Professor Potter

Harry's steps squelched on the slick cobblestones underfoot as he made sure to look to his left, then his right, then his left again, and so on. What was important was that his head was always on the swivel, as if looking for an imminent threat creeping out of the shadows.

There were plenty of shadows to choose from here. The street he was walking was full of shops just like Diagon Alley, and indeed, it was a part of the wizarding shopping center. But this was no place for first years, especially not Muggleborns. The buildings towered up, leaning over the street in places, adding to a claustrophobic and threatening atmosphere. Harry stopped in the street, allowing himself to appear tired.

It didn't take any acting. He was knackered, to be honest. He'd been running around all day, moving from one task to the next. But he wanted to get these things done quickly, before the school year started and kept him busy.

After all, time was ticking.

That in mind, Harry put his head down and continued with the first step of his plan for the evening, entering an oppressive shop with a particularly squeaky front door. Outside, a hanging sign swung in the blustery wind, proclaiming the place 'Borgin and Burkes.'

If Knockturn Alley appeared menacing, this store took its worst qualities and ran with them without looking back. A display case faced the door, filled with the decapitated heads of magical creatures, sorted by size in ascending order: pixie first, then gnome, house elf, vampire, troll, and finally, giant. Each's features had been twisted into a threatening snarl, which had to have been done post-mortem. Harry had never seen a house elf make a face like that, even when their lives were on the line. 

He paced through piled boxes, careful not to bump any displays. You never knew what something for sale here might do to you, if you weren't careful. Harry made sure to look everywhere as he scurried through the store, just like he did outside on the street.

In this kind of place — meaning Knockturn in general, but especially this store — looking confident was the most important thing. You had to seem like you belonged. Otherwise, you'd be made out for an easy target.

Sometimes, Harry was thankful dark wizards were so predictable.

"You look nervous, boy."

Harry jumped. He took a step back hurriedly, twisting to face the man that had appeared from among the stock. 

He was a man with a bent back and hair even greasier than Snape's, an appearance only made worse by how much hair he was missing along the top of his head. His attempts to comb what remained over the bald patch only made it stand out more. His hands were linked in front of his chest as he looked at Harry.

"Are you the shopkeeper?" Harry asked, his voice cracking as he made the demand.

"I am Mr. Borgin. Mr. Burke ran into a… particularly troublesome artefact, some years back, leaving me to carry on our legacy." Borgin paused. "Does that answer your question?"

Harry nodded stiffly.

"I need an artefact," he said.

"You've come to the right place," Borgin said, raising an eyebrow. "What are you in need of, specifically? Something to help you speak necessary details without prompting?"

"Are you making fun of me?" Harry asked.

"Of course not." Borgin paused. "You can pay, can you not?"

Harry dug through the pockets of his coat. "I've got money… You'll take it, right? Money is money!"

He dragged out a clump of Great British bank notes, complete with the Queen's face and all. Borgin's smile took on a different light.

"I've no need for kindling in the middle of summer," he said. "Leave."

"Kindling!" Harry swelled up. "This is… Do you know how much money this is?"

"I do not," said Borgin. "And I wouldn't expect any wizard to either. Stop wasting my time."

Harry opened his mouth, seemingly about to argue, before stopping. He stuffed the money back in his pocket and turned away. As he marched out of the shop, Borgin's voice stopped him just before he reached the squeaky door. 

"Out of curiosity, what was it you wished to buy?" Borgin asked.

Harry glared at him over his shoulder. 

"A cursed object," he said. "Something foul. Something nasty. Enough to ruin a life."

Borgin leaned forward. "And what would you be doing with that, Boy?"

Harry turned back to face him, his hands clenched into fists.

"People like you think we're jokes," Harry said. "Don't even lie. I know it's true! All of you, all of you laugh at Muggleborns like we're stupid animals! That damn ministry is the exact same. I had six O.W.L.s! Five N.E.W.T.s! And they throw out my application in favor of some stupid heir with half my talent! They won't get away with it."

A grin split Borgin's face. He rubbed the backs of his hands eagerly, tilting his head.

"Perhaps I misjudged you," he said. "Stay for a while. I'm sure that I've got something in the back."

O-O-O

"He's the perfect target!" Borgin said. 

His head stuck through his fireplace, the flames a startling shade of green. On the other end, where Borgin's head was protruding, five men sat in a dim room around a table, Exploding Snap cards laying between them.

"What do you want us to do?" grunted one.

Borgin barely held back from growling. Fools, all of them. Did they need their mothers to tie their shoes each morning, the way they needed him to spell out the simplest of things?

"Get over here and turn him into a headline!" Borgin said. "Muggleborn attacked in Diagon Alley. St. Mungos struggling to treat him. That kind of thing!"

The men looked at each other— though in truth, three of them were more like boys than men. Eighteen or nineteen, they waited for the older ones to make a decision. One turned back to Borgin.

"The Aurors got Markus last week. Are you sure it's safe?"

Safe. Did these fools have the slightest idea what was in their future? Did they think revolutions and wars were won safely without risk?

They were lucky. They could get away with such talk for now, while their forearms were bare. But the marks they lacked were only missing because it served their master better to have them unmarked for now. Borgin didn't think of these five as anything but Death Eaters for one second.

"He's waiting in my shop," Borgin said, holding back what he really wanted to say. "Come through and take care of him there, then dump him on some corner. No one will look twice. If anything is a safe job, it's this one."

Again, the men looked at each other. Finally they sighed and pushed back their seats.

"Let's get this done with," said one that seemed like the leader.

Finally, Borgin thought.

He pulled his head back out of the fireplace. In moments, all five men had exited into his living room. He beckoned them with his hand. 

"Through here," he said quietly.

Stepping back into the main room, he fixed a polite smile on his face.

"I've found something for you!" he announced.

The dark wizards joined him in the store just in time to watch Borgin's jaw drop.

"Where is he?" asked one.

"That's impossible!" Borgin said. "I locked down the shop! The wards were active!"

Yet the front door was sitting open, no coat-wearing Muggleborn fools to be found.

"Are you sure you're not losing it, old man?" asked one of the younger wizards. "We all hit that age eventually."

Borgin's eyes widened. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of a black-haired man dressed in brown walking past the window.

"He's out there!" Borgin screamed. "After him! Get him!"

Reluctantly, they followed his instructions.

"This is getting risky," one muttered. "He's outside of the shop."

"We'll get him before he leaves Knockturn," said another. "It's one guy. What could he do?"

O-O-O

Harry dropped the nervous act the moment Borgin left him alone. He was shocked the shopkeeper had been a Slytherin back in the day. Borgin was going to go and find a cursed object for an angry Muggleborn to take out a family's heir? Lies were supposed to be believable.

So Harry waited until Borgin had called in some nice blood supremacist thugs, and then he broke through the wards and left. It was all about timing. He had to be seen leaving in order to be followed, but he couldn't fight in Knockturn. Doing that would never get noticed the way he needed it to.

Harry walked at a quick pace. The five men that emerged from Borgin and Burkes were walking slightly faster. Harry sped up. They did too. Without warning, he started to sprint.

He heard them exclaiming behind him. Soon, heavy footsteps were landing on the wet cobblestones as Harry was chased through Knockturn Alley.

The first curse they cast at him was purple and certainly didn't look nice. Harry kept an eye on it, but there was no reason to worry. The spell flew right past him. These weren't the kind of wizards who could hit a running target while running themselves.

Harry's head dipped as he ran faster.

"Bugger's quick!" he heard someone behind him shout.

Up ahead, Diagon Alley was coming into view. It was too late for shoppers to be out, but you could tell where it started because of the litstreet lights, contrasting Knockturn Alley's darkness.

As soon as they saw the glow, Harry's pursuers started to slow down. They were wise enough or cowardly enough to fear doing this in the light. Harry aimed his wand behind him as he ran, casting a single spell.

He chose a devious one that he picked up in Romania some years back. Nominally a stinging curse, it included aspects of a warming charm to make the feeling even worse. Getting hit with it would cause roughly thirty seconds of sharp pain and throbbing heat wherever it landed.

The spell flew down the street, briefly providing a bit of lilac light to the dark alley. Unlike the purebloods chasing him, Harry did not miss. His curse struck the boy in front directly between the legs.

A rather girlish scream escaped the wizard's lips. His knees turned toward each other, and he fell on his face while cupping his crotch with both hands. His friends stopped for a moment, before chasing Harry even faster than before, heedless of Diagon Alley's light.

The importance of their bloodline was instilled in every budding pureblood from the time they could barely walk. It was where they got their feelings of superiority. Even the heirs of minor houses weren't spared, their parents constantly stuffing their heads with the need to produce heirs of their own. It rendered them particularly sensitive to anything happening to the equipment they carried between their legs. These four had no idea that what Harry hit their friend with wasn't permanent. They just knew that he'd fallen screaming after taking a spell to the reproductive organs. Catching Harry wasn't just a task from a smarmy shopkeeper now— it was a personal vendetta.

"Help!" Harry screamed the moment they were among the streetlights and clean-cut stores of Diagon's main drag. "Help! There's Death Eaters after me!"

A curse flew at his head, and he ducked just in time to let it fly over harmlessly.

"They're out to get me! I think I just saw an Unforgiveable!"

Lights were appearing in windows above stores, where most of the shopkeepers lived. Seeing this, Harry stopped running. If he got too far away, these fools might get cold feet. 

"Death Eaters!" he hollered like a fool. "They're here! Voldemort's Inner Circle!"

The purebloods flinched at their master's name as they fanned out. Each of them began hurling curses at Harry, who simply conjured a strong shield and hid behind it.

"You won't get me!" Harry said. "Oh, Merlin, is that the Dark Mark?"

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the wand straight out of the hand of the closest pureblood. Harry caught it, assessing it in a few seconds— eleven inches, yew, dragon heartstring.

"Morsmordre!" he said, wielding the stolen wand with his left hand.

Despite the wand's slight resistance, Harry forced the spell through, conjuring a glowing green skull high up in the air. As soon as that was done, he banished the wand right back where it came from. The poor wizard he wand-jacked looked more confused than anyone. 

Seeing the dark mark was the final straw for the would-be attackers. They forgot about righteous vengeance for their friend and attempted to flee. It was too late.

Swirling red robes burst out of three different shops, including Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor where Harry ate with the first years. Aurors cut off the men's escape route. Shouts of, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Drop your wands!" sounded all over the street.

One young dark wizard was stupid enough to cast a curse. Four stunners slammed into him immediately, hurling him back against a shop and causing him to crumple.

More Aurors swept down Knockturn, searching for anyone foolish enough to remain in the street. The normal denizens were too used to dodging unannounced raids to be caught, leaving only the boy Harry hit in the family jewels. He was dragged back to the others, and all the young purebloods were reduced to staring sullenly at the Aurors surrounding them.

It should have been a routine arrest, but the Aurors couldn't help but look at the sky. The emerald skull with a snake springing from its jaw hung in the air above Diagon like a new sun. The older Aurors in particular looked grim, recalling memories of the last time they would've seen such a mark in a place like this.

"Madam Bones will want to see this," one said.

"I already am."

From Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream shop, a tall woman appeared. Her jaw was set firmly, while her prominent blue eyes seemed to drink up the entire crime scene in a few short glances. She paused, turning behind her to where Florean Fortescue himself stood in the door to his shop, wearing a bathrobe.

"The use of your Floo was greatly appreciated," she said. "Citizens like you make our job possible."

The wizard gave her a sharp nod, looking too proud to speak.

Amelia Bones prowled over to her Aurors.

"Check the wands," she commanded. 

Her Aurors called up the last spells each confiscated wand had cast. There were enough curses there to get the purebloods at least three months in Azkaban, but when the Morsmordre appeared, every Auror's face turned cold.

"It wasn't me!" the owner protested. "It was him!"

He pointed at Harry, who stood in the street in his ratty coat, smiling awkwardly.

"That man cast this spell… with your wand?" Amelia asked.

"He summoned it out of my hand! And then he cast the spell, and then he gave me my wand back!"

Amelia snorted. "Get them out of here."

"I don't even know that spell!" the pureblood continued to shout as he was dragged away. "It was him! All him!"

When they had been dragged away, the street got much quieter. A young Auror approached Harry, but Amelia laid her hand on their shoulder.

"I'll get his statement," she said. "You can go."

The Auror nodded immediately, stepping away for their boss to approach.

"Your name?" Amelia asked.

"Harry Potter," Harry answered.

Amelia's red hair was back in a bun, but at his answer, she reached up and plucked something out of it, causing the locks to fall freely down her back. Harry blinked as he recognized a self-inking quill. Amelia pulled a notebook out of her pocket and scribbled his name down with professional efficiency.

"Do you use a quill in your hair just to be ready to take statements?"

"Focus," Amelia said. "I'll be the one asking questions. Those men said that you were visiting Knockturn Alley?"

"That's true," Harry said.

Amelia looked at him with her head still angled down at her notepad. "They said you were in Borgin and Burkes."

"I wanted to see if it was as bad as everyone says. It was."

"And did you buy anything from Mr. Borgin?"

"Couldn't afford it even if I tried. And I didn't try. Did you know he has a real troll head in there?"

"And much worse," Amelia Bones muttered. "What clued you in that you were in danger?"

"Other than the troll head?"

"Other than the troll head."

"I just had a bad feeling," Harry said. "As soon as I left, those Death Eaters chased me."

Amelia stopped writing. "We checked their forearms," she said. "They're clean. Dark wizards to be certain, but that isn't enough to be a Death Eater."

Harry looked up at the sky, where a different kind of Dark Mark hovered in the sky, then looked back down at Amelia Bones.

"It takes more than making a pretty light to be a Death Eater," she said sternly. "It takes having a master. I advise you not to speak about rumors in the presence of a Ministry official.

"Do you think he's really back?" Harry asked. "He Who Must Not be Named?"

"This is not a press conference, Mr. Potter. You say these men chased you. Did they curse you?"

"They tried," he said, "but they kept missing. I guess I'm pretty lucky."

Amelia added something to her notes that was clearly longer than just 'lucky.'

"Were you hurt in any way?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "I'll definitely be more careful going forward though! I think I'm going to invest in some new wards, something that'll scare anybody off. Everybody should! Even you, Miss Bones."

"I'm the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. My manor already has excellent protections—"

"Give it more," Harry said.

Amelia Bones paused. She raised her chin, facing Harry fully for the first time since she started taking notes.

"Pardon?" she asked softly.

"Whenever you think you're being safe enough, that's a sign to do even more," Harry said. "Every ward has a weakness. Every spell has a counter. You're never completely safe, so assume you're in danger and go from there. Whatever you do, don't let your guard down, even when you're certain you've thought of everything."

Amelia Bones stared at him. The street felt quiet to the two of them, even though Aurors were still checking out the crime scene around them. Harry stared straight into Amelia's blue eyes without wavering.

Abruptly, he looked down at the ground, smiling awkwardly. He rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry. I think I'm still a little nervous after all that happened!"

Slowly, Amelia brought her quill back to her notepad, writing a final note. 

"We'll get statements from the men who attacked you," she said. "You're free to go for now. Please make sure that owls can reach you, and we'll be in touch."

She pocketed her notes, turning back to her Aurors after giving Harry one more look. As he watched one of the last members of the Bones family do her work, his smile faded.

The woman had under a year to live. 

When Voldemort's existence was exposed, the first thing he did was attack her. He did so personally. Even then, rumor had it that Amelia Bones put up a fight on her way out.

The Ministry's resistance had been a joke in Harry's time, but that was only because of incompetent leadership. Amelia Bones wasn't just a good duelist— she was the glue keeping the Ministry in the fight. If he wanted a better future he could not afford to lose her. He'd done all of this to plant the seed in her head that she was vulnerable, but he couldn't stop there. Amelia Bones must live. He refused to let this time be as easy for Voldemort as it had been when he was a student.

Patting the pouch where he had stashed the ring, Harry finally Apparated away, his last sight of Diagon Alley being Amelia Bones ably ordering Aurors around, her red hair swaying as it hung down her back.

If the Dark Lord wanted to score a single victory in this war, Harry was going to make him bleed to get it.