Consuming Shadows

Chapter 8

The leaves crackled merrily under his feet as he once again marched forward, only to pivot and continue in the other direction. His hands were clasped tightly behind him as he paced back and forth single-mindedly.

Despite nearing midday, the forest floor was quiet and dark, with a certain chill to it that made his breath fog with each outtake.

His eyes occasionally darted from the leaf-covered ground to scan the brilliantly lit sky just visible through the tree tops of the Forbidden Forest; searching for any sign of an owl.

It had been over a day since he had sent his report, and he was getting anxious despite himself. He knew that when he took this job there would be a lot of watching and waiting for each new order to be delivered – not exactly his forte, he would readily admit – but this was bothersome.

He was a man of action, and worked best with only a loose goal in mind, where he had the freedom to make his way there with his own methods.

But this was too important for him to rush. Each little action he made had to be carefully done, because the consequences of failing again –

He stopped in his incessant pacing and took a moment to compose himself.

Even since he had first laid eyes on the boy, he had known exactly who he was. The resemblance was uncanny, and left him breathless with want. Simply overwhelmed with the desire to grab the child, wrap his arms around his lithe form and crush him in a hug long overdue; to tell him how much he had missed him, and how when he had first heard of the attack all those years ago he had been crippled with fear and loss.

Harry. Little Harry.

Involuntarily, a small bitter smile tugged at his mouth.

"Hadrian Evans, it's a pleasure."

Merlin, could they have not picked a better name? And why was the boy not swimming in glamours? Allowing him to just walk around looking like a carbon copy of his father...

He breathed harshly through his nose at the thought of his old friend, the horribly familiar ache in his chest pulsed with each heartbeat. To think it had been almost seventeen years since everything fell apart.

He still remembered the shock that had coursed through him when he had been given this assignment. How wrinkled hands had tenderly slipped the glowing trinket into his own and told him that Harry was alive and here.

He gently pulled the small thing from his robe pocket and stared at it. He had absolutely no idea what it was meant to be – some sort of muggle contraption – but just seeing the soft light emitting from it settled his nerves.

He had never really understood the significance of it all these years, for the trinket had never glowed or done anything before. That is, until three days ago. Now he knew all too well what it symbolised, which was why the sight of it soothed him greatly.

As long as that light was on, it meant Harry was alive and in Britain or Scotland.

It had never glowed before, because while Harry had been alive – he had been in another country entirely. The second the Beauxbatons' carriage crossed their border the trinket recognised Harry's return.

Carefully, he curled his long, calloused fingers around the object and slipped it back into his pocket with a sigh, content with the knowledge that somehow, miraculously, impossibly, Harry had survived Voldemort's attack.

Which gave hope that Lily had as well.

The thought of the fiery red head brought the smile back to his face. He was warmed by the idea that Lily had escaped with Harry, that she had managed to keep him safe all this time, that she had the chance to raise him.