To Hell and Back
Chapter 1
For Eternity
What if Harry wasn't picked up by Hagrid when Voldemort attacked? How would the HP universe change, if he was picked up by a renowned, somewhat mentally unstable, immortal, 110-year-old Dark Arts Hunter? Includes: OC, Independant/Badass Harry.
The concept has been sitting in a quiet corner of my mind ever since I've joined this site. So finally, after much deliberation, I've decided I'm gonna do a test chapter. If there's enough good press, then I'll put up another chapter.
Hope that didn't sound like a needy brat craving attention... I really hope it didn't. Anyway, here goes a sound effort, and I've got nothing to lose that hasn't already been taken once or twice before, but here we go!
LET'S DO THIS!
How do you say you hate your life, when it's nigh impossible for you to die a natural death? It's immortality. How can you possibly hate living forever? The benefits probably outweigh the disadvantages, so immortality would obviously be the better choice.
But then again, nothing comes for free. Everything has a cost, from the tiniest little thing that occupies space, to largest manifestation of natural order that takes up existence somewhere out there. It's simply a matter of what you pay versus what you gain, input to output. What you put in, is what you get out.
You put in something small, naturally, you'll get something small. Probably very small.
But what happens during the times you put in something big? Very, very big things happen. Miracles can happen, wars can start, the lame can walk, and the world could end. I probably sound biblical, very biblical to you, but that's not the point.
This story, my story, started with just a little thing, one tiny little spark of an idea, which in reality was just small flickers of neuroelectricity in a young man's brain. For it was the idea that he could live forever and ever, never aging and never dying, to spend eternity with the woman he loved. And following the laws of input and output, naturally he got something small.
Very small.
But he kept pushing forward. He kept adding new things and concepts to his idea, and ended up with bigger and bigger results. It took up most of his life. But he still moved forward.
And he ended up an old man. A happily living, immortal old man with one hell of a result in his hands.
The Philosopher's Stone. The man was Nicolas Flamel, and heralded as the man who developed the gold standard of modern alchemy.
A generous man who saved my life... In thanks, I lived with him as an assistant, learned alchemy, and helped around the Flamel home. I thought of them as family, like an eccentric aunt and uncle. As a final test before I left on my merry way and ventured out into the world, I was asked to create one feat of alchemy, anything that I reaped from research and experimentation.
So with a week of strenuous effort, alchemical successes and failures, the near loss of my left arm and my right testicle, and another week of nearly getting myself killed for rare ingredients, and one more final week of getting those ingredients made into a result... I finally did it. I finished my test. And I made one thing that changed my life forever.
A pseudo-philosopher's stone. Upon completion, I cheered my ass off. It was perfect-ish. Albeit anti-climatic...
It was the size of a freaking pebble. A freaking pebble. Of all sizes possible, it was a pebble. Philosopher's Stone my ass, more like the Philosopher's Pebble.
Come on! A pebble! I work my ass off and nearly get myself killed, just for a pebble? A very shiny red pebble...?
Uncle Nicolas never let me live it down. But there were some benefits from the shameful pebble that he refused to let me chuck down a toilet. We found this out by accident though. And we never thought this was even possible out of the pebble that I made.
It couldn't do anything alchemical that was for sure when we tried it, but... There was one amazing thing that it could do. The only thing that kept me from either selling it as a fine jewel to make a quick buck, making it into a victory trinket, and/or flushing it down a toilet.
It could create the Elixir of Life. The Elixir of Life. How epic can you get, you tiny little alchemical failure, you? And yes, I am coddling and talking to a pebble, the most epic little pebble in existence.
Though Uncle Nicolas and Aunt Perenelle made me promise one thing... I could only drink the Elixir of Life when I was finally was the age and image I wanted to preserve for eternity. I chose 28. Then I left to travel.
And travel...
And travel...
And travel...
And travel...
Damn, eternity never seemed so long before.
Anyway, I traveled, alright? I made ventures in every single walk of life. I've lived as a poor man, a rich man, a lawman, a hitman... A married man... I've done everything imaginable these 110 years of life...
You get bored easily. Even with an Order of Merlin First Class under my belt, hey, don't look at me like I'm some damn prodigy or life's poster boy, I got that by accident... Seriously. By accident...
Don't ask. I don't like to talk about it much...
Ah, where are my manners?
The name's Reynald, Reynald Crawford.
I'm 110 with the body of a sex god, and thank you, eternal youth! And I'm not some self gratuitous arse with his head in the clouds, no, no matter what you think, I'm not. I'm not gonna pull a Malfoy on you all. And after 3 more generations of them on this earth, you'd think they'd learn some modesty.
Or humility.
Now where was I again?
Ah, I was wandering England yet again, looking for well, something. I made a living killing these guys called Death Eaters, who were terrorizing people. Stupid prejudiced little buggers. This wasn't really a war, just a group of terrorists making havoc here and there.
Though that didn't spare them from my wand, sword and gun... I find Albus Dumbledore's attempts at dealing with them to be a bit soft... He means well, I can give him that, but to really fight a battle, where the enemy is trying to kill you as quickly and brutally as possible, you can't halt or fight back with simple stunners and disarming spells. You fight back as hard as they do and even harder, that's how you win, that's how you survive, and that's how you protect your comrades and those you fight for.
Dumbledore claims my own ideologies to be "misguided but well intentioned".
Anyway, enough with my sentiments...
Let's start with the day my life changed forever... Or the day my life just changed. Hey, I already live forever. Who knew if the change would last forever?
...
Enough with all this damned ranting.
It all started when...
I sat quietly, stoking a fire and munching on a sandwich.
I was camping in the forest near Godric's Hollow, near to dead broke yet again. A trip to Gringotts is in order. Maybe in a few weeks. I like the outdoors, don't have to deal with the bull of society and it's mechanizations for a brief time.
Poke. Poke. I prod the fire with a stick, sighing.
I'm bored. Might as well go to a bar in town and get some food, or hunt a bit. I decide to go to town. It's not that far anyway. And unlike most wizards, I spent most of my time in the muggle world.
I can blend in with them rather easily, much to the Confederation of Wizards disbelief. Kiss my ass, Statute of Secrecy. I peek into my wallet, and take note of the few bills of money inside. Damn, maybe that trip to Gringotts should be much earlier than planned.
I stand up, pulling out my wand, and put out the fire with a quick, "Aguamenti." A stream of clear water flows from the tip, and extinguishes the flames. With another flourish of the wooden stick in my hand, my tent, bags and other belongings are shrunk and compacted into a small box that could fit in my pocket. I slide the box into my pocket beside my wallet, and begin my short trek to town.
It's Halloween night, so the people of the town are up and about, walking around and enjoying the night. I smile as a bunch of kids run past me in costumes, talking about their spoils. I remember when trick or treating became popular for the first time. I had put on a spell that turned me into a kid, and walked around, going from house to house for the free candy.
Ah, candy was so awesomely cheap back then... Now it's more expensive... Damn money grubbing companies, monopolizing the good stuff and increasing its prices... Now I can barely afford the large amounts of candy I used to be able to buy with my usual self allowance.
I stroll into a bar and order a glass of scotch and a sandwich, my usual order. I pay the bartender as he comes with my request. Then I eat quietly as I listen to my surroundings. It's quiet inside...
I finish quickly, and order a few sandwiches to go. When my order arrives, I take it with thanks, and leave. The night's young, even if I'm not so much myself. There's still a lot I can do.
But I just don't know what.
I opt to walk around, strolling the streets. I like this town, it's small, and I've settled down a few times over the years at a house here. Currently, I've loaned it out to Dumbledore for some apparent reason. He's using it as a safe house for this couple, a nice couple at that, with a son as well.
I've known the family for a while; I've even gone to school with a few of the man's ancestors, during my years at Hogwarts. Oh, and look at where I've somehow, conveniently stopped.
My old house, but now known as, Potter house. Wow. Weird coincidence... Maybe I'll pay a visit.
I'm right about to knock on the door, when I hear a shout.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
There's a sudden explosion, obliterating the wall of a room on the second floor of the house. There's a green light, and a black thing that flies out of the hole. I thought it was a dementor, but dementors can't use magic...
I rush through the door, already opened, and stumble on the body of James Potter. Evidence of a struggle was evident across the hall. Oh shit... I grit my teeth, and run up the stairs.
I'm standing near the opened door to the nursery, wand at the ready, clinging to the wall for cover. I pull out of the cover, and dash into the nursery, wand out and stance low, ready for anything.
On the floor, dead, was Lily Potter. Where was her son? I was about to give chase to the probable murderer, thinking that the black thing I saw earlier took the boy, when I heard crying. Faint, faint crying...
Over in a cradle, a baby wailed for his parents.
"Oh god..." I've never been good with young kids, particularly babies, with the exception of one... I take the boy into my arms, rocking him back and forth. His crying grew louder. I frown at him.
The crying turns into giggling. I sigh. Phew... No more crying, for now.
But what the hell do I do with the boy? I could get him to Dumbledore right now... But it's the dead of night, and it's cold. It's not safe for the boy to be here, and the attacker or his accomplices might come back...
My mind drifts as I hold the little thing, I believe Harry was his name... So small... So innocent... It reminds me of...
"Reynald, look! Isn't he handsome! Going to be just like his father someday!"
A beautiful woman with long flowing brown hair, and deep hazel eyes smiled at me. She held a baby, cradling him lovingly. The baby woke up at the sound of his mother's voice, and began to cry.
"There, there Renaud... Mommy's here..." She cooed. Soon the little boy calmed down.
"May I hold him, Arianne?" I smile at her, "That is, if you don't want to let go of him."
"Okay, okay dear. He deserves some time with his father!" She murmured, enjoying the baby's, my son's, giggles. She hands him to me, and I hold him softly, rocking him back and forth.
"Say, why aren't you out at the fields today? I thought harvest time was soon?" My wife asked.
"Not yet, the crops need a bit more time. And I've done enough weeding to last us to the next century." I chuckle.
"That's nice to hear." She smiles back.
Ah, just another day in the life of Reynald, Arianne, and Renaud Crawford... I hope these days never end... I look out the window, and it's a nice sunny day out here at my farm in France... I look at the calendar beside the window.
September 10, 1939.
I snap out of my flashback... That was weird... I take deep breaths to calm myself, and think. It's not the time to dwell on the past, there are more important matters at hand.
Try to keep yourself sane Reynald. It won't do to go St. Mungo's style loopy, right?
Guess it's apparition time... I focus on my location, and then I lock onto it. Then there's a CRACK! And the feeling of being forced through a thin tube compresses me.
I arrive at my destination, standing before my not-so-modest flat in London. I run in, locking the door. I set young Harry on the couch as I look out the window. Three cracks later, three people stood in the middle of the street.
It was Albus, Minevra, and Severus. They rush to the door.
"Reynald, I know you're in there. Open up."
"How do I know you're who you say you are?" I ask, coming up to the door with a shotgun in hand.
"Fine then, ask me a question." He replies.
"What is Albus Dumbledore's lifelong ambition?"
"To sample every kind of muggle sweet in existence. Is that an acceptable answer?"
"Yes, yes it is." I open the door, mounting the gun on my shoulder. Their eyes drift to the weapon, widening as I flick the safety on the gun.
"I'm assuming if we didn't answer correctly, you would have, in muggle terms, pop a cap in our asses?"
"Yes, yes I would." I smirked, letting them in.
"Where's little Harry?" Minevra says.
"On the couch, sleeping."
They run into the living room, and she takes Harry into her arms.
"I can't let Harry bother you, so I'll be taking him to his relatives." She says.
I nod, until the latter half of what she said crossed my mind. "Wait... You're taking him to those magic hating relatives I've heard about?"
"I wouldn't say magic hating, but they do have a few misconceptions." Albus says.
"Let's take this conversation to the kitchen. I need something to drink. You guys?"
Albus nods. "I could use a butterbeer myself."
"I could use some more beer." I mutter, and lead them to the kitchen. I delve into the refrigerator, and come out with a few drinks.
"I just do not understand how these little contraptions work." Minerva comments, poking an appliance with her wand.
"Minerva, stop molesting the man's toaster and sit down." Severus says.
"Sit down, and we'll discuss what to do." I say, passing the drinks around.
"We'll be taking Harry to Petunia Dursley for her to raise." Albus declares.
"You sure there are no better options?" I ask him.
"She is the closest blood relative to Harry that's still alive."
"How about his godparents? I believe Augusta Longbottom, Amelia Bones, Remus and Sirius are available."
"I intend to use the strong type of wards, blood wards." He explains. "That is why it is necessary to have Harry stay with the Dursleys."
"Say, you only need the Dursleys to complete the wards, correct? So if we just kidnap them and keep them wherever Harry could stay..."
"Reynald!" Minerva says, aghast. "We could never do such a thing!"
"Though the idea has some merit..." Severus muses.
"Severus!"
"Now, now Minerva, let's let the old men decide." He says.
"I'm not old!" I say to him, frowning.
"You're older than Albus, for Merlin's sake." Severus mutters, taking a sip of butterbeer.
"True, but I'm young at heart!" I argue.
"Let's get back to the topic at hand boys- er, boy and one immortal." Minerva interjected.
"Fine. We'll give Harry over to the Dursleys for one week. One week only as a trial period. If everything is acceptable, then he shall stay under their patronage. If not, then we'll find him a better home. Everyone agrees?" Dumbledore suggests.
"Agreed." We all reply.
"I just can't believe he'd do such a thing!" Remus sobs, a bottle of firewhiskey in hand.
We sat at a wizard bar in Diagon Alley, privacy charms set up all around us. Partiers surrounded us, oblivious to our table. All of them were celebrating the fall of the Dark Lord, or as I like to call him, He-Who-Lacks-A-Pair-Of-Balls.
"I don't believe it either. But we may not have all the facts." I reply.
"What facts do we need? Four of my best friends are dead, and the last is a traitor and a murderer!" He takes a huge gulp of his drink and resumes sobbing.
I sigh. "I'm no grief counsellor, but don't dwell on this. You need to be intact for little Harry."
He looks up. "How is he?"
"I believe he's doing well. The week we allowed for the Dursley's has passed; I'm planning to go check up on him later. Care to join me?" I ask him.
"Fine by me." He sighed. "Arnie! Fetch me another firewhiskey!" He barked to the bartender.
"First step to help with grief: Go sober. Getting drunk will make it all worse." I tell him, taking a sip of my butterbeer. "Also, privacy charms, remember?"
He grumbles, sliding the empty bottles to the side and standing up to get another fix of alcohol. I sigh. Remus stumbles back to the table; after I let the charms lower a bit to let him in again. I gulp down the rest of my butterbeer and lean back into the chair.
"I know you're feeling terrible right now, but don't beat yourself up." I tell him.
"Oh, what do you know?"
"More than you of course. You aren't the only person to lose loved ones due to war." I snap.
He flinches, remembering. "I'm sorry Reynald, It's just-"
"Don't, just don't. I'll forgive you for that." I tell him, shrugging him off with a gesture. I toss him a hangover potion which he barely manages to catch.
"Slam that down and let's head out. Time to visit the Dursleys."
"Can't I at least drink my firewhiskey-" I glare at him. "Okay then, let's go."
"Give me the firewhiskey first, yes, that firewhiskey, the one you're trying to hide in your robes- Thank you." I shove the drink into my enchanted bag.
"Let's go."
"Do we really have to take the damn Knight Bus?" I ask him.
"It's the fastest way to get there."
"But last time I went, I vomited out the window, and it went flying into a car and caused a pileup!" I exclaim.
"And you inadvertently caused the great Muggle Automobile Obliviation Incident of '75." He points out. "I don't like this as much as you do, but unless you want to walk, or hail a taxi, or fly your way there in the middle of muggle London, then we're taking the knight bus. You could even apparate there, but then get spotted by muggles or vaporized and splinched by the anti-apparition wards. Immortality won't save you there. So we're taking the Knight Bus. Okay?"
I nod begrudgingly. He raises his wand, and soon, the purple triple-decker bus zooms right in front of us. Remus steps on, and pays for our tickets. He looks at me with a questioning look.
"Coming?"
I inch toward the bus slowly.
"The man who's faced some of the most dangerous odds known to both muggle and wizard kind, is afraid of a tall purple bus?" He chuckles.
"Oh shut up." I growl, still slowly inching towards the tall purple bus. He yanks me on to the bus, and seats me down on a chair.
"I'm going to use a permanent sticking charm to glue your ass to the chair if you don't stop fidgeting."
I growl at him.
"As much as I appreciate your werewolf impersonation, I'd like you to sit down, shut up, and try not to vomit over the floor." He snaps, sitting down on another chair.
"Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." He says to the driver. "Take it away."
The bus zooms off.
I motion to my mouth, gesturing to Remus to take off the stupid silencing charm.
"If I take it off, you'll start swearing at me." He argues. "And I only put it on because you kept screaming like a little girl for most of the drive."
At my pleading look he gives a wave of his wand, "Finite."
"Finally!" I say.
"So this is where Lily's sister lives?"
"Pretty much." I reply, looking up at the quaint little house. I walk up to the door, and press the doorbell.
"Who is it!" Someone barks and the door opens. A pudgy man stands there, who I assume is Vernon Dursley. The descriptions of him don't do him justice. He's damn revolting.
"What do you want?" He asks me.
"We're here for Harry Potter." I say to him.
"There's no one by the name of Harry Potter here!" He shouts, quickly slamming the door.
"That's odd..." Remus says, suspicious.
"The man's lying. Saw it in his eyes." I tell him. I push the doorbell again.
"Who is it- Oh, it's you." He spat. "I won't tolerate freaks coming here!" He tries to slam the door again, but I push it, keeping it open.
"Tell me the truth. Does a child named Harry Potter live here?"
"NO! Are you bloody daft?-!" He shouts.
"Liar."
I try to budge past the man, but he sends a punch flying towards my face. Before Remus could pull out his wand, I deflect the punch with one arm, and send Vernon reeling to the floor with a haymaker from the other.
"Crude... But efficient." Remus muses.
I gesture for him to follow.
"Harry! Where are you!"
"Harry!"
I grab Vernon by the collar, and pin him to the wall. "What have you done to Harry Potter?-!" I shout at him.
"There is no one by the name of Harry Potter in this house! Now get out!" He roars. "Harry Potter doesn't exist!"
"Vernon- Oh my!" A woman, presumably Petunia Dursley comes down the stairs. Remus holds her at wandpoint.
"What have you done to Harry potter?-!" He shouts at her.
"H-Harry P-Potter...?" She pales.
I reach into the bag slung around my shoulder and hanging at my waist, and pull out a pistol, a good old and faithful Colt Python. I jam it right into Vernon's forehead.
"You see this? You know what this is. This is no wand, that, I can assure you of, but you know what it can do. I'm insanely close to putting a bullet through your head at hundreds of miles per hour." I threaten him.
"Now tell me... WHERE IS HARRY POTTER?-! Did you kill him?-! A little baby? WHERE IS HE?-! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HARRY POTTER!" I roar, pulling back the hammer and jamming the barrel right between his eyes.
He whimpers.
"Waaaaah..." Remus and I freeze. The sounds of crying come from the cupboard under the stairs, multiple locks keeping it shut.
I wave my wand over the pistol in my hands, "Silencio."
Without a sound, I fire three bullets at the locks, knocking them away from the door with only light pings. I pull it open, and crawl inside. In the dark corner, is a very young boy, with a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. I had found Harry Potter.
I take the boy into my arms, and crawl out of the cupboard.
"Remus, let's go." I say to him, and walk out the door. "Call Dumbledore and the Order." I told him as I handed him Harry. "Head to Arabella's house, and use her floo." He breaks off into a run.
I look back into the house, and at the cowering figures inside. I raise my wand. I can be allowed to do this. They were going to keep a baby in a closet.
He could have died in there.
"Silencio." I murmur, and suddenly, all goes quiet.
"Crucio." And I turned around and left. All was quiet, at Number 4, Little Whinging, Surrey.
"They left him in what?-!" Minerva shrieked.
"Yes, they left him in a cupboard."
"Why I ought to-"
"Minerva, don't get carried away." Dumbledore advises her.
We sat around his desk in his office at Hogwarts.
"Carried away, Albus, carried away? Those filthy excuses for human left him in a cupboard for Merlin's sake!" She said, utterly disgusted. "Who knows what they would have done to the boy!"
"I for one, am just glad that Remus and Reynald were there to handle the situation, and get little Harry out of there." He sighed, a dark look over his eyes.
"We've all made bad decisions Albus. Don't beat yourself up about it." I tell him. "The matter at hand is, where are we going to have Harry stay?"
"We could have him stay with Remus." Minerva suggested.
"Those wolves at the Ministry are more ferocious than I am during the full moon. They'll pull something off and take him to some other family, possibly a death eater family or some prestigious pure-blood family that pays them the highest bid." Remus argues. "I can't take him."
"We can't have him stay at Hogwarts..." Albus says, "The Ministry will find him and take him."
"Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom can't handle him. Amelia with her job, and Augusta and her rather foul attitude..."
"So the criterion for Harry's guardian comes as follows: One, they must be prestigious, rich enough, and influential enough for the Ministry to back off and not bother them. Two, they must be very qualified to raise a child. Three, they must be good with defending themselves, and a child, so combat abilities qualify quite a bit. Four, they must have good ties, and must be Anti-Death Eater, and Anti-Dark Magic for Dark Uses. Does that cover it?"
Minerva smiles. "Thanks for volunteering."
"Wait what?"
"You're an excellent candidate! Don't you two agree!"
"She's right. You do qualify." Remus butts in. Not you too...
"I agree as well." Albus says.
"You guys can't be serious, I'm not good with kids-"
"Reynald Hayes Crawford. As of now, and for the next 16 years, you are to be the sole guardian of Harry James Potter. You need something to care for and get your life back on track... I honestly don't have much to say to you, other than..."
I gape.
"Good luck. You'll need it."
It's going to be a long, long, long 16 years.
10 Long Years Later
"DAD! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED!"
"5 more minutes..."
"I'VE GOT MY HOGWARTS LETTER! LOOK, SEE!"
I roll my head over to the overactive dark haired boy bouncing up and down right beside my bed. It was around noon at the Crawford House, which basically was my not-so-modest flat in London.
"Harry James Potter-Crawford! Sit down, shut up. I'm not paying for another pair of glasses you carelessly break!" I tell him, sitting up on my bed.
"But the last pair was eaten by a dragon! Anyway, it's finally here! My Hogwarts letter!" He grins, hopping into a beanbag chair over in the corner.
"You're going to relearn some magics you already know, you know that?"
"But I'm going to a school! A real magic school!" He says excitedly.
"But aren't you the kind of kid who radiates the, "I hate the education system, maaan", kind of vibe?" I tell him, standing up.
"But I can finally use magic in a public environment! And I don't have to go through the whole secrecy/security aspect!" He grins widely. "Finally, the world will hear of the great powers and skills of Harry James Potter-Crawford!" He laughs maniacally.
I smack him over the head. "Pride gets you nowhere but six feet under. Don't boast, prove." I tell him.
"Yes sir..." He grumbles. Though in his eyes, I can tell he's privately enjoying some visions of grandeur. If he wants them to happen so bad, then he'll have to make them happen. Just like I taught him.
"Now, get your wand, bag, and ammo. We're going to Diagon Alley."
"Got it."
"Oh yeah, dress seriously muggle. I like to see those pure-blood faces when we strut in there like we own the place."
You know, I will never forget the looks on those wizarding folk's faces as I walked down Diagon Alley in a black windbreaker and jeans. The only thing keeping them from obliviating us on the spot was an alchemist's sigil on the back of my jacket. Alchemists were known as hermits, and the best place to hide from magical peoples was the mundane world, or the muggle world. Which was a good reason to be wearing muggle clothes smack dab in the middle of Magical London.
We stopped by Madam Malkin's Robes shop, and Harry entered to get his robes. I flicked up my wand, twirling it in my hand. People kept a wide berth around me, only coming within distance to enter the shop behind me.
"Crawford."
"Malfoy."
I stare down Lucius Malfoy, who stood at the side of the door opposite of me.
"Fraternizing with the lower sort must have done wonders for you." He said in a snide tone.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
We stand there in silence, waiting for one another to make a move. Harry came out of the shop, chatting with a blonde boy.
"Come Draco."
The blonde follows his father, waving back at Harry.
"Who was that?" I ask him.
"Just some nice kid. A bit self-important, but he seems like a nice guy."
I nod. "I won't judge him, but watch out for his father."
"I know. Death Eater, right?"
I nod.
We were more or less done. Everything else needed for his Hogwarts attendance we already owned, including the textbooks.
"Can we go to the bookstore? I need to pick up a few books for my personal reading."
"Go ahead. But I've got some business in Knockturn Alley." I lied.
I watch the boy run off. Now I had to go pick up Uncle Nicolas's legacy in Gringotts. My little pebble version hung off of my neck attached to a chain. It was still rather inferior to the genuine article.
The Philosophers Stone.
POV: Harry James Potter-Crawford.
I walk into the bookstore, reading over a list I wrote up myself.
Erasing the Dark Arts, I hear that might help with some of the "jobs" that Dad and I take...
Alchemy for Idiots, Dad still won't teach me it yet...
Hogwarts, A History, it sounds remotely useful.
Gilderoy Lockhart's Magical Me, I want it for the shits and giggles. A person who actually fights the Dark Arts would know that nearly everything in his books is a load of bollocks.
Enchanting the Unenchanted, I want to learn enchanting. Badly. I really, really want enchanted weapons. Magic guns? I'm so there.
While I'm analyzing my list, I accidentally bump into a tower of books, tipping them over into a book avalanche.
"Ouch!"
Oh no, I've hit someone! I pull books out of my way, looking for signs of a person. Soon, I see a tuft of bushy brown hair. I reach in, and grab an arm, pulling.
And out comes a girl.
"Oh Merlin, shit." I swore.
"Thanks." The girl says, rubbing her head. She blinks, looking at the red liquid that stains her hand. "B-Blood?"
"Lay down." I order her, coercing her to comply. I reach into the bag slung around my shoulder and my waist, and pull out a vial of dittany. The thing was enchanted to hold anything of any size, and give it to me when I think of it, appearing in my bag for me to take out.
I pour the clear potion over the cut on her forehead. The long cut heals, and soon, there's nothing but skin and no evidence of a wound.
"It feels good." She murmurs. "It doesn't hurt anymore."
I help her sit up.
"That's how it's supposed to feel." I smile at her, glad that the potion is working.
She smiles back sheepishly, a small smile gracing her slightly pink face. You know, she's kind of cute. In a bookwormish, innocent way...
"Hermione, Hermione Granger." She introduces herself.
"Harry, Harry Potter. Or Potter-Crawford. Potter's shorter." I tell her, still smiling.
"You're Harry Potter-" I press a finger to her lips, interrupting her.
"Not so loud, the people at Hogwarts don't need to hear you." I say to her. "You have a nice name."
"T-Thank you." She stammers.
"Let's get this cleaned up..."
With a wave of my wand, which Dad bought me when I was 5 and completely off the Trace, the books flew back into their positions around us. It looked pretty cool. Hermione looked around, completely mesmerized by this not so incredible example of magic.
"That was amazing!" She said.
"Not really." I admit. "It isn't that big of a charm, I had to learn it after inadvertently causing another avalanche of books in my Dad's library. I crushed my Uncle Remus under it all while he was visiting."
"But I thought you couldn't use magic outside of school?"
I flinch, "Very special circumstances. It has to do with the kind of jobs my dad and I take."
"And what job is that?" She asks as I help her to her feet.
Damn, this girl is inquisitive. But cute. Why do I keep thinking about that?-! It must be copied from Dad, and the times he's had to flirt and charm his way into situations and out of them, like when we needed a place to stay, or get out of a tight scenario.
"We hunt the Dark Arts." I tell her.
"You hunt the Dark Arts?" She gapes at me. "Don't you need to have special qualifications for something like that? Like you have to be part of the Ministry of Magic? You've never even attended a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson yet!"
"Let me explain. A Dark Arts Hunter is an independent field of employment. They are assigned to hunt, combat, and erase the implementations and even the users of the Dark Arts, even if it means using the Dark Arts against itself. They're on the border between Light Magical and Dark Magical." I explain to her.
"That's why it's not a very widely taken up job, and the ones who do are both feared and famed. They are usually hired by governments, of both the magical and non-magical sort to deal with dark magic, and other paying clients. They also use both sorts of magic to solve dangerous and difficult tasks within both worlds, such as hunting criminals both magic and muggle, or dealing with creatures causing havoc, or solving crime. Most don't survive the ordeals. And they either come from Durmstrang or some other magical country. Dad is only the third to come from Britain in the century." I tell her.
"Who is your father anyway?" She asks. There she goes with more questions.
"Reynald. Reynald Hayes Crawford." I reply.
She pulls a book out of her bag, flipping through it. "Your father is the Alchemist of Eternity?"
"Alchemist of what?"
"Here, the Alchemist of Eternity, the pupil of the Alchemist of Infinity." She holds out the page to me.
I look at the book.
Alchemists of the Modern Age
To this date, there are two alchemists that have made earth shattering discoveries in the field of alchemy. As a mix between muggle and magical sciences, alchemy is a veritable magical art. The two alchemists in question are teacher and pupil. They are the Alchemist of Infinity, Nicolas Flamel, and his pupil, the Alchemist of Eternity, Reynald Hayes Crawford.
Nicolas Flamel's alchemical contribution to the world was the Philosopher's Stone, a stone that can turn convert any existing matter into another form of matter, the most popular conversion being turning lead into gold. It can also produce the Elixir of Life through a process unknown. Drinking this Elixir can make a person live forever, freezing them at one age and appearance for the rest of their lives.
This is why he, Nicolas Flamel, is titled the Alchemist of Infinity, since that is the length of his lifespan and the amount of alchemical breakthroughs he will continue to make.
The second alchemist, his pupil of unknown origins, is Reynald Hayes Crawford. It is not known why Nicolas Flamel had taken young Reynald under his wing about a century ago, but it was not without merit, value, and rewards for the young man. The young man cemented the use of alchemy in the modern age, implementing it in wards, magical combat, the synthesization of medicine and medical miracles, and numerous other grandiose accomplishments. He also created a method of eternal living like his teacher, unknown to us, as he doesn't want his secrets leaked.
To this day, now 110 years old with the body of 28, he is a renowned Dark Arts Hunter, holds the position of second Most Charming Smile by Witch Weekly, and lives life like a kind hermit. He is titled the Alchemist of Eternity, since that is the length of time he will watch over our world, and occasionally taking the place of a hero when needed as needed, as he has various times before.
"... Wow."
"Are you trying to tell me you never knew about this?" She asked. I shake my head. "But he's your adopted father!"
"He doesn't like to talk about it much. He really is more like a kind hermit though... He's not sociable at all unless it's initiated or required at the time..." I tell her.
"But are you really a Dark Arts Hunter? It sounds like your adopted father had all these adventures and you're riding on the coattails of his fame and glory."
I pout at that. "I really have come along with him, and helped too!" I argue.
"Then prove it!" She pouts back.
"Fine!"
I think of my favourite weapon for when dispatching inferi. Out of my bag, I pull out a sheathed Scottish dirk.
"Is that real?" She gasps.
I nod, "And I like to use it to behead inferi."
"What are inferi?"
"The magical equivalent of zombies."
"Eeew." She grimaces.
"I think the same way." I reply as I put the dagger (it's more of a small sword to me,) back in my bag.
"So... You've defeated You-Know-Who, now you're fighting back the Dark Arts... You're a hero."
"I didn't "defeat" Voldemort... And I'm not much of a hero to boot." I say.
"But the books said-"
I interrupt her with my finger again. "Don't believe everything the books say Hermione. I didn't defeat Voldemort. I probably got lucky or something, I barely remember anything, if not nothing."
I look down at my list again. With a flick of my wrist, the books on it come to me, and organize themselves in a pile.
"I'll see you on the train?"
"I'll see you on the train." She breathes.
I pay the exact amount the books cost at the counter, and make my way out of the store.
"Wait! Harry!"
"Yes Hermione?"
"Thanks for helping me out." She smiles brightly at me.
"Don't mention it." I wave her off with a smile of my own.
"Oh, my little lady-killer finally has a little friend!" A voice whistles as a hand pats my head.
"Eeek!"
"Woah!"
Our heads whip around. Dad's standing behind me, a little brown package under his arm.
"It's nice to meet you. I'm Reynald Crawford, this little guy's guardian/adopted father."
"I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger." She introduces herself.
"Nice to meet you Hermione," He says without nonchalant formality, as if he was talking to an old friend, "I guess you've met Harry already. So, to the general point of most parents, what intentions do you have towards my son?" He asks with a smirk.
"I-Intentions?-! Why, I would never even think of-"
"Just kidding, just kidding."
I glare at him, about to rebuke him for teasing Hermione.
"Ah, young love... I remember a somewhat famous quote..."
"We're not in love!" We say in unison. After that, we blush, looking at each other awkwardly. Damn, that really was rather awkward.
"And that quote is what exactly?" Hermione asks, curious.
He just smiles at her.
"The more beautiful and pure something is, the more satisfying it is to corrupt." He whistles. "You're well on your way to that Harry."
I flush. "DAD!"
"See you around Hermione, hope we meet again." He bids goodbye and walks off. I run after him.
"Sorry about this!" I shout back to Hermione.
She just stood there waving back as her parents walked up to her. She stood there oblivious to her parents words, having turned into a blushing mess. I blame Dad for this. He's normally the cause of these kinds of things.
But that quote has some merit...
"Ah, Harry! You'll need an owl! I can't send Schneider to you for you to send letters with while you're at Hogwarts! " He says, hitting his palm with the bottom of his fist.
Schneider is the family owl, a Long-eared Owl. He likes mice and rats for his diet, so he was banned from going to Hogwarts after flying through the halls and eating the familiar of a first year 3 years ago. It then tried to eat the familiar of another student, I believe it was a Weasley, before taking a stunner to the head. They mailed him back unconscious to our house in a package with air holes.
We made our way to the magical variant of a pet store, and looked over the owls. A Snowy Owl caught my attention, and she, I'm guessing she's a she, playfully nibbled my finger as I stuck it through her cage.
"I like her." I tell Dad, and he looks over the owl.
"Sir!" He calls over to the manager. "We'll take this one."
And I walked out that day with my very first owl. She's a LOT more friendly then Schneider is. He bites, claws, I think he can read, uses some sort of magic, and wears bladed talons when coming with us on "jobs". That and he looks at you with a look that says, "I know things. I know your secrets. You can't hide things from me. I will peer into your soul!" The look is creepy, oh Merlin, it is.
He's nearly always preening himself when it's indoors, and facing a wall. When you enter the room, his head snaps straight at you at a neck breaking degree, and gives you the look right into your eyes. It's that creepy. It's really, really creepy.
That, I think it's also out to get me. Not to kill me, but to make my life miserable. Needless to say, I don't like him. Not one bit.
"So, what are you going to name him? Or her? Oh, pass me the cage." I hand him the cage. He peeks at the owl's lower parts. "It's a her. So, what are you going to name her?" He asks as he hands the cage and owl back.
"I think I'll call her... Hedwig. She looks like a Hedwig to me."
I stare down the wall that divided the muggle world from Platform 9 and ¾.
"That wall ain't moving no matter how much you stare at it." Dad says, looking at me.
"It still looks like a solid brick wall though." I reply, still staring at it intently.
"I'd run it if I were you."
I nod, looking at the wall. I break out into a run, pushing my cart forward and trying not to close my eyes. I want to see what this looks like. My cart enters the wall, then my hands, and then my arms.
Now it's coming up to my eyes- Shit! I flinched! I instantly come up out of the other end of the portal, rubbing my eyes.
I blinked at the last second. My head turns, eyes widening. This is amazing. Absolutely amazing...
This beats a school bus any day.
The scarlet red train awaited me, the words, Hogwarts Express on the engine. This is very cool. I roll my cart over and a wizard puts it in a compartment.
"Sorry Hedwig, but you'll have to go in there." I say to my owl.
She hoots, looking at me. Oh Merlin. She's giving me the Schneider look! SHE'S GIVING ME THE SCHNEIDER LOOK!
"Really sorry about this girl." I say to her, handing her cage quickly to the wizard.
She shoots me a look that says, "You owe me one!"
Fine, she can have a lot of owl treats when we're at Hogwarts. I walk up onto the train, looking at everything. There's still time before the train leaves, so I can explore without forgetting to say goodbye to Dad. I've never been in a train before. We would always apparate or drive to our destinations.
Dad says he's not comfortable with trains, something private, he says.
I sit down on in a compartment, looking out the window and the people outside. Many people have arrived; already many students have come onto the train to reserve compartments.
"How do you like the train?"
"WAH!"
Dad's sitting beside me, lounging on the seat.
"Why are you here?-!" I shout at him.
"I'm going to Hogwarts! I've got some business to take care of." He explains.
"... For how long?"
"I dunno. Until the end of the year...?" He shrugs.
Oh. Dear. Fucking. Merlin.
"W-WHY!" I stammer/shout.
"Business... I'm bored as hell at home, and going to bars with people far younger than me has lost its novelty."
"BUT HOW ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE MONEY FOR US?-!"
"I'll sell topnotch, high quality Harry Potter merchandise! I'll make hundreds of galleons!" He grins. "Your baby photos, your exploits, and excerpts from the little black diary you keep in your left pocket 24/7! We'll make a fortune!"
"WHAT?-! YOU CAN'T! I WON'T LET YOU! AND IT'S NOT A DIARY, IT'S A JOURNAL! YOU KEEP ONE TOO!"
"Yadda, yadda, yadda. I'm going, that's final. And my journal is manly and for alchemical and combat notes and I'm legally required to write in it to keep my psychological profile healthy and stain free. You don't have that excuse, so for you, it's a diary." He argues.
"BUT YOU CAN'T-"
"Oh Harry, Harry, Harry. When will you learn? I'm going, that's final. We're going to have so much fun together!" He laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulder. My face warps into the expression reminiscent of the famous painting, The Scream.
IT'S OVER! MY YOUTHFUL BUDDING NOT YET BIG ENOUGH SPECK OF A SOCIAL LIFE IS OVER! NOOOOO! I'LL NEVER GET ANYWHERE IN LIFE NOW WITH DAD FLYING OVER MY SHOULDER LIKE A VULTURE!
NOOOOOOOO!
I need to find some way to lose him, some way at all... Maybe I'll hook him up with a girlfriend, yes! That's it! Maybe he'll like that Rita Skeeter woman from the Daily Prophet!
She's controversial, in your face, has moderate looks, sticks her nose where it doesn't belong and where it shouldn't be possible to put it, kisses ass as often as possible to look good, and probably needs a good lay.
They're perfect for each other!
"I'm going to find Hermione, see you later!" I quickly say, running out of the compartment.
"Have fun with your girlfriend!"
"She's not my girlfriend! I'm 11!"
"Yeah, and I'm a hundred and ten, going a hundred and eleven! I know these things when I see it!"
I frown at him, and leave the compartment.
POV: Reynald Crawford.
I stare at the little package in my lap. It held the Philosopher's Stone. It's the amalgamation of my teacher's LIFE. It means a lot to our family.
It's the thing I strive to turn this little pebble hanging from my neck into.
I sigh, pulling out a can of soda from my bag. It's not like muggle things are illegalized in magical areas. A group of Slytherins walk by me, and sneer at the can in my hands.
"Filthy muggle objects..." I hear one murmur.
"Must be a halfblood or mudblood..."
"Yeah..."
They walk past without a second glance. "Damn prejudiced pure-bloods..." I mutter, taking a sip. I stand up, and walk out of the compartments, opting to find one near the front of the train, where there were less students.
I sit down in a compartment just one compartment away from the magical engine. It's quiet here, very quiet. Might as well sleep here. I close my eyes.
"Is it okay if I sit here?" Some girl asks.
"Sure, why not." I tell her, not opening my eyes. Woah, déjà vu there... Those were the first words I said to Arianne when I met her... All those years ago, on a train...
I'm okay with this kind of transport now, but... This is kinda weird.
"Sandwich?" She offers.
"No thanks." I say to her, still not opening my eyes.
"So why are you on the train?" She asks.
"Business."
"Ah. I'm just a replacement teacher here to teach Ancient Runes."
I nod quietly at her response, trying to sleep.
This is all so very weird. All this stuff has happened before, the whole asking questions, minus the references to a magical school and professions...
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, just let me sleep." I say, annoyed. Just like the last time...
"But you seem pale..." A hand caresses my face.
"I'm fine!" I argue. I slide my feet into a better position, when I feel her leg. Too late. I've tripped her.
I feel her land onto me, her arms now hanging on my neck and her bosom now on my chest.
"Are you okay?" She asks. This is still so weird. So much is happening like that time on a French train, meeting the woman that I wanted to love and cherish for the rest of my life.
I open my eyes. "I'm fine, and you are- What? A-Arianne?" I gape.
Leaning on me, is a woman in stylish red robes, and she was the spitting image of Arianne Crawford née Delacour. My wife.
"How did you know my name? Anyway, sorry about this..." She picks herself up, and sits beside me. "What's with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"It's n-nothing..." I stammer. "You remind me of someone..." It was half true. She reminded me of someone... But she looked exactly like her.
Absolutely like her.
"What's your name?" She asked.
"Reynald. What's yours?" I smile a wavering smile at her.
"Arianne. Just Arianne."
"No last name?" I ask.
"I don't have one..." She says. "I lived at a wonderful orphanage in France for a while, and then I migrated here with a wandering witch." She explains. "All I have as a name is Arianne. It just clicked with me."
I nod, keeping up my smile while deathly pale.
"It could have something to do with this..." She reaches into her robes, and pulls out a chain. Hanging on the end of it, is a rather familiar gold ring.
"The people at the orphanage said they found this with me." She holds the ring out to me. "Read the inscription."
OH DEAR FUCKING MERLIN.
Inscribed on the inside of the ring, was a name.
"Arianne Crawford née Delacour. The workers at the orphanage thought it belonged to one of my parents, but it doesn't seem likely. I don't remember anyone else named Arianne in my life. But the name clicked with me somehow, it just seemed nice, it just seemed... Well, it just seemed right. Do you understand that? Sorry, I'm rambling right now... Hey, are you okay? You look so pale right now-"
I never let her finish her sentence. I faint.
POV: Harry Potter-Crawford.
The train began to move. This is so exciting! I wonder what Dad's up to right now... Ah forget it, I'll find out later.
I smile as I see Hermione waiting at the door.
"Aren't you excited?" She says, sitting down across from me, being.
"Yeah, yeah I am." I smile at her.
I look out the window, watching the landscape fly by.
"What do you plan do at Hogwarts?"
"Push my Dad off the Astronomy tower..." I mutter.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing!" I quickly say.
"Help! I've lost my toad!" A boy shouted from the hall.
"Should we help?" I ask her.
She nods. I nod back, stand up and open the door for her.
"Ladies first." I grin.
She smiles, and accepts the gesture.
"You're quite the gentleman, Mr. Potter." She compliments me.
"I try." I reply, bowing.
We head off in search of the boy, and in my Dad's words, in search for an adventure.
And who knew what we would find?
Chapter 1 Complete! Not much to say here. Please review, but I won't beg it from you. I don't want attention, I want criticism. If there's praise alongside that or on its own, then that's very welcome, and thanks! So R/R, enjoy life, read great fiction, and let the creative juices flow. And not only for you lemon writers. Aw well. – EthernalRain