Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. I'm not making money off this. If J.K Rowling, Frank Miller and Stephen Turnbull want to come after me for this, fine. I don't have anything for them to take anyway.
Please bear in mind that this is an AU, and as such I reserve the right to go against canon if it makes for a better story. Thank you.
The whole concept for this story came from a bet and a fic writer's website. You can blame my own arrogance and the phrase "sure, how tough could that be" for the content of this story.
I'm posting this on the 2487th anniversary of the Battle of Thermopalyae. Just to give it some significance.
Also, if you have trouble with some of the more exotic names, Wikipedia can offer help on some of them.
Foreword
London.
Once upon a time, deep within the bowels of the Ministry of Magics, there was an archivist by the name of Robert Drake. He was a modest man, with modest dreams and modest ability. His job was to catalog the goings-on at the various academies the wizarding world used to train the next generation of wizards and witches. The books would compile the records themselves, but it was his responsibility to check them and make reports for the officials at the Ministry. Which, in all honesty, no one really read.
He had been performing this task for many years and had become quite good at it. Unfortunately, when one is in an archive, one tends to become curious about some of the detailed goings-on at other academies. Mr. Drake had read the accounts of some of the other schools. He had read the goings on at the Romanian academy. (How some of those boys had avoided expulsion, death, dismemberment and worse would forever remain a mystery.) He had read the accounts of the French academy. (If ever a school needed a charm to ward off cat-fights and other such mischief, this was the one.) Then there was the Swedish academy, and its Viking traditions. (Apparently their Viking traditions on lawbreaking were still practiced.) There were even accounts of the American academy. (Although he could never understand why and how the Americans got an academy.) He had read the journals of some of the academies that had been destroyed over the many centuries. The ancient academy at Alexandria which had been burned to the ground still had records here. And today, he was reading the accounts of a pair of academies that had been destroyed over two millennia ago. The first one was destroyed when its island sank into the sea. The other one… wait. This can't be right. This record is reporting graduations last year. As well as the death of a student earlier this year. Drake's eyes went wide, and he suddenly developed a very empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Today was going to be a very interesting day.
"Sir?" Drake asked as he tapped on the office door of his supervisor and let himself in.
"Hmm?"
"Sir, we seem to have a problem. I think I've found a missing school." Drake said sheepishly as he laid the ancient tome onto his supervisor's desk.
"Mister Drake, we do not simply lose schools. Clearly you are mistaken."
Robert Drake turned the book around so that the entries could be read more clearly. As the supervisor peered over his glasses to read the text, the supervisor had the exact same reaction Drake did when he read the text. Yes, today was turning out to be very interesting indeed.
Ministry of Magicks council chamber
London
Three months later.
The ministers were talking amongst themselves; some quietly, some not-so-quietly, and some quite loudly. The air had become stifling in the past few hours as a grand presentation had been made to the council. In the center of the councilor chamber, Alexander Deacon paced nervously. His dark robes made him seem slightly larger than he actually was, but by no means did it convey anything imposing or threatening. Sweat was beading at his brow as he returned to the chair and table set in the center of the chamber. He mopped his brow and nodded to the gentleman that was standing a respectful distance behind the table. Standing next to the chair where Deacon sat was a woman. To describe her as beautiful would be doing injustice to language itself. She stood a mere 5'4", but the knee-length diaphanous silk dress she wore accented every curve and hid just enough to be all the more tantalizing. Her sapphire-blue eyes projected an aura of control and understanding. Her long black hair was braided into a ponytail kept in check with golden ribbon and hung down; neatly accenting the subtle curve of her bosom and contrasting the polished bronze breastplate she wore. Her left hand was perched on the hilt of a falcata, its bronze grip polished so perfectly, the councilors could see their reflections from across the room. She glanced at the helmet and shield that were at the table, knowing what they symbolized. In an attempt to be more social, she shifted the long, deep-red cloak from her side to her back, revealing more skin while allowing her to try to keep cool in the oppressive heat of the chamber.
The First Minister pounded his gavel for silence and order.
"Lady Metis…" He began.
"Just Metis." She corrected in a soft tone that completely belittled her ability.
"Metis. Yes. We have sat here and listened to Mister Deacon's presentation regarding your school. The Agoge." Metis nodded as he pronounced the word. "And I find it hard to believe that one of our own academies was lost for over two thousand years."
"Nevertheless, it has happened. And now that we have been found, we would like very much to return to the function for which the Agoge was created."
"And what function would that be?"
"Training guardians sentinels and soldiers for the wizarding world. Just as we have been doing for centuries." A low rumble circulated through the chamber. The First Minister raised his hand for silence.
"You have been isolated for so long, what makes you think you are even capable of reintegrating with the wizarding world? You have been alone for so long your customs and spells may no longer be compatible with ours."
"Our spells and magics have remained pure and unchanged since the time of the collapse. While it is true we have been forced to make some concessions due to internal issues, I can assure you that the Agoge has remained pure; as pure as the last time we sent an emissary to this chamber."
The First Minister opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a dignified looking woman several seats to his left.
"And what do you propose to do to prove to us that your…school is still capable of performing its tasks in the modern world?"
Metis paused briefly to look at the woman.
"I will bring a group of students to one of your schools. There, they will live and study amongst your students, proving that they are as I claim."
There was a murmur amongst the gallery. The mere thought of allowing soldiers and war mages into a normal school would have been unthinkable only a year ago. But following the resurgence of attacks by the Deatheaters and other minions of He-who-must-not-be-named, the idea of reintegrating with a military school did have some merit. And, since there WAS a certain school that seemed to bearing the brunt of those attacks, it may prove to be an ideal place to place these… students.
An older, greasy-skinned man spoke/ shouted first.
"First Minister, you can't actually be considering dropping a group of junior sociopaths into our educational system!"
The First Minister pulled slowly at his beard, pondering. Carefully listening to the debates going on around him. After a pause, he spoke:
"Actually, I am doing just that."
A heavy-set woman on the council voiced her opinion. Loudly.
"You cannot be actually considering taking a pack of barbaric wolves and dropping them into the middle of our carefully regulated and administered academic community!"
"You mean the flocks of sheep and gaggles of defenseless bunnies we have created?" Another minister shouted back.
"Actually," the First Minister began, "I intend to take a well-trained and controlled pack of Dire Wolves, drop them into our flock of sheep and force them to learn how to look like sheep. Thus, when a threat appears, our new wolves will be indistinguishable from the sheep." Murmured protests started in the gallery. "And if we are very lucky, some of our sheep may learn to become something resembling the wolves."
Metis simply smiled. The Agoge would live again. As it should.
"But what about the safety of our students? What if there was an accident? What if your young wolves hurt someone?"
Metis glanced at the parental-looking woman. Much as a wolf would eye its next meal.
"You have an infirmary, don't you?"
End Intro