Although I wish I owned Harry Potter and company I'm not that special.
The Reluctant God
Chapter 1 The Hunt
It looked almost like a human if you discarded the fact that it was only eight inches tall, and that it had long white hair blowing in the wind and white fur and that its eyes were shaped like a crescent moon tipped on its side or that its ears were on the top of its head and swiveled independently of each other or that…Oh ok, ok. It didn't look human at all then except for the fact that it was humanoid and had opposing thumbs. Well, whatever it was it chortled with glee as it stalked it quarry.
It was quiet and if it had given much thought to what it was doing it would have said it was being sneaky and sly. Closer and closer it crept till it was almost ready to pounce on the prey when the wind picked up unexpectedly and carried the prey across the alley and fetched it up against a building. The little creature screamed in rage at this underhanded and sneaky escape.
No! To have come so close only to loose the prey now? That was intolerable. The little creature started across the alley going after the prey. Ducking behind a discarded paper cup the creatures face took on a crafty look as it cautiously peered over top of the cup. Good, the prey seemed unaware that it was being stalked. Keeping low to the ground the small creature ran toward the prey and skidding to a stop it once again hid this time behind a crumpled up paper bag. On hands and knees the creature crept to the edge of its cover and looked around the paper bag. The prey was shivering in the breeze but otherwise was holding still.
On tiptoes the small creature soundlessly approached the prey. Hands outstretched it reached to grab and capture. One more step would do it. As the creature raised its foot to take that last important step the wind once again picked up and the prey was lifted into the air far outside of the creatures reach.
With mouth hanging open in shock the creature tilted its head back and watched the prey make its escape. Tears sprang to his eyes and with a moan of despair the creature dropped to his knees. Now he would never capture the prey. Dropping his hands to his sides he clenched them into fists and pounded them on the ground in his bitter anger.
It was so unfair. Twice he had almost had his quarry and twice it had escaped him. Wrapped up in his despair he never noticed when the wind died down again nor did he notice when his prey started to fall back toward the earth. He never noticed until the prey gently fell on his head and slid down his body to the ground in front of him.
With a shaking hand the little creature reached out and captured the prey. This was all the proof the little creature needed to know that this was sanctioned by god. Feeling truly blessed to have had his own personal miracle he gently brushed his fingers over the picture at rest in front of himself.
The figure immortalized in the picture held up a small winged golden ball in triumph and turning to the side with a crooked grin slung a broom over his shoulder with his other hand before the picture reset.
With a blissful sigh the small creature folded the page from the newspaper into a small package and clutched it to his chest. Brushing the tears from his cheeks the small creature muttered a quick prayer of thanks for the divine intervention and vanished only to reappear in a clearing that held several hundred miniscule houses and one normal sized cabin. Several of the small creatures were moving around doing things although the hour was very late. The little man was greeted by the others and when asked where he had been he showed them the folded up page of the newspaper.
Excitement ran rampant as the creatures gathered around to study the newspaper photo of the boy. Fingers reverently ran over the picture as others of their kind ran off to wake those that slept. This was worth an interrupted sleep cycle, this was important.
The one who had managed to make the capture of the picture was delegated into carrying the prize into the small cabin when the newspaper photo was spread out and displayed by an almost life sized portrait of an older man that strongly resembled the boy in the picture. The two had the same messy black hair, green eyes and the facial features were close enough that if one didn't know better one would assume that the portrait was a picture of the same subject only much older. About the only thing that would casually dispel this idea was the brass name plate attached to the bottom of the heavy frame holding the oil canvas. Salazar Slytherin. A man who left very few likenesses of himself behind. The man in the painting had died about 900 years ago, long before newsprint was in use and although the portrait was obviously painted by a master it was still a painting. The picture in the newspaper was much more lifelike. Of course the picture in the newspaper had been taken with a camera, an invention that came long after the death of Slytherin.
Any modern witch or wizard would know right away that the two were not the same person because of the time line involved but these little creatures didn't understand time lines or the fact that people die or even the fact that someone older could not suddenly become someone younger. To them the person represented by both pictures was the same man or in this case not man. Something much more than a man. And now the question was how did they find him? The great Salazar, the miracle worker, the creator of their race, their God.
It had been quite some time since he was with them last but their memory was long. When he left it was because other gods had attacked him and caused him confusion and pain. The great Salazar had been dragged off by the god Goddrick and the goddesses Helga and Rowena which just proved how much better their god was than others because it had taken three other gods to take down their own. But this time they were better prepared to help their god should he need it. Over the years the peoples had learned to fight and fight for their god they would.
The planning began. It was decided amongst themselves to begin looking in the place where his likeness had been found. The men would search and the fems would stay home with the pups. A rotation schedule was set up so that about a third of the males would be searching at any one time and two thirds would be home to protect the fems and pups. With that decided about 300 of the adult males vanished only to reappear in Diagon Alley.
Since it was still very early in the morning no one was about as the little ones scattered. No shop was locked securely enough to keep them out and no house was warded well enough to disallow them entrance. They swarmed into The Pet Emporium and searched diligently. The next stop was The Leaky Cauldron which met with the same fate. As many other businesses as time allowed became a target before the inhabitants began stirring in the morning.
Fred and George came downstairs and looked at the open front door in surprise. They knew they had closed it last night. Taking a closer look around they were shocked to find their stock of merchandise disrupted and mixed up. "What the hell happened here?" Fred said in amazement.
"No clue bro. Damn, we need to get things cleaned up so we can find out if anything's been stolen." The other twin responded.
It wasn't until much later in the day that the twins found out that they weren't the only ones who had received a nocturnal visitor. Quality Quidditch was still cleaning up when the two went to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch and there they found out that Gringotts had not opened today because of visitors. Now that was cause for concern. But what caused the most concern was the visitors had passed through wards as if they weren't there and no one had a clue as to whom or what they were. Some were afraid that the remaining death eaters were becoming active again and some were afraid that another dark lord was on the rise. Fred and George thought that hypothesis was a bit on the wrong side. I mean sure, their practical jokes were the best but what self respecting dark lord would want them. After all, a dark lord would want to inspire fear, not laughter.
The twins also found out that the Daily Prophet was very hard hit. Back issues were pulled out of the newspapers morgue and scattered all over the place. The scary part at least to the twins was the nature of the newspapers that made it spread out all over the floor. Every one of them had a picture of Harry in them. From the first issue when his parents were killed and he survived, The Prophet had run a picture of him as a year old baby along with the story of The Boy Who Lived to the latest one. Harry holding the snitch in his last game of Quidditch at Hogwarts. No one else might make the connection although they doubted it but whether anyone else did or not didn't matter. What mattered was the twins knew…Someone was hunting Harry and they were going to tell him.
It was a lovely spring day at Hogwarts. The fifth and seventh years were mostly inside in the library studying for their tests and almost all of the rest of the school population was outside enjoying the unusually warm and inviting weather. Harry and his friends were one of the groups in the library doing some studying before they faced their NEWT's in a few short weeks.
Hermione was of course spassing out over the fact that Ron was not applying himself to his charms work and Harry was helping Neville with his potions reviews. Now there was a surprise, who would have thought that Neville would have even made it into the NEWT potions class or that Harry would have settled down to be so good at them. Slughorn had tried to get Harry to take an apprenticeship after he finished his schooling and he wasn't the only one.
Harry's defeating the dark lord during the summer between his sixth and seventh year had done something to the teen. It had matured him in ways that no one understood. It had also matured his magic to the point that he no longer even used a wand for spells and when it came to learning anything he was like a dried sponge dipped in water. Potions, transfigurations, charms, astrology, ancient runes or languages, it didn't matter. If it could be read or taught he sucked it up till he had bled the source dry.
There were physical changes as well although those had happened over the course of the school year. He had put on about 8 inches in height which put him at a very respectable 6'1'' tall and the weight had piled on till he was toned and fit. When he had returned to school two weeks into term he had been a physical wreck. Thin and sickly he shook all the time. Now his confidence was astounding and well founded. No one could sneak up on him and no one could outfight him either magical or muggle.
The other physical changes were good also. He now wore his hair long, almost mid-way down his back usually tied in a ponytail although sometimes he kept it loose. The length pulled it straight so that it was no longer unmanageable and many girls would lose themselves in the fantasy of running their hands through the silky length. (Come to think of it several guys did the same thing) His voice was softer and deeper than it had been before and when he talked which wasn't often unless you were part of his inner group he commanded respect. Even the teaching staff listened to what he had to say now. When he walked it was with an air of confidence that caused people to sit up and take notice and last but not least his famous scar was a casualty of the fight between him and Voldermort. It was gone leaving him with a flawless complexion.
The press had of course hounded him after he did whatever it was that he did to defeat Voldermort and his death eaters (and no one was really sure what that was) and once or twice an over imaginative reporter tried to paint him as going dark to sell more papers but it couldn't stick because you could feel the peace and calm and purity radiating off him like a palpable thing. No one who was around Harry for more than five minutes would ever think he was capable of going dark. It just wasn't in his nature.
This was the boy that the twins rushed to Hogwarts to warn about what they thought might be impending trouble. And it was although no one knew what type of trouble and even if someone had been told what type of trouble was heading for the boy no one would have believed them. At least not till the trouble finally found our hero.