Harry Potter: Persona non Grata - Chapter 5
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Disclaimer: I do not own any franchises mentioned in this story. This is fan-based work of fiction.
Beta: Gerald_of_Revea
-Yu Narukami-
“Drink.”
“No thanks, I’m not thirsty.”
Auror Williamson slid the glass over to my side of the table, a glare in his eyes.
“Drink the water.”
For a moment, I stared at the man before lying back in the uncomfortable chair, my eyes going to the ceiling. “No, thank you.”
“Just drink the fucking water, boy,” he said, his throat raspy. “That’s an order. Drink it.”
I remained silent as Williamson grew antsy, not appreciating my lack of response.
If the man was going to try and make me drink veritaserum, he at least had to make it a little more enticing. If there were a can of Coke instead, I’d at the very least be tempted.
Problems always seem to arise when you try to do the right thing. If I had done nothing, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Just that there’d probably be at least a dozen dead wizards in Diagon Alley.
After a few more moments had passed, Williamson got up, threw the chair across the room, and leaned down to leer at me. “You will tell us how you did it. Failing to comply will be treated as working with the enemy!”
“There’s an enemy?” I asked curiously, making him falter for a moment. “What enemy would I be helping here?”
“Don’t think I know what you are,” he hissed, sending a blasting spell into the wall near me. If it was meant to intimidate, it probably scared the other three walls.
He couldn’t exactly say I was a Death Eater and was working with Voldemort. Not with Cornelius denying their existence at every opportunity.
“Perhaps you need this more than I do,” I said, sliding the glass back to him. “Maybe you can come back after a quick five-minute break?”
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t send you to Azkaban?” he snarled, and I blinked back at him.
“Because I have classes to teach on Monday.”
“Williamson, you stupid, stupid boy!” Rufus Scrimgeour burst into the room, grabbing the Auror by the ear. “What did I tell you to do?”
“Ah! Sir! It’s-” Williamson squawked. “I’m interrogating the prisoner! Like you told me to do!”
“Your job,” Scrimgeour growled, fury in his tone. “Was to question him. That man just saved more lives in one day than you have done in your career. And here I see you throwing blasting curses!” he hissed. “I should have you sacked for this! You’re more trouble than you're worth!”
“He’s working for the Chinese!” he shouted, taking me aback as Rufus dragged the man out the door. “I can tell by just looking at him. That’s a no-good-”
I couldn’t hear the rest of his rant as the door was quickly shut behind him. A few minutes later, Scrimgeour came back, his original anger having died down.
He just sat in the chair opposite me, glaring at the wall with the blast mark before wordlessly casting a Reparo. “Standards have slipped,” he said gruffly. “He’ll be suspended for a week.”
I simply nodded at that, while Scrimgeour said nothing, briefly glancing at his watch. “Hey, are the girls I was with okay?”
“No,” he growled. “No one is okay after getting their soul sucked on by a dementor. That being said, they are likely to make a full recovery. That wouldn’t be the case if the older one weren’t able to cast a Patronus.”
I remembered that. It wasn’t a corporeal one, but it’s better than I can do. It was a thin shield, able to bounce a few back, but not keep them away for long. It’s why I acted as I did.
 A moment later, I heard a knock on the door and saw Dumbledore, the man greeting me with a thin smile.
“I never thought I would find you here, Mr. Narukami,” he said, ducking down slightly to enter the doorway. “This is a terribly bleak place to be, which is why I brought something to brighten the room,” he said, my eyes lighting up when I saw the chocolate bar in his hand.
The two of us had a conversation before on our favorite sweets; I admitted mine was the Toblerone, and he seemed to remember that little tidbit. I might need at least a little bit after my encounter with the dementors.
“It’s better here than having to deal with the vultures out there,” Scrimgeour huffed. “It’s a bleak place, but necessary. Pays better than being a teacher,” he said, eyeing me up. “You ever fancy becoming an Auror?”
“And how exactly did all this happen in the first place!” Amelia Bones asked, marching into the room before I could give a response to Scrimgeour. “Dementors in Diagon Alley! This should be impossible! The wards should prevent them from entering in the first place! This is a scandal!”
“It’s not a scandal. Not when no one died.” Scrimgeour replied smoothly, deepening Amelia’s scowl. “The wards only work on the living. Dementors are not living creatures.”
“Which makes the claim of Mr. Narukami’s ability to kill them all the more noteworthy,” Dumbledore said softly, and everyone turned to me, expecting an explanation.
“Is this the type of conversation you should have when I’m here?” I deflected, making both Amelia and Rufus shake their heads.
“No. But at the moment, your word is more powerful than ours. Which is why we need to make sure our stories line up.” 
Blunt, but honest. I appreciated that. “Just use witness statements. I’ll keep my mouth shut about this, and we can all go about our day.”
“You are our chief witness.” Rufus pressed, making me shake my head.
“I arrived late. By the time I realized what was happening, the dementors were already trying to suck the life out of people.”
“Then how about we start from the beginning?” Dumbledore asked softly. “From your perspective, what happened at Diagon Alley?”
“Something that should have never happened in the first place.”
-Yu Narukami, A few hours earlier-
I’m a fraud.
Well, somewhat of a fraud. I’m a better teacher than Quirrell and Lockhart, but a worse teacher than Lupin and Crouch.
There are a few reasons why I wanted to have a decent DADA book to teach the students. In truth, if I just taught everyone using the Defensive Magical Theory book, my life would be a lot easier. It actually suits my needs perfectly.
Sadly, I hate doing things half-assed.
I don’t have a wand. Throughout my two weeks teaching at Hogwarts, it’s been wandless magic, sleight of hand, or using my cards. In the few lessons where I have taught spells, there have luckily been students who knew the spells already. I gave them extra points if they went around the class and helped their classmates.
I’d prefer to teach the students to use wandless magic. However, it would be more work than it is actually worth to get everyone to start using it. So, I’m teaching them all the best way to fight with the wand in mind. 
It’s not only the students I have to worry about, either. Since Mirabel wants my help in training her, I need to be able to give her some good advice. At the moment, the best I can teach her is tactics, maybe help her find her fighting style in there too, but I need to do better than that.
Back when I was waiting for word back from Dumbledore about the DADA position, I never left Tom’s pub. I didn’t see a point in going to Diagon Alley, especially since I didn’t have any money to get anything too expensive.
I’m glad Dumbledore didn’t dig too deep into my records either. They are all fake. Well, some of it is true. I have taught before, but I certainly didn’t go to school in Mahoutokoro.
And so when I left the Leaky Cauldron, tapped on the wall, and saw Diagon Alley, my first reaction wasn’t what I was expecting.
Sorrow.
It wasn’t bustling. There were at least a hundred or so there, but I expected more. I came at a bad time, too. While there wasn’t any rain, the clouds made the Alley seem more downcast than it actually is.
‘Shame,’ I thought, walking through the alley, peering up at Gringotts Bank.
Out of all the places I will have to go to eventually, Gringotts Bank is the one I’m most wary of. Most of the Horcruxes are easy to get. The Diadem and Rosetta are in Hogwarts, Gaunt’s Ring is in the Shack, I don’t know where Nagini is, and the locket?
I frowned to myself, trying to remember the name of the place, but coming up short. 
‘It’s where Harry goes at the start of the fifth book,’ I frowned harder, surprised my memory was failing me. 'Hold on, I know this. Why can't I remember?' I trailed off in my head, only for my eyes to widen a few moments later, a small grin coming to my face.
‘Of course I don’t know its name; it’s under the Fidelius.’ It was arrogant of me to think I would be immune to something like that, but in truth, it made me much more interested in the piece of magic than before.
Sadly, something like that wouldn’t take me far trying to break into Gringotts. I’d still have to worry about The Thief’s Downfall, a dragon, and an army of goblins.
If I wanted to get Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, the best way to do it would be by blood. At the moment, the best thing Bellatrix has to an heir to her vault is through her niece, Diana Malfoy. The problem is that Bellatrix is still alive, and I doubt the goblins cared too much about who’s locked up in Azkaban, only whether or not they lived.
‘I’ll worry about that another day,’ I decided, my eyes landing on a nearby shop, the main reason for my visit today.
‘Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands Since 382’
It was time to get a wand.
Old-fashioned.
It was the first thing that came to mind when I entered the shop. Nearly everything was made of wood…which made sense considering it was a wand shop. But even though I thought it looked old-fashioned, it definitely looked more modern than Hogwarts.
The most modern thing Hogwarts has is indoor plumbing. The Muggle Studies classroom came in a close second.
While I was lost in thought, I blinked in surprise when Ollivander appeared, sliding into view while perched on his ladder.
“Grey hair, grey eyes,” he muttered, looking at me curiously. “Hmm, strange. Both are natural. You are not a metamorphmagus. But do you know you are?”
“A little confused.”
“You are a customer,” he corrected, his mouth twitching. “So... you have come. For a wand, of course. Yes, yes. Then let’s not wait any longer; a wizard without his wand is an injustice that must be rectified. Let’s see what we have here,” he muttered as he walked down one of his aisles behind the counter.
“Let’s see how you handle this,” he said, presenting his first choice.
It was pitch black. A bit short, but it had a comfortable-enough-looking handle. Gently, I picked it up, and it was immediately snatched out of my hand. 
“You have never used a wand before,” he stated. “How curious. For so long, you have been without your other half. If I may be so bold as to ask, what did you use before?”
“...I’d rather not say.” I shifted uncomfortably. “I usually do things wandlessly. I haven’t needed a wand until recently.”
“Curious, very curious,” he murmured. “This does mean this might be a bit trickier than I thought.” He scratched his chin before he went back to shifting through his shelves. 
I couldn’t tell if there was any rhyme or reason to his method. At one moment, he was in the closest aisle, shifting through all the wands with white boxes. Next, he was back on his ladder, shifting through every second box on the top shelf.
“Let us see how this one works,” he said, handing me another wand.
This one had more style; the handle was more pronounced, hooked. And it was greyish-white in color. Sadly, like before, I didn’t have time to test it, giving the man a flat look as he took it out of my hand again.
However, even though I was getting a little annoyed, the man knew wands better than I did. If he didn’t think it would suit, then it wouldn’t.
“The wand chooses the wizard, dear customer; it is not always clear why,” he said into the silence, back to shifting through the shelves. “There was a time when I made custom-ordered wands. I was much more arrogant back then, thinking I knew better. Now, when I make a wand, it's to satisfy my own curiosity. That, and to help someone who comes through those doors centuries from now.”
There must be thousands of wands in the shop. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them never got sold. It just came down to supply and demand. There are only a few thousand wizards in the UK, and most people never lose their wands in the first place.
“Of course, why didn’t I think of it sooner?” I heard him say as he started going through the other end of the shop. “Perhaps this is the partner you need.”
I picked up the wand, and immediately, I understood what the wandmaker meant.
Well, partially. I couldn’t consider it my other half, or that I wasn’t whole without it. It felt more like ‘the cherry on top.’
It felt comfortable in my hand. I could tell that if I threw a spell, it would be stronger than doing it wandlessly. I gave it a small wave, and blue lightning danced in the air, making Ollivander’s grin widen.
"Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. English Oak, Phoenix Feather, and 12 ½ inches long. An extraordinary match. You have found a companion of great loyalty today, or perhaps, it has finally found you.”
“Thank you,” I nodded. “I’ll use it well. But there’s another reason I came here today,” I said, Ollivander looking at me in curiosity as I grabbed a couple of wands from my pockets. “Do you know who originally owned any of these wands?”
Hogwarts has a room dedicated to lost wands, aptly called the Lost Wands room. However, that wasn’t where I found the few I brought with me. I went to the Room of Requirement to find these few.
There are at least a hundred of them still in the room. I only brought in the three that were the most interesting. Partially because of my own curiosity, and I also wanted to know what Ollivander would want to do with them.
Ollivander lifted one of them from his hands, a look of melancholy on his face. “This was the wand of Myrtle Warren. Alder Wood, Unicorn Hair, and 11 inches long. May I ask how you got this?”
“I have a knack for finding lost things,” I evaded the question, but I was happy with the answer. Even though the girl is a ghost, I’m sure she would appreciate having her wand back. Enough so that she won’t tattle on me for finding my way to the chamber. “What about this one?”
“Curious,” he muttered. “This is not a wand I have ever sold. The wand, it has all the signs of once being a staff,” he said, and my eyes shot up at that.
“You can turn wands into staffs?”
“You cannot. Wands replaced staffs, and now, such a method has been lost to time,” he said, turning the wand over and back in his hand.
“So you don’t know its original owner then?” I asked, making him hum slightly.
“This wand is much older than I am. Before records of the wands we sold were ever kept. However,” he muttered, waving the wand, and a burst of flowers came out of it. “There is an ancient, stubborn life in this one. It does not recognize you as its master, but it seems to have a certain fondness for you. Keep it close. On the day you truly need it, it may decide to fight for you.” 
‘Wands can feel fondness?’ I nearly asked, but stopped myself before I could ask the question. Instead, I gestured towards the final one in my hand. “What about this last one?” I asked, and he stilled.
“Your last wand. It’s abnormal,” he breathed, making me blink. “I did not create it, nor did anyone from my family. Snakewood, Basilisk horn, 13 inches long. If what I read is true, that wand should be a tree in the courtyard of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is a well-made replica.”
“Replica?” I raised my eyebrows. “It has an original?”
“A replica,” he agreed. “A very convincing replica. The maker must have been very skilled,” he said softly, examining the wand in his hand. “Sadly, the life in this wand died long ago.”
“So did the original wand belong to someone special?” I asked, making Ollivander hum once more.
Ollivander let out a soft, dry chuckle, his fingers tracing the dead wood. “Special? No, perhaps not the word. But powerful, yes. Capable of terrible, wondrous things.”
He paused for a moment, meeting my eyes directly.
“What do you know of Hogwarts Founders?”
‘I shouldn’t have brought them,’ I sighed, idly watching an owl swallow down a worm.
It was a foolish thing to do. I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity a little. Most of the wands haven’t been used in centuries, just gathering dust. Why wouldn’t I be curious to know where they came from?
Shaking my head slightly, I looked around the aisles of the pet store again, trying to find an owl that called to me.
Eeylops Owl Emporium. It’s where Hagrid bought Hedwig for Harry’s birthday all those years ago. And here I was, doing the same.
Well, for myself. I don’t have an owl, but I’m going to need one. Especially if I need anything from any of the shops in Diagon Alley, and I’m too busy to do it myself.
There was a wide range of owls, and even some small, magical birds. I wasn’t picky, but I wanted one that I could get along with.
Eventually, my eyes drifted to a Scops owl, which was looking at me curiously. It looked different than most of its counterparts. It had all the monochromatic colors- white, grey, and black- and it was a bit on the smaller side. He couldn’t have been any taller than my wand, but he didn’t look to have any of the curiosity or wariness the other owls had.
This one looked like it was studying me, waiting for me to unravel all my secrets.
I liked him immediately.
I raised a finger to the air, watching him look at it for a moment before he snorted, going back to squinting at me.
I knew right then and there that I wanted the little tyke.
But before I could ask the cashier for his price, I felt a sudden coldness, a chill filling the air.
The glass on the windows started to freeze up, the birds huddling in on themselves, and a few letting out startled squawks as the sunlight outside started to dim.
At first, I didn’t recognize what was happening. A fog was settling over Diagon Alley, and it was getting colder. For a moment, I thought there was nothing to worry about.
And then the screaming started.
-Fleur Delacour-
When she started working at Gringotts, it wasn’t just to improve her English as she had told her friends and family. In truth, she just wanted to leave France altogether, especially after her embarrassing performance at the Triwizard Tournament.
She failed, utterly and completely, coming in last place. She couldn’t do anything to help when it mattered most.
While she completed the first task, she came last. For the second task, she couldn’t even rescue her own sister. Instead, Rosetta Potter had to do the work for her. And then there was the final task, where she was the first to retire again.
None of the champions were supposed to fight, and she did believe Krum was telling the truth when he said he couldn’t recall their encounter. But that did not change how she felt.
Glancing at her watch, she let out a pleased sigh, happy that her workday was finally over. She could finally relax.
She knew her sister was waiting for her outside. She had gotten the Port Key from Paris specifically so she could see her this weekend. Their time together won’t be for long, but she counted any time she could spend with her sister as a blessing.
A small smile came onto her face as her sister rushed towards her, wrapping her arms around her in a hug.
“Big sis!”
“Gabrielle,” she said sharply. “We are in public!”
Despite her words, they had no heat to them. It didn’t matter where it was; she would always accept her little sister's hug.
Gabrielle knew this as well, which is why she only let out a small giggle, a brilliant smile on her face as she started tugging on her arm, bringing her further down the street.
She promised her sister she would get her ice cream, and Gabrielle was quick to take advantage of the opportunity.
A small laugh bubbled from her lips, making heads turn to her. It wasn’t intentional, but it tended to happen considering her heritage.
However, while she made her way to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, she suddenly felt a chill, as if an ice cube was thrown down her back. Her small worry immediately turned into concern as her sister started to shiver in place.
“Why is it so cold?” Gabrielle asked, a hitch in her voice, but she didn’t have to wait long to find answers.
The first thing she noticed was the fog; it had started to settle around Diagon Alley like a thin blanket. Cautiously, she grabbed her wand, casting a quick warming charm on herself and her sister. Her frown started to deepen when she realized she felt no different.
A few witches and wizards started to head into the shops, regardless of whether they needed anything in there in the first place, and her guard rose again as the fog started to get thicker.
“We need to get back to Gringotts,” she said hurriedly, pulling back on her sister to follow her. Only to freeze once she turned around, all words dying in her throat.
How does one describe a dementor?
It’s not the appearance that made her scared. She had seen paintings that looked scarier. Black, cloaked, skeletal, but without any legs and a veil over their heads. What scared her was what they could do.
Death is not the end. When someone dies, their soul lives on. Be it as a ghost or they go on to the afterlife.
The Dementor’s Kiss leaves a man nothing but an empty shell. The body is alive, but there is nothing there to control it. No memories, personality, consciousness; it’s all removed.
You become a husk.
And as she felt a sudden pull from within, her hesitation was replaced. 
Replaced by pure, unbridled fury.
“Expecto Patronum!” she roared, and the Dementor was shot backwards.
Rage soared through her heart as more dementors started to surround her and Gabi. Gabi pulled out her wand, attempting but failing to cast the Patronus from her example.
The fog had gotten so thick that she couldn’t see further than a few meters in front of her. As her first spell started to fizzle out, she quickly cast it again, another two dementors harmlessly bouncing off of it.
“Follow me!” she shouted, fear entering her eyes as she saw the onslaught of dementors approaching both of them. There were at least ten of them, and they were slowly starting to encircle her and Gabi.
‘This can’t happen. Not like this,’ she panicked, casting the Patronus again, her spell starting to flicker. Cold despair started to settle in her heart as a dementor smashed through the shield, all warmth escaping her body as she felt another pull.
“Gabrielle, run!” she choked out, her fear intensifying once she realized her sister was already on the ground, a pair of dementors taking turns draining her sister’s soul.
Her overwhelming feeling of despair started to rise, a choked sob escaping her as she desperately tried to cast another Patronus spell, only for her to come up short, a feeling of numbness settling in her skin.
‘I’ve failed her,’ she thought, watching her sister shudder in place. ‘That’s twice now I couldn’t save her.’
Her sister’s death would be her fault. The thought almost made her welcome the dementor peering over her. She deserved worse than death for failing her sister twice now.
That thought abruptly vanished when the kiss suddenly stopped, a gasp leaving her as she desperately reached for air.
She could barely move, but for a brief moment, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her.
The dementor was still, confusedly looking down at its own body.
Now with a giant sword impaled in its chest.
She watched the dementor slide down the sword, looking as if it was gasping for air before it was stabbed again, the sword piercing through the body and the ground itself.
A moment later, it disappeared, vanishing like a thought in the wind, leaving nothing but a drab black cloak in its wake.
She couldn’t tell what she was looking at. It was tall, imposing. Humanoid, but it was far from being human. It wore a long, high-collared dark coat and a pale, knight-like helmet. Its sword was longer than he was, but she wasn’t scared of it.
Not when it was helping her sister.
Image of “Monster”
“Zio!”
She saw the impossible happen again: a grey-haired boy stood beside the monster, a blue card appearing in his hand before he abruptly crushed it. 
A trail of lightning rushed towards the dementor harvesting on her sister. Instead of passing through it as any other spell would, the dementor shuddered, letting out a wild cry of pain, slowly twitching in place.
That was when the monster followed up on the attack, slashing the paralysed dementor with a clean swipe of its blade, making the dementor slowly start to fade away.
For a brief moment, there was a pause. The dementors looked confused, not understanding what had happened to their brethren.
“I think you have overstayed your welcome,” the boy growled, holding out his hand. Her eyes widened as a sword started to appear. 
The boy and the monster stood above her, their blades pointed at the dementors. The fog started to clear; the few dementors that were harvesting on wizards now were focused entirely on the two of them.
One of the dementors let out a roar, rushing towards the pair, only to be smacked aside by the flat of the monster’s blade.
Blue light started to emanate around the boy, a small smirk on his face as he rushed forward, the monster following beside him, a single word escaping his lips.