Disclaimer: The Author of this work of FanFiction does not own any of the copyrighted works used in this work of fiction, inspiration and ideas are drawn consciously ( and sometimes unconsciously) from many places. Including but not limited to TV, Books, Comics, World News, Websites, Politics and many others. This author does not represent the interests or opinions of the origional authors of these works.
The primary Authors note for the chapters of this story are located at the end. For those of you (most likely among the majority) who do not read the authors notes either before nor after the bulk of the chapter, this is for you.
Constructive criticism is appreciated and I look forward to it, however if you wish to "Flame" please do so in a manner so as I can attempt to fix the problem
"Character Speaking"
"CHARACTER YELLING"
'Character Thinking'
Character Narration
Magic/ Spell use
Section or Date / Title
And now, I hope you enjoy this chapter, Of Fakes and Frauds
The End
The rain, it was always the rain. Outside the window of his second story apartment it came down on the streets and rooftops like a wrathful lover. It poured from the sky so heavily that he couldn't even make out the tall back of the rock at the mouth of the port. A part of him hated the rain, but it was a small part; the part that remembered, the part he wouldn't allow himself to forget, the part that kept him grounded. The part that reminded him where and what he came from.
But for the most part he liked and enjoyed it when it rained, loved it even, it was comforting and soothing; the constant drumming rhythm as the water drops fell, it washed away the old and let the new grow forth.
The more he thought about it, the more this rain reminded him of that night those years ago, it had been raining that night as well. Bloody hell, he hated thinking about that time. He wouldn't let that part of himself forget though. He shook his head in reminiscence; looking back, he had truly been pathetic then, his journey snuffed out before it could have even begun.
The Beginning,
Date Unknown,
Location Unknown
He really should have seen it coming. Honestly by that point it was inevitable he would become the target for Uncle Vernon's latest troubles, though he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner. Harry couldn't see it but he could certainly feel it, a lump the size of a stone that pulsed like a second heart on the back of his head. Harry scratched the back of his head in a fit of frustration, forgetting in the act, of his new bump; up until it sent a jolt of agony through his personal world.
"AAHHHH," Harry jerked his hand back, 'Bloody hell.'
He figured it was a blow the head from the end of Uncle Vernon's paper wrapped rifle was what put him out cold and subsequently landed him in the currently shitty situation he was stuck in.
Harry looked in every which direction again and saw nothing but blue of differing shades and the fluffy white of clouds, again. Hyup, he was definitely in the shit now. The little Hut-on-the-rock had been the last speck of land he had seen before being knocked out. Though that had been just off Landewednack; The southernmost arse end of Britain and close enough that he had barely been able to make out the waves crashing on the rocks of the shore. The Hut must have been at least half a mile out, at least that was what he had guesstimated while he rowed. But now, now all he could see was water, lots and lots of water, in every direction and sky, lots and lots of sky.
"Ahhh", a long winded sigh escaped him, he wondered, he contemplated if you will; what he would die of first, lack of food, thirst for water, or the sun succeeding in its self imposed task to turn his brain to mush? But at least he had some protection from that, crawling back under the pleasantly damp, threadbare boat covering he pondered aybout how his shite situation had come to be as it was, he shifted around a bit, trying to get as comfortable as was possible and just went back to sleep. His head was simply killing him.
7th of July,
Great Britain,
Hogwarts,
Headmasters Office.
From his great winged back leather chair the man who considered himself, and was known as, Albus Dumbledore heard a multitude of clocks announcing Seven AM.
Cuckoo clocks, Grandfather clocks, Big Bens, even the odd sound of a Kazoo clock; numerous clocks whose sounds merged into a nigh deafening cacophony.
With a quickness and grace that belied his true age he moved to the front of his fireplace, scooped a palm full of green powder from a bowl and thrust it into the fire on the seventh stroke of seven. Conscious of his long beard the elderly man held it to his diaphragm before calling out his destination, "Floo's End". The man calmly kept himself focused and concentrated on his destination while he traversed what he believed to be the total of the floo network.
As he sped through the floo system he passed by other fireplaces too numerous to count, glimpsing the briefest of flashes behind grates and coal barriers until a stretch of nothingness that went on for minutes. Suddenly and without warning, but not unexpected, he was evicted face first into a chamber of roughly hewn stone and burning fireplaces.
At first glance that was all the strange cavern appeared to be, that to all appearances contained nothing other than fireplaces with a smooth even floor of yet undisturbed ash and soot.
Despite his rough eviction from the Floo Dumbledore simply brushed off his robes and strode calmly toward to exact center of the chamber, as indicated by a flat circle of stone that protruded seven centimeters above the floor level.
Gazing around dispassionately at the ash coated floor the man slipped a knobby wand from his left hand sleeve and absently swept it in a wide outward arc. Banishing the ash on the floor to expose an array of interlocking rings that, to one who was knowledgeable enough could say with reasonable accuracy, was reminiscent of an alchemic circle, one of a complexity and design only few could have conceived. The man was quiet for a time as he examined the markings on the floor with a keen eye, "Ah Nicolas, always with the puzzles", the man who knew himself as Dumbledore retrieved a watch from his pocket.
To many the watch would look like something of a decorative piece or novelty piece, what with its many spinning hands, but to the man it belonged to it was a most valuable instrument and to him. He saw that it was thirty seconds to seven past seven, he saw his actions and movements in his mind, now he just needed to bring them into existence. Raising his wand like a conductor's baton with his watch in his other hand he began making motions with his wand that lasted seven seconds, before he turned in place to perform a similar motion. Over and over he did this, with each turn a low grinding became a roar as the rings carved in the stone rotated, and turned until they locked in place, each ring part of a greater whole.
This went on for thirty full minutes, exactly until he stopped, in conjunction with the micro second-hand of his watch ticked into place at 7:37. Beads of sweat welled on his forehead, his muscles burned with a slight ache , his wand arm shook briefly before he willed it still.
Simultaneous to him the circles of stone in the floor stopped there rotations in sync, leaving the cavernous room silent once again. As the man had figured from his examination, the circles carved in the stone were like the tumblers of a muggle safe or lock; with each required to be in there correct position for the whole to work.
The odd but consistent combination of Three, One, Four, One, Five ,Nine and Two that Flamel used made contacting him not too difficult, but trying to figure out how to apply it to his puzzles however was always a pain.
Dumbledore checked his watch, he had a bit of time to catch his breath, 'Thank Merlin for the little things'.
At seven seconds past 7:37 the numerous fireplaces that lined the walls of the chamber were extinguished and the cavern was plunged into a deep darkness. It didn't last however, as the small platform the man stood upon began to glow, an orange color reminiscent of molten metal but lacking any such heat. In the low light he noticed the twinkling commits of his robes fading until they were indistinct outlines on the cloth they were enchanted on. Many and most of the things he had on his person were being drained of their magical properties, anything that could be considered a weapon or shield by the platforms enchantments, with exception of foci, was drained of magic; rendering them useless and inert of magic until they were repaired or re-enchanted. The man was aware of what was happening, it always happened when he used this route to contact Nicolas but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nor was there any reason to, the things drained could always be fixed and put back to as they were, it was of little cost or consequence. The formal craft involved was powerful and in the Magical Britain there were few who would have been able to recognise it for what it was. It truly was a shame though for things knowledge like this to fall out of popularity but some things had to go by the wayside, for The Greater Good. The glow from the platform died away soon enough, its power drained and its purpose completed, with a final crunch the stone dropped flush with the floor and the stone rings began rotating again until they stopped with a light clack.
The silence didn't last though, the rattling of a long chain unsporting echoed in the chamber and a small iron hook holding a band of bright silver descended to a foot above the mans head.
He reached up and grasped the silver loop and lifted it from the hook which reascended to wherever it came from. In his pocket the watch that many would call useless ticked to 7:41, and in a flash, the man who had been standing in the center of the room vanished.
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With a whoosh of air the man known as Dumbledore was deposited into a small chamber. The man stood tall on the small platform he was deposited on, in contrast to the previous chamber he had been in previously this one was quite well-lit, allowing him to see his reflection from the surface of the mirrors that were covering the walls. Dumbledore examined the mirrors while he awaited their creator and the man he was seeking to speak to, they truly were works of art. So much like the personal communication mirrors his more privileged students sometimes used to communicate but on such a vastly different level of capability
.
A Flicker of motion to his side drew his attention, a door had appeared in the mirror, at least that was what is looked like at first. In reality it was just a real-time image of a rough timber and black iron door with a bit of stone work showing around it. Soon enough the other mirrors in the chamber began to come to activate, each showing a single segment of a whole until all the mirrors were active and displaying a 360 view of what appeared to have been a large wine cellar. Judging by the racks upon racks of wine bottles, with wood countertops running at waist height along the ones on the walls. Stone sconces in the cellars wall began to glow to life illuminating the room so it was well-lit, it was not long after that that the door swung open and struck the wall next to it with a resounding clash, old iron hitting old stone with neither magically enhanced material yielding to the other enough to do damage.
"Well, you went through the trouble to talk to me face to face, so what do you want", the new man didn't wait for small talk, he already knew what the man known as Dumbledore was there for.
He examined the new man behind his half-moon spectacles, 'After so many years you never change'. "Master Flamel, I am not here for what you think, after-", Dumbledore tried to explain but he was quickly cut off.
"Stop, right there, I was never your master, you call me that again and I will terminate this exchange and seal that room you're in, you may have his memories but you were never my student. I will forgive it this once since you went through the effort of getting my attention but do it again and I will end this exchange, am I understood", it was a statement, not a question that was easy enough to see in the ancient wizards face.
"Of course, I meant no disrespect, I am unable to differentiate my memories and his as well as I was able to years ago", he said, "I apologize." He cleared his throat, "As I was saying, after your response I realized the folly of using a true stone for a trap such as this, it would be too much of a risk." The man who called himself Dumbledore turned, following the senior man as he fully entered the wine cellar and began to peruse the racks of wine. The sounds of him removing and replacing several of the bottles until he found a satisfactory bottle and re-emerged from the racks. Setting what looked like an absolutely ancient and priceless bottle on a counter in front of him. "I am asking, this time, for a fake, something that can withstand passing scrutiny," the man sighed. "If I could create such a thing I would prefer to do as such instead of asking you, but alas I may have his memories, but I lack the capability."
Flamel twisted the bottles cork, with a pop he opened it for what could have been the first time in over a century since it was bottles. He set it aside to let it breathe and clasped his hands and simply stared in silence at the man in front of him, while he watched the body of the man flickered, shimmered silver, he made a mental note to do some maintenance work on the communication array. Flamel shook his head, "And what of the trap itself, Hogwarts is not what it was in my day, or even a hundred years ago." He ran his hands together with a soft hiss of rough skin. He sighed, "You are sure he is still in the realm of the living, you are sure he still lives despite being rid of a mortal bod?."
The man known as Dumbledore nodded, "Indeed, I believe so, I troubles me that someone in this age would go to such lengths to live but it does match against some research I did in my youth. I am sure he did what I would not." Flamel observed him for several minutes, gauging him, his honesty perhaps.
He reached to his side, he picked up the bottle and pouring a glass without looking away.
"Very well, I will make you a fake, but I warn you now, you had better have adequate protections for the students in place, if I hear a single whisper of a student being harmed due to this folly you will regret it dearly, do you understand Fraud."
Dumbledore cringed at the insult, he hated having it pointed out to him, thrown at him like the rightful accusation it was. That he wasn't what he pretended and tried to be.
"You have been playing your games for a long time but remember I have been playing them as well for much longer, you're near century of verses my half a millenia. Who do you think will come out on top as the victor." Flamel took a sip of his wine, "You're strong, I admit that, and you have that curs'ed wand but I can and will crush you. It may take time but I can and will bring your world down around your ear's, remember this when you lay your protections."
He lifted the glass and swirled the crimson liquid contained. "Now begone", he waved his hand in dismissal, "I have a fake stone to forge, Fawkes will deliver it within the week."
The mirrors blanked out, leaving the man known as Dumbledore to stare at his reflection from too many angles. Dealing with Flamel was always like dealing with a predator for him, since the first time he had met the man Flamel had seen through him immediately, he had almost died on that day. The first to do battle with him on such a level since his lover and him had faced each other on the field of war, and now he would likely not survive such an encounter half a century later. Sure Voldemort hadn't been too difficult to hold off, but that had been over a decade ago, time compounded everything, he just didn't know how well he could hold against the insane man a second time. The light of the chamber receded into darkness and with the ringing clang of a chain the man known as Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore vanished.
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Nicolas Flamel sipped the wine, not really paying attention to the delicate flavour, he instead stared at a ball of contained quiksilver that hovered above a small circular platform. Hed had had little interaction with that man since he had almost killed him half a century ago, when the Fraud had first attempted to pass himself off as his apprentice he had gone into such a rage, one that he hadn't experienced such in centuries. After he had almost killed him though they had developed a mutual understanding though and were able to work together at times. Only small things though, usually during a crisis large enough that they would set aside their past history for, as the Fraud would put it, The Greater Good.
He left the cellar, not bothering to replace the bottle to its rack, he would be back soon enough, he had a bait to concoct for a pair of mad men after all.
July 27th,
Great Britain,
Hogwarts,
Headmasters Office
The man Known as Dumbledore set aside his quill and read over the plans of protection he would put in place for the fake stone. Since young Harry Potter would be arriving this year he had decided to configure it as a sort of test for the boy as well. A sudden thought occurred to him right then, "Ah, Mitty, service please," a muffled pop from his side announced the arrival of the house elf in charge of Hogwarts' flock of mail owl's.
"Yes Professors Headmaster, how may I be of assistance to you today's, please forgive my bruskness but there are many many letters to be sent and so little time to send them."
The man who known as Dumbledore barely acknowledged the creature, "Yes, yes, I am sure you do. There is a student who should be receiving his letter, one Harry Potter. There may be some difficulties with the delivery, if this is the case," at this he gave the elf his full attention. "You are to keep sending the letter until he receives it, there is no need to notify Professor McGonagall of this."
Mitty shied away slightly, the kindly Headmasters eyes had become so cold, so serious.
"Ah yes, o-of course headmaster, as you say, if that is all?"
The headmaster waved him away, returning to his ever constant nemesis of paperwork.
Mitty popped away, trying frantically to figure out how to fulfill his order as well as keep on schedule.
26th of July,
Great Britain,
Surry,
04 Privet Drive
He had been awake for a few minutes already, just appreciating the quiet and since Uncle Vernon or Dudley wasn't damaging the stairs yet Harry figured he may as well enjoy a few minutes of silence. Then it was the light steps on the stairs that told him differently and that the Anemic Horse would soon be knocking. "Crack, Crack, Crack," three sharp raps on his little door confirmed it, Aunt Petunia was awake and wanted him to suffer in her bitter presence and snide insults, all while he cooked for the two whales who hadn't been able to roll off their backs yet.
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Unknown to him or his relations that morning was also the time that Pippa the delivery owl, made a series of deliveries that he and his other feathery fellows made every year without fail. The delivery of acceptance letters to the new students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
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Harry didn't waste any time in crawling out of the little Closet-Under-The-Stairs that was his room, if he had he would have had to listen to Aunt Petunia's incessant ranting about what a lazy and ungrateful child he was. Lazy, yeah, right, try something other than an adjective, how about a noun. Slave had a nice accurate ring to it. But never the less he still headed into the kitchen, silently pulling out cups, plates and pans from the cabinets. Ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator, all that was necessary for a breakfast of eight.
Once he started he settled into his daily routine, whisk the eggs, mix the batter, fry copious amounts of bacon while subtly adding his own additives without alerting his aunt. Flip the pancakes, ignore Uncle Vernon and Dudley's bellows to hurry up, load up the dishes with enough food to serve a small village, serve and sit. The same pattern he had been performing for almost the last four years since he turned seven without fail, or change. Aside from thinking of new additives and seasonings for their meals of course. 'Maybe it's time to bring back the special hamburger sauce', Harry thought while quietly eating his regular unseasoned eggs.
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Uncle Vernon seemed in a surprisingly good mood that morning, but perhaps it was just a remnant of his late night letter burning. Starting yesterday morning it seemed that someone wanted to contact him really badly. Someone that had apparently not heard of a telephone, or a doorbell, or a knocker it seems as they were instead sending letters. Many, many, letters. Enough so that Uncle Vernon had been able to build a decently sized fire out of them. But it was the downright creepy, off kilter almost psychotic smile of his had encouraged Harry to find an excuse to go to bed without finishing his chores that night. Uncle Vernon seemed to have had other things on his mind so Harry didn't think he had minded as he hadn't beaten him over the head about it yet. Or perhaps it was aunt Petunia's stool softener that he had laced Uncle Vernon's morning coffee with that was distracting him. Nevertheless at least they weren't yelling and so far no letters had. A quiet, "clu-chunk", from the front door interupted his train of thought, it seemed he had been too hasty.
Harry's internal musings were brought short by Uncle Vernon sliding the chair that barely held his girth in check back across the linoleum. Aunt Petunia gave Vernon a snap glance as he stood up, "Right back in a spot Pet, just be a tick", he announced before turning and jiggling his way down the hall.
The sounds of ripping coming from the door moments later confirmed his suspicions and when Uncle Vernon returned to his seat at the table that off kilter smile was back on. Harry almost jumped in his seat, 'Oh my.' It seemed even Aunt Petunia and Dudley seemed a bit put off by it, that was new indeed. Harry just sat straighter in his chair and took a bite of eggs.
27th of July,
Great Britain,
Hampstead,
15th Lyndhurst Rd
Jean Granger had always an early riser and as such she usually awoke before her alarm clock could begin ringing, slipping from under the covers she took the clock from her nightstand and cranked the key to wind the internal spring of her Cherry Red Big Ben alarm clock. She didn't really have to pay much attention to her hands but they were still careful, almost exactly four rotations so as not to overexert the internal mechanisms. Jean set the clock back down on the nightstand and began her morning rituals to prepare herself for the day, nothing much as it was a weekend but there was no need to look as a slob. Her body was almost on autopilot as she went through her paces, brushing her teeth, slipping on her clothes for the day; a pair of slacks and polo shirt. Generally the same morning schedule she had kept over the last few decade, the last deviation being when she had still been full with Hermione; she'd had to add morning sickness for those months. She glanced through the window above her and Greggory's bed, he hadn't even shifted, the sky was beginning to take on a pale blue hue, 'It'll be sunup soon, better get started'. She reached over and switched on the alarm of her cloak, her hubby would be up soon, even if she had to use that shrilly ringing monstrosity she had kept with her since she was almost fifth her current age. Her mother had ordered it specifically to break her of her habit of sleeping in, it had worked. Jean just hoped she wouldn't have to use it with Hermione, that girl was brilliant but she just couldn't put down a book to go to bed.
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"Stop, stop I say!", the Bobby chasing her called, blowing his whistle while he pursued her through the streets tried to capture her. Hermione glanced back to grin at him like Ches but the man's enraged visage was blocked from her sight as she ran through the thick forest of legs and coats. She only had to get to Trafalgar Square and she could lose the Bobbies in the side streets. A wisp of air and an enraged shout told her the Bobby had taken a swipe at her, likely trying to get a fistfull of hair but she had thought of that and had her bushy locks cut into a short bob cut. She tightened her grip on the bag of silver shillings she had swiped off the Constables belt and maneuvered past a throng of stuffy looking nobles before launching herself off a bench that would send her over a short fence and into a small garden. The Bobbie would have to do do the same jump or go around and risk letting her get away. Muted sounds reached her ears but she ignored them to concentrate on escaping, she stepped onto another bench to hurdle herself over yet another fence when a blinding light burned into her eyes.
Hermione groaned and pulled her comforter covers up over her eyes to block out the evil light of the sun and the silhouette of the even more evil woman who caused it. She mumbled into the fabric of her duvet cover still not entirely sure if she was in reality or dreaming.
"Yes I am sure you do", the evil shadow said. "But do you want to know something?"
Hermione was sure she mumbled a no but the evil shadow just continued, "I hated my mother just as much, now wake up, breakfast will be ready soon."
The merciful and warm shielding of her comforter began to pull away and try as she might she couldn't keep it from the evil shadows grasp and she was soon exposed to the evil light from her nemesis of flame and exploding gasses. Hermione felt more than heard her mother exit her room but leaving the door open to let the scent of fresh french toast and eggs and sausage to waft into her area of awareness. She grunted in what her grandmother would consider absolutely unwomanly before slowly rising from the rustled sheets of her bed.
Hermione blinked dumbly before heaving herself limply from the still warm bed and trudged over to her dresser, comforted by the similar shuffling noises from down the hall as well as irritated by the obnoxious ringing of the monstrosity her mother called an alarm clock. Pulling open her unmentionables drawer she began to prepare for the day.
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Jean was having a good day, she had gotten most of the things on her to-do list done for that day early and she'd had some fun waking Sebastian and Hermione up. All that was left was to grab the mail and set out the ingredients for the C'est si Boeuf at lunch then the rest of the day was hers to do as she pleased.
Humming in time with the tinkling notes of Beethoven coming from the upstairs sitting room, where Hermione was likely absorbing one book or another, while she made her way to the front door. It was a bit disheartening that her little genius wasn't out with friends, but unfortunately those bridges had been burned to cinders when most of the other students had decided to tease her about her constant reading and good grades. Though if anything good had come from it it was that her little girl had developed a thick skin that allowed her to brush off that nonsense. Still, it was why She and Gregory had convinced Hermione a private secondary school would be best, a fresh start with other students she would be at a similar level with.
Bringing herself out of her musings and collected a pile of mail from the entry table where they had fallen through the mail slot and began shuffling through the stack separating the junk by tossing it into a waste bin below the small table so it could be used later as kindling. Jean let out a short huff as she finished tossing the junk that had been the majority of the mail into the bin before calling for her daughter. "Hermione, you've got mail come on down, looks like another school wants to tell us how they're the best around." It was a bit irritating but apparently despite going to a public primary school Hermione was what some private schools considered a Big Catch. So because of her daughters near perfect academic record they had been receiving far to many letters from schools that each thought and represented themselves like they were the best around, with no equal, it had been a bit amusing but it had gotten old fast. Jean flipped the letter around and examined it, this letter was a different from the others, made of a tougher stock than its predecessors. It actually looked hand-made, even had a wax seal, it was indistinct but it looked like a shield with four animals under a fancy Latin inscription that was smudged beyond recognition. Jean turned around to call back up the stairs again but her daughter started trudging down before she could, "This came for you", she said, "looks like another school letter but I can't make out the name, looks Fantaisie though".
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Hermione read through the letter a second time unconsciously worrying her lip as she was to do while figuring out a difficult problem. She glanced up incredulously at her mother after her second read through, "This is a joke right, something you and Dad rigged up?"
'There was just no way this was real, it just couldn't be', she thought.
"Of course not, why would you think that", her mother asked a bit of indignation and confusion appearing in her usually composed expression.
She waved around the sheaf of what she figured to be parchment, "Because, this is an acceptance letter, a completely ridiculous and presumptuous one if I may say." Hermione thrust the letter at her mum, "Here, read it and tell me what you think", she said a bit exasperated as her mother took the letter.
Her mother was silent as she read and re-read the contents of the letter, "I think you need to get your father for this, this wasn't our doing", she glanced up at her daughter a bit of concern in her expression, causing her lips to purse and eyes to scrunch up. "He should out back in his workshop refinishing the cabinet doors or slacking off to the Beatles again."
Hermione snorted at the last bit before heading to the backyard, her father often had some project going, and as such he had built himself a shed to work in so as not to make a mess in the house. His most current project being to refinish the cabinet doors, much to her mothers ire. It had been quite amusing though to come home with her mother from the store and find all the cabinet doors in the kitchen missing, she had been quite irate with him and had cornered him in his workshop where he had already started sanding them down. Hermione had been sent back in but her mother had come out quite a bit later, she imag her mom had given him quite the dressing down.
Leaving the coolness of her home she walked the few paces to the medium-sized shed where a loud but muffled buzzing was originating from, she tried the door handle, locked. Well only one thing to do, Hermione stooped down and picked up a rounded fist sized rock and began beating on a dented piece of wood nailed onto the door. It was an improvised knocker that her father had installed after her mom had gotten tired of knocking using her fist and had picked up the first heavy thing she saw. He had gotten the point after she had gouged and bashed her way halfway through the door. Hermione kept it up for almost a minute, beating the stone against the piece of wood, gradually compressing the piece and giving it a light sheen by the time her father opened the door. And when he finally opened the door he was filthy, absolutely covered in dust with the only semi clean spots being around around his eyes and mouth respectively.
He glanced at the dented knocking plate and rubbed it with his thumb for a moment before turning back his daughter with a smile, "Yes, dear?"
"Mum's asking for you, I got a letter from another school just now but it's pretty weird", she said.
"Weird how, exactly", he asked, slightly apprehensive but curious, "Clown and Traveling Circus Weird?".
She shook her head, "Just weird, it would be easier for you to read it yourself", Hermione coughed a bit from a whiff of dust that escaped the shed. "I'll tell her your cleaning yourself up", she said a bit exasperated, her father had come inside dusty before, her mother had taken one look at the dusty shoe prints and the dust permeating the air with a look of pure disdain and gone upstairs after her husband, it hadn't been the last time he had done so but they incidents were few and far between.
Her father looked at his clothes, just realizing then that he had a thick layer of wood dust across his person, "That may be a good idea, you go back in darling, i'll be just a minute."
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Hermione watched her father from beside her mother on the couch as he examined the letter in his hands. He had read it then asked if they were having him on then began examining the letter like a particularly bad dental problem when they answered him in negative. He turned the letter every witch way, felt the edges of the parchment, the taste of it and he ink and even burned a little bit of it with a candle; he was honestly acting as if he was Sherlock Holmes.
"Well I can say with a fair amount of certainty that the letter is completely handmade, its professional quality work, you can buy the same materials at specialty stationery shops", he locked eyes with her mother and glanced at her briefly.
"Whoever sent this does this thing a lot to, when I was little and we used fountain pens in prep", he said, "it took forever to learn not to smear the ink, only our teacher could do it perfectly and he had been teaching for over twenty years at that point.
"It mentions a blank white card were supposed to write our response on? Where is that", he asked.
"It's in the envelope, I left it at the front door I think, "her mother answered getting up from beside Hermione, "hold on a tic while I get it." She and her father sat in an awkward silence for a minute until her mother came back holding the thick envelope by a corner and handed it to her father. "Well, , is the vile after our little genius, or is it the wicked Morgana Le Fay", the lilt of her mothers voice the serious face she was wearing, obviously Hermione wasn't the only one who had thought his earlier actions a bit comical.
Her father chuckled a bit, accepting her mothers jest at his expense. "Yes, yes all make fun of the only man in the room," he shook his head as if to clear it. "In all seriousness though", he looked his daughter in the eyes, "Hermione, have you noticed anyone strange lately, anyone who seemed nervous or twitchy, has anyone approached you, anyone who seemed," a paused a bit, "off?"
She was already shaking her head before he finished, "No, and there's been no one around the school like that, after Shelly Swanson the police have had a Bobby that patrols near the school.
Her father sank back into his chair in frustrated contemplation, she knew what he was asking and why, no one had thought something like what happened to Shelly could happen. Sure people had known the Swanson's were having a rough divorce, but when had taken Shelly from school and tried to flee the country.
Well it had caused no shortage of chaos and even after all was settled everyone at the school was taught to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious, avoiding strangers and the like.
Her internal musings were cut short however by her father reading aloud from the letter, "For further information and to speak with a school administrator or to give an acceptance confirmation please make note with an available date of this on the provided slip of parchment and place in on the front stoop, a response will be arrive within the next 18-36 hours, ect, ect." He, stopped his reading and set the letter onto the tea table and retrieving the envelope in the same movement. He examined that and the wax stamp for a bit before removing the slip of parchment the letter had indicated, if anything it looked a fair bit thicker than the rest of the letter, more durable perhaps. "They don't even offer rejection as a third option," he murmured to himself quietly but not quietly enough for her not to hear.
Her father flipped it in his fingers for a bit, not really paying attention to it though if his far off gaze was any indication.
"Hermione," she turned to look at her mother, "why don't you go upstairs, me and your father need to talk in private, ok. I'll call up when its ok, to come back down."
"Al-Alright," she said, and she got up from her seat and made her way back up to her room.
Hermione closed her door behind her before crossing the room and flopping down on her bed, she tried to pick up where she had been in her Algebra book but her mind just kept wandering back to the letter. "Magic, honestly that's just fiction," she set aside the thick math book and notes to look at her bulging shelf of books against the wall.
"Fiction, maybe that will work", she re crossed her room to look through the numerous titles of fiction she owned, sure she mostly read things with a bit more weight but still, her finger stopped on an faded green hardback, a first edition she had gotten from her grandmother, it was in french of course but she could use the practice. "Maybe Tolkien can help distract me."
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"So, well watch and see who takes it," Gregory said while he gripped his cricket bat a bit tighter, squeezing it as such for the leather grip to creak.
"And with just a bit of string and a bell we will know the instant someone does," Jean said from her kneeling position as she tied a length of yarn to a bell that was hanging from the door knob.
"That the plan," he said while his wife stood back up and patted imaginary bits of dust off her knees. He turned to go up the stairs so he could look out on the front stoop from the second story, but as soon as he placed foot on the step the bell began clanging. Jean, who was closest, quickly yanked open the door and stepped over so he could move to her side, bat in hand.
But the doorway was empty, they looked up and down and all they saw was a few wispy feathers floating to the ground. With a large grey owl retreating over the houses across the street, Gregory's eyes followed the feathers down to where they settled on the front mat and noticed for the first time the distinct lack of the slip he and Jean had set out, only moments before.
28th of July,
Great Britain,
Surrey,
04 Privet Drive
'Huh', Harry just stared dumbly at the cracked open egg in his hand, 'who knew letters could be delivered in eggs', of course his time of contemplation didn't last long. The folded up letter and egg were snatched from his hands, harry had to say this for his aunt; for such a loud, bitter and obnoxious person sure could be quiet when she wanted. "Such unnaturalness, ruining our eggs with this garbage." She pushed him roughly to the side, turned on the garbage disposal and began shoving the letter and the rest of the eggs down it with the whisk; completely bending it out if shape in the process. Practically sensing him watching her she whipped around staring at him like he was slow in the head. "Well boy, are you going to stand there or are you going to set the table; and while you're earning your keep dust the shelves," she called after he had left the kitchen.
Like was usual though whenever they gave him a chore, he just went on autopilot, letting his mind wander and just think about things while he robotically performed whatever menial task they had set. Like how his Family had been acting lately, ever since that first letter had arrived they had been, was nervous the word? Yeah, nervous sounded right and there was the fact that his Aunt and Uncle had been watching him when they thought he couldn't see them. Idiots though they were never realized a simple thing, glass is reflective. Uncle Vernon had even been holding Dudley back from whacking Harry with his Smeltings stick, not that it did much, Dudley had about the accuracy and depth perception of a pie.
By the time Aunt Petunia was finished with breakfast Dudley was whining about her taking to long and Uncle Vernon….. Well uncle Vernon looked like he may have loosened his screws a bit with one of his companies drills. Heavy blackish purple bags under the eyes, hair worse than Harrys ever was on a bad day and his eyes had that slightly manic glint to them that he'd had the last few days since he had started his campaign of letter burning. Somehow however he had managed to keep his clothes neat, despite the fact he had slept in them.
"Ah" Uncle Vernon said while taking a bite of a biscuit, then a sip of tea. "Sunday, and what doesn't come on Sunday; Dudley", he asked his son.
"Um, uh, no mail on Sundays?" Dudley stuttered, not wanting to guess wrong.
It was obviously a question answer but it seemed even Ikkle Dudders had noticed his father's state and obsession with the mail over the last few days. He also noted that Aunt Petunia neglected to mention the eggs and lack thereof on the table, Dudley did notice though judging by his disappointed expression but wisely chose not to ask by the sharp look his mother shot him.
That's it, he would have to get ahold of one of the letters; it had been a bit amusing at first, but now. Now it was getting quite out of hand, even a bit of a letter would do, a name of sender or something, anything that would help tell them to shove off.
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Pippa the delivery owl hooted angrily at the residence his letter was supposed to be delivered to; his anger was at the fact that this had been the fifth of delivery of the exact same letter. It had took quite a long flight to fly from the roost to deliver the letters and for the last two a headwind from a coming storm had slowed him and his feathery fellows considerably. They were being received sure, the long eared ones had told them so, but not by the one they were intended for, they were being intercepted apparently and that just made Pippa frustrated.
He lifted his tail feathers and let a satisfying large dropping land squarely on the glass of a vehicle below him. The ruffle of feathers and the shriek of one of his fellows drew his attention to a young hatchling that was soaring to the back of the house. Likely to peck at a window but doubtless to fail to work, no instead Pippa eyed the tall column of hollow bricks that rose from the home. For the past few nights smoke had come out of it, Pippa was a smart bird though and he was thinking that if something can come out then what if something can go back in. Pippa turned to a perch mate and began to hoot his plan, hopefully the others of his flock listening in would follow his lead.
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The tense quiet of breakfast was not to last, as halfway through eating a sharp rapping at the kitchen window alerted the four people at the table to an owl, perched on the window sill with a familiar looking letter held firmly in its beak. 'Huh, First egg's and now owls, this sender is really persistent', Harry thought. But quick enough Aunt Petunia was at the windows and pulling the curtains shut. "Hmph, thank you pet, ruddy vermin have been everywhere lately", Uncle Vernon remarked, Harry decided not to point out it was still tapping at the glass.
A few minutes later the owl seemed to give up and it flew away to join the rest of the hoard of its kind that had stationed themselves out front over the last few days. It was at the after breakfast rest that one of the owls had the idea to drop its letter down the chimney where it floated down onto the sitting room table, right on top of the cookie Uncle Vernon was reaching for. Now that just seemed a bit too smart for an owl, even a trained one, sure he had read a bit about them before and how they were smart, how they could turn there heads all the way around and such. But to drop a letter down a chimney with a rain cover, that was a bit- 'Oh, another one'. And indeed there was another letter, right on top of the one that the great red Walrus had just finished ripping up, 'My that certainly is an interesting colour,' he though as he scarced a glance at his uncle. Harry didn't even think skin could turn purple like that if it wasn't bruised or on a corpse
.
A loud rustling from the fireplace grabbed everyone's attention, a rustling and scraping that reminded him of when a badger had gotten into the bushes last year; his Uncle had of course sent him rouse it out. Then the unexpected, and most likely impossible happened, letters upon letters came flying out of the fireplace like a busted Fire Plug so fastand thick that in seconds the floor was covered with more were still coming. After the initial shock had worn off Diddykins had heaved his girth into his mothers arms and Vernon had risen to his feet looking like he was about to snap. Harry wanted to snap his fingers as he realized what color his uncle had turned, it was called Puce, he was sure of it. From the corner of his eye he saw his uncle reaching for him but Harry ducked under the arm, its meaty, chicken sized fist grabbing nothing but a few hairs that were promptly ripped out. Harry was hunched over next to the table now, he spied bits of ripped up paper and was able to surreptitiously snatch up a handful of the shredded paper before he was grasped by the neck from behind. Despite drawing little breath, he shoved his handful of paper down his trousers while being dragged down the hall and roughly thrown into his cupboard.
After regaining his breath he sighed internally as it was a bit hard to breathe at that moment, but he had succeeded, he now could get some clue to who was sending the letters. Harry rubbed his neck to bring back some blood flow, but he couldn't check them yet, not now at least, maybe when everyone else had gone to sleep and right now the thundering of footsteps up and down the stairs above his head told him that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.
Not ten minutes his earlier idea to wait until later was proven fortuitous as his door was yanked open and he was hauled out by the arm by Uncle Vernon who forced to turn out his pockets, he was even given a pat down. He was also asked if he had any of the letters and a hand on his jaw kept him from looking away but his muffled "no" seemed to be enough, and it was true that he wasn't, not a whole one anyway. Then before he knew it he was being tossed into the backseat of Vernon's sedan with some baggage digging into his left kidney and they were off, speeding down the highway into the countryside, almost like one big happy family. Yeah, right.
July of the 28th,
Great Britain,
Location Unknown,
Uncle Vernon's Car.
They rode in a heavy awkward silence for most of the drive, mostly in part because Uncle Vernon was muttering under his breath like a loon about freaks and unnaturalness. Fortunately for Aunt Petunia, who had been shifting around like she was hoping for a rest stop, didn't have to break the silence to ask, it was Dudley who did. He had started with a bit of whining every couple of minutes, nothing that was likely to set off Uncle Vernon. But by the time the sun had gone down and the urban sprawl was long behind them he was kicking the back of his father's seat, forgetting out of anger at being ignored or simple petulance that his father wasn't in a quite right state of mind. Eventually Uncle Vernon conceded to his sons tantrum and his wifes silent pleas to stop at a Bed n' Breakfast, not the best one either as it looked like it had seen better days, with paint peeling in a few places, obviously it had seen better times. Unfortunately when the time came to rent room for the night Uncle Vernon discovered the downsides to leaving the house in a rush, he hadn't brought enough money to pay for two rooms; or even enough to pay for two beds. So thus after much whining on Dudley's part it was decided he would be sleeping on the couch and Harry would be sleeping in the bathtub with a ratty rolled up towel for a pillow. He simply laid there for a while, waiting, listening, until he was sure the others were asleep before slipping out of the tub and digging the letter shreds out of his drawers; ignoring how they now smelled a bit like Dudley and started arranging them on the toilet lid.
It took a while to get the scraps all sorted out with their other halves, and much of it was trashed, either the words missing letters or smudged into oblivion while hidden down his trousers. Some things though were clear and easy to read while some he had to infer and guess at from cut off words and other scraps. It seemed like some kind of an acceptance letter but some of it stood out more than others and were suspicious. Albus Dumb, Merlin First, Accepted, Cupboard Under The Stairs, Hogwarts School of Witch, Wizardry, September 1st, July 31st, Pointed Hat, Dragon Hid, Book of Spells, Magical Theory, Thousand Magical Herbs, Dark Forces, One Wand, Broomstick. 'Looks like some type of Fantasy Fiction acceptance letter and supply list, maybe for a magicians school, could magic be real; it would certainly explain the letters'? But the part that was really troubling him and tying up his thought process was how the bloody hell they knew his room to be the Cupboard-Under-The-Stairs.
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When they all woke in the morning they learned something unfortunate, as it turned out that B&B's can have some fairly costly breakfasts; so as such with Uncle Vernon's limited budget, it was a terribly bleak and miserable affair, much like the B&B itself. A sandwich for Vernon, stale cereal without milk for Dudders, a cup of Black coffee for Petunia and a small can of out of date diced tomatoes for himself, yum. But if that wasn't bad enough a rather harried looking clerk from the front desk had came around asking if there was a Harry Potter with us holding a stack of familiar letters, saying he had a hundred of em. So one pulsating neck vein from his Uncle and ten minutes later everyone was bundled into the car. Oh, there was something digging into his kidney, again. Harry figured he would be pissing blood at this rate.
July 30th,
Great Britain,
Hogwarts,
Deputy Headmistresses Office.
Minerva McGonagall sank into her chair, it was a nice piece, hand crafted Italian leather softened up by fourtyseven solid years of use; she could just melt into it and she did so on a regular basis.
Minerva reclined herself even further, some would call it a slouch and some would even be right, she nursed a glass of Glenfiddich while she spun a golden necklace on her index finger.
What she was doing was probably a bad idea but at the moment she didn't really care. She was tired, it was a pervasive ache, she was tired even of thinking. She let the chain winde around her hand the little hourglass bobble on the end rattling slightly as its contents settled. With an exhausted sigh she drew open the center left drawer on her desk emptying it of its miscellaneous contraband contents by the handful upon the floor. Minerva pressed down and pushed forward on the bottom of the drawer, with a muted click the false bottom popped open revealing a velvet lined false bottom that only she knew existed or could find. There were so many spells created over many centuries the world across that were used reveal and open things hidden by magic. This little hidey hole of hers wasn't protected by magic though, just some tricky muggle carpentry skills.
So many of her kind who used magic became complacent, holding a belief of superiority over all things muggle, she knew from experience that this was complete shite. She, Minerva McGonagall was the one who introduced the muggle borns to their society every year and with those yearly visits to the muggle world she was able to see quite clearly how the muggles were advancing, how quickly. So it was needless to say that after doing her yearly duty for the past fifty some odd years she had been able to observe how quickly the muggle world was progressing and it had only emphasized how stagnant her own native society was. Sure when she had been but a wee lass the most advanced thing of the age was the self propelled lorries, machines that belched smoke and were considered just a passing fancy.
But In just one hundred years the muggles had gone from horse and buggy and those primitive lorries to creating machines that could fly dozens or hundreds of people across the worlds oceans. The British Wizarding society had created faster brooms, it was only one comparison but one of the more blatant and easily observable ones.
Of course she wasn't able speak for the entire world and frankly she hadn't seen nearly as much of it as she would have liked. She was an educator, a Deputy Headmistress and she didn't have nearly as much time for vacationing as she would have liked. Of course that was only exacerbated what with Albus shunting off much of his responsibilities as Headmaster onto her while he played games in the wizengamot and ICW. But still, she hoped and doubted the whole world wasn't like the british isles.
She dropped the coiled necklace onto a pillow of crushed velvet, it wasn't the only special thing in the hidden compartment. She'd stored little things that she had collected over the years hidden away in there, knicks and knacks that had some sort of value in one way or another.
Near the back a cloth wrapped object drew her attention, wrapped as it was it would indistinct if not for the partially exposed wooden handle, it was a bit dusty she noted. Normally Minerva didn't pay notice it and she hadn't had it out in so long. She made a promise to herself she would clean it and make sure it was still in working order. 'In the meantime though', she closed and re-covered the false bottom with junk, 'I have to make sure that this place doesn't fall around our ears for another year.'
So with yet another heavy sigh Minerva pulled a pile of documents from the INbox on her desk and began cramping her wrist into oblivion, her only reprieve was when she got to use her special new stamp. She had gotten it on a trip to muggle London of course, it allowed her to sign her name quickly and with ease, she just had to ensure that the Weasley twins never discovered it.
Date Unknown,
Location Unknown,
Time Unknown.
Harry forced his eyes to open, coated with crust as they were that they naturally resisted the action. Slowly he started stretching, as much as he was able to that is; the very action pulled and tugged at his skin. Sleeping under the tarp had helped but after spending what he believed to be well over 24 hours in the sun by then he had had quite a bit more sun exposure, and subsequent burning, than would be advised by any doctor. He slowly lifted himself from the layer of clothes he had placed on the wood as a cushion and checked to see if there was anymore water, thankfully there was.
Harry eventually was able to shift himself into a position where he could look dip his finger into what little there was of the remaining puddle of rainwater in the boat, he tasted it, slightly salty but it wouldn't matter in the short-term if he died of thirst. Harry leaned over the puddle and took a slow slurp, it burned his mouth, his ripped lips in particular. He collapsed back into his makeshift bed and stared at the ocean through a gap in the tarp between the hull of the dinghy. He hurt all over, not the ache of a beating but a sharp sting of pain whenever he pulled a burned area too quickly.
There was a bit of hope though, he had seen the tower of a ship in the distance the other day, at least he thought it was the other day. It had been to far away to even try and exert the effort of drawing attention though, he was desperate but not dumb enough to think they would hear or notice him. But with the sighting of the ship Harry had figured he must be on a shipping lane, one that passed close to the channel presumably, so there was that hope. But in some ways that was even worse, knowing that your salvation could possibly be just over the horizon and not knowing it it would ever come.
Translations
Dear readers, as I am using Google Translate (as well as other websites as necessary) for many of these I would appreciate it if someone recognizes a mistake would kindly drop a review or PM to let me know. In advance thank you.
{English translation} : {What it is being translated to} : {Translated word or phrase}
Beef Stew : French : C'est si Boeuf (Yeah I kinda lost the original translation and google churned out gibberish sooooo, yeah. Takin a swing in the dark)
Fancy : French : Fantaisie
Authors note 2,
Holy hell, I am not sure how I could have released this chapter as it was, there really is no explanation for why I would or could. Frankly I kinda cringe at seeing this, I can't even remember if I thoroughly edited this the first time. Although admittedly I was typing it on my phone at the time so that could be it.
Anyway here is chapter one 2.0, fixed a bunch of punctuation that I think got jacked up when It got uploaded originally, grammar, expanded it a bit, fixed up run on sentences,etc etc. So to those who read the original iteration of this chapter, please let me know how I did. Even if ten% of you drop a tip or comment it would help greatly in editing Chapter Two.
KiDz
P.S. Has anyone ever experienced Words being lost when uploading? If so please let me know.
(Origional) Authors Note,
For those of you whom finished the chapter, thank you. If you could leave a Review on you way out it would be much appreciated.
As this is my first worthwhile foray into the world of writing (Fan)Fiction I would appreciate constructive criticism that can help me refine my writing, I will admit this chapter is a bit rough but I would have never ended up releasing it if I wanted it Perfect on its first publishing, I published this twice before and deleted them moments later due to realizing mistakes I had missed or forgotten about. To that end Reviews and P.M's containing helpful criticism would be appreciated.
At the moment I am still smoothing out some things but several things that are glaringly obvious to me is my punctuation (at least to me it is), and that I believe I sometimes get off track, or ramble and Continuity.
As I do not have a Beta Reader there are likely to be things that I may not have noticed or ignored due to believing it not incorrect or simply missing it entirely.
Again, if you have continued to read this far, thank you.
KiDz