Harry Potter, NCIS 1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or the NCIS series.

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Chapter One:

There was no sound in the office except the flipping of paper. With his back against a wall a lone man sat on a plain wooden chair in what was once a magnificent office.

The office looked as if the past owner had needed to leave in a great hurry- the chair behind the desk pushed to the wall, desk askew, writing materials hastily dropped on the desk leaving a long ink-stain on the table; but had never come back- a layer of thick dust covered every surface, dust motes swirled in the air having been disturbed from their perches due to the recent activity. But the man paid it no heed.

It was well past sunset by the time he was finished. Abruptly he stood up. He laid the sheet reverently on the table and picked up two military-issue duffel bags and moved towards the door. When the man crossed the threshold he paused and turned and gave the office one last sweeping glance. Having seemingly come to a conclusion he set down his right bag and flicked his wrist. Into view came an unusual object.

A long thin stick appeared which he grasped before it flew out of range. Muttering inaudibly he waved the stick sharply and from nowhere flames sprang up in all areas of the office. With a similar movement the stick disappeared from view. The man stood as if mesmerised by the flames but he was staring at a picture frame on the wall behind the desk. It was not an illusion created by the heat of the flames. There was no mistake- the picture of a very old man with long silver hair a beard to match was moving. Though no sound could be heard above the roaring flames the words were clear.

"_Good luck, my boy._" Through the conflagration the picture could be seen to be waving and his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles twinkling.

Coming out of his stupor the man at the doorway dropped his remaining bag and snapped into crisp, millimetre-perfect salute. Having held it for several seconds more than necessary he about-turned, picked up his bags and left, down the escalator-that-was-not, eyes shiny- whether from the emotions or from the heat, no-one would ever tell. Behind him a piece of the burning paper broke off and fluttered in the flame-induced thermals. A few words could be seen: ...ddle, 194...

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The man moved swiftly through the hallways of what appeared to be a medieval castle in excellent condition, and yet here also were pictures that moved. All watched as the man strode down the hall, some even going as far as to follow the man into the next painting. And yet, nearly all kept silent, staring distrustfully at the man-that-was-half-in-shadows. Those courageous enough to venture to speak were quickly and quietly hushed back to silence, out voted by the majority.

The man paid all this no attention. Oh, he was aware of the scuffles and hushes behind him- it was hard not to in the heavy silence of the corridor, but his mind was far too occupied with the ghosts of the past to process the mistrust as anything but observations in his war-honed situational awareness.

In his mind's eye, a bushy-haired female hurried several paces in front of the ghostly image of himself and his freckled friend.

"_... then Jenkins smashed the Bludger straight into the Harpie's Seek-"  
The girl spun around exasperated. "RON! You have been going about that for hours! You'd better move onto something else soon or, _Merlin as my witness,I_ will be using a beater's bat on something far more precious!" She turned back around and muttered under her breath, "though I am not sure whether it is more valued to you..." and continued to stalk ahead.  
Ron turned back to him and whispered, "blimey mate! A man can't even describe the best bit of his favourite team's match anymore! She needs to relax. It's not as if-" _  
"_It's not as if what Ronald?" The boys stared amazed at her. 'When had she traversed the several feet between them without them noticing?'_  
"_I ask again. It's not as if what Ronald Bilius Weasley? It's not as if this transfiguration test is important?" She was positively crackling .She proceeded to prod him in the chest, "Well if I'm late for this test and as a result have a 10 mark penalty for tardiness, being unable to describe the Cannon's game against the Harpies will be the least of your worries!" And with that she spun on her heel and moved off.__The boys stared open-mouthed after her. They glanced in unison at each other and hurried after her, moving to flank her as she entered the classroom._

The corners of the man's mouth upturned. Recalling the days when the only thing to worry about was whether there McGonagall would be on their ass if they were late or whether the Chudley Cannons would ever make it to the finals of the Quiddich League. He spotted a closet hidden away in the shadows of the alcove, frequented often by couples in search of some quiet time. This time an older memory self was walking with another from Ronald's family.

_Suddenly they paused and listened._  
"_Hey. Forge. You hear that?"_  
"_... what say you, we investigate these mysterious sounds, my fellow mischief-maker?"  
As one they took a stick each from their robe pocket and crept towards the sound emitting closet. With a hand on a handle the red-head mouthed the count-down._  
"_On... one... two... three!"  
Together they yanked the door open shone the now-lit wand into the space. The occupants shielded their faces from the brightness and so were unable to hide the state of disrepair their clothes were in._  
"_Oh ho ho ho! Brother mine! Starting without me! I am so shocked. I thought we shared everything!" Having said this he turned to the girl in question, "so how do you feel about being in the middle m'dear."  
The girl was now red enough to rival a tomato however had a glazed look in her eyes and her breaths were starting to come out in short pants. His work done he turned to the gawker in their midst and patted his younger-self on the head._  
"_Many thanks Prongslet. Couldn't have done it without you. Now it is time for you youngsters to run-along. Us adults have business to conduct..." With that he turned and pushed him away and shut the door._

In his mind the man smirked. _'Ah so young! I remember starting to notice such trysts after that incident. To be that age again!... on second thought, going through puberty again would _so not _be pleasant.'_ As he neared the entrance hall, evidence for the reason this once-bustling school stood silent became apparent. There were scorch marks on the wall and bloodstains that would never be erased, nor the people from whence they originated forgotten. There was a clear line where the fighting stopped; where the enemy advanced no further. He remembered it like it was only yesterday.

_The occasional vocalisations of spells from frustrated combatants were the only sounds that echoed in the entrance hall other than the swish of clothing, grunts of exertion or the sound of flesh or other bodily fluids slapping on the unforgiving, bare stone surroundings.__It was down to the last handful of a huge enemy army, outnumbering the volunteer defenders of Hogwarts Castle, home of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, many tens to one. Luck had been on their side for the most part of the battle.__The defenders belligerently made their stand from the only entrance to the medieval keep as the rest of the building was in lock-down. No one could enter and no-one could leave- other than the main entrance. This created a bottle-neck and so the enemy were easy to pick off one by one. However, as ants are able to overcome creatures many times their size, the hours of fighting were taking their toll and the defenders were making basic mistakes. Ones that came back to bite them in the ass.__A cutting curse half an inch lower caused a fatal injury but enough for the opponent to come back with a blood-boiling curse in the back before he, she or it expired indefinitely.  
As he had managed to clear some breathing space around him, he was able to get a quick glance around the hall before he was set upon again. They were down to three people, including himself. The rest were either dead or severely injured as their emergency port-key had evacuated them before their corpses or otherwise could be desecrated further._  
'_Mooney is holding his own against those five there... Albus has a broken arm but he is fine against those amateur 10... let's see... five grunts in full costume and two vamps, barely one century judging from the colour of their sclera. Thank Merlin the Ancients and Elders don't interfere with human affairs, otherwise this war would be a whole other basket of eggs.'__  
Gathering himself, pushing the various aches and pains to the back of his mind he moved. To an outsider it would have looked like poetry in action. No movement wasted, every move calculated to deliver maximum damage for every drop of energy put in. Wands and spells were useless for the close quarter combat he was currently engaging in. Instead a burst of tightly controlled magic with every blow of the open palm to the body multiplied the punishment delivered. And if that wasn't enough, knives, that slid out of holsters in the lower arm, flung at lightning speed into the skull definitely put a stop on advances. The brief burst of movement ended with the death of the five masked men, leaving the two un-dead._  
"_Bravo Death-dealer. That was most impressive. Not many can match your excellence on the art of delivering death... but we are no-" He keeled over and started aging before the eyes leaving only dust. A single bullet wound to the head._  
"_Michael! You..." the second vampire glared._  
"_He talked too much! I find my time is so short nowadays!" he quipped. To be honest that was the last of his specially formulated Magical Creature bullet. 'Too bad there is no such automatic refill/conjuration for such an item... I could sure use it.'  
That thought was followed by nothing else except for survival. He was hard pressed to do anything but defend. Now, normally he could fight such a young vampire easily- it wasn't until after about 200 years after turning that they became somewhat more than a trained human opponent to handle, but he was labouring under the stress of several hours of battle, a thigh wound that was leaking blood and a nearly dead-to-the-point-of-no-feeling left arm. And add to the fact that the vampire was fighting under the influence of a blood-lust instigated by the loss of her mate._  
'_Note to self: nothing is more hazardous than a woman scorned... well an anger-muddled vamp is better than a cold, calculating vamp- more likely to make mistakes... Oh shit! That could have been my head... second note to self: if I get out of this alive, think such actions through before execution.'  
His exhaustion-addled mind nearly cost him his life when a familiar cry of pain caused him to pause in the act of plunging his knife through his opponent's heart and turn towards the sound. That was all it took.  
He was flipped onto his front and the knife wrenched away. His arms were nearly yanked from their sockets as he was locked in a submission hold. He could feel the tongue of his opponent not his neck by his jugular. He could feel the graze of the vampire's signature arsenal. It took all the rest of his mind control to not fall into the thrall of a vampire's feeding arousal. He focused on the pain of his injuries to make him feel alive and grounded._  
"_Oh, how I should make you suffer. Do you know what it is like to have the emptiness in your heart, to have that life bond disappear before your eyes? "_  
"_You don't have a heart. You had to give that up when you were turned." He commented sardonically. As predicated the vampire re-slammed him into the floor causing him to grunt in pain._  
"_Either you're dumb or a masochist. I never figured you to be the former Death-dealer, so maybe it's the latter... well maybe I can fulfil that desire? Did you know we can alter the feeling received by the donor when we feed? From the extremes of pleasure to the pits of the greatest pain you have ever felt on this world?"_  
"_I don't think I'll have the pleasure of experiencing either."_  
"_Oh! And why's that Mr-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Vampire-Blood-Bag?"_  
"_Because of this..." And in slammed a mass of brown fur. The force of the blow tore the vampire off him, flipping him over in the process. Without giving her time to recover he pulled another small but sharp knife concealed in his belt and severed the head.  
There was silence. No sounds of fighting or robes shifting. Only the laboured breathing of the only alive occupants of the hall.  
Roughly cleaning his knife and putting it away he moved cautiously towards the mass of brown fur. On close inspection the mass of brown fur was more like a quivering mass of scalded flesh with patches of blood-matted silver-streaked brown fur.  
Hurrying over he knelt and placed the great head of the wolf of his lap. The wolf whimpered and his limbs twitched. Looking over to the area where Mooney was fighting he saw the remains of the last opponent. His cowardly mouse-like face forever frozen in shock with his entrails spilling out. Beside him was a broken flask of silvery liquid.  
He snarled at the scene. 'Bastard! Hell is too good for you!' His snarl caused the wolf to flinch. In apology he resumed smoothing the fur on his head._  
"_Sorry Remus, Mooney. We need you to turn back. Turn back then you can be healed. I can't lose you Remus."  
At the sound of his voice the wolf's eyes opened, revealing a surprisingly warm and human eye. But one also filled with sadness._  
"_No, no, no! You have to try! Please!"  
His eyes slid shut, and the wolf stopped breathing. The man's own breathing hitched. In a matter of seconds, but what felt like hours the wolf began to change into a man. The man was in terrible shape. Now human the injuries looked far worse than when he was a wolf. Skin was hanging off him revealing muscle and bone underneath. Traces of the liquid silver that remained on the bare skin smoked and sizzled as if it were a burning hot poker. But still he was a human again and so healing was possible.  
In relief he grabbed him the wolf-turned-man in a hug and started to rock him, tears leaking from his eyes. Twitching out his wand he started casting around his brain for all the healing spells he knew.  
A feathery touch stopped him in mid-thought._  
"_Don't bother cub." He rasped. Remus coughed and reached shakily into his now-shredded robe. Using his other hand he grabbed a hand of the person that he thought of as a son and placed the something he had removed from his neck. "It is too late for me. Save your strength. This wasn't one of the ways I thought I would go you know... Padfoot- the silly man, always did want to go out with a bang... your father, James, said he wanted to die defending his family... that he did. I... I never thought I would be in the forefront of the war... more of a researcher myself... hehe. I guess at least I can say when I meet Padfoot, Prongs and Lily again that they won the bet..." His eyes were going distant._  
"_No! No! No! I won't let you die! You can't... I need you!" He whispered. Tears flowing in earnest now._  
"_There, there cub... Know that I and all that are looking down on you are proud of you... you don't need me. You're a big, bad, Royal Marine Sergeant now... " he paused, a rattling cough emerged from his chest. A dribble of blood flowed down his chin. His voice was not even a whisper now, nearly just mouthing the words. "If... if you ever need any of us, we will always be by your heart... in the locke..." and with that he stopped.  
The man stilled. Shocked. The last immediate link to his family was dead, lying in a pool of his own bodily fluids. Unable to compute this he jerkily but gently laid his friend, uncle, brother down on the stone floor and stood. Tears mingling with the blood and grime.  
The tired, old man behind him placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The verdant eyes that looked up were not the eyes of a 18 year old decorated war veteran but of a vulnerable child realising only moments before the last vestiges of his childhood, no matter how un-childhood-like it was, was over.  
The old man didn't say anything. There was nothing that could be said. But he stepped closer and with a gently but insistent hand pulled him into his chest where the newly-realised adult clung onto the oddly lemon-scented robes like a lifeline and sobbed silent, but no less heart-wrenching, tears. For the first time since this war began, some 4 years previously, the man cried for the loss of his parents, godfather, Remus, his fellow school mates and his own innocence. He also railed at the injustice of war and the unfairness of it all that he had to be the one who ended it.  
The old man just stood conveying the silent message that he would be there, for as long as it was necessary and as long as he was able. 'That is a promise.'_

'_That was the last time I cried so hard.'_ The man had paused just behind a large patch of brown stain on the stone, flecked with silver spots. In that spot the man put down his bags and saluted. He stood for a moment and reflected on the life he had left and the job he was going to do.

'_Tom Marvolo Riddle... for all the things you have done to my world and its people, I_ will _be your judge and executioner.'_ The thought of the once-man made his blood boil. _'Get a grip on yourself, Man! We have a job to do!'_

With that self admonishment he put a damper on his anger for use later and his mind became eerily calm. His moment of loss of control over, the man resumed his relentless journey out of the castle.

As soon as he stepped out the scarred but intact great wooden double doors, evidence of a fierce battle was more apparent. There were large gashes on the grass, huge craters where spells or large creatures had impacted in the ground, swathes of grass withered from the extreme cold in the presence of dementors, even years after, and areas covered in a black substance that neither dissolves nor disintegrated resulting in the death of all wildlife in the patch and its surroundings. The Black Lake now really resembled its name, with water so polluted that no life-form could be supported- even bacteria that fed on dead flesh in the most inhospitable conditions, hence the corpses of the giant squid and Merpeople colony floating under the surface, forever frozen in the murky depths. In the distance was a charred piece of ground where Hagrid's hut and garden used to stand. Fortunately neither half-giant nor pets were in the home when it was demolished by enemy fire.

All in all it was a very sorry sight. _'2 years... and even the innate magic of Hogwarts castle cannot restore the grounds to its former health.'_ The man continued to cross the grounds of his former school, walking in a straight line towards the dark tree-line of the Forbidden Forest, taking care to skirt around the patches of black substance.

In contrast the forest was teeming with life. The darker nature of the forest had not been as severely affected by the dark aura of the enemy troops and so had quickly recovered back to its former self. In fact, the boundary of the forest was starting to encroach into the fields of the Hogwarts grounds, extending the area the trees covered.

Making his way through the undergrowth the man's sharp eyes spotted flashes of silver in the distance. For the first time in a long time the man gave a true smile. _'The unicorns have come back. That is good news indeed. Hogwarts grounds are on the slow but steady path to recovery... too bad I will not be of this world to see it.'_

As abruptly as the tree began, the forest canopy opened up into a clearing. There was a small but noticeable difference in the organisation of the flora on the other side of the clearing, away from the castle. The growth was denser and more wild- it was a much more natural forest than the one within the Hogwarts ground wards.

'_I need to be outside of the wards but close enough to draw on that power to travel. Then when I land, I will not be within the wards and trigger any alarms.'_ The man in black took a deep breath and released it and crossed the clearing. No sooner was he half-way across did he feel the tell-tale tingling of the powerful but tingling ward that surrounded the grounds. Pushing through the slight resistive pressure he made it to the other side.

Setting down his bags he started his preparations. Using his knife he made a deep enough cut for a good flow of blood and marked out a circle large enough for all his belongings and himself to fit inside comfortably, then sat down. He had gone through the process of grounding himself so many times that he let his mind wonder. The ritual he was about to attempt had never been achieved practically and all he had were pages and pages of theory stored in his head but most of this process was the same, at least to him, as what was done when dismantling wards- something he had a lot of practice in.

_It was the turning of another year. All in the room had a cup of warm spiced wine and a special new year's cake baked by Mrs Weasley stood proudly on the table aiting to be cut. Everyone had their ears on the wizarding radio, like nearly everybody in the nation whether magical or not, listening to the count-down._  
"_... seven... six... it's been a great year everyone... four... may Merlin bless you with good fortune... two... one. Happy New Year Everyone! I and everyone in the studio wish you all a wonderful and prosperous year 2010!" and in the background could be heard the classic tune of Auld Lang Syne along with the bangs, whizzes, and roars of magical of fireworks.  
Inside the Weasley dining room was a bustle of activity._  
"_Here you go there, dear. Have some cake." Said Mrs Weasley, handing over a large slice of delicious chocolate brownie fudge cake.  
He accepted gratefully giving a small but sincere smile, "thank you Mrs We-"_  
"_How many times dear! Call me Molly or Mum. You have been like a 7__th__ son to me since the day that Ronald wrote back to be in your first year."_  
"_Alright then. Thanks. Thanks for everything mum."  
There was a suspicious wetness in her eyes as she smoothed back his hair. "There's a good son."  
Molly and Arthur shared a smile and he hugged his wife. "Happy new year, Mollywobbles."  
The atmosphere was warm and cosy. Everyone was chatting happily or just soaking up the ambience in the room, taking a rare moment to relax.  
Beside him Ron was munching happily on his cake. "You know mate. 'Mione would have loved this cake- for all her teeth doctor parent up-bringing. It's so chocolaty. I could die now and be content."  
His comment came as a surprise for a lot of people in the room. It was common knowledge that Ronal Weasley and Hermione Granger were sweethearts and was destined for marriage. When they were ambushed by Death Eaters Hermione covered Ron's back for a retreat but they got separated. When both were portkeyed back unconscious Ron had suffered multiple scarring injuries and was not to wake up until a week later and Hermione had died. Upon inspecting the area where they had been fighting, Ron had taken out 6 DEs and Hermione 8. Ron had attempted to kill himself in grief on suicide runs. Taking on all and any of Voldemort's supporters no matter who or how many- and gained many more scars for it. To mention the first of the Golden Trio to go in front of Ron was a big taboo- unless you wanted to have a fist in the face and an icy glare to match._  
"_What?" He glanced around, mouth open with contents visible to all. No-one answered but gave relieved looks. Ron turned to his best mate, "what?"  
He looked at the scarred visage of his best friend and saw a sadness, but it was an accepting grief of one starting to heal. The hole and hurt would always be there but it was not raw and bleeding. He gave an exasperated smile, clapped him on the back and slung his arm over his shoulders. "Nothing mate, nothing. Don't ever change."_

Tears started leaking as he remembered what happened next.

_It was nearing one o'clock on January 1__st__ 2010 when the first cracks sounded. The atmosphere was still very lively when Bill's head jerked up. Everyone silenced. William Weasley had unfortunately been bitten by a werewolf several years earlier but as a result of his turning had gained superior senses like all of his kin, one of which was sensitive hearing. Straining their ears everyone also hear the cracks that followed.  
From his view Albus started describing the situation and barking out orders. "Nearly 20 hostiles on the east side. More can be seen surrounding the house. Molly! I want every piece of confidential information collected and shrunk. Choose 2 other to help you."_  
"_Yes Albus!"_  
"_Arthur! Start making 10 portkeys each capable of transporting 4 people for those without emergency portkeys."_  
"_Albus!"_  
"_Sergeant start grounding. You have to tear down those wards."_  
"_Roger that Commander!"_  
"_The rest of you with emergency protkeys need to stall for as much time as possible. Everyone else make your way down to the basement. Arabella please escort them. Arthur When you're done bring those portkeys down to them and follow them out. Molly, you as well. Along with the two helpers. We Must save the children and the enemy must not get their hands on the things upstairs."  
Before Dumbledore could leave the room he was caught._  
"_Commander. They have anti-apparation and portkey wards around the area. There are 300 out there along with Riddle himself, but... they aren't advancing..."_  
"_They are waiting Sergeant . They know we cannot get out. Tome always did like his games..." he muttered in a low tone. "Good work Sergeant but get those wards down. Only then do we have a chance of survival."_  
"_Yes sir."_

The man started siphoning power from the wards. Pulling the power to incorporate with his core. It was the one thing he regretted like no other. As a trained magical military Sergeant he had the best magical sensitivity other than the Headmaster himself due to the awareness he needed to have of his own magic. With this skill-set he should have been one of the first to notice something was wrong.

_As he was centering himself he was one with the earth and so could feel the signatures of all living things within his sensing radius which was a 200 meter radius from where he sat. Within that circle he could feel the magic pulsating in the core of every person as well as the extent of the wards in the area. Even as experienced as he was with pulling down wards, the intricacy of the wards that had been laid meant that anything less than a perfect job would cause everything inside the ward boundary to implode, killing everyone inside it._  
'_DAMN IT! They had to have been around for at least 30 minutes to be able to set up such a ward. What the hell was I thinking? This is War. I should have been able to sense them- even if I had relaxed my guard a bit.  
OK... Let's just remove that there... then that- shit! I need to be out there! They are getting slaughtered! Calm down! Ok. I know it is possible to move whilst deconstructing... now where is the key-stone weave?... there!'  
The man rose and quickly left the house, all the while glowing with power as the ward slowly disintegrated. With all the power in hand he began casting. Constantly moving and backing up the Order Members._

Just as he was then, then man in black was glowing with power. His magical core was expanding at a phenomenal rate with pain to match the growth. Even with this pain he could still remember the exact moment when he realised that all of that night was a setup.

_There was no adequate way to describe the moment when he realised, midway through a reducto, that there was no way more than two of the original 60 in the Weasley Burrow would be alive to see the dawn of the January 1__st__ 2010. Tome Marvolo Riddle, a boy who had shown from his earliest days to be a consummate organiser, had conducted the battle like a baton-wielding conductor of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra during the Classical Proms._

_For all his hate for the once-human, in the farthest corner of his mind he could appreciate the brilliance of this plan: to strike at a group of people when their guard is probably down, in an open property. Place layered wards with two obvious interwoven ones that prevented magical travel and an inconspicuous ward that would be overlooked at times of stress which caused a cascade of demolitions when the former wards had been collapsed to a critical point.  
Now he could understand why the majority of the army including Voldemort himself was outside the wards, only sending in wave after wave of troops to wear the defenders down.  
Time seemed to still for am moment as he was required to make the most agonising decision of his life._  
'_Forgive me, everyone. May Merlin have mercy on my soul for what I am about to do.'  
Time sped up and seemed to be going impossible fast. Yet he managed to make a path towards his intended target, ducking and weaving between curses. He slammed into a purple-with-silver-starred robe just as the shrapnel from the blast reached them and line-of-sight-apparated out, using the remaining power from the wards to smash a hole through the mostly intact anti-disapparation wards.  
They landed at the top of the next hill over from The Burrow only to see a huge mushroom of flames and smoke erupt from where the Weasley ancestral home used to stand- and now was a large ash filled crater in the middle of the Devon rolling moors._

"Dear Merlin! I'm so sorry! I did what I had to do." he gasped.

_However, when they managed to get back to a safehouse- an abandoned abattoir hidden the Fidelius Spell, he found a large laceration that went clean through the torso, out through the other side, which had most likely passed through a major vessel as the heavy robes were soaked with blood. Knowing he didn't have much time remaining he woke the rapidly weakening headmaster._  
"_I'm sorry Commander. There is nothing I can do."_  
"_I know my boy, I know... but I also know that I have information... information that can be used for good and for evil... but as with many things such perceptions depend-"_  
"_Commander... Albus."  
Blue eyes focused once again. "Ah yes... One tends to ramble as one gets older... the build up of stories cause an inev-"  
Giving him a fond look he repeated in a chiding but gentle tone, "Albus."  
The cheeks of leader of the Order of the Phoenix pinked a bit in embarrassment. "Ahem... sorry m'boy." He proceeded to try to reach into his deep robe pocket but found himself unable to. "Ah... it  
seems I am not as spring as I used to be... Be a good boy and take out a small silver key from my pocket please."_  
"_This one?"_  
"_Yes. That's the one. It will open the small oak chest in my desk drawer full of the most sensitive information in my collection of sensitive information."_  
"_But a muggle key...?"_  
"_We wizards are the most illogical creatures. This chest is untouchable to all magical means of unlocking and yet can be opened by the twisting of a woman's bent hair-pin- which means, of course, that 9 in 10 magical beings in Britain will never be able to open it."  
The younger of the two had to smile at the ingenuity of his eccentric yet brilliant former-headmaster. He placed the small-to-the-point-of-insignificant key securely in his breast pocket. The headmaster's breath hitched. He knew that time was running out fast. In a desperate lunge Albus grabbed the young wizard's hand, holding it in a death grip._  
"_Remember these words. They are not written down anywhere on the parchments but they will make sense to you when you go through my notes. __Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach."_

He could feel the magic pulsating in his veins. He knew he would not be able to take anymore lest he damage his magic channels irreversibly and loose any chance of complete the spell with his life intact. He started chanting, quietly at first but soon rising to a shout.

"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach. Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach. Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach-"

"_But remember my boy-"_

"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach. Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach-"

"_... the most important component is-"_

He focused on the image he wanted, on the image he needed in order to make all the sacrifices at least somewhat meaningful- to have a reason for being other than the casualties of a mad-man's desire for power.

"_- intent... magic knows... she is sentient... she will help those with... the power and most importantly... the will... to harness her power... Intent is key-"_

The image of a teen. Handsome, definitely a person who could charm the socks off most females- even some males for that matter, but his eyes told a different story. Cold and calculating. He wore Hogwarts uniform. A crest of the green snake on the left breast of his robe. Looking beaten but defiant in front of his peers who laughed at his rough attire.

"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach-"

The corner of a blue book peeked out of his school bag with the word 'Tom' visible in silver cursive handwriting. A newspaper lay on the table. The headlines read: Grindlewald Gathering Goons, and at the top right-hand corner of the page was the date- Thurs 17th June 1943.

"_... remember my boy... Intent is the key... Good luck my boy... Good luck... and may the fair hand of magic guide you..."_

"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach!" His voice had risen to a roar, enhanced by grief, fuelled by the desire of revenge and powered by the magic of most of the wards surrounding Hogwarts grounds. Then for a split second there was silence. Complete and utter silence, as if magic herself had paused time and listened for the desperate plea from a resolute but desperate man. Then as soon as the moment came, it vanished.

"_...Lord Harry James Potter-Black..."_

There was a great flash of light; the smell of ozone permeated the air and the sound of an enormous fabric being torn; the sound loud enough to be heard miles away. This was followed by a deep, ground shaking rumble and a huge plume of dust rising high into the heavy air from behind the Forbidden Forest in the direction of Hogwarts castle.

By the time the sun came up from behind the mountains the castle, which had stood for millennia, on the morning of January 3rd 2010, having witnessed and survived countless the battles and conflicts, was no more. Barely more than a pile of large boulders made from the finest sandstone between the spines of mountains in the north of Scotland.

* * *

AN: Please give your opinions on this story. Just to inform readers that I have only recently gotten hooked on the NCIS series and have not caught up yet, so details will probably be wrong... but hey, it is a fanfic

Are the flashback/memories are to follow? If they are too confusing please don't hesitate to comment and a key will appear!

Please give your comments, good and bad.

Also, due to work and studying constraints I will not be able to update too often. I will try to update as quickly as possible but I am not like those treasured few writers who can churn out extremely good chapters every week on the dot... BUT please don't let that fact put off reading my story.

* * *

Translation: Gaelic - English

Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach : Better a good retreat than a bad stand.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Only the story plot is mine. Everything else is not.

Chapter Two:

The first thing that hit him was the pain; then the noise that surrounded him, adding to the pounding in his head. He gave an involuntary groan. Suddenly the voices hushed. There was a shuffling and several pairs of hands flipped him on his back.

"Hello Sir. Can you hear me Sir? Could you please open your eyes for me."

Strangely his eyelids felt like they had lead weights attached to them. His efforts were rewarded after what seemed like a long time. He opened his eyes to a grey early-morning sky. A young face swam into view.

"Can you tell me yo-"

The man's face came in and out of focus. The world faded into insignificance in comparison to the movement of the lips, which seemed to slow. His vision narrowed to the dimple in the man's face as he talked. _'Looks a bit like 'Mione's when sh-... now where did that come from.'_ As his eyelids finally gave up the struggle of staying up he vaguely recognised the blue flashing lights of an emergency service vehicle. His last fleeting thought before unconsciousness was: _'I thought the ambulances during WW2 used military cars... with no lights?'_

* * *

The next time he awoke was to yellowing ceiling tiles and the roughness of hospital issue gown. Slowly he turned his head to survey his surroundings. He was in a general ward with several other patients. He could feel the effects of analgesics in his system that was dulling the edge of the pain localised around his hands to a dull throb. He lay there trying to get his sluggish brain to co-operate and remember how he came to be in this situation. He gave a sudden sharp intake of breath as memories filled the void and the past came back to him.

_He was floating in a white expanse. He felt and saw nothing. It could have been seconds or even hours that he spent in this void- he could not have known, but it felt extremely lonely. Just as suddenly as the feeling came, it was replaced by the feeling of joy, but also curiosity. Strange was not a strong enough word to describe the feeling that Sergeant Harry James Potter-Black was experiencing. It was as if his rational brain was himself but another entity was controlling his emotions; 'not unlike what Riddle did during Fifth year'  
Abruptly the feeling stopped and a figure appeared in front of him. His nostrils twitched as the subtle scent of ginger and heather reached his nose. She was in a tartan dress robe, common to the style in the late 1930 Wizarding Britain. Her greying hair was done up in a severe bun, not a hair out of place but the eyes were kind. Harry's heart skipped a beat seeing the whole visage of his Transfiguration Professor who had become like a mother to him. The last time he had seen her was just before her closed casket funeral as she had been killed, mauled by starved, enraged werewolves only after having evacuated the people under her care. His right hand twitched, wanting to grasp the comforting woollen cloth once again, but he stopped himself._  
'_No, Potter. That isn't Minerva. She died months ago, defending the villagers of Graer-fen.' His eyes blanked of emotion as his mask of impassiveness fell over his face.__  
A pout that looked so out of place on the stern teacher's face nearly made his mask crack. The imitator cocked her head and immediately another woman took her place. This time it was a red-headed woman, dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt. She had a delicate face with almond-shaped intelligent emerald eyes. The same as Harry's own.__  
Instantly recognising the woman, but no longer that attached, Harry only raised a sceptical eyebrow. Having worked out who the shape-shifter was spoke._  
"_Perhaps it would be best if you didn't appear as anyone I was familiar with... Lady Magic."  
This time it was her that raised surprised eyebrows. She relaxed and gave a beautiful smile then morphed into a non-descript looking woman, but one that would be instantly recognisable had you met her again on the street._  
"_Well done Sergeant Potter-Black. Few people come to that conclusion only after two images- that is, only two people have come this far in their attempt travel back in time. Emerys Ambrosius being the other, and he took 10 images... Forgive an old lady for her attempts at entertainment."_  
"_Not at all, my lady. I was unbalanced by the first image but I have had a long time to come to terms with the death of my biological mother so was able to think logically."_  
"_Be that as it may, congratulations must be given as congratulations are due." Harry gave a formal bow. "Now I believe we must move onto the task at hand. Do you know and understand the consequences of your actions?" The compassionate look was long replaced by a sharp and piercing gaze that saw through every bit of pretence and into his soul.  
He gave an equally steady and truthful answer back. "Know and understand the consequences of moving back in time and destroying a key figure that shaped the events as I knew it, My Lady? I don't know. I don't think anybody can fully comprehend the effect of such an action. But what I do acknowledge is that I will confront the results of such an action should it be required and within my power to do so."  
There was silence for a while as the sentient face of Magic considered his answer. Finally a look of approval shone from her eyes. "You will do what is right when the times call for it." They fell into a comfortable silence- Harry relaxed in the warm glow of homely magic and Magic...?  
Suddenly Magic clapped her hands and exclaimed, "well, I believe your ride is here. Just a few things before you go. You will need to choose a new identity when you arrive. Can't have two Harry James Potters around. I've also taken the liberty of changing you a little, so don't be alarmed." His surroundings began to warp and swirl faster and faster, as if he was in a vortex of white which was starting to turn black. "Oh, and please do look up on metal-magic relationship." Her voice faded out, lost in the whirlwind._

_Harry had been travelling for an unknown time when he came to an abrupt halt, this time in pitch back. A figure stepped out of the darkness and seemed to glow with a black light- otherwise how would it be distinguishable from the surroundings? Harry had long ago stopped being surprised by the bizarre logic that was magic. Silently the cowled figure held up a limb, also covered by the strange cloth. Immediately three objects appeared there, neatly folded and placed in order of a cloak, a stick and a ring. They were the three Deathly Hallows._ '_And this is Death.'_  
"_Actually I am just a facet of death which most beings consider as death." Said a surprisingly young and chirpy voice. It was the sort of voice that most non-morning people hated to hear- the overly happy and cheerful type. "I, as in we, as in I, as in-" Harry gave the figure his best get-on-with-it-you-dunderhead look__(tm__) gained from years of studying under and working with Severus Snape, aimed at where the head of the being supposedly was. "... you know what I mean!" Harry kept up his stare. "Ahem! Well, yes. These objects were only supposed to be in your realm for a limited time. This is just the perfect opportunity for them to return. You will no longer be the Master of Death- we can't have another immortal running around, but you will be compensated..." He paused suggestively.  
Sighing, Harry went along with this obviously deranged immortal. "And what it the compensation, My Lord Death?"  
The sound of a delighted clapping and glee emerged from the figure though no movement was apparent. "I love it when they play along!" He stopped and started humming, head glancing around as if he could make something of the darkness._  
'_there are some weird people in the world if they believe Death should be have the attention span of a 4 year old and who also enjoys playing dress-up.' Sighing exasperatedly he questioned, "My Lord?"_  
"_Hmm? You're still here? I thought I sent you off long ago." With a snap of his fingers the vortex began again. Just as the figure disappeared the high voice of the Death-child could be heard over the noise. "Oh, you wanted to know about your reward for bringing back my stuff? Umm... I don't know. What you get depends on Sister Magic. Tata!"  
His last thought before he landed on Earth once again was, 'Bloody immortals. Insane lot they are. Who in the right mind would want to end up like them?' _

The smirk that came with the thought was still there when the nurse came in.

"Ah, I see that you are awake sir." She inspected the medical chart at the foot of the bed and marked down a few things before continuing. "I will need your details to file in your report so I will be asking you a few questions. Can you tell me your name sir?"

Harry leaned back from where he had been half risen. The reality hit him. _'I'm actually back in time! Albus' theories actually worked! I've done it!'_ Harry started chuckling which soon turned into full blown laughter but which soon turned into racking sobs as he remembered the reason for his desperate actions and the smoking crater that was the Weasley home. He allowed himself to truly grieve for the first time since the New Year. He had not stopped to think deeply about the events of that night in his headlong rush to understand the complex theorems and postulations of Dumbledore's notes as he knew that every moment lost was every moment that Tom Riddle would have to locate him. His tears died down after several minutes, however by then the nurse had already gone and come back in tow with a doctor and several orderlies carrying restraining equipment.

As he collected himself the staff surrounded his bed and looked at him in grim determination. Harry shifted himself into a more upright position and raised his hand, which he noticed for the first time was heavily bandaged, and gave a vague stopping gesture. He could not help but noticed the more inexperienced orderlies' slight flinches. He cleared his dry throat and spoke in a raspy voice.

"Sorry you had to see that Nurse..." he squinted through red eyes, "... Hall. I can assure you, Sirs and Madams," he addressed the rest of the people around his bed, "that I am not mentally disturbed... well..." he saw the disbelieving looks in their eyes, except the doctor's who looked on with an evaluating gaze. As he was the attending physician it was his job to give the all clear and after about a minute of intense staring between the two of them he turned to Nurse Hall.

"Thank you, Nurse Hall. I will take it from here. Our patient will not be causing any trouble." She gave him uncertain looks and kept glancing between his face and Harry's. "Call it a leaving gift my dear Jennifer- before I leave the Royal Edinburgh." He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave it a pat before examining the clipboard which he had taken from the end of the bed. Taking it as their cue to leave, the rest of the attendants filed out. Slowly he paced to Harry's side whilst reading the notes. "Hmm... now you are a puzzling case Mister... ah..."

"Knight. Zachary Ryan Knight, Doctor." Replied Harry, having used the disturbance to gather his thoughts and create a back-story. He had decided to have a complete break with his past. After all, the world in which he had lived, along with all its history, was inaccessible to him now. Magic had instructed him to create a new identity, so why not go all the way? Only a full severance of all things related would do, so why not start off with a name that held no ties with Harry James Potter? (AN: I will now start referring to harry as Zachary unless the situation requires otherwise)

"When we received you in A&E you presented with severely low blood pressure, second degree burns to the hands and arms and a strange brand over your left chest... but other than that you are an extremely fit young man. We did a thorough investigation and saw no signs of internal bleeding and your pressure returned to normal soon after we started you on a drip and then we bandaged your burns. You will of course need to remain here for a few more days for observation before you are given an all clear to go." The doctor held his clipboard loosely by his side and hesitated before asking, "now, Mr Knight. Just so satisfy my own curiosity, care to tell a puzzled doctor how a young man such as yourself come to be naked in the early hours of the morning in the middle of Edinburgh town centre with such bizarre injuries? Could it have anything to do with the trace amounts of highly toxic snake venom in your blood?" His baby blue eyes were full of open curiosity. Coupled with his short light brown locks he was a vision of naive innocence.

Zachary was taken aback. He thought he would be asked something he would have difficulty in answering. _'though I guess he _is_ a doctor' _Thinking it no harm he gave a highly edited version of his second year duel with Slytherin's Basilisk. "I got bitten by a snake I found. I was ill for a while but then recovered. My family physician reckoned I had somehow built up an immunity for it."

The doctor raised a sceptical eyebrow and hummed.

'_he obviously doesn't believe me... well, can't do anything about it'_

"Doctor. You mentioned that I came in naked. Did I have any personal effects found around me? Bags, anything?"

"No bags, or even a wallet. Though you did have one thing. A very pretty pendant. It's by your bedside Mr Knight."

Relief flooded Zachary. Although he had been steeling himself for the loss of his entire past identity he was grateful for at least one thing to connect him with his past. Reaching over to the bedside table he gingerly cradled Remus' locket in his bandaged hands and tried to put it on but his thick fingers were just not dextrous enough. Silently the doctor helped him wear it and Zach gave him a grateful look. He was given a comforting squeeze on the shoulder in reply.

"Get some rest Mr Knight. I will be back one more time before handing you over to the next doctor who will cover your case."

"Thank you doctor. One request though. Could you bring along a newspaper when you next come."

A nod. Just as the doctor walked out of the ward Zach realised he didn't know the name of his attending physician.

"By the way doctor, what's your name." He half turned, surprise evident on his face.

"Oh... So sorry Mr Knight. I forgot to introduce myself. Dr Donald Mallard at your service."

* * *

Over the next few days Zachary recovered quickly, feeling only lingering pain in his hand from the burns. They had unwrapped his bandaged hands and had been given instructions for physiotherapy for his hands to reduce the stiffness and limber his joints again. The scar on his chest revealed itself to be a magical scar in the symbol of the Deathly Hallows- a line within a circle within a triangle. As yet he had no idea what its function was other than it was a scar like the one he had before on his forehead. With nothing to do with his time he planned, having to account for the miscalculation in his time-jump.  
'_Now I understand what Lady Magic said about magic-metal relationship. I should have known better than to attempt the time-jump with those weapons.' _

_The next day after first arriving in the past he was greeted with the enticing vision of a full English breakfast. Surprised Zachary looked up at the Nurse. Correctly guessing his query the nurse shrugged._

"_Dr Mallard said you were healthy enough to have something less plain. Said you would need it." Raising an eyebrow at the doctor's insight, he ignored the peculiarity and proceeded to have a cup of strong coffee, black. "Said you also would like to read the paper Mr Knight."_

_Accepting it with a thanks he unfurled the broadsheet newspaper and scanned the top immediately. However, at that moment he was swallowing. As his eyes drifted over the date he had a surprised intake of breathe. This of course resulted in him choking and an ensuing fit of coughing._

_Alarmed the nurse immediately came over to assist but was waved away impatiently, saying, "there's nothing to see here. Coffee just went down the wrong pipe. Happens sometimes. Go, go."_

_Satisfied he had some privacy he read and reread the date. He had not read wrong. The date was clear as day on the top right corner of the front page. He set down the paper and leaned back and started eating his breakfast mechanically, barely tasting the food, to mull over what went wrong._

'_January 6__th__ 1966... the power supplied by the wards should have been more than enough to go back another 20 years or so... unless Albus underestimated the power requirements or _I _channelled less than I thought I did or power got lost during the jump...or... absorbed...' _

_His eyes drifted down to the fork he was handling clumsily. He bolted upright, a thought occurring to him._

'_Of course! Cold metal interferes with magic, none more so than steel. The absorptive property of the weapons in the duffles must have taken up a severe chunk of magic, enough for the energy to disintegrate the metal...'_

'_That explains the lack of personal effects though I do wonder about the clothes...' _For a moment Zachary experienced a strange feeling of laughter caressing him but he dismissed it out of mind in favour of planning, seeing as he had undershot his mark by nearly 20 years. _'Now though I have to deal with several horocruxes before dealing with Him or else he would only just retreat for a few years... though this may be a blessing in disguise. The atmosphere of 1943 Britain would have been very intolerant of strangers- in the mundane world, with World War 2; as well as the Wizarding- Grindlewald's War._

_Well, I'll be needing a base, equipment, food, clothes... but first I will need money. That will be a problem.'_

Just as he was mulling over his financial problems his attending doctor came in.

"Ah Mr Knight, good to see you up. Hands are fine, are they?"

"Good morning Dr Mallard. They are fine, if a little stiff, but that will go away."

"You are a very quick healer Mr Knight... unusually so."

All Zachary could do was to give a neutral hum. He knew why he was healing so quickly- he was using his own personal magic to accelerate the process, but then again he couldn't tell the young muggle doctor that.

If possible Dr Mallard looked a bit put out by his response, as if waiting for him to elaborate.

'_He couldn't possibly know about magic... could he?' _thought Zachary when he caught the fleeting expression before he chatted about a similar case of fast healing.

"... with several fractures to the left ulna..."

Zachary listened indulgently, making no attempt to stop the flow of words and drew several of his own conclusions. _'Probably a wizard with no idea of cars or how to cross a busy road... yes, machines going haywire, broken lights- definitely a wizard... either a young one or one with relatively high reserves, both with abysmal control for their magic to disrupt electrical items without being in contact with them.'_

Just before the doctor went off on another tangent Zachary interrupted him.

"Doctor. Am I free to go?"

Dr Mallard looked up. "Oh, yes, yes. Seeing as you listed yourself as having no next of kin and having come in without so much as a stitch of clothing on you the Hospital has provided you with a set of clothing and shoes. In the pockets you'll find some change just to see you off." He said, handing over the grey track suit set, wind-breaker, socks and shoes.

"May I ask Mr Knight, Have you ever been in the military?" Cocking his head, Zachary looked in askance. "Just that you have the same look as the men I'm going to work alongside in the RAMC."

Debating on whether or not to deny his true background, he finally decided on a halfway house.

"I am not in any military service but I have experienced the training. It was an integral part of my childhood and I guess that carried over."

They talked for a few moments, finished off all the required paperwork before parting ways.

As Zachary was walking through the Hospital main lobby he felt into his pockets to see the amount he had been given.

'_I have... let's see... ... what on earth... good Merlin! The _'Modern'_ system is still not in place in 1966... what coins are these... I need to sit down...'_

Still clutching the coins he moved to sit at a nearby bench and stared hard at the coins in his hand, trying to recall his lessons from primary school where such coins and monetary system was explained, also ignoring the strange looks he was getting from those sitting around him. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Zachary looked around.

"Are you alright there young man? Don't they teach you to count these days? You've got as clear as day twelve and six." Zachary raised an eyebrow, silently asking for elaboration, at which the old lady huffed. "Are you dumb boy, as well as dull? If you have a question, ask! How rude of you to raise your eyebrow at me!" When he didn't answer she gave in and replied, "12 shillings and 6 pence!"

Seeing that it was all he was going to get from her he rose and gave a bow in gratitude, but kept silent, understanding the meaning of the word in his current situation, not correcting the old lady's assumptions.

Slipping his money back into his pocket he felt another item, wrapped in a paper. Taking it out and unwrapping it he nearly stumbled in surprise. Inside were 5 silver coins and 10 bronze ones. What made him trip was the fact that he recognised this money. They were the silver sickles and bronze knuts of the wizarding world.

Running back to the hospital he quietly demanded the whereabouts of Dr Donald Mallard. After several moments of nervous checking the receptionist replied, "I'm sorry sir, you just missed him. Dr Mallard signed out 10 minutes ago."

Rushing back onto the street again, he tried looking for the doctor but it was lunchtime in Edinburgh central and there were many people on the streets, making identification impossible.

"Damn it!" he cursed. A nearby light burst showering pedestrians with glass. "Double damn! I need to get myself under control... again."

'_But first...'_

Meandering through streets, it was easy pick-pocketing the cash he needed. Soon he had many shillings and pennies and even other coins, which he didn't know the value of. Satisfied with the day's work he bought himself a bacon butty costing only 7 pennies.

'_Considering the shop said that 2 butties offer cost only a shilling and 1 penny, I think that with the money I have in my pocket I can count myself as being not cash-strapped.'_

Deciding that he had enough to start an account at Gringotts he wandered into a deserted alleyway and disapparated.

When he arrived he could hear the lingering crack sound. _'Damn! I _really_ need to regain my control.'_

Stepping quickly away from the spot to allow incoming travellers he walked down the bustling Diagon Alley. He recalled that the last period of peace lasted from when Grindlewald was defeated in 1945 until the name Lord Voldemort came infamous in the summer of 1966.

'_None of these souls have any idea that the population of Magical Britain will be decimated by 1981... unless I can stop his madness before he gets on a roll...'_

Shaking off his morbid thoughts and focussing on the present, he strode his way confidently towards the most prominent building in the alley- its gleaming white marble with golden decorations a stark contrast to the darker and more tired looking structures of the other shops which probably hadn't been refurbished since the British Wizarding world had stagnated in the medieval times. He knew he was getting curious looks because of his attire but he ignored it as easily as a soldier ignores flies and marched towards a free teller.

He waited patiently for the goblin at the counter to serve him. This was the way to show respect, for their customs value money and time equalled money so one who waited for another showed that he was willing to use his own time, therefore money, on the other. He had to wait for 15 minutes. When the teller was finished with whatever he was fiddling with he looked up with approving beady eyes and motioned for him to follow.

Every goblin who worked at the counter was a senior and so had an individual office, which most wizards never saw in their lives. It was a plain office with the only decorations being a faced down photo-frame and the goblin's own personal armour, weapons and decorations on display- not, as most people expect, goblets and gems on every surface. This time it was the goblin's time to show respect by gauging the guest's favourite drink- one could tell how experienced and therefore how senior the goblin was by the quality of their deduction.

'_This goblin's good.'_ Raising his tumbler in a toast he tossed back the smoking red liquid- but no flames shot out of his ears that were the characteristic of Firewhiskey.

Speaking for the first time he complimented the teller, "You got it in one Bloody-axe Master Teller. 2-year steel-aged Firewhiskey with a hint of lemon." The goblin allowed himself a toothless grin. They had each other's measure. Questions on how they knew what each other knew were irrelevant but if their relationship continued being amicable, the answers would become apparent in due time. Now was time for business. "I've come to open an account, standard will be fine... and knowledge." It would surprise many that the Goblin race valued knowledge even more than they did money. For item and objects, cost depended on several factors including the state, rarity, and 1001 other criteria, however for knowledge they always paid what it was worth- not a knut more or less, with or without competitors.

Silently the goblin handed over two cloth bags. One for muggle and the other for magical currency. Placing his acquired monies in their respective pouches the total appeared on an account-opening form. For the next 10 minutes he read and signed off for the new account, under his name- Zachary Ryan Knight, for the total sum of 3 galleons, 12 sickles and 25 knuts- a tidy sum considering even in the 1990s a box of a dozen chocolate frogs cost only 4 sickles. After receiving his new vault key they settled down for the second order of business.

"Your knowledge?" rasped the senior goblin, obviously not used to speaking.

"Your coins are warded against magical tampering are they not?... have you ever considered muggle tampering?" The goblin raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Your coins are protected against any form of transfiguration, transmutation, magically induced melting and magical degradation but have you ever considered the fact that the coins are able to be melted, like any metal, under high heat, created by nothing but simple mechanics. Melted and recast, the gold and silver is worth far more than the exchange you currently offer."

The goblin considered his words silently, then spoke. "I take this claim very seriously Mr Knight. If this is true, Gringotts stands to lose out by millions, if not billions, of galleons- considering the current muggle gold exchange market. How can I be sure that such a declaration is true?"

"If you would care to accompany me on a jaunt through muggle London?"

* * *

Two men entered a jewellers shop. The bells above the door chimed and the artisan at his desk looked up. They were a study of opposites. One was tall, nearly 6 feet; the other was short, just about reaching the first man's waist. The younger of the two wore worn but serviceable exercise clothing whereas the other wore clothing that would not be out of place at a Victorian Gentleman's Club. The Master Teller had done some minor Goblin Magic in order to change his features, however had refrained from changing his entire outer appearance. Zachary went as he was because, other than apparating and changing into his animagus form, he could do little else without a wand. Gesturing for his human companion to show him evidence for his claim, Zachary addressed the jeweller who had paused in his artificing.

"Mr Henderson, I have come by a coin which I require to be melted into a small ingot. I have not the means to do this myself and would be indebted if you could do so. You will be compensated for the trouble."

The old man looked unsure at first but relented because despite the younger man's scruffy attire, the older short man looked presentable and had the look of genuine money.

"O'right. Follow me." The man said gruffly. He closed up shop and beckoned them out into the back where he kept all his equipment. The display out back was an impressive display of the wonders of those with OCD. Everything was lined perfectly according to size, shape and use, with things used often close at hand and lesser used item stored away neatly under matching sheets. Walking over to the near corner where a kiln full of glowing ambers stood, he started preparing his work station. "Your coin?" Zachary handed over the fist-sized golden coin. After several moments of measuring and calculations there was a sharp intake of breath. "This thing's pure gold!" he exclaimed. "Why there is 1lb 2oz of pure solid gold! That's over £200! Where did you get it? I can fell there are markings on the coin but I can't quite make it out..."

'_Well considering the Goblins only give 11 shillings for a galleon, I think there is a marked difference in conversion... though I do not know how many shillings to one pound...but even then...'_ pleased as he was with the jeweller's assessment of the actual value of the coin, he could see that the Teller was getting quite annoyed with the delay.

"Mr Henderson. If you please." Zachary motioned to the now blasting furnace.

"Of course, of course." Mr Henderson started by placing the crucible in tongs and the coin inside before placing the cup into the furnace. The Master Teller was now staring at the oven intensely, face inscrutable. After several minutes the gold began melting. After several more minutes the gold was completely melted and ready to be poured into its mould. As the jeweller was busy Zachary turned to look at his companion and raised a questioning eyebrow. After several moments the goblin dipped his head in acknowledgement, acceding to the truth of his claim. Satisfied Zachary called over the surrounding noise.

"For your assistance Mr Henderson. You may retain 5 ounces of the gold."

Shocked, the old man swung around, nearly spilling the liquid metal. "That is too much kind sirs!"

"4 then." Was the flat reply. That quickly shut Mr Henderson up and he went back to his work. "You may keep 5 ounces Mr Henderson. When I said you will be compensated I meant for your silence also."

"Understood sir. No-one will hear nothing from me."

Soon the duo were back in the Teller's office with a small gold ingot between them in the desk.

"Most impressive Mr Knight, but I wonder why such a phenomenon has come to Gringott's attention before?"

"As my mentor once said: "We of the magic world see things that, for nearly 97% of the Earth population, are illogical." It has become our way of life so much so that the logical, mundane and often simplest ways of completing a task have all but disappeared from our thought processes. It wouldn't surprise me, however, if there are the few who have used such a route to increase their funds but they are only a handful."

"Have you?"

"I swear on my magic that I have never done so in this world, except for the one case where you accompanied me." A haze of golden wisps swirled around him indicating the truth of his oath. "I came to you with this knowledge because I have not the time for such laundering, however passing on this knowledge will help safeguard the magical economy."

'_and grant me several favours as well as hopefully the tentative beginnings of alliance between magical beings'_

"Thank you... but I have a feeling that you have a request..."

Zachary gave a smirk in return. "I have need of a full history under the name Zachary Ryan Knight, creditable in both the mundane and magical world. Enough to pass muster... even Goblin authentication..."

It was well known that the best fake documents that could ever be produced come from the Goblins, however getting a goblin to agree to produce them was another matter entirely. The documents created would feel more authentic than real ones.

It was well past midnight by the time all the details were drawn up and finalised. Zachary booked into a cleaner looking Leakey Cauldron to a younger looking Tom, tired from his long day after only having been released from the hospital, but with almost one hundred thousand galleons in his newly opened bank account.

* * *

The next morning Zachary took his first real look at his body. Lady Magic had said that he was to choose a whole new identity but that would have been useless if he looked like a Potter, so he was not surprised to see a stranger staring back at him in the mirror. Examining himself, he looked like a well built muggle 18 year old but for a wizard that meant he could be anywhere between 16 and 25 year old due to magic delaying the aging process. He still had hints of his biological parents but they were overshadowed by his new features like a strong jaw-line, and straight nose. He still had his characteristic messy hair- _'which can be made to look organised when I have a military cut'_, but his green eyes had been changed for steel gray, a lot like the Blacks.

'_Actually… if you know where to look, both Potter and Black features are there… if you squint… and have a good enough imagination…'_

In the morning light he could see that what he had taken for being the result of cheap hospital bathroom lighting was actually greying hair at the temples.

'_I could have sworn they were not so obvious yesterday… oh well, I'll have to add hair dye to my ever growing shopping list of required items- I can't have remarkable characteristics with the activities I have planned…'_

Finished with his self-admiration he showered and changed, grabbed breakfast-on-the-go provided for by Tom and left for Diagon Alley to get his most important item as a wizard- his wand.

It was early morning and so there were few shoppers about, mainly just storekeepers just opening their doors and their delivery people. Mr Ollivander was also just flipping his sign when Zachary arrived at his door.

"Ah, a customer! Few come here at this hour. What is it that I can be helping you with? A repair, perhaps? Or maybe a new holster? You have the look of an auror about you." He held the door open for Zachary to step through and directed him to the counter.

"Neither Mr Ollivander. I require a new wand."

Mr Ollivander looked up in surprise. "A new wand? At your age? What happed to your previous one? Did it splinter, break, become irreversibly damaged? It can't have been my one- I don't remember you – and I remember every wand that I have ever sold. And anyway, Ollivander wands have a lifetime guarantee. It can't have been Gregorovich's- you don't look like a Gregorovich customer. Was it one of Madam Venter's. I've told the Wandmaker's Confederation her works never last. She shouldn't be selling the things she makes- she's only journeyman at the most-" Zachary was extremely amused and surprised at the straight-forwardness and frankly normal speech- _'well, more like tirade'_, coming from the old man. Mr Ollivander paused in mid-sentence when he heard no response from his customer. He quickly deduced the situation. "What, you think I always speak in a _mysterious voice and hide in shadows_?" he asked, using the personality most people associated with the slightly crazy old wandmaker. "That's only an act for the newbies. Makes them look after their wand ya' see. Most don't ever come back- wand polish is ordered by owl. Would never have time to make all the wands you see if I had to attend to every nick or scratch made by improper wand care… but that's by-the-by. You need a new wand." Although shocked at the revelation that the whole creepy-wandmaker-thing was an act he was taking a liking to this side of the old man that he never knew. Perched on a high wooden stool with a mouth full of cigar, he lit it and waved his free hand vaguely, saying around the smoke, "details."

"Well, my primary wand was a holly and phoenix feather. My secondary was… I never found out what it was."

"Two wands, definitely auror. Don't suppose you have you badge?" Ollivander eyed his muggle attire, coming to his own conclusions. "No, don't suppose you can. You may purchase one wand, but for your secondary I'll have to see your license… How in Merlin's balls did you manage to lose _both_ wands? Nah! Don't bother answering. I don't want to know. At least you know the wood and core of one of your wands. That I can use…" By this point Ollivander had wandered deep into his rows of shelves and was only a faint voice in the silence of the shop with clouds of cigar smoke marking his position. When he came out he was clutching a crate full of neatly, stacked long boxes and slapped them none too gently on the counter.

"Now if you were a first year I would be able to get you a suitable wand within 5 tries 'cos an approximate fit will do as you will adapt your wand to best suit you. Now, 'cos your magic's more mature you have less room for manoeuvrability and so need a much more refined wand- hence the number of boxes you're gonna try."

'_Hmmm… obviously the trying-of-many-wands-thing is another gimmick for children… probably to enhance his eccentric-old-man image he has cultured for himself…'_

"You said phoenix feather and holly? As it so happens I too have that combination. Try it and we'll see how your magic reacts to that." He said, pulling out a box. Inside was a brand new copy of his own wand- an 11-inch holly and phoenix feather, twin of the core held by Tom Marvolo Riddle. Zachary prayed to whatever deity that was listening for the wand to not match. He didn't want anyone's scrutiny, especially Dumbledore's, at this moment in time for having a twin wand to an up-and-coming Dark Lord. When he grabbed the wand there was a slight tingle but no sparks or such like emerged from the tip. The wand was immediately snatched from his hand. "Hmm… a non-match, but close- almost as if… ah hah! Try this one."

The process carried on for several hours- by which time the sun was high in the sky and the muffled sounds of a bustling street could be heard through the ancient glass. Ollivander shifted through the pile of wands on his desk and picked one that was still in its box. "Well, eight hundred and twenty-second time lucky." This time the wand core connected with his magic and, despite his best efforts at controlling his magic, with a great woosh raw, magic rushed from the tip of the wand illuminating the room in a burst of light. "By Morgana's hairy tits, we've got a keeper at last! 9-inch willingly-given-unicorn-blood-polished-ebony with a core of ground Nundu skull suspended in the venom of a Basilisk, with a touch of phoenix ash to make the core a bit more compatible with the wood. A rather volatile combination and much shorter than what I normally make- it was the longest piece of ebony I could find at the time of crafting. I am quite proud of this creation, even if I say so myself- nearly got my hand blown off combining those components together. The inherent magic of unicorns really don't blend well with that of predators- especially ones considered to be at the top of their food-chains. Now that'll be 10 galleons- price o' the ingredients and the hazard pay; I'll even slap in a complementary auror-grade holster and polish."

Without so much as a blink Zachary counted out the money and placed them on the desk. This time is was Ollivander who was surprised. 10 galleons was a lot of money for a wand when the average cost about 5 galleons, with the Ministry subsidising first-time wand buyers (with the additional Ministry underage tracking ward built in, of course) and it took a particular wizard to hand-over 10 galleons without hesitating. Zachary knew it was time to go when the wandmaker's features morphed into one he was familiar with- one that spelled trouble for him. Having left the money on the table and collected him items he quickly gave his thanks and left, the quiet muttering of "curious, curious…" from the old man ushering him out.

Not wanting to stand out in the bustling wizarding crowd, he conjured a simple black cloak to put on over his clothing as soon as he stepped onto the street. His magic felt swollen and unwieldy so he knew it was imperative that he begin controlling exercises immediately if he was to have the option of disappearing into the muggle world after he had fulfilled his mission which hopefully would be by the end of the year.

'_Well, first things first. I will need a multiple-compartment trunk to store all my things. Dear Merlin, this will be a _very_ long day…'_

Sitting on his bed in The Leakey Cauldron he viewed the unimpressive sight that was the culmination of a three day shopping spree. He was missing a few items but he had everything he needed for his initial task of finding and destroying the horocruxes. At his feet was a matt-black foot-locker with 5 horizontal one-inch slits; it contained nearly all of his belongings including clothing, potions equipment and outdoor living items. Beside him on the bed were the things he would have to carry on him- several knives and a fanny pack. Dressed in military fatigues, he strapped on the items on the bed and placed the shrunken trunk in his pouch. From the doorway he surveyed the room one last time, making sure he had collected everything, but he still felt naked. His left hand kept drifting towards his hip, trying to brush against something that was no longer there.

'… _that will come later. I need to re-regulate my magic first.'_ Zachary gave a sigh. He had so little time to do so many things, however the task of regaining control over one's own magic could not be rushed; it was not possible to skip steps as the irregularities would become apparent in later years and even worse when at a crucial juncture in spellwork. Running his hand through his now neat short hair he gave the room one last glance before twirling on his cloak and shutting the door behind him. _'Well there's no use to complaining. I might as well begin now.'_ He paid his tab and left the Cauldron. Finding a suitable place, he apparated with a sharp crack of a car backfiring and ended in a mildly forested area. He was on the edge of the forbidden forest- on the otherside to the edge near Hogwarts. It suiyed his purposes as it was a highly magically dense area so his activities would be masked and was safe enough for a trained person to survive alone. As he walked into the forest he pushed his magic to form a ball of light. Unfortunately he misjudged the amount a rush of magic flowed, resulting in a blinding flash of light. Reflexively cutting off the flow he blinked away the light-spots dancing in his vision and concluded to no-one in particular, "definitely needs _a lot _of work."

* * *

19th March 1970, 0849, Heathrow Terminal 3 Departure Gate

"Calling all first class and business class passengers to begin boarding Pan Am flight no. 365 through gate 12A. Calling all first class and business class passengers to begin boarding Pan Am flight no. 365 through gate 12A."

About a dozen or so people, mostly men dressed in expensive tailor-made business suits, got up and made their way to the stewardesses at the gate entrance. None were particularly remarkable apart from the odd golden rolex or two- all except one. He was dressed in much the same manner as his fellow first and business class passengers but seemed to radiate a cool calm, neither the arrogance of a high-flying executive nor the harried carriage of a short-for-time business man. Other things that stood out were his left arm was strapped in a sling under his suit; his hair was short- quite the opposite of the modern male hairstyle, showing off a white streak of hair at his right temple; and he was much younger than the rest of the passengers in his travelling class- early twenties at the most.

'_Combined with those sexy gray eyes… I wouldn't mind a taste of those lips anyday!'_ were the thoughts of the stewardesses at the desks. As he approached both women sat up straighter, shooting each other mild glares. The man smirked internally but gave no outward appearance of the small rivalry. There was no need for any special ability to read their thoughts. Deciding to put both of them out of their misery he went to the third desk.

"Good Morning, Sir. May I have your passport and boarding pass please." Asked the steward at the desk. He could almost hear the pouts of his fellow co-workers beside him and gave the man a knowing grin, to which a raised eyebrow was given in reply. His grin started to falter before the man gave a small upturn of his lips. His grin regained its confidence and he turned back to his task. He inspected the items before returning the passport and the ticket stub back to the passenger. "Everything is in order Mr Knight. Welcome aboard Pan America Boeing 747. Have a pleasant flight."

Zachary received his things with a nod and thanks. He gave a final glance behind him and started on his way down the ramp towards the aircraft. As he passed there was a television overhead showing the BBC News programme.

' "And now, onto lighter issues. There have been many sightings of owls flying in our skies. Now as many people assume, owls are nocturnal animals so scientists are extremely puzzled by this strange phenomenon. With us now is Professor Michael Jones from University College London, an expert in his field of Ornithology with a special interest in owl behaviour. Thank you for joining us here in the studio Professor Jones. Now, this isn't the first time this behaviour has been seen, is it?"

"No you are quite right Richard. The last such mass sighting of owls during the day was in the summer of 1945, which…" '

Zachary moved too far away to hear the rest of the Professor's speculations. Speculations which he knew would be the complete opposite to the truth. He knew the truth. He was the one who had done it… _'Stop it. That's one chapter that is over... and hopefully will remain that way.'_

He could feel the paper and plastic in the pocket of his suit as he passed through the aeroplane door. They were the items that attested to the new direction his life would take.

As the plane took off Zachary looked out the window, past the rain trails. He took a final look at the wet, dreary landscape that had been his home for his life until now, then settled in his chair, facing forwards, taking out from his pocket a small book entitled 'Settling in the United States of America: The Essentials'.

* * *

Story Notes: 

Victorian Gentleman's Club refers to a social club attended by men in the Victorian era for discussions with like-minded people (generally for the upper-class), not the strip clubs that the phrase generally implies nowadays.

Wandless magic: I have worked out a system for magic in my story. Wandless magic is not a phenomenon regularly recorded in this AU. Exceptions do obviously occur however and they will be explained along with the other rules of magic which I have yet to really define.

* * *

Author's Note: 

Sorry for the long delay. I hit a block. To be honest I wasn't sure whether or not to include this chapter as it is rather dry but then I thought if I scrap this chapter then readers would have to wait another few months before the next chapter so I might as well post it anyway. The story really gets underway in the next chapter, but don't expect that too soon- at least a month between chapters as I have just enrolled in Medical School and doubt I will have much free time. I will write as much and update as soon as I can, just don't hold your breath!

Also thanks to all of those who have put this story on alert and especially those who have given reviews.

Please do review, even if it is one word- it tells me how well my story is being received. Also to bear in mind is that I don't have a beta-reader (nor do I plan on getting one) so although I have tried to iron out any mistakes in my writing, there will inevitable be some and any pointed remarks will help me improve my writing.

Thanks,

Tiggerpal07


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