindor had been the best place at the time, for all the good it did him now. Throwing all disgruntled thoughts about the hat aside, Harry turned to meet the day. Hogwarts was no longer a part of his life, and although he had some fond memories of it, he did not miss it. Here he could learn more and do it faster with the added bonus of not being famous. Yes, it was definitely better.

The day went by quickly with taking care of Claude and studying. Now that Claude knew about him being a wizard, Harry could study during the day. In fact, his knowing had actually helped, since Harry could play with Claude and practice at the same time, using his growing skills to throw pillows at the giggling boy. The day passed quickly and Sifu returned. After supper, Harry went out for a run while Sifu and Claude cleaned up. As he ran, his mind wandered, and his preoccupation led him down streets he did not normally use. By the time he had stopped daydreaming, he found himself in front of the old bookstore. It was almost 7:00, and the streets were normally filled with shoppers and sightseers. Tonight, however, things were different. Few people walked the streets, and who did seemed nervous, looking around them as if suspecting an attack but not knowing why. A nameless dread hit Harry like a sharp blow to the head, but he fought it down, settling into a relaxation technique. The feeling was almost like the anti-muggle barriers had been described to him, but why would he feel something like that if he was a wizard; and why would one be in the middle of a normally crowded area? Cautious now, he eased back into a shadowed alley, trying to find out what was wrong.

To an outside observer, Harry disappeared into the shadows, disappearing completely. Almost automatically he was exuding "See-Me-Not" charms, and his training allowed him to move as silently as a cat. He quickly climbed a fire escape and perched himself on a ledge with a perfect view of the street below. Unlike most days, there were no groups of people below, just the nervous pedestrians he had noticed before. There was on exception, though. Not ten meters from the bookstore stood a group of five figures in dark hooded cloaks. Now that was something that was familiar. He had seen the same figures in his nightmares and in the graveyard -- Deatheaters. He quietly maneuvered himself into position almost directly above the men, listening to their conversation.

"We know the boy was here within the past month, and he would not buy as much as he did if he did not live in the area. Spread out, all of you, and find him. Look for traces of stray magic. If we finish this tonight and bring him back, the Dark Lord will be pleased. Go!"

There was no response from the other men as they slipped away into the surrounding streets. Only the one who had spoken remained, strengthening the wards. Once the other four men were out of sight, Harry lifted a board lying there on the rook and, having protected himself with a hastily performed cushioning charm, leapt off the roof behind the deatheater. As he fell, Harry swung with all his might, striking the other man in the back of his head. As he crumpled to the ground, Harry looked around, making sure no one had seen anything. The few people on the street were much too busy trying to get off it and had noticed nothing unusual, so Harry dragged his quarry into the alley. Once there, he readied himself to use Obliviate again. Using his last attempt as a starting point, he focused this time on removing memories of one thing: Voldemort. Focusing on everything he knew about Voldemort leaving the man's head, Harry cast the spell. "Obliviate!" Now there was nothing to do but hope it had worked, so Harry left in search of the others, taking to the rooftops again.

A block away Harry came upon another of the deatheaters using his wand like a Geiger counter to detect traces of magic. Swinging off the fire escape behind him, Harry felled the man with a snap kick to the head and obliviated him as well. The third deatheater had gone in the opposite direction and was obviously not happy about doing the grunt work. When Harry found him he was sitting on a stoop while muttering curses to himself. With his back to the door, there was no way Harry could take this man from behind. Belatedly remembering that he was in disguise, Harry settled on a new course of action. Sliding into the street he walked towards the deatheater. Seeing a defenseless muggle coming towards him, the man stood up. Here was some fun! Stepping in front of the boy, the man drew his wand.

What happened next was not what any self respecting deatheater could look back on with pride. The supposedly harmless muggle had teeth. Even before the wand was raised the boy had stepped inside its arc, catching it and snapping an elbow back into the man's solar plexus at the same time. Spinning, he twisted the man's wrist, sending him to the ground and causing him to release the wand, which the boy caught. The deatheater was in abject terror now. What muggle knew about wands, and what wizard could move like that? Unless... no, it couldn't be him. There was no scar, no black hair, no look of naiveté on this boy. Instead there was a man; someone with confidence and composure and the skills to back them up.

"Who are you?" he grated out.

"Wouldn't you like to know? But you won't. I'm not like Voldemort," a sharp intake of breath from the prone man at the name. "Yes, I know your so-called Dark Lord, but I won't sit here being foolish and spilling all my secrets to fallen prey. Obliviate!"

And the man knew no more.

The shadow that was Harry Potter flitted across the top of the city once again. Three down, two to go. It was very helpful of Voldemort to be so hung up on purebloods. Any self respecting muggle born or half blood would have been expecting a physical attack, but these purebloods with their anti-muggle fervor seemed like they could not even grasp the concept. It was sad, but it helped Harry a lot on his nighttime quest. The shadows were finally outpacing the light as the sun fell when Harry found the fourth deatheater. He too was focusing on his waving wand in front of him. If it had not been so serious, Harry would have laughed at the horror the deatheater must have felt when the "Stupefy!" behind him made the wand point at his own stomach.

It took Harry the better part of half an hour to find the last deatheater, and this one right away seemed different. The others had not bothered with hiding at all, but this one flitted from shadow to shadow like a ghost. He moved like a fighter, and to make matters worse, his wand was already out. When Harry was still a good thirty meters away the deatheater stopped.

"Who's there?" he called in English. When Harry did not reply, he continued. "I know you're out there, I can smell you. Next time stay upwind from someone. That is, if there is a next time."

Harry sighed. It looked like this would have to be done the hard way. If he could, he would leave the man, something about him spoke danger. However, if he went back and found all his companions missing it would be just as bad as if Harry had let them find his house. Finally he gave into the man's game.

"What do you want here?"

"A wizard, boy, a wizard."

"What's a wizard?" Harry replied. Maybe if he played dumb he would get another chance at surprising the man.

"Don't play dumb with me, boy. I know you are a wizard yourself. You stink of magic."

"How can you tell?"

"Because I'm not human. You think a pitiful human could have found you out that easily? You were doing pretty well for a beginner."

"What are you then?"

"There is no point in you knowing, you'll never benefit from the knowledge."

With no further warning, the man spun, sending a ball of fire into the roof not two meters away from Harry. Harry fell with a grunt of surprise as the stone crumbled, landing in a crouch on the street below. As he rolled away, a flurry of spells swept towards him. It was all he could do to stay ahead of the deatheater's wand, his shields barely holding under the ones he could not avoid. Finally one broke through, a numbing spell striking his legs sending him falling towards the ground. As he fell, he thrust out his hand in desperation. "Obliviate!" Amazingly enough, it worked. The man's wand arm fell to his side and he stumbled for a moment before regaining his feet. Without saying a word he apparated away, leaving Harry in the empty street behind him.