This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter universe, which are trademarked by J.K. Rowling. I do not claim ownership of these characters nor the locations such as Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, etc. that are Rowling's creations. This work also includes Pokemon, which belong to the Pokemon Company, and I again claim no ownership of these characters.
I thank both Rowling and the Pokemon Company for the universes they have created that allows me to do something like this for my own entertainment and, hopefully, the entertainment of the readers.
A/N: Hello again and welcome to the third instalment of my Harry Potter/Pokemon series. If you are new to this story then please read the first two stories, 'Harry Potter and the Sacred Ash' and 'Harry Potter and the Secret Chamber', in that order. If you are still here then I assume that means you've read them and are ready for the third instalment, 'Harry Potter and the Dusknoir of Azkaban', to begin.
Without further ado here we go.
In the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, sat a highly unusual boy. He was small, shorter and skinnier than a boy his age should be. He had jet black hair, stuck up in all directions, and startling emerald green eyes hidden behind a pair of battered old spectacles.
His relatives, the Dursley family, would list all of these things as unusual traits, but the thing that made young Harry Potter truly unique was something much more significant.
Harry was a Pokémon trainer.
In his room with him were his two Pokémon. Charmeleon, his starter Pokémon, was leaning casually against the wall, lazily enjoying another uneventful day, while Fletchinder, Harry's partner for the popular trainer sport Quidditch, was napping from atop the standalone wardrobe, his head under his wing. Harry himself was sitting on the bed, immersed in the pages of a leather bound photo album he had received from his good friend Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts, for his thirteenth birthday no more than a couple of weeks ago.
Harry flipped the page and studied the next picture, as he'd spent much of his time doing since he'd received the gift, gazing down at the man and woman who appeared on near every page. He had never known his parents, for they had been killed when he was a mere year old, and so the photos held within this photo album were the only glimpses Harry had ever had of what his parents looked like. His father looked a lot like him, skinny and with short, untidy, dark hair and glasses, but he'd inherited his mother's eyes.
Hagrid's gift was something of a thank you to Harry for the actions he had taken during the shocking events of the end of the previous school year at Hogwarts. Hagrid had been arrested, suspected of setting a monster on the students, and taken to the Pokémon prison, Azkaban. It was through Harry's actions as he strove to save his best friend's sister, Ginny Weasley, that proved that Hagrid was innocent, and had been all along, of the crime he'd been charged with and exposed the true villain, Lord Voldemort.
No matter Hagrid's reasons Harry could not be more grateful. It was truly a wondrous gift.
"BOY!" The bellow of Uncle Vernon's voice reached Harry's room and roused the two Pokémon resting there, each turning to glare in the direction of the unpleasant noise.
Harry himself sighed and gently closed the photo album before looking up at a small cutting from a newspaper that he had pinned onto his otherwise sparsely decorated notice board.
He'd received the clipping from Ron Weasley along with his birthday present, a set of Pokémon figures which appeared to be part of some sort of board game. Ron had referred to the figures as the Charmander starter pack, one of the figures indeed depicting a Charmander, and had hinted that there were separate starter packs for Bulbasaur and Squirtle.
While the present had captured Harry's interest what was more important to Harry's current situation was the clipping, taken from the popular Pokémon paper, the Daily Prophet. It read:
Ministry of Pokémon Employee Scoops Grand Prize
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Muggle Division at the Ministry of Pokémon, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Draw.
A delighted Mr Weasley told the Daily Prophet, "We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, is working for Gringotts Bank."
The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.
Harry couldn't think of anyone more deserving of winning a Grand Prize Draw than the Weasley family, who had openly welcomed him to their home on multiple occasions but were in actual fact really quite poor. Truthfully Harry felt that no amount of money was worth more than the warmth and affection shown by Mr and Mrs Weasley and the compassion and decency of their seven children.
The problem for Harry was that he'd been hoping to spend the last few weeks of the holiday at the Weasley family home, The Burrow, before heading back to Hogwarts for the next school year. Ron had even assured him he would get him over as soon as possible when they'd parted ways over a month ago. However, with the Weasleys in Egypt that left Harry stuck spending his summer with the Dursleys, his large, beefy Uncle Vernon, tall, bony Aunt Petunia, and their round, bullying son, Dudley. Harry had spent most of the time in his room, with Charmeleon and Fletchinder, and was eagerly crossing off the days to September the first when he would be finally heading back to Hogwarts.
There was an irritated noise from downstairs followed by the sound of someone stomping heavily up the staircase and Harry belatedly realised he had neglected to answer his Uncle's call. He quickly slipped his photo album under the bed, not wanting Uncle Vernon to try and confiscate it, and stood up just in time for Vernon, moustache bristling, to bang open the door.
"Didn't you hear me, boy?!" Uncle Vernon shouted angrily.
"Yes, sorry," Harry replied weakly. For all that Uncle Vernon was an awful person, that one was on him.
"And why didn't you answer?!" Vernon bellowed, looking positively enraged. Harry stayed quiet. No answer would make things better.
"What did you need me for?" Harry asked politely, trying to avert the danger he saw in the throbbing of Uncle Vernon's temple. Vernon scowled.
"I'm going to be collecting Marge from the station," he told Harry. "You are to be ready and presentable for when she arrives. She knows about your… abnormality, and quite rightly she sees it for the unnaturalness that it is, so keep these… creatures, in here."
"Of course, Uncle Vernon," Harry said sincerely. It was an unwritten rule of the household that Harry's Pokémon remained in his room and in exchange the Dursleys pretended like they didn't exist.
"Alright," Vernon said, still glaring at Harry. "I'll be back with Marge in fifteen minutes so go smarten yourself up. Do something about your hair." And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him. Harry sighed wearily.
Aunt Marge was perhaps the worst human being Harry had ever met, and Harry had met some pretty awful people. Much like her younger brother Vernon, Marjorie Dursley was big, beefy, and even had something of a moustache, which she bleached religiously. Even worse she shared Vernon's erratic temperament, and wasn't scared to show it.
When Harry had learned that Aunt Marge would be staying with the Dursleys for two whole weeks in August he had thought it was the worst birthday present the Dursleys had ever given him. Even before Harry had learned about Pokémon and had become a Pokémon trainer Marge had been truly horrible to him, and Harry was sure nothing about his current situation would change anything in that regards.
Anyhow he decided to at least make an effort so that when the Dursleys complained - and they would complain - Harry would at least have the comfort of knowing he was in the right. He changed his shirt for a clean one and then visited the bathroom on the landing to wash his face, ignoring his hair. He had learned through experience that nothing would help tame his locks, and anyway Marge liked it when his hair was a mess; it was something else to criticise.
"There you are, what kept you?" Aunt Petunia said shrilly as she continued to fuss over Dudley, barely looking in Harry's direction as he joined them in the hallway. Like Harry, Petunia didn't like Marge, though she continued to pretend the opposite. Nevertheless Petunia lived to be a hostess, and she wanted everything to look perfect for any guest, even someone as uncouth as Marge.
"Excited, Harry," Dudley crooned. He was dressed in his Sunday best, although Aunt Petunia had long since given up on trying to get him to attend mass, and had clearly been done up so as to look respectable, with his hair neatly parted and slicked down. Unfortunately the effect was to make Dudley look even more like a pig in a wig.
Dudley didn't like Aunt Marge either but he always looked forward to her visits. Marge was simply terrible when it came to doting on Dudley and while Dudley hated the overbearing attention of the unpleasant woman he very much appreciated the money and sweets that were bestowed upon him, not to mention he enjoyed watching Marge beat down on Harry. Still at the end of the two weeks Harry knew that it would be Dudley who would be complaining the loudest.
The sound of the car pulling into the driveway caught their attention.
"Oh, good lord they're here," Aunt Petunia whispered, hurriedly arranging Harry and Dudley so they were standing behind her and rushing to the door to welcome their guest in. "Marge, what a delight to have you."
Marjorie Dursley was just as large as Harry remembered as she walked through the doorway, hindered by the snarling creature she held under her arm. Marge bred bulldogs and every time she came to visit she brought along her favourite, the aptly name 'Ripper'.
"Oh so good to see you, Petunia," Marge said heartily, leaning forward to plant a solid kiss on Petunia's bony cheekbone.
"I trust you had a pleasant journey?" Petunia simpered, welcoming her into the house.
"Absolutely dreadful," Marge announced loudly. "Public transport in this country is a catastrophe. It's about time someone did something about it." She spotted Dudley. "Ah ha, there's my Dudders," she said, waddling up to him in the confined space of the hallway, her considerable bulk easily blocking Petunia from view.
"Hm," she said approvingly. "You're a mighty fine boy, Dudders. Just like your father." She turned to look behind her. "How are you getting on with that suitcase, Vernon?" she called out. A grunt was his only response. She turned back and her eyes fell on Harry.
"So, still here are you?" she said, the hostility in her voice clear from the off.
"Yes," Harry said simply. The less he said and did the less there was for Aunt Marge to get annoyed about. Not that that stopped her.
"Don't you say 'yes' in that ungrateful tone," she told him indignantly. "It was damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you, especially with your abnormality." Harry didn't have a response and so simply stayed quiet.
"How about some tea, Marge?" Petunia suggested, evidently wanting to prevent an incident on the very first day.
"Tea would be lovely, Petunia," Marge said cheerfully.
"Maybe with a little spot of brandy, eh Marge?" Uncle Vernon had made it to the front door, lugging behind him Marge's enormous suitcase which was literally bursting at the seems from overpacking.
"Quite right, Vernon," Marge agreed. "On you go, Ripper, that's a good boy," she said as she dropped the bulldog to the ground, the animal quickly scurrying through the household like a raging bull. As always when Aunt Marge brought one of her dogs to the house Aunt Petunia's face looked anxious. There was a good reason why the Dursleys had never caved in to Dudley's desire to get a pet.
"You, boy, take this suitcase up to Marge's bedroom," Vernon said roughly, leaving the case just inside the doorway, not even bothering to shut the door behind him as he followed his family down the hallway and into the living room.
Harry sighed. Already he had a fair idea of how bad the next couple of weeks were going to be and he could only think wistfully, as he lugged Marge's suitcase up the stairs one at a time, of what Ron and his family must be doing right about now.
A/N: And there you have it. I hope you enjoyed the start of this story and as always I welcome comments from anyone who wishes to say something. I'll see you all in the next chapter.