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The Assassin

Chapter 1

A young man with a lean body ran through the shadowy streets under the cover of the unusually dark night sky. His long, leather cloak flickered behind him as his black boots splashed on the drenched pavement. He suddenly halted to a complete stop outside of a two storey house and forced his breathing under control as he surveyed the extremely quiet surrounding area. The young man stood still until he could no longer hear his breathing. He waited until all he could hear was the light pitter patter from the rain and the rustling of the nearby trees as they blew in the wind.

The young man observed the pitch black house before him, not a sign of life within. He eyed the backyard and found the tree he had scoped out previously that would give him a good view to the inside of the house. Silently, he walked over to the base of the tree. His dark attire allowed him to blend in with the shadows around him. He swiftly pulled himself up the tree's trunk as if he weighed absolutely nothing. Crouching on a branch, concealed by both the leaves and his black attire, the young man scoured the house and nodded in approval as he reconfirmed no sign of the occupant anywhere.

Half an hour passed and the young man had not moved a single inch. He would have happily stayed in that position for many hours more if it meant he could successfully achieve his mission without a problem. However, his patience was soon about to pay off as he noticed a car pull into the dark driveway. His green eyes watched as a man got out of the vehicle and made his way inside the house. The oblivious male turned on all of the lights as he made his way into the kitchen. The young man's body stiffened in his current position, watching every single move through the kitchen windows, all of his senses were on high alert.

This was the moment the young man had been so patiently awaiting. He had been studying the other male's routine for nearly two weeks straight, ever since he found out this man was to be his next target. He knew every move. He knew every habit. He knew every detail about his sad, pathetic life. This man's name was Kevin Owens. He was single, lived alone, worked from 9am to 6pm every day except for on Sundays. And every night - without fail - he would have a cigarette in the backyard before popping in a microwave meal to start unwinding for the evening.

The young man darkly smirked to himself as he saw Kevin grab a cigarette from his work bag before he headed outside to the backyard. This would be the chance for the young man to strike his unsuspecting victim. He watched, still crouched within the tree, as Kevin made his way into the middle of his backyard. The night was silent as Kevin proceeded to bring his cigarette to life with a lighter and stare calmly at the moon. He was, unknowingly, in the perfect position.

The young man slid down the tree without a noise and crouched low to the ground like a lion hunting its prey. He stalked forwards, not emitting a single sound, until he stood directly behind his victim. Keeping his eyes on the back of Kevin's head, the young man reached down to his calf slowly and pulled a Blackhawk Tatang knife out of its sheath. None of his movements made a sound which left Kevin clueless to the ominous presence that lingered directly behind him.

The knife's black material didn't shine in the moonlight as the young man brought the weapon around to Kevin's throat, hovering near, but not touching his skin. In the same movement, he also brought his unoccupied hand around to the other side, ready to cover Kevin's mouth. The pair stood completely still in the deathly captivating stance. If anyone would happen to peer into the dark backyard at that very moment, they wouldn't be able to warn the unsuspecting man due to the utterly breathtaking sight.

In the quiet of the night, Kevin took another long draw from his cigarette, his brown eyes locked on the moon in all of its beautiful glory. As Kevin exhaled the potent smoke up towards the sky, the young man promptly stabbed the knife into the right side of Kevin's throat. He sliced through the thick skin to directly hit where the right carotid artery lay beneath the surface. In the same motion, he brought his other hand up and covered Kevin's mouth tightly. His strong grip held Kevin firmly in place as the other man began to desperately fight for freedom. The cigarette fell to the ground amongst the struggle, soon to be forgotten and abandoned.

Blood splattered over the grass as gurgling sounds came from the distressed man. The young man continued to hold Kevin in place as he brutally plunged the knife further into the neck, cutting the vocal cords in one swift action. The young man brought the blood ridden knife out with a slight grunt before he plunged it into the left side to slash the left carotid artery as well. Satisfied that both major blood vessels and the vocal cords had been severed sufficiently, the young man pinched Kevin's nose with the hand that had already been covering his mouth. Under his breath, he started to count the seconds that passed in which Kevin was unable to breathe. And slowly, Kevin stopped struggling in the hold, and instead, slipped away from life in a hazy unconsciousness.

The young man placed his knife back into its sheath before he merely dropped Kevin, face first, to the ground. The young man sighed heavily before he stepped away from the corpse. Another night, another death, another job done. Without a word the young man apparated from the spot he stood to reappear up on the rooftop. Crouching down to be hidden from view, the young man held his hands up towards the backyard and the corpse below him. And with his eyes closed, he concentrated on the task of summoning his magic back to him, as well as cleaning up the crime scene. A simple task he had been taught to do after every mission, despite the victim being a muggle or a wizard.

After a second of silence, the young man had wiped any traces of his DNA from Kevin and the surrounding area. He then removed all of his footprints from the grass so no one could track a shoe size or type. Lastly, but definitely not least, the young man removed his magical residual from the immediate area. He didn't want anything left behind that could possibly lead anyone to him. Not even the best trackers or hunters would be able to find him once the task was completed as there wouldn't be a single trace of him ever being there. He opened his eyes after he finally felt satisfied that he'd done a sufficient job in the cleanup.

Instead of apparating again, the young man ran along the rooftop in a crouch to stay out of sight as much as possible. If he had apparated from that spot, it would leave behind his residual magic, which could be traced to him, defeating the entire process he'd just gone through. Instead he fled the crime scene by foot just like he had pre-planned when he had scouted everything out before that night. He jumped from rooftop to rooftop under cover of the dark night. The young man travelled in complete silence further away from his latest victim. He didn't stop nor slow down until he was far enough away to safely use a small amount of magic.

As he came to a stop on a rooftop many blocks away, the young man pulled out a small box from one of the inside pockets of his leather cloak. Within it held a miniature broom that any other person would have assumed to be a little toy. However, when the young man pulled the miniature broom out, it grew in his grasp to its normal size. The now full-sized Nimbus 2000 reflected the moonlight off of its polished wood; it's twigs neat and straight. The young man climbed on the broom and performed a simple Disillusionment Charm upon himself, both wandlessly and wordlessly, before he pushed himself up in the air and took off without any further hesitation.

After a fast fifteen minute journey, the young man landed on the ground not far from the place he called home. He looked up at the only house in sight: a massive, old, barn styled house with fields of green grass surrounding it. A pathway had been engraved into the grass from the many cars that had driven to and from the house. The track stretched away from the house towards the tree line in the far distance which would then lead to the only main road nearby - albeit an abandoned main road. The house that sat in the middle of the very large clearing was secluded from any nearby human life, neighbours nowhere near to witness the secretive ongoings of the group within.

The young man placed the Nimbus broom back into its box while he admired the darkened area with fondness. He placed the box back into the pocket it came from as he walked up to the front of the house. The fresh, country air soothingly filled his lungs during his short walk, taking the opportunity to bathe in the silence after a successful mission. He opened the front door quietly and quickly observed the amount of people within the living room before he deemed it safe to walk in. The door automatically closed on its own as soon as his hand left the handle which drew the only occupant's attention to the young man.

"Success?" an even younger male asked from his place on the couch, looking at the young man with admiration in his eyes.

"Of course," the young man replied while he took his leather cloak off. "Would you expect anything else from me?"

"No, you are right," the other male chuckled, standing up and heading towards him. "Merlin help the day Harry Potter doesn't successfully kill a target," the young male said sarcastically with a mischievous roll of his eyes as he shook Harry Potter's hand in congratulations.

"And your mission?" Harry asked with a playful smirk on his face, already knowing the answer to his question.

"I had to hunt for food," the other male sighed, heading back to the couch while Harry stayed where he was at the front door. "They still want me to do more training. But I've been training for a long time now. I think I'm ready. I just wish they would see that."

"Your day will come Gray," Harry said as he headed towards the staircase. "Patience is key."

"Easier said than done," Grayson yelled up at Harry's retreating back.

Harry rolled his eyes at the comment as he went up the two flights of stairs to go to his bedroom. He walked over to one of the four doors on the third level of the house and entered his private space. After softly shutting the door behind him, a heavy sigh left his lips. He stood still for a moment as he allowed himself to relax his tensed shoulders. Harry leisurely walked over to his wardrobe, straightened out his leather cloak that was in his grasp and hung it up inside with five other identical looking leather cloaks.

Hidden under the cloak the entire time were four weapons in holsters that were magically strapped to his body. There was one for his wand that sat on his inner right forearm. On each of his biceps were a holster that held a small knife. And lastly, there was the large holster on his calf for his favourite weapon; the Blackhawk Tatang knife. After he quickly checked over his body, weapons, and holsters for any damage, Harry began his usual post-mission routine that he had developed over the years.

He opened the middle drawer inside the wardrobe which revealed an array of weapons neatly lined up. Sliding out the two small knives from their bicep holsters, he neatly placed them into their rightful spots. He shut that drawer and opened up the top one which held all different types of holsters and sheaths. He unclipped the bicep holsters and placed them in amongst the messily organised pile. It was much less organised than his weapons drawer since most of the holsters could be used for a wide variety of weapons, only a few of them were actually specialised.

Harry sighed again as he closed up his wardrobe and walked into his private bathroom. With his right hand, he pulled the Blackhawk Tatang knife out of its sheath while turning on the sink's hot water tap with his other hand. As he paused to allow the water to warm up, his eyes travelled up to the mirror where his tired reflection stared back. His green eyes took in his messy, jet black hair only for a few seconds before he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Moving the knife under the water, Harry watched in satisfaction as the ruby red blood dripped and mixed in with the water in the sink below.

Nonverbally and wandlessly, he summoned the Accelerated Hydrogen Peroxide Disinfectant spray bottle from under the sink as well as some paper towel. Both items neatly placed themselves beside the sink as Harry continued to run the blade under steaming hot water. After a further minute, he turned off the tap and wiped down the sharp, wet surface with a sheet of the paper towel. Harry then sprayed a decent amount of the disinfectant on the knife to kill any bacteria, viruses, blood-borne pathogens or any other nasty cells that could cause harm if he was to accidentally cut himself or someone other than his next target. Not that it had ever happened to him before. But he was taught to always prepare for the absolute worst case scenario by regularly cleaning his weaponry, and especially, after their use in a mission.

After he rinsed the knife under the hot water one last time and dried it down manually, he was satisfied that his favourite knife had been thoroughly cleaned the proper way. Harry placed it back in its rightful place on his calf holster, once again always taught to carry a weapon on his body other than his wand. And it just so happened that he preferred this particular knife out of all of his collection. There were many lessons he'd learned from a young age that had become habits for him, some now pure instinct, he reflected as he cleaned up his bathroom.

Harry walked out of his bathroom and sat down on the side of his bed. He took this small opportunity of a few seconds to decompress from the mission before he needed to go upstairs and report to his boss. Directly in front of him, he stared into the free-standing, full length mirror. His eyes slowly travelled along his black attire, over his remaining two holsters, and up until he locked onto the blank expression on his face. It was then that he noticed there were a few splashes of crimson blood droplets on his left cheek he had missed in the bathroom mirror. He wiped it away with his thumb, a small smile adorning his face, before he silently stood once more. He stared into his dark green jaded eyes for a second before walking out.

Harry walked up one more flight of stairs and made his way to the closest of two doors. He knocked loud enough for the occupant to hear and took a step back to wait with his hands behind his back. The door opened inaudibly to reveal a singular man sat behind a desk, his head buried in paperwork. He entered the dimly lit room and closed the door behind him for privacy. Harry simply stood in front of the desk silently as he patiently waited for the other to finish his current task.

"Harry," a thick Scottish accent rolled out as the older male straightened up and smiled warmly up at him. "Take a seat for Merlin's sake."

"Yes sir," Harry immediately responded and sat on the chair to his right.

"Report?" the other said after he finally placed down his pen, clasped his hands together and looked over at Harry with a serious expression.

"Successful mission," stated Harry, his face emotionless. "Target was sighted at 6:21pm, killed at 6:29pm. No neighbours were alerted to my presence. There were no witnesses, no evidence, nor magical trace left behind. The target has yet to be found dead so no Police or Auror reports have been filed."

"Well done," the man smiled darkly. With that, he pulled out a small bag of cash and placed it on the desk. He gestured to the reward, a dark glint in his brown eyes. "Don't spend it all at once."

"Thank you, sir," Harry smiled equally as darkly as he grabbed the small bag and pocketed it.

Neither of the men made a move to leave, both staring at each other with fondness. The silence that engulfed the room was comfortable for the two, no awkwardness to be found in the air. Only the ticking from a nearby clock and the spittle from the fireplace filled the room as dark green eyes stared into gleeful brown eyes.

"Now the business is over with, drop the formalities Harry," he chuckled, leaning forwards in his chair. "How are you going?"

"I am fine, Drew," Harry sighed as he rolled his eyes.

Drew would always ask that question at any opportunity he had. It made Harry's heart warm to know he had someone that cared for him so deeply, no matter who he was or what he did. He was so lucky to have Drew in his life. Not only was this guy his caring boss, but he was the closest thing he had to a family and to a father figure.

"Your 16th birthday is coming up in a few weeks," Drew smiled warmly. "What would you like?"

"Nothing," Harry shook his head with a firm smirk.

"How about that 12 piece set of Black Kunai Throwing Knives you've had your eyes on?" mused Drew as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin with his right hand. "They are 6 inches long, come with two small and compact leg sheaths, and I'm sure if I mention my name, I can get a new bullseye target thrown in for no extra cost."

Harry couldn't help the genuine laugh that bubbled up. He shook his head in disbelief. This man always knew what he wanted without him ever needing to say a word. Harry didn't know how he did it, but he was always impressed with how well the elder knew him.

"Drew," Harry said after calming down. "I don't want it. Having the roof over my head, food in my stomach and money in my pocket is enough. It will always be more than enough."

"Potter," Drew said sternly, he rarely used that tone.

"McIntyre," Harry said back just as sternly.

"Potter stop," Drew shook his head with a chuckle, he couldn't keep up the stern façade when the younger said his surname. He had an evident soft spot for the younger, one he sometimes wished he didn't have. "I'm getting you that set whether you like it or not."

"Drew McIntyre does whatever he wants," Harry smirked, holding up his hands in defence. "I can't stop you."

"Get out of here before I change my mind you little mutt," laughed Drew as he picked his pen up and got back to the paperwork in front of him.

"Later," Harry said as he left the office and headed back down to his room.

After collapsing on his bed in the privacy of his room with a sigh, Harry allowed the sound of the rain - that had not long ago intensified - to soothe his tense body. He hated being reminded of his birthday or of his past. Before Drew had found him that fateful night over ten years ago, he had lived with a despicable family called the Dursley's. Just thinking about them made him tense back up and a snarl to rise from deep within him. Harry closed his eyes and listened to the rain again. He couldn't help it as his mind started to think back on the night he was found.

It was a cold, winter night in the small town of Surrey. Most residents were in their homes, snuggled up near their fireplace or heater with their loved ones. The streets were eerily quiet and mysteriously clouded in an abnormal darkness. If anyone was to walk down the alley off the main street of shops, they would come across a small, shaking boy all alone and crying. Fortunately for that young boy, a group happened to be chasing someone into that exact alleyway.

"It's a dead end," the leader of the group chuckled as he stood at the end of the alleyway with five other men behind him. Lifting his hand up, a blue light shot out from his palms and encircled the person the group were chasing.

The small boy gasped quietly as he saw the light come from the man's hands. From where he crouched behind a pile of garbage bags, he continued to watch on with his mouth hung open; half in curiosity and half in fear.

"Wait," the out-of-breath male said as he tried to get out of the strange blue circle. "Please. I didn't do anything."

The leader of the group chuckled darkly, soon joined in by all five of his companions. The chilling sound reverberated around the small alleyway which caused the trapped man and hidden young boy to shiver in fear. The leader stepped forward into the alleyway while his accomplices stayed behind to block the entrance, or exit - depending on how one looked at it.

"No?" the man's chuckle grew darker as did his facial features. Suddenly there was nothing that was amusing to the man before his tone dangerously switched. "No? You didn't do anything? Are you lying to yourself to make things easier?"

"I-I'm not lying!" the man cried out in panic. "I didn't do anything. I swear! P-Please don't kill me!"

The young boy on the ground shuffled forward slightly from where he crouched behind the pile of garbage bags. He attempted to try and see more of the scene that was unfolding in front of him without being caught. A morbid sense of curiosity settled deep within him as he watched the leader stalk the man inside of the blue circle.

"Well answer me this," the leader growled out darkly. "Who was the one to compromise our position? Who was the one who was a double agent? Who was the one that fed information to the enemy? Huh? Who was it then?"

The man in the circle began searching the alleyway for any excuse, any way to escape. Fear, defeat, and desperation all swirled within his two blue orbs. His chest rapidly heaved up and down both in anticipation and terror. There was seemingly no way out of the quiet alleyway in the small town of Surrey no matter how hard he looked around.

"Please don't kill me," he pathetically begged again.

"You're pathetic," the other spat at the ground before slowly raising his hand again. "You deserve this, you filthy piece of shit."

"Wait!" the man cried out, his eyes locked on the little form of the boy. "Is that a child?"

The leader snorted in amusement from the pitiful attempt as he haphazardly turned in the direction the trapped man had been looking at. The moment his eyes locked on the shaking frame of what appeared to be a young child, his amusement slipped and his face turned deadly serious. He slowly approached the young boy as if not to spook him and crouched down in front of him.

"What are you doing out here young one?" he asked in a soothing tone that the boy hadn't heard from anyone before. "Are you cold?"

The young boy nodded his head shyly, avoiding eye contact with the stranger. He looked at the man's chest as the other started to take his coat off, unsure of what was happening. The leader gently placed the large, warm coat around the small frame and frowned deeply as the young boy flinched at being touched.

"Where is your home?" he asked, forgetting about the traitor behind him for the moment. "Are your parents not worried?"

"They are dead," the young boy whispered quietly, still avoiding eye contact.

"Who do you live with?" he pressed on. Surely this young boy had a place he lived at with some relatives or a carer?

"Aunt, Uncle, Dudley," the boy whispered, shaking as he said those frightful names out loud.

"Why don't I take you back to your Aunt and Uncle?" he asked, but almost instantly regretted asking.

"NO!" the young boy shouted, wide green eyes finally meeting concerned dark brown eyes. "P-P-Please don't take me back."

"It's okay," the man tried to soothe the tearful young one. He turned his head around to his group. "Take the traitor back to base. I'll be home soon."

The young boy watched in fear as the group of five men swiftly stalked forwards and grabbed hold of the one inside of the blue circle. With a loud pop, and a blink of the eyes, the six men were gone. The young boy stared around in curiosity and amazement. He was wondering how they had managed to disappear so quickly when a niggling feeling popped into the back of his head.

"Are you freaks too?" the young boy whispered, refusing to look any higher than the other male's chest again.

"Freaks?" the man whispered to himself. "What do you mean by freaks?"

"Aunt and Uncle say freaks like me use the M word," he whispered out, looking around to make sure it was safe to say. He leaned in slightly and in a barely audible whisper he uttered one single word, "Magic."

"Young one," the man sighed and shook his head, disbelief in what he was hearing. "You are not a freak if you can use magic. And I am not a freak for using magic. No one is."

"B-But they say so," the boy whispered, shaking uncontrollably from the cold air despite the warm coat that essentially engulfed him. "They always tell the truth. They say freaks like me should have died in the car crash with my parents. They say freaks aren't good."

"What's your name, young one?" the man asked, not wanting to take the young boy back to his so-called aunt and uncle the more he talked with him.

"Most of the time I am Freak," he whispered. "But sometimes I am Harry."

"Well sometimes Harry," the man smiled warmly as the younger's face lit up in joy for a few seconds. "How would you like to come to my home and get out of the cold for the night?"

"Do I have to cook and clean for you as well?" Harry asked.

"No," the man smiled sadly at the young one. "You don't need to do anything."

"O-Okay, if you are sure," Harry said shyly, looking up into the kind eyes, feeling oddly safe with the stranger.

"I am Drew," Drew held his hand out for Harry to take. "Nice to meet you Harry."

Harry shook Drew's hand quickly before withdrawing his own back, afraid of being tricked. Drew stood up and stretched his aching legs after having squated for so long. The older man looked around the quiet alleyway before he smiled warmly down at the young boy still hidden behind a pile of garbage bags. In that moment, he was glad the traitor had led them on a small chase. Otherwise, he might never have found small, little Harry hidden away from the world in this dark alleyway.

"Take hold of my hand and don't let go," Drew held his hand out as Harry wearily stood up and took a tentative step closer to him. "This might feel funny but it is only for a few seconds."

Harry apprehensively slipped his tiny, shaking hand into Drew's large one. He closed his eyes to muster up some courage. As he did, he felt a warmness wrap around his entire body before a sensation of being squeezed through a tight tube happened for a few seconds. As soon as the feeling disappeared, he opened one eye to find himself standing in a living room he had never seen before. Harry looked up to Drew, eyes wide with shock and amazement.

"Welcome to my place," Drew smiled down at Harry before he knelt down and carefully took his coat off him so the young boy didn't overheat.

"How did you do that?" Harry's voice quivered slightly in awe, as he took in his surroundings thoroughly.

"It's called apparation," Drew explained, hanging his coat on a rack beside the door. "It's when a wizard or witch magically goes from one place to another without moving."

"Like teleportation?" Harry asked in curiosity.

"That's a big word, Harry," Drew chuckled as he knelt down again. "Where did you learn that from?"

"I was a bad boy and read a book," Harry hung his head in shame, feeling like this could give the strange man a reason to kick him out just like his aunt and uncle had done.

"Why are you a bad boy for reading?" Drew asked in confusion.

"Freaks shouldn't touch what isn't theirs," Harry whispered. "Uncle got mad one time he found me with one of Aunt's books."

"Harry," Drew sighed, reaching out and softly grabbing his shoulder. He frowned as the young boy flinched from the touch but nonetheless stood still. "You are not a freak. And if you wish to read a book here, you can."

"Thank you sir," Harry smiled shyly as he continued to avoid eye contact, not wanting to fully let his guard down.

"Call me Drew," he responded immediately as he stood up. "Now would you like me to show you around and introduce you to the people that live here?"

"Can you show me the cupboard first?" Harry asked sheepishly.

"The cupboard?" Drew asked, confused. "Why would you want to see my cupboard?"

"The cupboard under the stairs is my bedroom," Harry stated proudly, his chest puffing slightly.

"No Harry," Drew sighed. "You cannot stay in a cupboard."

Harry looked up in shock. Tears formed in his eyes slightly. There was a reason he didn't want to let his guard down so soon. Nothing in the world seemed to be kind to him or go in his favour. Things with the stranger seemed too good to be true. Upon seeing the upset look on the child's face, Drew knelt down for what felt like the fourth hundred time that day.

"You can stay in a bedroom like any normal child would," Drew said to stop the young one from thinking he couldn't stay there.

"A bedroom?" Harry asked, his head tilting slightly in apprehension. "A bedroom like Dudley has? Or like Aunt and Uncle have?"

"Yes," Drew smiled sadly. "How about I show you the bedroom first?"

Harry nodded his head eagerly and followed Drew up the two flights of stairs. His eyes travelled all around the place to observe the new environment. Harry could have sworn that a portrait he had passed by had moved, but put it down to his tired eyes playing tricks on him. Drew opened up one of the four doors on the third floor as he stepped aside for the young boy. Harry gasped as he looked around the large, empty bedroom.

Harry smiled sadly as he opened his eyes and looked around the room. Nothing much had changed except for a few new pieces of furniture and a few personal items here and there. The bedroom was very much as dull as the day he first saw it, which Harry didn't mind as it was more than he had ever owned at the Dursley's for the four and a bit years of his life he'd spent there. Harry sat up and decided to get settled in for the night, blissfully unaware of the panic happening miles away from him in the Headmasters office at Hogwarts.

>_< >_< >_<

The room was full. Full of people, full of emotions, full of magic. An old wizard, with a long white beard and brightly coloured robes, sat behind the desk as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He quietly sat there as he tried to focus on anything but the talk of the other Order members in attendance. The familiar sensation of a tension headache began to form the longer the noise continued.

"Silence," Headmaster Dumbledore said quietly, no one hearing the word leave his mouth.

The old wizard lifted his head slowly from his hands, dangerous blue eyes flashing with fury. He inhaled slowly, trying to keep his cool as much as he could. He looked around the room slowly to find not even a single pair of eyes was on him.

"I said," he said a little louder before bellowing the last word, "silence!"

And silence is what he got. Everyone froze as the usual calm and cheery Headmaster of Hogwarts yelled with a vicious undertone. Those that stood closer to the old man even felt the powerful flick of his raw magic, his anger lashing out of him in terrifying waves.

"I did not call this meeting for meaningless chitter chatter," he growled out with barely contained anger. "I called this meeting in hopes of hearing some news on our current situation. Time is of the essence. You all know as well as I how important it is to find the boy."

No one dared to speak another word in fear of the Headmaster's spontaneous wild magic or his icy, dark blue eyes being drawn to them. The grey haired wizard scanned the room with hidden satisfaction now that he had control over the Order members. He adjusted himself in his chair to sit up straighter and flattened his robes over his chest in a self soothing gesture.

"Fletcher," Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes scouted the man out from the rest. "Report."

"There has been increased activity of crime in both the muggle and wizarding world," the short and unshaven ginger man said, stepping forward slightly. "I have been sighting a lot of murder cases in both worlds where the cause of death is known, however the perpetrator is unknown. When the Aurors have investigated, no magical trace can be found anywhere in the immediate area. That also includes some of the muggle cases they secretly look into."

"Any idea of who or what is at the cause of all of this?" Dumbledore asked with a massive sigh.

"No sir," whispered Fletcher, eyes cast down. "There is no evidence, no magical trace, nothing. My best guess is that we are dealing with extremely powerful wizards or assassins."

The Headmaster closed his eyes, trying to make any sense of the report. If there was a group of extremely powerful wizards going about on a killing spree, he would have known about it by now. He had connections all over the world with many different groups of people, regardless of magical status. Even if said powerful wizards were from abroad and were only coming to the United Kingdom to carry out their dark desires, Dumbledore was sure he would have at least heard a murmur about it somewhere in the web of his associations.

And as for the assassins theory, he very much doubted anything could be done if this was the case. He had heard whispers of many secretive organisations around the world that get a large earning for that line of work. And the large earnings came from the deadly skills and immense power they possess to successfully carry out risky, high profiled assassinations - which only made them that more dangerous and sought after. That was one of the few things he would never want to meddle with, mostly in fear of crossing the wrong person. He sighed before dismissing the ginger man with a lazy wave of his hand. His eyes moved on, looking for his next target.

"Shacklebolt," he almost barked, still close to losing his temper. "Any progress?"

"Nothing more than where we were three years ago," the tall man said immediately.

"How do we know he is even alive?" a small voice asked from the back of the room.

Everyone turned their heads to see Molly Weasley with tears in her eyes, clutching at her husband's arm. While no one ever voiced this opinion in front of the Headmaster, they all were thinking it every time their search efforts turned out fruitless. To say it had been a long and tiresome ten years of searching would be an understatement. Many of the Order members were growing tired of chasing dead leads, yet, they were still afraid to voice their worst fears.

"We must have hope, Molly," Dumbledore said softly. "If we lose the only hope we have, we will never find him in time."

"Three years have passed Albus," she whispered loud enough for everyone to hear and only became more upset the further she spoke. "Three years of nothing. Yet there was no guarantee that was him three years ago. It was a possible sighting from a person we cannot trust. There was no solid evidence it was him!"

"Molly," he said with a sigh as he stood up and made his way around to the front of his desk. "Any sighting is good news, whether it is true or not. It gives us the hope he is still out there."

"How have we not found him yet?" she asked as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"I wish I could tell you why," he hung his head in a show of sadness. "But we need to keep up our efforts. We need to find him and train him urgently. Harry Potter is our only hope."

Everyone nodded their heads in solemn silence. Despite many of them being tired of no results, they had to agree. They had gone this far, they shouldn't lose hope so easily. As the Order members slowly recharged their faith from the comforting words of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Dumbledore moved to once more sit behind his desk. He arranged a few pieces of parchment upon the desk before he cleared his throat.

"Alright so we will meet back here in a month to discuss things," he said, looking around the room. "Fletcher, same as always. Keep an eye on crime reports in both worlds. Shacklebolt, watch for any information within the Ministry of Magic and any possible reports of our Harry Potter."

"Yes sir," Fletcher and Shacklebolt muttered at the same time.

Dumbledore simply waved his hand to dismiss everyone from the Order of the Phoenix meeting. Slowly, the people trickled out and soon enough it was just the Headmaster alone in his office. Making sure the door was locked, Dumbledore let off a little burst of raw magic. Items fell, furniture shook, the windows rumbled. He hit the desk with his fist as his blue eyes dangerously glared holes into the door in front of him.

The brat had been missing for ten almost eleven years. No one even knew he was missing until Arabella Fig had failed to sight him for almost two years. That stupid squib. She had one task. After the Order members had secretly searched for months, panic had started to settle amongst the group. And when the word had gotten out to the public that Harry Potter was missing, they too, went into panic mode. It was all anyone could talk about. How had the precious Boy Who Lived disappeared without a trace?

Yet even with combined searches from the public, the Ministry, and the Order, all of their many attempts had resulted in empty hands. After five years of nothing, no sign of life, everything began to die down. News articles seldom ever talked about the missing Harry Potter unless word got out about a potential sighting. No magical trace had ever been picked up since the day the boy had disappeared, which many found to be a discouraging sign that he was even still alive. And this eventually meant there were no more searches, no more money towards the cause, and no more shits given.

Dumbledore angrily stood up from his desk and walked towards one of the windows that overlooked the grounds of Hogwarts. The small lights that twinkled off in the distance from Hogsmeade illuminated the otherwise dark night. A deep growl left his throat as he felt his magic flare uncontrollably again. He would find that missing brat even if it was the last thing he would ever do.