“I've done everything as you say
I've followed your rules without question
I thought it’d would help me see things clearly
But instead of helping me to see
I look around and it’s like I’m blinded
I’m spinning out of control
Try to focus but everything’s twisted
And all alone I thought you would be there
To let me know I’m not alone
But in fact that’s exactly what I was
I’m spinning out of control
I may never know the answer
To this famous mystery
Where should I go?
What should I do?
I don’t understand what you want from me
Cause I don’t know if I can trust you
All the things you’ve said to me
I’m spinning out of control
Out of control
I’m spinning out of control
Out of control.”
Out of Control- Hoobastank
Harry silently pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was sitting at the head of a giant iron clad table. Around him sat his peers, looking at him expectantly, as if expecting him to grant them all a miracle. He wished they would look away, he wished he could disappear. He lowered his head and cleared his throat as he looked at the man sitting at his side. The elderly man folded his hands and smiled boldly at Harry, dark blue eyes shimmering.
“Harry.” He said to him, his soft tone masquerading the obvious command. Harry cleared his throat again, he could feel every pair of eyes upon him.
Harry slowly rose and walked towards the display he had chaotically set up two minutes prior.
“Well…” his voice was trailing off. Where was his mind? He thought to himself angrily, upset at Hermione for bringing him so far off track. Blaming Hermione for fucking up his mindset, his focus, she had finally asked the question he had been asking himself for years. Harry’s grip tightened around his wand that was now working as a pointer, he clanked the wand against a moving picture of a scowling Draco Malfoy taken unbeknownst to him eight years prior.
“I have been searching for Draco Malfoy for nearly five years now.” Harry said blankly. He watched his fellow members of the Elite look at each other and nod. He could faintly hear “He caught Lestrange last week too.”
“Deatheater as of early 1997,” Harry clanked his wand against the picture again. All he could see was her face. “He was assumed dead after his disappearance for approximately two years before he was spotted in a wizarding village in Romania by our own Nymphadora Tonks.” Harry said indistinctly, not taking his eyes off his display. He could hear faint whispers and Tonks groan.
“However, he managed to hex Tonks and get away. He slid out of sight for almost three years before resurfacing. He is now living as a Muggle in New York City under the alias of Darien Maxwell. I've been carefully tracking his every move, in hopes he’d attempt to contact at least one of his fellow Deatheaters.” Harry explained. He turned and looked towards the group of fifteen or so wizard, his eyes resting on a scowling George seated quietly in between Fred and Dumbledore.
“So tonight, I will use a port key to arrive in New York City. I was apprehend the fugitive, and bring him back hear to headquarters.” Harry clanked his wand one final time on a picture he had taken of the small club where Draco Malfoy worked in New York City. The wizards before him exchangedweary glances with each other before George cleared his throat loudly and spoke.
“Why would you want to apprehend Draco Malfoy?” he asked, his tone quite sour. Harry sighed, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat as George glared at him scornfully. Harry’s eyes lingered over to a frowning Ron sitting in between his father and Tonks.
“He killed two people, that’s why.” Harry replied hoarsely. George continued to glare at him before letting a dry laugh escape his lips. Harry knew his motive, trying to embarrass him in front of the Elite. Harry could feel the contempt and jealousy he had for George bottling up inside of him, a painful gut wrenching filling in his solar plexus. He knew exactly why he was doing this; he wanted to see Harry fail.
“Well, can you prove that he killed those people Harry?” George asked haughtily. The other wizards in the room could feel the tension, but they remained tight lipped. Harry bit his lip; he could feel his grip tighten around his wand, wanting nothing more than to blot George out of human existence. Why did he have to marry Hermione and ruin his friendships, his family, and everything else he could think of?
“Prove it?” Harry snapped, his tone rising as his anger sputtered up out from inside of him. “ Prove it?” he asked again, his voice growing sharper with each ebbing blow of derision for George. “Two people are lying dead in the ground! That’s proof enough!” Harry snapped. George, undeterred by Harry’s short temper tantrum, shook his head and looked back down at his hands gently folded upon the table. Harry glared at him, wanting nothing more than to walk over there and punch him in the face for attempting to make him look like a prat in front of his peers. Had they forgotten what he had done? What he had sacrificed? His soul was gone, for them, for the likes of George, and this was how he repaid him?
“Fine,” George said in a slightly mollifying tone. “Let’s say Draco Malfoy was guilty of murder, cold blooded murder.” He paused slightly as he locked eyes with Harry, his dark brown eyes shimmering mysteriously. “What is the Order going to do with him? He’ll be more of a burden than a help. He’s been on the run for ten years, and you’ve been tracking him for five. During those five years, have you had any evidence to believe that he’s attempting to contact other Deatheaters?”
Harry paused, his mind pondering the question. He could feel his face flush a bright shade of red, his rage growing. He shook his head spitefully and stared back at George. “I don’t need it, Draco Malfoy was friends with those people. We can use him to our benefit, he’s the key to catching the rest!” Harry stopped, when he realized he was shouting.
“The reason,” he paused, his voice barely above a whisper, “Why I've come to the Elite tonight, instead of AH…” Harry could feel his voice falter as he thought of the events of the previous day. He had returned from Romania, knowing he had done something extremely wrong. He was caught up in a moment of complete disgust and hate, frustration pent up from years of hurt and pain, emerged as he murdered Bellatrix Lestrange. He could remember the look of disappointment across Kingsley Shacklebolt’s face. He was in awe that Harry could commit such a crime without any slight feeling of remorse, while Harry was in awe how Shacklebolt could forget what Lestrange did to Sirius. Harry could feel himself seething as he exhaled deeply, breaking the news to everyone for the first time. “I’m not a part of the AH anymore… The Minister thought it be best if my duties as an auror be suspended…” Harry’s voice trailed off before he spoke again, “Indefinitely.”
The room fell silent until Alastor “Mad Eye” Moody spoke up quite objectionably. “Shacklebolt has gone bonkers! Sacking Harry!” He roared. Harry bowed his head in indignity as more wizards joined in, complaining loudly with each other that Shacklebolt had grown power hungry, and how he was becoming the next Fudge. Harry finally made eye contact with Ron who was looking up at him, a disappointed look on his face. He shook his head at Harry then looked back down. Harry bit his lip, as he could feel his heart sink. Finally revealing that he was no longer a certified Auror confirmed his deepest fears, it set the inevitable into stone, and it was all true. He had been denying it for nearly twenty-four hours; he had been praying that he was in an awful dream, that his life was an awful dream. However, it was all real, it was his living nightmare. His job was his life, now it was gone, and he felt like nothing and no one all at the same time.
The room was in a complete pandemonium for several minutes before a graying Dumbledore stood up slightly, and silenced them. He strolled over to Harry and put his arm about his shoulders reassuringly.
“Silence… Silence everyone.” Dumbledore said calmly, when the room fell silent, he removed his hand from Harry’s shoulders and spoke in a cool calm quiet reserve.
“We have a vote to make.” Dumbledore paused. “All in favor of apprehending Draco Malfoy and bring him back to Elite headquarters?”
Simultaneous agreement soon began to circulate around the small stone room. Despite the passing vote, Harry was now feeling lower than he had when he had arrived. George was right, what good would bringing Draco Malfoy back into the picture do him? All he could see was Hermione’s tear filled eyes, how could he be her friend, when he couldn’t bear to see her happy with George?
“I’ll need” Harry’s voice waned, why was he asking this anyway? “I’ll need someone to accompany me to America.”
Dumbledore turned to him, blue eyes shimmering mysteriously as he turned to the group of wizards in front of him. Harry could feel his heart slightly skip a beat, he knew exactly who Dumbledore was going to choose for him.
“George, how about accompanying Mr. Potter tonight?” the elderly man asked, his tone unusually cheery. George’s smug grin was wiped off his face as he realized what Dumbledore had asked him. However, even though it was phrased as a question, everyone in the Elite knew that Albus Dumbledore’s word was set in stone, and in fact this was not a suggestion, it was an order. Harry collapsed and shrunk his display with a flick of his wand, then levitated it into the pockets of his robes. He looked at his watch with stone cold eyes, if he was going to succeed he’d have to get over his resentment towards George for eight hours.
“Hurry up now.” Harry said quickly as he made his way towards the door. George hesitantly rose to his feet, as if moving in slow motion.
“But…” he stammered.
“Yes, George?” Dumbledore asked, folding his hands jovially across his chest.
“But…” George’s voice trailed off again. “Why? I mean, why would you want me to go after Malfoy, I don’t have any experience in this.” He finished, his voice tremulous. Harry could feel his face contort into a sneer, for he had asked why to Dumbledore before. He knew this answer like the back of his hand. Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand upon George’s quavering shoulder.
“One does not ask why when he is given an order. Just focus on the task at hand, and you will be rewarded.” He smiled at George. The red-headed man looked up at him, his freckle’s almost disappearing in the deep crimson that was becoming the shade of his face. George stepped away from the table, handing his broom to his father before turning and sauntering over to Harry.
“Good luck!” Tonks called from her corner of the table. Harry nodded valiantly, while George gave a strange vacant nod. After the two of them walked out of the door of the Elite’s meeting room, out into the plain corridor, Harry turned to George, his face still contorted into a sneer.
“Don’t fuck this up for me.” Harry said bitterly, he could feel the coldness in his voice. George stared at him, eyes wide, but much to Harry’s pleasure, reminded silent. He had had enough scorn and ridicule from Hermione, he didn’t need anymore, and he didn’t want anymore. Maybe she was right, the dark haired man could hear his mind say in disdain. However, as much as he wanted to be the man he had been before, he couldn’t deny the fact that back then, when he was kind, and caring, he was afraid. Now, he was angry, and resentful. He was resentful about his parents, about Hermione losing faith with him, about Sirius’ death, even about losing his job. He was Harry Potter, and he was angry. What would he be without it? Years of tracking and killing dark wizards, had left him angry, and blank. So without the rage, he’d be nothing but a blank canvas. A blank, sad, and lonely canvas.