lomonaaeren

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Chapter Six—Darkest and Darker Still

Harry leaned back against the wall of the small set of rooms he’d found to rent on Knockturn Alley, and felt a hard smile make its way across his lips.

His stock of Galleons hadn’t gone as far as he’d thought it would, mostly because the hag who had finally agreed to rent him space hadn’t wanted him brewing potions in just a bedroom. So Harry had had to spend more money on a set of rooms in a dilapidated house with an attached lab that had stone floors and an ancient table polished smooth. It also had windows that Harry would have to leave open while he brewed.

But it didn’t matter.

Because he was free. This set of rooms was his own in a way that nothing had ever been, not even the cupboard at the Dursleys’. After all, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon could lock him in there or pull open the door and yank him out at any time.

Now, Harry wandered around, eyeing the small windows in the bedroom, the single sink and loo that was all he had for a bathroom, the sagging bed, the warped door that led into the potions lab. Small, dirty, too expensive for the space, but his. Private. And he’d paid enough Galleons to the hag for her to say that it was his for the summer.

It did mean that he would have to start brewing soon to earn money for food beyond the next fortnight.

Harry took a deep breath. He had the ingredients and the space he needed. His cauldron. As much water from the sink as he wanted, the hag had said. It would be cold.

That didn’t matter. Harry knew exactly how to warm it up, one of the spells he’d made sure to master when he was practicing his brewing during Christmas.

A smile that would have made him embarrassed if anyone else was there rested on Harry’s lips as he went to start the first Default Draught. But he was alone, and so it was fine.

*

“But where is he?”

Lily hadn’t thought she would be raising her voice, but it had come to this. She had assumed that Harry had slipped past her at King’s Cross and gone back to Petunia’s house, but instead, it turned out he had never arrived there.

And her sister, who should have been a mother to Lily’s boy, was simply standing there with her arms folded and looking at Lily coldly.

“Who knows where the freak is?” Petunia snapped, in a voice whose harsh buzz had become even worse since the last time Lily had seen her. “I knew when he got that invitation to the freak school that he might come back, but I told him he should stay away, and he has. Good riddance, too! Finally the boy did something right for once.”

“Don’t call my son a freak!”

“He isn’t your son, Lily. He’s the son of one freak or another—”

“Petunia! We told you in that letter that you—”

“No, you didn’t. That letter said we had to keep him, and we did it out of the goodness of our hearts, but he was never yours.”

Petunia slammed the door, and left Lily standing there, shaken. She had never thought that this would happen. Yes, the letter they’d left with Harry had been charmed to prevent Petunia and her husband from telling Harry that he was Lily’s son, just that he was Petunia’s sister’s, and to ensure that the Dursleys kept him anyway, but—

Lily hadn’t expected it to turn out like this.

She closed her eyes and stood still for a moment, running likely possibilities in her head. Could Harry have accepted the invitation to a friend’s house for the summer? Magical children did do that more often than Muggle children did, and Sirius had made such good friends with James that he’d basically never gone home again after he was sixteen.

But she hadn’t seen Harry make friends like that. In Slytherin, the people he spent the most time around, his yearmates, would all hate him because of blood prejudice. If he’d become a Gryffindor and made friends with the Weasleys, Lily could have seen him being invited to the Burrow.

As it was, she had no idea, for the first time in eleven years, where her son was.

Lily swallowed cold and Apparated home. She and James would have to begin the search as soon as possible, and hope that Harry hadn’t fallen afoul of a Death Eater or a vampire in the meantime.

*

“Grayson. Fancy seeing you here.”

Theo hadn’t gone into Knockturn Alley looking for Grayson on purpose, but he did admit that he’d wandered around with less interest in his usual pursuits. And now here they were, both at the same small shop that sold food and Potions ingredients and ritual runic arrays and the like all jumbled together.

Grayson turned to face Theo. He was carrying a small basket and wore a completely neutral expression. “Hello, Nott.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Shopping.”

Theo paused and then nodded. He supposed he deserved that answer to his obvious question. “Why do you buy food here?”

“It’s the closest place to where I’m staying.”

Theo sighed. It sounded exasperated to his own ears, which Father would have scolded him for, but Father wasn’t here right now. “Honestly, Grayson, I’m not trying to find out information that I can use against you. I just want to know where you’re staying. It seems incredible that you managed to find a place to live in Knockturn Alley of all places.”

“Because I’m a Muggleborn?”

“Well, yes. Because few people would rent to you.”

“Some people care more about my money than my blood status.”

Theo nodded slowly. He could see that, even if it made little sense to him. But Grayson was proving to be unusual, and unusually interesting, in many ways.

“What does your Muggle family think?”

“They’re fine as long as I’m not in their house.”

“They should have noticed that you’re unusual and cultivated you, instead of discarding you.” Theo made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He’d been careful voicing most of his opinions about Muggles around Grayson this year, but it seemed that Grayson might agree, and Theo wouldn’t have to keep such a close guard on his tongue. That would be a relief.

“Maybe.”

Grayson continued to watch him as if he thought Theo might curse him any second. Theo clasped his hands behind his back. “I know that it might not seem like it, Grayson, but I want to be your ally.”

“We have our bargain. We’ll keep it when we return to Hogwarts, unless you want to renegotiate it.”

Theo shook his head quickly. His marks were better in Potions than they’d ever been, and Father had been pleased. He’d also ordered Theo to do whatever he had to so he could maintain his acquaintance with such a talented brewer, but honestly, Theo would have done that on his own. “I don’t.”

“Then why talk to me during the summer?”

Theo hesitated. “I don’t—I wasn’t planning to ignore you during the summer.”

“But your status could be undercut if someone saw you talking to a Muggleborn.”

“You’re different from the others, though,” Theo said quickly. “I thought you knew that?”

“But most people seeing you talking to me wouldn’t know that, and it would affect your status.” Grayson jerked his head to Theo, a short bow-like gesture, and then grabbed his basket and walked out of the shop.

Theo stared after Grayson with a frown. He’d always believed that he would rejoice in the respect of the Muggleborns when it was offered. Most of the time, they simply wouldn’t offer it, and Father had taught him how to handle those situations.

But now…

This wasn’t false respect, but it was something odd. Something that made Theo feel odd. He shook his head and turned to browse the sort of crystals and runic arrays that he had come into the shop to look at in the first place, but his mind lingered on Harry Grayson, walking back to Merlin knew what hole.

He has enough Galleons to buy food. That should be enough.

*

Harry smiled a little as the tawny owl from one of his best customers landed on his windowsill. He went over to retrieve the bird, offer it a few of the treats that he’d gathered up from a fallen packet in the alley, and accept the bird’s haughty stare in return.

It never acted like it liked Harry, but that was all right. As long as it delivered the packages Harry wanted it to, and brought back the orders from his customer in return, he would tolerate the owl like it tolerated him.

He’d paid the hag who had rented him the rooms another Galleon to spread the word of a Potions brewer and his name along the alley. It hadn’t taken long for the first owls to find him. People hearing his name didn’t know who he was or where he was or how old he was, and they only gave enough identifying information in their messages for Harry to be sure who he was brewing for. Their owls waited to carry the orders.

And the Galleons rolled in.

Harry knew it wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough for the kind of things he wanted to do. But it was a start, and as he took the order from the owl and glanced over the message for what he would need next, he felt a deep sense of contentment. At least he could control and affect his fate here, the way he’d never been able to at the Dursleys’.

He gathered up his basket and went out to the apothecary deep inside Knockturn Alley that sold the best ingredients. It was called Eileen’s, and had the name written in writhing silver script above the door. A small alarm sang out as Harry opened the door and stepped inside, but he didn’t care. The shopkeeper would come out soon.

“Here again, boy?”

Harry tilted his head towards the owner as he stepped out of the back room, a tall man always wrapped in a dark cloak and spells so thick they made Harry’s teeth buzz. “Yes, sir.”

The shopkeeper had never mentioned his name, and never asked for Harry’s. He never seemed startled at Harry’s age, either. It was one of the reasons Harry shopped at Eileen’s.

“Tell me, boy, why do you come here instead of one of the cheaper places?”

“You have the best ingredients, sir.”

The man nodded after a moment, and reached out a hand. Harry placed the list of what he would need to brew his next draught in the man’s hand. His client was requesting a variation of the Default Draught that could cure the lingering remnants of a curse. Harry wasn’t good enough to brew the kind that would remove a powerful Dark spell at one go, but then again, he had the distinct impression that his client wasn’t the kind of person who could go to a Healer and have the spell taken off, either. They were content enough with the weaker Default Draughts that added up over time.

“You realize that the moondew from a pond where a unicorn drank is highly expensive?”

“Yes, sir.”

The shopkeeper waited to see if that would scare him off, or so Harry assumed. Harry waited, too, and stared at him. After a moment, the man turned away with a rough sound that might be a laugh.

“You won’t have enough Galleons to pay for it. But I’ll take payment in kind.”

“Yes, sir?” Harry wondered what the man could possibly want. It wasn’t like he would be an expert in gathering ingredients compared to the shopkeeper.

“Blood.”

Harry eyed the man, or the creature he had assumed was a man, and was now wondering about being a vampire. “If you’re trying to prove some point regarding blood purity, you should know that I’m Muggleborn, sir.”

“And yet you believe in that nonsense?”

Harry shrugged without moving away. “Most people around me do, so I thought you might.”

The man was still for a long moment. Then he said, “I am not a fool,” and looked away. “You will be required to provide a vial full of blood for every vial of moondew you wish to purchase.”

“That is acceptable.”

“Do you even know what it means to shed blood?”

“I’m a Muggleborn living in Knockturn Alley, sir.”

There was a long, quiet moment when the man stared at Harry, as far as Harry could tell from the position of his hood, and Harry thought he might be told simply to leave. But then the shopkeeper shook his head and gave what sounded like a gusty sigh. “Pay me the blood,” he whispered, before he swept to the side and picked up two vials. “One for the blood, and this is the Blood-Replenisher,” he added, when Harry stared at the second one.

Harry nodded. He supposed he could see the point of that. The owner probably didn’t want Harry fainting on his floor from lack of blood. He rolled up his sleeve. “You’ll use the spell here, sir?”

“There is an old scar there.”

“Yeah. Does that mean that it’s not suitable for bleeding?”

The shopkeeper stood in silence for a little longer, and then shook his head and held up the vial and a silver blade so sharp that Harry didn’t think he’d feel the cut when it went in. That turned out to be true. “You are a surprising child.”

“As you say, sir.”

Harry watched without much emotion as the knife sliced into his arm. He’d shed a lot of blood in the past because of Dudley and his gang. At least this way, it would be for a better purpose.

“You realize that someone who wanted to could use this blood to gain control of you, boy?”

Harry laughed before he thought about it. The man went still, staring at him.

“I’m an unimportant Muggleborn, sir. I don’t have a vault to my name. There would be no reason to try and gain control of me.”

“The pleasure of having a victim…”

“I’ve been that already.”

The shopkeep remained still for a moment more, observing him. Then he turned away to place the vial of Harry’s blood on a shelf behind him and held out the Blood-Replenisher. Harry swallowed it without flinching. The taste of the potion was normal, he thought, given that he had only tasted his own experiments.

“You are a strange child.”

“Yes, sir. Will you take another vial of blood now? Can you do it so soon after you gave me the Blood-Replenisher?”

The man made what Harry thought might be a snort, but the spells on the hood muffled it and made it sound strange. “You are a strange child,” he said, as if trying to win an argument with someone else. “But I suppose I might as well teach you about Potions since I have you here.”

“And the price, sir?”

“Paying attention.”

Harry thought that a low price, but he also knew that he would listen and pay attention, because what the shopkeep of Eileen’s didn’t know about Potions probably wasn’t worth knowing.

*

Harry woke shivering. He frowned at the small fireplace, and harder when he saw that the fire was still flickering, although almost out.

Why am I so cold?

He rolled over in the bed and sat up. Only then did he notice the figure that loomed in the doorway of his room.

Harry went still. He knew he would try to run or defend himself if he were cornered, but at the moment, he had no idea what the stranger intended, and he could only stare.

The figure stared at him. It looked enough like the cloaked owner of Eileen’s that Harry had thought it was him for a moment. But it was taller, and the spells wrapped around it were the kind of cold magic that had damped the fire and that Harry had stumbled on an older Slytherin wielding a time or two.

And in the center of the hood, where a face should be, floated only a patch of darkness with red eyes.

The figure kept staring. Harry kept staring back. He hoped, as the moments passed as slowly as the motions of a frightened rabbit, that that meant the person wasn’t going to kill him right away.

Then the figure spoke in a low, rattling voice. “I was told that I would find a Muggleborn named Harry Grayson who was talented at brewing Potions here.”

Harry clenched his frozen fists between his knees and managed to clear his throat. “That’s me—sir.” He was guessing at the title, but the person didn’t kill him right away, so it must have been correct.

“You are a child.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You ran away from home?”

“I’m Muggleborn, sir. My Muggle family didn’t like my freakishness, so they told me not to come back.”

The figure remained still for long enough that Harry thought there was going to be another staring contest. Then it gave a low laugh and flipped back its hood. Harry stared at the face. It actually looked mostly normal other than the extremely pale skin and the brilliant red eyes.

No, wait. When the man turned a little to the side, Harry could make out a faint pattern of scales under his skin.

“Do you know who I am, Harry Potter?”

Harry took a deep breath and made a guess. If he was wrong, hopefully it would flatter the intruder. “The Dark Lord?”

“Indeed. Returned with the help of an artifact perhaps best left nameless.” The Dark Lord sat down in the chair nearest the fire and glanced at it. In seconds, the dead ashes leaped back into life, flames dancing and bowing to each other. “I was told about you by a friend of mine. I suspect you could be useful.”

Harry suspected he could, too, and that he wouldn’t even be alive now if the Dark Lord had thought him useless. He made a bow from where he was sitting in the bed and spoke as calmly and reasonably as he could. “I would be honored, my lord.”

The Dark Lord smiled, red eyes as bright as the embers coming to life behind him. “Indeed. Let us talk business.”