Of Wands and Gold Wings
By LauraBF aka. Bratling
Disclaimer: I do not own Harm, Mac, the JAG crew, or Harry and Company. I borrowed them, hugged them, squeezed them, called them George, and put them back like a good girl. Seriously, Harm, Mac, and the TV series JAG belong to Donald P. Bellisario, Belisaurius Productions, Paramount Pictures, and Columbia Broadcasting Service Entertainment. Harry Potter and all related characters and situations belong to JK Rowling.
Author's Notes: This is an unlikely crossover if there ever was one, I suppose, but it's been bugging me on and off for years. Spoilers up to season four of JAG, and not so many spoilers for Harry Potter—yet. I reserve the right to reuse canon events from either universe as applicable. Be warned—I have screwed with the Potterverse timeline to make it work with the JAG timeline simply because of the fact that the Wizarding World is cut off from both popular culture and current events, it's easier to manipulate than the JAG timeline. While James and Lily Potter were killed by Voldemort on October 31, it wasn't 1981 this time around. This begins right after the season four episode, Going After Francesca (Airdate October 13, 1998). The JAG crew has been back from Italy for a few days. The Martin Baker Fanclub, (Airdate October 20, 1998) while bits of it might have happened, won't play much into this, because Harm will be gone by the time Roscoe Martin comes looking for him. I have changed some ancient history JAG timeline to make this work as well; Harm's grandfather was killed when he was shot down during Korea instead of WWII.
Harry is four years old, so the Potters died in 1995. The rest of the timeline is adjusted accordingly. (Let's just say that everybody in James and Lily's generation married and had children later because Voldemort waited to further build his forces.) I have endeavored to stay true to both universes. Be warned, at times there will be some British English in here, simply because that's where the Potterverse is set; I'll be using a mix, depending on what country we're in at the time and the nationality of the POV character. The standard JAG headings will be used… and for Potterverse fans, Zulu time is Greenwich Mean Time, which is pretty much local time in the UK. Pairings for Harry-well, the jury is out on it. It will be a long time, in any case. Otherwise, I'm a diehard Harm/Mac shipper and I would have preferred to see a slow evolution to their relationship in the last season. (Earlier, really!) TPTB dropped the ball on that one.
I'm as of yet uncertain, but some NCIS characters may appear. Please remember, NCIS is a JAG spinoff, so since they canonically inhabit the same universe, I don't consider it a crossover.
We will be dealing, at least in the beginning, with child abuse because, canonically, Harry is an abused child. I will be going a little more into it than Rowling did, because I don't feel that I can blow it off the same way she did in the Potterverse. This is not intended to be an "issue" story, but certain canon issues must be dealt with. In its own way, (Nobody's Child and the follow up to that episode and a bit more with Chloe and Mattie) JAG dealt with child abuse as well, though it will be a little more personal to Harm and Mac in this AU.
Before anyone tries to kill me over Mrs. Figg's attitude, please remember, she's elderly. Her attitude is directly related to how and when she was raised. Remember, child abuse wasn't recognized at *all* until 1968, and until the late 70s-early 80s, public awareness was nil. She's in her 70s at this point, and the prevailing attitude among that generation is that it "doesn't happen in respectable families" (i.e., anyone they know), it's "just discipline," and/or it's "a family matter." In other words, it's not her problem. Really, that's the problem with Dumbledore, too. He knew that Harry wasn't happy with the Dursleys, but child abuse is so far off his radar that it doesn't exist in his world view. It's a stupid, head-in-the-sand attitude, but recognizing child abuse as a crime and a widespread problem is a fairly new development.
And here's a crash course in some Potterverse terminology.
Money- The Wizarding world still runs on a gold standard, so paper money is out. And because they're an electricity free society, so is any kind of digital money. A galleon is the highest denomination of British wizarding money. (It's unknown whether it's universal currency or not. I'd lean towards not, though for convenience sake, I've said that as former colonies, America, Australia, and Canada still use galleons, sickles, and knuts.) Canon has it that five British pounds is equal to a galleon, but JKR has admitted that she sucks at math. (the numbers game for population vs. Hogwarts attendance proves that right, as well.) Galleons are large, solid gold coins about the size of a hubcap. (Remember British hubcaps are about the size of saucers, not dinner plates like American hubcaps.) From the size alone, it's fairly obvious, at least to a good many HP FF authors, that the Gringotts Goblins are ripping off the population, because that much gold is worth a lot more than five pounds! In 1998, one ounce of gold was worth just under $300. The math doesn't work out at all. Now, there are 17 silver sickles in a galleon, and 29 knuts to a sickle. In 1998, five British pounds was worth approximately $8.34. (One British pound was worth approximately $1.67.)
Floo- a communication/travel network using fireplaces and a special substance known as 'floo powder.' When used as a kind of telephone (only way better, since you can actually see the person you're talking to) it's called making a Firecall.
Muggle- a human being who lacks magic.
Muggleborn- a witch or wizard born to non-magical parents.
Squib- a non-magical person born to magical parents.
Pureblood- a witch or wizard born of a long line of magical people
Half-blood- a magical person born to a muggleborn and a pureblood or a muggle and a pureblood… etc.
Hogwarts- the primary wizarding school in the UK. The students are divided up into four houses according to personality traits, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.
Gryffindor House- for the brave
Slytherin House- for the cunning and ambitious
Ravenclaw House- for the intelligent who lust after learning
Hufflepuff- for the hard-working and loyal
Unforgivable Curses- There are three dark magic curses classed as Unforgivable. These curses carry a mandatory sentence of life in the British Wizarding prison, Azkaban. These curses include the Imperius, Cruciatus, and the Killing Curse.
Imperius- Incantation- Imperio. the mind control curse. This curse enables the caster to control another being's actions.
Cruciatus- Incantation- Crucio. The torture curse. This curse causes the victim to suffer almost unbearable pain. Prolonged exposure causes irreparable nerve damage and insanity.
Killing Curse- Incantation- Avada Kedavra. Just what it sounds like. The victim dies instantly in a flash of green light. The only known survivor of this curse is Harry Potter, aka The Boy-Who-Lived. (While not spelled out, I would assume that Unforgiveables are punished by similar means in other countries, and that other countries have their own versions of Azkaban. For my purposes, because wizards hide in plain sight in the US, there are magic suppressors around certain federal prisons in the US... like Leavenworth. I'm also assuming that certain cells are slated for wizarding criminals, and the anti-magic wards are tripled on said cells.)
Chapter 1:
The Little Boy in the Cupboard
"Alone in the dreary and pitiless street, With my torn old dress, and my bare, cold feet; All day I have wandered to and fro; Hungry and shiv'ring, and nowhere to go; The night's coming on, in darkness and dread, And the chill sleet is beating upon my bare head. Oh, why does the wind blow upon me so wild? Is it because I am nobody's child?" -Gussie Estabrook1830 ZULU
WEDNESDAY, 14 OCTOBER 1998
4 PRIVET DRIVE
LITTLE WHINGING, SURREY, UK
"Come here, Freak," Petunia Dursley ordered, glaring at her four-year-old nephew.
Harry Potter gave her a fearful look and instantly obeyed, being careful not to jostle his hurt arm. "Yes, Aunt Pet'nia," he said, almost inaudibly.
Petunia slapped him, leaving a red handprint on his face. "Vernon and I are going out," she said. "We'll be leaving you with Mrs. Figg—she's been kind enough to keep your ungrateful hide while we're gone. My precious Duddykins will be staying with the Polkisses. You are not to cause trouble with your abnormal ways, is that clear?"
Harry nodded frantically. He was a bad boy. He knew it; the grown-ups said so and grown-ups didn't lie, did they? He was a freak, an oddity, a burden. He didn't remember a time when he hadn't been told things like that, when he hadn't been locked in the cupboard under the stairs at night. He didn't remember a time when he'd actually had a family that loved him. He didn't really even know his name; most of the time he thought his name actually was 'Freak'—that was what he was called most often, anyway.
Without warning, Aunt Petunia slapped him again, hard. Harry knew better than to make a sound, just as he knew better than to complain about how much his left arm hurt. If he complained, he knew that it wouldn't take long for them to make him hurt worse. Thus, he made no protest nor sound when she grabbed his throbbing arm, yanked him over to his cupboard, and shoved him inside. "Get your stuff," she hissed. "And don't you dare say anything, is that clear?"
Silently, Harry nodded, then reached under his small, dirty camp bed to retrieve a pair of too-big, graying, frayed pants and a pair of pajamas in similar condition. He laid them gently on the stained, ripped crib mattress and gathered up his other change of clothing, which consisted of holey trousers that were at least five sizes too big and a worn t-shirt in similar condition. He wrapped the miserly items in his threadbare blanket before reaching for Dudley's old trainers. Carefully, he pulled the laces as tightly as they could go so that the shoes would stay on. He tied them and tucked them into the tops of his shoes so he wouldn't trip over them. Gathering up his blanket-wrapped bundle, he quietly left the cupboard, thankful that Aunt Petunia hadn't locked him in.
Harry hugged the blanket to his chest. It was the only thing that was really his—the only thing that had never belonged to Dudley. At least, as far as he knew. It had "HJP" sewn into the corner, and that didn't fit Dudley. He examined the blanket, not wanting to look up lest he be accused of insolence and hit again. He rather thought that the initials were supposed to be his, though he didn't know exactly what they stood for. The Dursleys rarely called him by name at all. He was 'boy,' he was 'freak,' rarely was he just 'Harry.' That fact alone made him doubt that 'Harry' was really his name at all.
Harry heard, rather than saw, his aunt approach and carefully hid a wince when she grabbed his left arm and yanked him towards the door. He trotted along behind her as fast as he could to make her stop pulling. He had plenty of finger-shaped bruises as it was—he didn't need more. Without a word, she shoved him towards the car and climbed in herself. He tuned her out when she started scolding him; he was used to being told how worthless, useless, unwanted, ungrateful, stupid, ugly, and unloveable he was and didn't want to hear it yet again.
It was a matter of minutes before he'd been shoved at the babysitter and ushered inside to sit on the couch. Harry accepted the photo album when it was pushed towards him and began looking through it obediently, looking at picture after picture of Mrs. Figg's cats. He ignored the pain from his bruises, cuts, and the arm he was pretty sure was broken; it would do him no good to complain. As it was past supper time, he wasn't surprised that she didn't offer him anything to eat. Anyway, he was used to going without—the Dursleys didn't like feeding him, either. Usually, his best chance for food was scraps nicked from bins; the Dursleys never checked the bins to make sure the stuff they threw out was still there. When he could sneak out, the neighbor's bins provided meals for him as well.
After what seemed like hours of mind numbing activity, Harry's eyes started to drift shut, and he fell into a deep sleep.
2200 ZULU
WEDNESDAY, 14 OCTOBER 1998
15 WISTERIA WALK
LITTLE WHINGING, SURREY, UK
Arabella Figg swallowed hard as the story came across the local news on the telly. Vernon and Petunia Dursley were dead. Apparently, they'd been driving drunk and almost single-handedly managed to create a multi-car pile-up on the M25. Arabella scowled as she stood up, walked over to the fireplace, grabbed some floo powder, and threw it into the fireplace. "Wizarding Family and Child Protective Services," she called into the green flames, then stuck her head into the fire.
The reception witch greeted her with a nod. "What may I assist you with?" she inquired.
"I need a case worker," Arabella said tersely.
"Just a moment." The reception witch murmured a short spell and a blue paper airplane took off. A few moments later, a pretty young witch dropped to her knees in front of the floo. "I need the child's name and the problem," she said immediately.
Arabella swallowed, hard. "Harry Potter," she said. "His aunt and uncle died a few minutes ago in a muggle accident."
"And you are?" the casewitch questioned.
"Arabella Figg," the elderly squib said with a sigh. "I was assigned to watch the neighborhood for signs of Death Eater activity. I babysit for the Dursleys occasionally. Right now, the Boy-Who-Lived is asleep on my davenport."
"If you'll step back I'll come through."
Immediately, Arabella got up and stepped away from the fireplace. A scant two minutes later, the casewitch arrived, brushing soot off her robes. "Pardon my manners," she said quietly. "I'm Amaryllis Wilson. Because of the circumstances around the Potters' deaths, I don't believe he was ever assigned a caseworker."
Arabella just shrugged. She didn't know whether he had a caseworker or not—Dumbledore had asked her to keep an eye on the neighborhood, and that was what she'd done. She'd never met James and Lily Potter, but she had to admit that their son was adorable, if a bit shy and quiet. "I can't keep him," she said. "I don't watch him more than a few times a year, and even then, it's just as a favor to Minerva."
"Professor McGonagall?" Amaryllis questioned.
Arabella nodded. If she'd bothered to glance over at the couch, she would have seen a pair of bright green eyes watching her, and a single tear running down the child's face. But she simply wasn't looking. "He's on the davenport," she said. "If we're not quiet, we'll wake him." At her words, Harry ducked down and shut his eyes, unseen by the adults.
Amaryllis walked quietly over to the couch, where Harry was curled up, catlike, and covered with his ragged blanket. His left arm was flung out, the sleeve of his too-large, worn-out jumper pushed up. His eyes were closed tightly, almost buttoned up, as if to shut out the world. The casewitch pulled up his sleeve a bit more and scowled at the finger-shaped bruises on the stick-like arm. "Have you really looked at this child, Mrs. Figg?"
Arabella looked shocked. "He seemed fine when he came in," she said quietly.
From the look on the casewitch's face, Arabella knew that she'd made a mistake. Without a fuss, Amaryllis picked up the boy and his belongings and headed back to the fireplace. Juggling the child and his few items of clothing, she tossed some floo powder into the fireplace. After calling out her destination, she stepped into it and disappeared with a whoosh of green flames.
Arabella watched her go, a frown on her wizened visage. From the reaction, she'd done something wrong, but what? Was something wrong with the boy? She'd never seen anything from the Dursleys that indicated that the boy was being mistreated. Sure, he wore hand-me-downs, but many children did that. Sure, she'd seen the public announcements concerning child abuse, but he wasn't abused was he? And even if he was, was it really any of her business? It was a family matter, after all. Puzzled, she shuffled over to her favorite chair and sat down. Mr. Tibbles, her favorite cat, jumped lightly into her lap. Petting the cat, she pondered exactly why Amaryllis Wilson had glared at her so before her eyes slid shut and she fell into dreamland.
2230 ZULU
WEDNESDAY, 14 OCTOBER 1998
WIZARDING CHILD AND FAMILY PROTECTIVE SERVICES
SOMEWHERE IN LONDON, UK
Amaryllis stepped through the floo and strode into the waiting room. She settled the twice-orphaned Boy-Who-Lived more securely as she hurried towards one of the examination rooms. Child abuse, while not common in the wizarding world, did happen, and they had found it necessary to have a couple of small rooms equipped as mini-infirmaries in their department for occasions such as the one she had found little Harry in. It was much more common for them to have to deal with abused muggleborn children than wizarding children. In fact, most of the cases they dealt with weren't abuse cases at all; the department had originally been established to deal with children who had been orphaned by war and other unfortunate circumstances. Gently, she laid him on one of the small cots and covered him with a blanket. She smoothed his messy black hair away from his face before heading back to the reception witch. "Hannah, do we have a Healer on call today?" she asked. "I've got a four-year-old that needs a checkup at the very least."
Hannah nodded. "Master Healer Smythe is the Healer on call," she said.
Amaryllis inclined her head and headed back to Harry. He was only four, after all. It wouldn't do to have him wake up all alone; he'd be frightened. She sat down in a chair beside his bed to wait. It seemed forever, but wasn't really all that long before the Healer bustled in.
Master Healer Smythe pulled out his wand and muttered the incantation, carefully scanning the boy's body. He scowled when he reached the boy's arm, and his scowl deepened with every pass of his wand. When he finished, he tapped a nearby piece of parchment with his wand, then scanned it quickly. "Spiral fracture in his left arm," he said. "Bruises, cuts, and abrasions, some of which are infected. He also is malnourished, there's a weakness in his eyes that I don't like, and he's had broken bones before that weren't healed properly." Smythe broke it off and started chanting over Harry's arm, doing a series of complex wand movements over it. Finally, he finished with a flourish. "He needs several potions," he said quietly. "But after the orphanage fire last week, we're out of almost all of them for young children and our potions master is on holiday."
"Is there anyone who can make more?" Amaryllis inquired.
Master Healer Smythe grimaced. "Healing potions for children this young are notoriously difficult and complicated to brew," he explained. "Master Snape from Hogwarts has been making a few potions for us, but I'm not sure if he'd have the time between his teaching schedule and the wolfsbane he's supplying us with."
Amaryllis scowled at him. "I remember Severus Snape from school," she said. "The one I know will make the time. Now, are you going to firecall him or do I have to do it myself?"
Without a word, Master Healer Smythe left the room. Amaryllis poked her head out the door and smiled when she saw the flames in the fireplace turn green and heard the man call out what she assumed was the proper address. It wasn't more than a few minutes when a tired-looking Professor Snape swept into the room, carrying a carpetbag in one hand. He offered a half-smile. "Amaryllis," he said with a nod. "I understand that I'm needed to brew some potions for a four-year-old?"
Gently, Amaryllis turned Harry over. "His guardians just died. Good job, too; if they hadn't, I'd be tempted to find them and use them to learn the Unforgiveables."
Severus stepped closer and looked at the boy. "Diagnosis?" he asked distractedly.
Amaryllis handed him the parchment. He glanced at it and swore softly. He set the bag down and started digging into it, reaching in all the way up to his shoulder. "Considering who Smythe is, you're lucky I was contacted," he said. "The man was a death eater; he got off by claiming Imperius."
Amarayllis snorted. That explained why the healer hadn't even put bruise balm on the kid. "I may not know all that much about how potions masters work, but even I know that when emergencies arise, all holidays are cancelled. Oh, and Severus, I know you have your mediwizard certification as part of your Mastery-would you please do the recording spells, muggle style? It may be needed for later."
Severus nodded. Quickly, he did the incantation and created muggle-style medical records on transfigured parchment and began the painstaking process of producing what would look like X-Rays to muggle officials. Once he was finished, pulled out a large container and unscrewed the cap. Gently, he removed the boy's oversized, ragged clothes. Amaryllis stopped him with a gesture and snapped pictures of the bruises, before allowing him to continue.
He started rubbing bruise balm into the boy's mottled skin. He was scowling, and his scowl deepened as he removed the child's frayed, graying, and too big pants, which were held in place by a safety pin. "Merlin," he swore softly. It looked as if the boy had received more than one thoroughly professional beating over the past few weeks. Even the little boy's privates were bruised. "Are you sure they're dead?" he asked finally.
"Positive," she responded. "Muggle car accident. Still, the records and the pictures may be needed when we find other relatives."
"I hope their death was painful," he growled.
Amaryllis smiled. "Me, too," she said. "Saved us the galleons for a trial."
Severus finished, turned the boy over, and started on his back, but not before Amaryllis took another picture. It was hard to find a spot where the child didn't have bruises. Quickly, he dipped his hand back into the jar of salve and gently started to rub it in. After he finished, he cleansed his hands and began to treat the cuts and abrasions. "Muggleborn, I assume?" he asked quietly.
"Not exactly," Amaryllis said. "Wizardborn, but living with Muggle relatives."
Severus's scowl deepened even more. "Wizarding orphans should never be placed with Muggles," he sneered.
Amaryllis snorted. "Not all Muggles are bad, Severus."
"Human beings fear what they do not understand," he said matter-of-factly. "We had a muggleborn child come to Hogwarts this year whose maternal grandmother had her exorcised repeatedly trying to get rid of her magic."
"Which is why we have this department," Amaryllis said dryly.
Severus turned the boy over again, wiped his hands, and felt the boy's forehead. Pushing up his bangs, Amaryllis wasn't surprised when the famous scar came into view. He stiffened a bit and glared at the sleeping child.
"He's not James Potter," Amaryllis said quickly. She well knew of the enmity between the two in school; everyone did. "Severus, he's an abused little boy… Just remember that he's Lily's son, too; your crush on her was one of the worst-kept secrets in school."
Severus snorted. "Damn Ravenclaws," he muttered. "If I'd had the courage at the time to ask her out before Potter got his hands on her, he might've been my son—I would have never allowed him to be sent to live with Muggles."
"I would imagine not," she said dryly. "Just remember that he's Lily's little boy—"
"Got it," he said tersely. "I'll need to get a bit of his blood to personalize potions for him." Severus pulled out a tiny vial, put the top against the child's skin, and tapped it with his wand. Immediately, it filled with blood. He tapped it again, capped it, and put it in his pocket.
"Are you sure that's wise?" Amaryllis asked nervously.
"I'll make sure that whatever is leftover is destroyed," he said calmly. "We should take care of his vaccinations as well; he probably hasn't had any for wizarding diseases since his parents died." Severus pulled a bone-healing potion from his bag and rubbed it into Harry's left arm. "I'll start on his potions—I should have them finished in a couple of days."
"Thank you, Severus," Amaryllis said quietly. "Would you brew a familias potion as well? We need to check for blood relatives before we consider putting him up for adoption."
The potions master nodded curtly and left the room. Amaryllis spelled some extra pajamas onto Harry and pulled the blankets up. Dimming the lights with a whispered word, she left the room, intent on finding a temporary placement for him until things could be resolved. Perhaps the Weasleys wouldn't mind another child for a few weeks; they'd done it before…
2355 ZULU
WEDNESDAY, 14 OCTOBER 1998
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
UNPLOTTABLE LOCATION, SCOTLAND, UK
Severus stepped out of the fireplace and left his quarters, making sure to lock them behind him. He hurried up to the Headmaster's office; Dumbledore had to know about the Potter boy. While the child had been 'asleep'—personally, Severus thought the kid had been faking—he hadn't been able to get a good feel for the boy's personality; he certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting. He had expected a spoilt, pampered child to show up at Hogwarts in a few years. Merlin knows he might've spoilt the child if he had the care of him.
After all, between the boy and his mother, they'd managed to banish the bane of Severus's life—the Dark Lord. "Munchies," he said, giving the password, and the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office slid aside.
Quickly, Severus hurried up the spiral staircase, not waiting for it to move, and entered the office without knocking. "Headmaster!" he said.
Dumbledore looked up, a smile gracing his kindly old face. "What happened, Severus?" the man asked.
"You got the message that I was called to WFCPS?" he asked.
Dumbledore nodded. "I assume it had to do with needing potions for a child," he said.
Severus scowled. "Of course it did! But the child in question is Harry Potter."
Dumbledore sat up straighter. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "Why is the boy at WFCPS?"
Before Severus could answer, an alarm sounded from one of the whirling silver instruments on a shelf near Dumbeldore's desk. The old man swore creatively. "The wards have fallen on Harry Potter's residence," he said.
"Of course they have," Severus growled. "The boy's guardians died a few hours ago, and Potter is in need of potions to combat long-term abuse and neglect at their hands." He glared at Dumbledore. "I've heard Minerva say more than once that she warned you about them! Come to think of it, Lily mentioned the fact that her sister hated her and anything to do with magic!"
A pained look crossed Dumbledore's face. Severus knew that it had to be because the placement of Harry Potter with the muggles had been a constant source of contention between the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. He crossed his arms over his chest before continuing. "I've also been asked to provide a familias potion so they can check for other blood relations."
"There are none," Dumbledore said firmly. "James was the last of his line, and Lily had no others as well."
Severus snorted. It was true that he'd had a major crush on Lily Evans whilst at school, but he'd also been her best friend. "Then why was she corresponding with her cousin?" he inquired silkily. "And why did he come and stay with her family when we were twelve?"
Dumbledore's head shot up. "A cousin?"
For a moment, Severus savored the flummoxed look on the man's face. It was always fun to watch when Dumbledore was surprised because it didn't happen often. "Yes, a cousin. I don't recall his name. It's been too long, and I think afterwards they exchanged a letter a year, if that."
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said after a few minutes. "We shall have to do a better job investigating this cousin than we did with the Dursleys."
Taking that as a dismissal, Severus inclined his head and left the office, heading towards his personal laboratory to begin brewing. He was naturally an insomniac, so a few more hours beginning potions wouldn't hurt him at all.
TBC...
So... do y'all want to see more? I have a thing for weird crossovers...