DE002RK
Harry Potter awoke. He had not slept soundly in some time. For months since his tenth birthday, he had had dreams. Disturbing in a way. Not because they frightened him as the rare dream of a woman pleading for his safety and the green light did. But because he seemed to be doing terrible things to even worse people.
Tonight's dream had been one of the more violent. He had grabbed a woman by her throat and brought his face close, threatening to tear her very soul from her body and leave her the living dead, forced to do his bidding, unable to stop herself as she slaughtered her own children.
She had capitulated quickly and told him everything, how she had done a ritual to help summon a djinn, binding it to an amphora with compulsion charms on it to have it be gifted to Winston Churchill.
He realized then the woman's outfit had been familiar. It was some sort of red leather dress but it also had Nazi markings on it.
He carefully pulled up a loose floorboard and flicked on a keychain flashlight then used its feeble light to find a sheath of paper hidden underneath the floor along with his few treasures. Once he had it out, he flipped through the makeshift notebook until he found the first empty page. He carefully wrote down this dream, trying to remember everything.
He was awoken again by stomping and giggling. His cousin always stomped on the stairs but only giggled if it was still dark out.
Surprised he didn't just piss the bed, Harry thought, imagining his cousin doing as he usually did to make more laundry for Harry to do before school.
"Get up you lazy brat! Dudley and your Uncle need their breakfast."
"I'm lazy?" Harry muttered as he dressed. "You're the lazy fucking cunt."
He blinked when he realized what he muttered. Maybe the dreams are influencing me? He snorted. For the better.
Dishes done, he grabbed his satchel from its hiding place in the shed then dashed to school, sure he would be late again because Aunt Petunia was too lazy to do dishes herself and Vernon saw Harry as free labour.
He ended up sliding into class just as the bell sounded, very out of breath.
The Jennifers—the four most popular girls in school were also all named Jennifer and were a giggly little clique—tittered at him and he threw a dark glare at them. They stopped smirking.
He passed up his homework—carefully curated to get just barely passing scores—then cheered up. It was the day before Halloween. The nightmare the next night would be bad, he knew, it always was at halloween, but today was also art day in class. He cheered up as his deskmate carefully setup his crayons and gestured Harry to use them too.
"Thanks, Eric."
The very dark skinned boy smiled, revealing very white teeth. He was an African-American, his father transferred to a local company and the only boy in school bigger than Dudley, and better, not afraid of him at all.
The teacher passed out construction paper and the two boys carefully drew a grid using rulers then marked the quarter inches. The teacher then led them through how to copy an image via grids.
Harry and Eric chatted softly as they copied the same image from the projector, a happy looking bat.
Both boys thought the other's bat looked better then Eric taught Harry how to draw Batman's logo.
By lunchtime, the class had finished coloring their choices and Harry and Eric both headed to the library. Eric passed over his latest comics and Harry devoured them while the other boy read The Lord of the Rings.
With school over, Harry wasn't expected home until five-forty so he took the long route to the local library and spent his time doing his homework carefully. Ever since the dreams had begun, he had had the occasional dream where he was telling himself he expected much of himself while at school though he didn't understand why he was wearing a dress. Since then, he had worked hard to do his homework right, realizing his dream-self had been right. His future did require a fine education if he was to do what he dreamed of.
Done, he put his stuff away and went to the reference section and opened the biggest dictionary and looked for a word from his dream: ostroppy.
Half a dozen minutes of checking from osteo- to the end of ostr-, he gave up on the big dictionary and went to find a librarian. If Mrs. Ellis-Bextor was working, he was sure she would know. She was the smartest, prettiest woman in the world.
Sadly, he found only Mr. Giles was working but he wrote down the word and promised to ask people if they might know. He did know the other word and explained what a djinn was once he realized Harry wasn't asking about the liquor.
As Harry left, Giles placed the sheet on the counter so people could read it, a phonetic spelling of the word written as ah-straw-pee.
Harry thought about the word and the mental image it produced. Lightning bolts coming from his hands like from Darth Vader's evil master. Only in Harry's dream, they felt righteous, like they cleansed what he hit of the malignant taint of evil.
The two wizards and the witch were awoken by medallions they hadn't felt vibrate in a decade plus. Both wizards rolled over and went back to sleep while the witch smiled softly. Harry Potter might not be their master but they could help him, she decided.
She picked up her journal and unlocked it then began writing a plan, wondering if Young Albus might need a DADA professor since they seemed to go through them so quickly.
He was awoken again, this time by the dream. He wiped the tears away then rolled over, hugging his small pillow, wishing his aunt and her lumbering beasts were cleansed from the earth by purifying lightning.
He was only asleep for a few minutes when he was awoken by a soft "Master?" and a pale blue glow.
Harry rolled over to find a force ghost and the creatures from his dreams. The Darklings wore the same armor and carried the same wicked dagger-swords.
"Wh-what‽"
"Hello, grandson," the force-ghost said.
An hour later, Harry was almost ready to believe what they said about him being a wizard. Then his uncle came down and wrenched open the door and the Darklings disappeared as the ghost of his grandfather vanished into the floor. "Shut up!" Vernon bellowed.
Then the Darklings reappeared and Vernon screamed in fear as his bowels and bladder voided and they attacked.
Vernon was pinned to the floor by a dog like creature with glowing violet and gold eyes and black drool dripping off its impossibly long teeth. The res of the Darklings began to take on a more Gremlin-like appearance as Harry remade them in his mind.
"Strange," his grandfather's ghost said. "It felt like there was an anti-spirit charm for a second. Ahh, you constructed a felbeast! They were my favorite to use against my enemies when stealth wasn't required. Notice how their teeth are like knives? Your great-grandfather did that. Originally they had more realistic teeth but this really pushes the primeval terror button in people."
Harry swallowed on a dry throat as he nodded, holding his nose. The smell had begun to overwhelm.
In Dumbledore's office, a silver gewgaw began to vibrate and steam, looking much like a kettle made to look like a pyramid. The alert that something was wrong at the Dursley's had begun to signal. Again. Then shut off after four seconds. Dumbledore never noticed the runeset Lucius Malfoy had carved into a number of the devices over the years when visiting the school and the headmaster was called away from his office. The man had presumed they were linked to the school and hoped whatever they did would allow him to pressure out his political rival. Had he known what they really were for he would have stolen them and hidden away the child to raise as a Purebloodist.
Petunia, awoken by the bed no longer being compressed to her husband's side and a crashing sound, reached over to see how warm his side was. Cold. "Vernon?" she called then stood, pulling on her favorite woolen robe.
She screamed when she stepped out of the bedroom and disturbingly long claws strapped to a hand that looked straight from a horror film covered her face and a whispered voice menaced her ear. "Keep your mouth shut or I'll rape you to death over the next week, forcing your son to help," the stranger said, licking her ear with a tongue that scraped like a cat's.
She saw her nephew sitting on the couch, looking strangely serene with a ghost—at least she was sure it was one from Lily's letter describing the school her first year—watching her and saying something to the boy who nodded, then she took in the other creatures. Some were a foot tall, some two feet tall, four were nearly seven feet tall. All looked like the green things from that movie Dudley had watched so obsessively once she had realized Harry found the creatures frightening and had told her son. But all she could think about was what felt like a penis at least twice as thick as her husband's fist shoved into her back, twitching and pulsing with the beat of the thing's heart behind her.
The ghost floated towards Petunia and it began to speak softly. "For the things you've done to my grandson, I would happily torture you in ways at would break your mind slowly. And i would do so to everyone you know, letting them know you're the reason. But your, and your son's, blood might be useful so I grant you your life, pitiful as it may be. But they will be watching you."
She screamed in pain as a blade just barely pierced her skin, enough to allow a Darkling to enter her bloodstream and transit to the brain. Forevermore Harry would be able to track his aunt. And then another Darkling was introduced to Vernon's psyche but this one would act, not just inhabit. Vernon's Darkling would slowly and carefully drive the man to distraction. If the man didn't die in an accident, an aneurysm or heart attack would be stimulated. The Darklings had taken the measure of the man and found him wanting.
Albus had returned from the the Great Hall, groaning a little bit at how full he felt—the house-elves had kept making new lemon flavored puddings appear on the table and he had felt duty-bound to sample all—when three of the gewgaws in his office exploded into action then went silent. His eyes narrowed and he grimaced then cast a vomiting jinx on himself. Wiping his mouth, he regretted it but needed to be less logy. "I need Shacklebolt, Madam Bones, and Moody here as quick as you can, if you would?"
Fawkes disappeared in a flash as Albus vanished his sick, took a couple sips of various potions, then picked up one of the gewgaws, narrowing his eyes at seeing the faint runeset scratched into place. He made a mental note to test the work against former students as Fawkes appeared with Kingsley in his nightgown, a book on muggle football players in one hand, his wand in the other. "Albus?"
"Potter's house may be under attack."
Kingsley transfigured his nightgown into something a little more suitable as Moody appeared, cursing a blue streak but at least still dressed.
Before Albus could explain anything again, Fawkes reappeared with Amelia Bones, the woman wearing a transparent nightie that barely covered her backside, stay-up stockings, and very high heels. Her face was bright red and she was cursing Fawkes just as loudly as Albus looked up at the ceiling.
Moody turned his back and grabbed a cloak from Albus's coatrack while Kingsley admired his boss's backside, wondering why she had a series of scars that looked like the lines muggles put on all their products for sale on the small of her back. Then he realized he was essentially ogling her and looked to the ceiling as well.
"Harry Potter's home may be under attack," he interrupted them then transfigured their clothing into more appropriate robes for what they were about to do then cast muggle-repelling charms before picking up a strange looking item that said Bop-It and held it out for them.
Their transit via portkey was different than normal. The spells protecting the Dursley household stopped only those with magic who wished to harm the family but also had taken on a half-life of their own, absorbing a portion of Harry's latent potential, becoming nigh-sentient that night due to Harry's nascent Darkness Mastery.
They appeared in a home that smelled of many cats given too much free reign. "Come," Albus said, nodding at Arabella Figg. "Good evening, Arabella. Please excuse us."
She nodded, setting down the crate of kittens she held on the side table in the short hallway.
She watched them walk out the door, fighting an urge to look away. She recognized the effect of muggle-repelling charms and wondered what was happening.
The door crashed open and Harry turned to look even as the dozen Darklings shifted to protect him, pushing him towards the kitchen, his grandfather's ghost floating forward to see better.
Then Albus saw the creatures and recognized Charlus Potter. He whipped around and all three of his allies were body-bound and stunned then roped together. "Get them out of here," Albus told Charlus.
"I'm not the Wielder Albus. And we have much to discuss. Memory charm them and get them out of here."
Twenty minutes later Albus thanked the three for humoring his mistake and watched them Apparate from the backyard of 4 Privet Drive then turned to see Darklings—unlike those he had seen before—emerge from the shadows. The only reason he was sure they were Darklings was due to the lack of color in their bodies save their eyes which were all a vibrant purple orbs with golden flecks or flashes occasionally. Their bodies were shades of grey and black and drank light.
Harry stood behind four of the large Darklings, watching the intruder be approached by his grandfather's ghost.
"WHY is he HERE‽ Where is my son?"
"James peri—"
"I know what happened to my heir! I saw it happen. I was stuck in my redoubt in a failing body but I could still scry! Where is my adopted son‽ Sirius was to raise him with the Longbottoms's help."
"Sirius was arrested and sentenced for betraying the Potters—"
"If I only had hands I would throttle you!" Charlus hissed. "Sirius and Pettigrew swapped the secret! I saw it all. Why didn't this come out at Sirius's trial?"
At this revelation, Albus was stymied. "I do not know. I wasn't the Ch—oh Circes, Crouch was Chief Warlock… until his son was revealed as one of Voldemort's right hands. He did many trials as tribunals or closed court judicial sessions."
"Harry, my boy, what's that cleaning compound that kills everything?" Charlus asked his grandson.
He looked over from where the Keeper—eldest Darkling and the keeper of the Darkling's Book of Shadows—was giving Harry a lesson on summoning a shadowblade and suggested "Bleach?"
"Yes, that was it. Someone needs to dump bleach into the genepool…."
Albus sighed. He respected his old friend and former teacher but Potters were always too willing to cut out whole trees when just a single limb might be the only infestation.
"Where are the Dursleys?"
"Sleeping," Charlus said. "And controlled. Permanently. The only reason I haven't killed them is I loved my daughter-in-law and she's blood." He had watched them and aside from a few moments where he couldn't cancel scries in time—learning his son liked his wife to shove two fingers up his arse to stimulate his prostate had been an unwelcome revelation, also leading him to wonder if that was an inherited trait—he had come to love her like a daughter.
"Controlled how?"
"The same way I tormented you in the thirties."
Albus sighed then chuckled morbidly. "Very well. And you won't allow Harry to stay here?"
"He was to never come here in the first place! Harry, please come here?"
Harry nodded and thanked the Keeper who gave a disturbingly toothy grin then the short gladius-like blade disappeared as he stopped concentrating on it. "Harry, this is Albus Dumbledore, professor and—why do you still use the title professor, actually?"
Albus chuckled again though much more lightly this time. "Administration is a job, teaching is a career and life-calling."
"Fair point. My time as a professor was very fulfilling.
"He is also Headmaster of Hogwarts, a school at which your father has paid your tuition already. It was very amusing when you made him count it all out."
"Yes, well, sometimes I do like to repay the more troublesome of my students in kind when they are no longer my students."
"I'll explain it later," Charlus promised. "Now, is the house Remus used on his monthlies still empty?"
"Yes but it's rather… distressed."
"Oh, no, we won't stay there. It was one of Sirius's cache sites. His tent and more supplies should be there. We'll stay in our family's inn in Bad Wolf Bay."
"Ahh, the pub in Wales?"
Charlus nodded. "It's still run by the Walkers, yes?"
"Technically. But now it's the Barqs running it. Their eldest girl married an American wizard and they took over running it when Marius and Ellistana elected to purchase the pub in Godric's Hollow."
Charlus nodded and said, "Good for them! Keeper, the list for Albus. People I need contacted who can help us."
"Your fire-team?" Albus asked, looking at the list. The top three names were Charlus's main team, the few people who knew about the Darkness and who Wielded it.
"Ah, you never officially met them, right? Yes, the top three. And if you could pave the way if they're wanted for some reason?"
"I shall high to the Ministry next. There is much to do. How will you get to Hogsmeade and on?"
"A Ministry employee will arrange for a driver to pick us up."
Albus sighed. "Of course I will. It is good to see you. Even in your diminished form."
"Only for a few years, just to get Harry running, maybe until he's got a son, then I'll continue on."
Harry blushed at the son part. There had been a very graphic discussion about how babies came to be from the first blossoms of attraction to the spurt of passions to the pulse of love/fear caused by the first cry of a newborn.
Dawn was blushing when the iceberg white Rolls Royce Silver Cloud III pulled up in front of the house.
The driver opened the back door as Harry approached. "Good morning, Sir. Chief Warlock Dumbledore has left a note for you on the console inside. As soon as you're ready let me know."
Harry nodded and slipped in. He held the cold crystal away from his body for a moment then let it slip back. It was a piece of quartz he had found years ago and his grandfather had been delighted at seeing it. Quartz had a spirit-retaining property that would allow the ghost to better travel instead of following along at his own speed.
Harry opened the tented letter. It was a suggestion to have breakfast in the muggle world and fifteen pounds. "Do you know if there's a McDonald's near Diagon Alley?"
"Yes, we'll be there shortly."
"McDonald's? Good scottish fare? Good lad," Charlus said as Harry hung the crystal from the back of the seat in front of him.
A stifled laugh came from the driver.
"It's fast food," Harry corrected. "Burgers and chips and stuff like that. But they have pancakes and sausage and egg sandwiches in the morning."
"If I may?" the driver asked.
"If you have a better suggestion," Charlus said. "Please."
"Platform 9 & ¾ has become a travel point and has a very nice pub in it. I doubt anyone up this early will be awake enough to recognize Master Potter, Wizard Potter."
"Call me Charlus, lad. I'm too old and dead to worry about niceties."
The driver ended up showing him how to get through to the platform then joined him for breakfast at Charlus's insistence so the ghost could pick the wizard's mind.
Harry looked around the platform. There were a handful of sleepy looking witches and wizards in various types of robes seeming to move on autopilot though there was one group of very animated witches chatting and laughing as they waited to use the public floos.
"They made the platform the central travel point," Wizard William Wallace—Harry's driver—said. "About four years ago. It made it easier. If you're returning from overseas you can go through immigrations and customs much easier in one central point. Of course traveling on September 1st is a terrible idea unless it's in the evening."
Charlus chuckled while Harry looked confused then realized what they meant.
Opposite from where they entered from the muggle side and across the tracks was the open air pub.
Inside a girl who looked younger than Harry and a boy that Harry thought might be a bit older were sitting in a far booth, writing or drawing. He realized they looked like the waitress's kids when she walked up to their table and smiled. "What may I get you today?"
Harry closed the menu he had been looking at and even though his stomach was still a bit upset from the events of the night involving his aunt and her husband, he ordered the special. Wallace did the same.
It turned out to be a large Belgian waffle with caramelized peaches and whipped cream, patties of sausage as thick as his hand, three huge slices of Ayrshire bacon, a mound of potatoes that he was sure took all that were harvested in Idaho to make, and two eggs that covered a plate of their own. The maple syrup, country gravy, and freshly made marmalade was still hot and just as delicious.
Harry had no idea how he was going to eat it all but was game to try, especially after his first bites of each. It was all the best tasting food he had ever had save for the potatoes. "Gotta be a house-elf helping cook," Wallace said as he savored his own then explained house-elves to a curious Harry.
When the witch came by to ask if they wanted more tea, he nodded then handed her a sheet of parchment. "This is my recipe for potatoes. I thought your cook might like it. Everything else is the best I've ever had!"
He was taking his last bite of sausage when a wizard came out and walked to him, holding the recipe. "This yours?"
"Yeah."
"This recipe is brilliant! What's your name, kid?"
"Umm, Harry Potter," he replied before Wallace could suggest he not.
The wizard blinked as he automatically looked for the scar then realized he was really looking at a hero of the Wizarding world. "You have anymore recipes?" He asked hopefully, wondering if he should request a signature too. His daughter would be so annoyed if he didn't. He decided to wait until September 1st, presuming the boy would come in then too.
He wrote out his favorite recipes then they left the pub.
Harry heard a loud squeal then turned to see the little girl and the boy were standing at the doorway, looking at him.
"Remember, you're rather famous. Perhaps some shopping first?" Wallace suggested. "For a hooded sweatshirt?"
Instead of shopping for muggle clothing, they ended up in Diagon Alley. Like all old families, aside from clothing passed down to servants—and since Potters had had house-elves for centuries that never happened—nothing was gotten rid of. In the Potter family vault, they found the old clothing of Harry's father and Harry hesitated but put on the robe.
Charlus sighed. "That robe was from when your dad was eight. Gotta get you fed up. Flip up the hood, see if the enchantments still work."
Harry did so and the robes turned a nondescript brown.
"Good," Charlus said. "Those robes will change every time you flip up the hood but they scramble your magic a bit every time. Did you feel anything?"
Harry shook his head. "No. It felt fine."
"Hmm, try it again. Think about the different sensations of your body."
A dozen tries later, Harry thought he felt something like a prickling in his fingertips.
"Yes, that's the feeling," Charlus said upon Harry reporting it. "Pack up some more of the robes. And lemme see what else we might need."
Charlus floated off, followed by a Darkling.
"What do you think of the new form?"
The Darkling carefully worked his joints as he moved. "It feels a bit more dangerous. The Master will be a good Master."
"He was born to it, after all," Charlus teased. "If only…."
He had the Darkling place all the Potter school books from the last century into a crate, a potions kit, and a gold filigreed cauldron—it was a master's level cauldron with Dorea's qualifications engraved upon it, a gift from her parents upon her Potions Mastery.
He turned and saw them then. Four dead House Elves. "Ahh, prepare them to be honored." They had done their last duties, collecting and storing the Potters' properties upon their deaths then been trapped inside the vault.
The Darkling did so, wrapping each one in a drop cloth taken from the paintings nearby.
Charlus nodded at them and had a short whispered conversation with the painting of his father who expressed concern at his fear of death until Charlus explained exactly why he remained.
He found Harry looking at the wall of brooms. "Ahh, looks like your father's broom survived!"
"Why so many brooms?"
"We fly on them, lad! Your dad was brilliant. Your mother was pretty good, too. I watched their first flying class together. And I'm sure you will be too. But for now we'll leave them there. No safe place to fly where we'll be. Let's see. Clothes, books, a few supplies, the honored…, ahh, I know. We need to take out some money."
At the front of the vault were a dozen refrigerator sized crates filled with coins. "Sweep about five hundred galleons–they're the gold, a hundred silver sickles, and fifty bronze knuts into that bag there. We'll buy you a good moneybag in a bit."
Harry did as told and asked, "How much is this worth in rea—err, muggle money?"
"Ooh, good thinking. Not sure really, I never had to exchange it that way. Better sweep another thousand galleons into another bag. We'll need money for some muggle stuff. Tell me more about McDonalds."
"Umm, it's an American company," Harry said as he did as told. "They have a clown mascot. Their food is mostly burgers, chips, and fizzy drinks."
"I had a muggle fizzy drink once! It was called Cocoa-Cola? I think. Been eighty years or so. We have fizzy drinks too. Butterbeer is very popular. Pumpkin juice comes in a fizzy version too. Your dad really liked that." He kept on reminiscing and Harry listened happily to it all.
With everything collected, Harry pushed the crate to the vault door then once it was a couple inches out, Wallace was able to help pull it the rest of the way.
"Find anything else interesting when you were looking around?" Charlus asked.
"Umm, yeah. There were some really cool looking masks in one area."
"Ahh, those are essence masks. I'll be teaching you how to make those over the next couple years once you have a good base to work off."
"Essence masks?" Wallace queried. "I think I've heard of those before."
"They start out as a heavily engraved crystal that you lay over a face. In a short amount of time, they sample the essence of the person and create an utterly unique mask. Potters have used them as growth measurements like how we measure James's height on a door jamb every year. Unless something traumatic happens, the differences between each year is minimal but at the same time, rather telling."
Cornelius took the tea and took a long swallow then passed it back to the functionary he refused to learn the name of. Instead, he opened the daily diary held out to him by an undersecretary.
He skimmed it haphazardly as he saw it before leaving the afternoon before.
Then he saw that Dumbledore had come in to the Ministry at one AM after three Ministry officials had disabled their tracking charms at Hogwarts for over an hour.
He saw that Dumbledore's aides were burning up the floors between his offices and the Magical Law Enforcement Records department.
Sighing, he decided to head down there. Albus spent little time in the Ministry, he was rather busy with too many jobs.
A niggling thought introduced by someone intruded but it slipped from his mind, leaving only its oily taint as a secretary smiled at him brightly. Cornelius smiled back, imagining her under his desk.
When he walked into Albus's office, he saw the man had dozens of Death Eater folders open. "Albus!"
"Ahh, Cornelius, good morning." Then he looked up and their eyes locked.
Albus fought not to grimace at the mental image that was strongest on Fudge's mind, a witch, just eighteen Albus knew, doing things that Fudge's wife refused to do.
He cursed his hubris in training his legilimency so often that he performed it passively without trying.
"What brings you to the Ministry? I had hoped to pick your mind this evening but now is as good a time as any."
"With Harry Potter coming back soon I wished to make sure all Krups were docked and Snidgets pinned. There are some inconsistencies in cases. By making sure that all are perfect, you'll have some good things to say to the Prophet. Here, take a look at this."
Cornelius read the notes and his eyes widened. Albus had figured out a way to fine convicted Death Eaters once more and make the Ministry at least four hundred galleons per convict though it required a veritaserum questioning at the Ministry. Even with transport and overtime costs Cornelius calculated huge polling numbers in the next election.
"Fantastic! This will make me—err, the Ministry, I mean—look wonderfully productive."
"I hope you'll be at the questionings. And I thought we'd open certain ones to the public, for those affected by them. Such as Madam Longbottom or the like."
"Hmmm, yes, I can see how that could be spun well."
Albus grimaced at Cornelius's views on things.
"Now how can I help you?" Albus asked him.
"Ahh, well there's the issue with the Bulgarians. They want to hold it at their school."
Albus grimaced. Restarting the Triwizard Tournament was something he had fought against but the European political bloc had been all for it save himself. Nonetheless, Magical Britain had created, first hosted it, and had been the next host in sequence. It was their right for the new tournament. "Perhaps a concession," Albus suggested. "We've held up certain trade issues. Perhaps a hint that we could be seen to allowing trade in certain items again?"
Cornelius nodded and wheeled, off to discuss it with their Ambassador to the Bulgarians while Albus thought about his current endgame, Sirius.
A fresh sheet of parchment and he began writing.
Reparations was first. Then he followed that with GGGGGGGGGG, wincing at the thought of the cost if Sirius was truly innocent.
Mind-healing: then he added Claudia Winkinglemons, a medi-witch that had trained as an obliviator in France as well as having muggle mental health qualifications. Her clinic was where they left a compulsion to go to in muggles who were semi-resistant to obliviation when they needed their memories touched up.
Sirius is the rightful guardian for Harry as long as he's ready, Albus mused, sucking on his candy quill. But he's not read—ahhh, Remus and Andromeda will be perfect to help, he decided and wrote down their names. He was sure Andromeda would be ecstatic to learn Sirius wasn't as dark as his name suggested. And he remembered young Nymphadora had adored her cousin.
Security: Wallace was a good start and he added the man's name then wrote GREYSTAVE, an American private security firm run by an old friend of Albus's.
Some place safe: Even with Harry having come into his family inheritance, conversations with Charlus over the years had led him to understand that the first three or four years were formative as the Wielder gained Mastery over it all.
Albus wondered if it would be possible to recenter the wards on the property in such a way that Sirius and Harry could live nearby while still protecting the Dursleys.
He scowled. He had expected Harry to know about his parents, magic, and his world and yearn to return. Learning just how Harry lived had made it rather difficult for him to argue with Charlus about how the Darklings had treated the Dursleys.
Tutoring: Charlus was a good professor, Albus remembered but someone alive and trustworthy could be useful. He had a eureka moment and wrote two names.
After a short shopping trip in the alley, mostly to get some potion supplies and to stop in certain shops of people Charlus wanted to say hello to, Harry was sitting in Ollivander's shop, waiting as the wizard helped an older wizard and some witches replace their wands.
Harry tried not to look like he was listening as they told Ollivander what happened.
"I don't know how it did but... The runes were perfect. The alignment of cardinals was flawless. The Akashic meter showed that it was the perfect moment to begin."
Ollivander nodded. "Yes, sympathetic magic is rather unforgiving. Did you verify the candles were beeswax, the wicks of cotton, and the candle holders leaded crystal?"
The witches blanched. "Leaded crystal?" one squeaked.
Ollivander nodded. "Yes, the ritual you were doing requires a metal element. And lead is malleable, a good sympathetic metal while crystal is hard and transparent, an excellent metaphorical filter. What source did you use?"
"Hopzinger's guide."
"Ahh, then you must have used an original copy. He fixed that ritual for the next edition. Come in next month, I can have his latest edition for you then." While he was primarily a wandsmith, Ollivander had a Mastery in Harvest rituals of which fertility rituals overlapped heavily.
All three soon had new wands—Ollivander got down all the wands with the woods they had originally been matched to—then once they were gone, the man turned to Harry.
"How can I be of serv—"
Charlus flew out of the crystal and nodded at the wandsmith. "Ollie."
"Charlie!"
"What ritual were they performing?"
Ollivander turned his eyes to Harry as the boy took his hood off. "Fertility ritual. His wife can't so her sister was supposed to be the one impregnated while they copulated." They were discussing it in a public setting, Ollivander saw no reason not to mention it.
Harry's eyes went wide at the mental image.
"Arousing," Charlus said dryly and Ollivander looked back to the ghost who snickered.
"He looks just like his father save his mother's eyes. He's technically too young for a wand," he reminded the ghost.
"Nonetheless, you owe me a favor. Also, I had an idea a few years ago but couldn't make it happen. You do the work on the prototype, Harry gets our name on them and seventy-five percent of the profits."
Harry held out the sheath of parchment for the wandsmith to take.
As he read, Harry looked around the shop, reading the ends of boxes. He half-heard his grandfather's ghost ask "Did you ever figure out that diamond coating idea?" as he saw most used dragon heartstring or unicorn hair but there were the occasional different cores, he read. Nundu whisker. Frog spine. Occamy egg. Hag claw. Goblin fang.
Harry's eyes widened as he imagined Ollivander wrestling a goblin to get a fang out of its mouth with a pair of rusty pliers.
Wallace had just entered and saw his expression and looked at the small grouping of wands and chuckled. "Goblin fang? That's a type of flower. It crystallizes once its reached peak bloom. Great mental image to get a real fang, right? Same thing I thought as a kid here with my older sister getting her wand."
Harry nodded then turned at his name said by the ghost.
Ollivander held a measuring tape.
"Why did he measure me?" Harry asked, admiring his new wand again as they were waiting on their lunch in the Leaky Cauldron.
"He's been doing so for decades. Trying to figure out how to match magicals with their wands better. Magic is very difficult to quantify though."
When he saw Harry's quizzical expression, he said, "Remind me tonight during dinner."
Harry nodded.
The door shivered and opened as Charlus flitted back into the crystal.
Harry's and Wallace's food floated into the room and settled on the table.
"How come your wand is a knife?" Harry asked Wallace as they ate.
"It's actually a knife that fits around the wand," Wallace said. "It's an old Central-American design. A friend who moved there after Hogwarts sent it to me. It also helps protect the wand from being accidentally broken."
"Ollivander finished his diamond varnish for wands. It's rather expensive though," Charlus said as he floated out of the crystal. "We'll have it done to yours Harry, and yours if you wish, Wizard Wallace. You've been rather helpful."
"Dumbledore assigned me to you for the foreseeable future. What's a diamond varnish?"
"About sixty years ago he and I discussed a way to protect wands after I snapped another wand. As his dad fitted me with a new one, he and I discussed how diamonds were very hard. He bought some and began testing it.
"Eventually he figured it out. It takes a visually flawless 1.1 carat diamond and a few potions to melt it then the wand is coated in the melted diamond and allowed to reharden, creating an impervious coating that allows magic to still be cast."
"How easy is it to snap a wand?" Harry asked, carefully putting his back in its box.
"Not that easy," Wallace said. "Eat lad."
As Harry ate, Charlus outlined his education for the next few months. "We'll get you to the level of most kids going in. That means a basic knowledge of the family history at the public level, some potions knowledge, how to write essays, and some spellwork. Your dad knew a dozen or so spells that I knew about. He likely knew a few more. We'll get you proficient in a couple. And there's a list of things I expect you to know by the end of seven years like I expected of your dad."
Harry nodded. This was his dream come true, even if it was a lot more supernatural than he expected.
A look into the corner and he saw the eyes of a Darkling and the teeth appeared, gleaming as the creature smiled. He saw a shape that might have been a book and gave a brief nod to the one called the Keeper. It recorded all knowledge the Darklings learned on their own or from a Wielder.
With their meal done, Wallace led him out to the waiting vehicle and they were on their way to Hogsmeade.
The day was too foggy for Harry to see the castle so instead he watched carefully as Wallace explained the spells he did that Charlus said needed to be done.
Fifteen minutes later four decrepit looking backpacks, a case of tinned food, some canteens, and a pair of brooms joined Harry's supplies in the boot.
"That pack was your father's," Charlus said softly as Harry lifted the dried blood colored pack.
Harry kept it aside and carried it into the backseat then they were off to Wales with a wide-eyed Harry very glad he had unconsciously put on the seat-restraint as the car hit 140 MPH and began jinking left and right around cars that seemed stationary.
Harry awoke. He had laid down as soon as the woman had shown him to his suite on the third floor of the inn. The basement was the pub, the ground floor held a restaurant and a candy maker's shoppe with the first and second floors being guest rooms, the family occomodations and the Potter's visiting suite were the top floor. The room was mostly dark but as soon as he opened his eyes candles flickered alight and the window sashes pulled the curtains back, revealing the small magical quarter of the Welsh village his family had lived in seven centuries ago.
Dressed in his muggle clothes, he headed down to the dining room, realizing it was too late for clothes shopping like he had thought to do on arriving in the village. It can wait until tomorrow, anyway, he decided as Mrs. Barq set a menu down in front of him. "Evening, Harry. What would you like to drink?"
"Umm, fizzy pumpkin juice?"
He had liked the flat drink at the Leaky Cauldron. It had been mildly sweet, reminding him of the watered down unsweetened apple juice at school.
"Of course. Wizard Wallace returned a short while ago and is in his room if you need him." Wallace had let the woman assume he was Harry's valet and guardian.
A short dinner of half a burger and hand-cut chips and then Harry went back up to his room.
As soon as he closed and locked the door, he saw the sashes come undone and the windows were covered then Darklings stood along the wall, shoving and cursing each other.
Then the Keeper came into the room, looking less like a Gremlin than before. Then Harry noticed the rest weren't as Gremliny as before as well.
"Why do you look different?"
"We're amorphous until you've created our visual design fully in your mind," the Keeper replied who looked at the waiting Darklings, pointed at three, then said, "you rest, begone."
"Tonight we begin your training in Shadowwalking, the Wielder's ability to step from shadows to shadows and eventually travel to the Redoubt."
Harry sat down near a shadow then squinted as he tried to read the Keeper's spidery handwriting as two small Darklings held the massive tome in place.
Finally, Harry was ready and stepped into a shadow then willed himself to disappear.
He was about to ask a Darkling to move the mirror so he could see into it when his grandfather's ghost floated into the room. "Ahh, Keeper. Where's the lad? I've got an idea."
"First Shadowwalk practice, master. The Master is in the north corner."
He turned to look as Harry willed himself out of the shadow.
"Oh, well done. as for my idea, I thought you could build something I designed. We can have Wallace send off for the parts—totally should have bought you an owl—and you won't have to carry a chilly crystal anymore."
Harry nodded, not sure what he meant about the owl.
"What is it?"
"It's kind of a spirit trap but instead of destroying a spirit, it holds it in place, hidden in a watch."
Harry sat down at the desk and began writing, sketching what his grandfather suggested, redoing it a few times until he finally could redo it all on one sheet with a list of what was required.
He went to give it to Wallace and asked him to get the items when he could. He was about to ask what his grandfather meant by an owl then Wallace yawned and Harry did as well and he said, "Night, Wizard Wallace."
In his suite, Harry asked, "Why was Mr. Ollivander a mister but others are wizard?"
"Honorific that fell out of fashion a century ago. I prefer using it and doing so is a sign of respect. Ollie never really liked it."
Harry took a long, tepid bath—he was unused to hot water but made a mental note to try to get used to them and hot showers—thinking about how the shadows had swirled over his view, obscuring but then somehow making a strange x-ray like effect of things.
He made a note to ask his grandfather. "I'm the first Wielder to have a previous Wielder alive," he mused aloud.
"Master," came a Darkling's voice and Harry saw its eyes in the shadows of the fold of the towel hanging on the wall.
He shifted his flannel to hide his groin. "Yes, Keeper?"
"The old master wants to know if the new Master would pick up information on how technology of muggles has changed in case it might be useful."
Harry, followed by Wallace, walked into the shop and picked up a five pack of tee-shirts in primary colors and black and white, a couple packs of undergarments, then went over to look at their trousers as Wallace eyed the lad then picked up four hooded sweatshirts in black with discreet sports logos. "Harry, are you a football fan?"
"Arsenal," he replied. His aunt's husband and his cousin followed Man U and Tottenham. Following their rivals was only natural.
Wallace carried over the hooded sweatshirt and held it up for Harry to look at.
It was all black with red and gold felt outlines of black embroidery on a weird design from what Harry was used to. "That logo is wrong, isn't it?"
"This is their original crest design."
Harry nodded and added it to the pile then carried two pairs of black denim trousers and a pair of blue ones to the counter to pay for it all. "No shoes?" Wallace asked.
"I'll wait to get new ones for school this summer. Grandfather said that his shoemaker is brilliant."
Wallace shifted and flicked his wand out then cast a scourgify on the bag of clothing once the woman handed it over.
Outside, Harry asked, "What spell did you cast?"
"Cleaning spell. It removes tags and kind of pre-washes the clothes so they're more comfortable. There's the village's bookstore."
Inside, Harry looked for the books his grandfather had been interested in. He found a few books on various things and as he paged through the Idiot's Guide to Computers he wondered if a magical version could be built.
Sitting on his bed, Harry tried to recreate the feel of his silk bedsheets using the Darkness to create a shirt of silk.
He had been sitting there, attempting it for nearly an hour and only getting an uncomfortable hair-shirt when he saw a fray on the duvet and wondered if he should start small.
He started with the image of a fine thread, strong enough to hold up a ten thousand pound weight on its own but as thin as spidersilk.
He imagined it being woven together like on the loom he had seen on a school field trip then opened his eyes to find a sheet of black silk on his hand, drinking in the candlelight.
The curtains wavered from the window being open a bit and a ray of light flashed across his hand, burning away the silk. His disappointment was burned away like his creation by the realization it had worked.
He couldn't wait until his grandfather returned to tell and show what he had been able to do.
Wallace got the last item in the shopping list and wrapped the receipts and change into a change purse then apparated to the Ministry.
When he entered the Transport and Floo Department, he saw his boss making her way towards him, fuming. Literally.
"Where have you been‽"
"On special assignment."
"Set. By. Who‽" she hissed.
"Set by me," Albus Dumbledore said, walking into the room behind Wallace. "Wizard Wallace, please return to your duty as quickly as possible. Witch Sunderjoint, a moment if you please."
Her pink cheeks had gone distinctly pale as blood drained from her face in a fight or flight reaction. "S-sir. I didn't know—"
"Perhaps if you read the memos on your desk before attempting to throw your weight around?" Albus said softly. "I need these signed." She signed them on autopilot, mortified at making a fool of herself in front of Dumbledore when she had been attempting to establish her authority in her new job.
"Thank you," he said then swept out of the Department, nodding to the few of the staff who were at their desks.
Wallace fell into step by the Headmaster and held out the parchment list.
"Ahh, a spirit trap in a watch? Intriguing. And a good show of skills while not being overly difficult since it's more of a directed puzzle than an OWLs test."
"Do I need to pick up anyone else?"
"No. These are just Customs releases. Thank you, though."
Wallace split off and headed towards the elevators.
Harry thanked Mrs. Barq for his lunch and walked her back to the door then settled at the small table as his grandfather appeared. "I forgot to explain the measurements thing yesterday." Harry nodded.
"Magic is very difficult to quantify. We can really only do so by the ease at which one magical person can do something compared to another. Albus is very good at magic, therefore people assume he's stronger than others.
"But I've seen magicals who struggle to do even the simplest charms cast a difficult charm like the patronus. A spell to create a corporeal feeling of pure happiness to drive away minor demons. So trying to measure magic is perhaps impossible."
"Then why did Mr. Ollivander try?"
"He's not really trying to quantify magic, he's attempting to create a chart of characteristics of magicals to make matching students faster. You took quite a long time AND damaged the shop some. Now imagine having to do so with fifty to a hundred new students each summer?"
Harry nodded. "What about making wands? Can people make their own?"
"Anything can be a focus BUT there are a dozen really good magical woods and pairing them with magical cores helps focus your magic. In fact, muggle pencils? A fine makeshift focus if you replace the core of lead with occamy silver bonded charcoal. I used one like that in the forties for a couple years because I was too busy to go to Diagon Alley to get a properly attuned wand. My first wife was rather annoyed. She found it unbecoming of our station in life." He chuckled at the remembrance and was lost in thought for a few moments. "You would have liked her. She so wanted children but died from a wasting disease. She was always somewhat sickly."
Harry wrote that down in his notebook he had picked up in the village.
"The reason magic is so difficult to quantify is because magic is chaos. Our wills—or our desire—to shape the chaos into order is the center of our culture. But the chaos of magic also shapes us. The less intuitive wizards you will soon come to recognize due to the lack of chaos anointing them.
"An example was Dumbledore's robes. Eccentricity is a form of chaos. It marks him well, you understand?"
Harry nodded furiously. That example had really helped his understanding.
There was a knock at the door then they heard Wallace's voice. "Got your supplies and I picked up the last decade's backlog of Daily Prophets."
Harry let him in and thanked him then dumped the supplies out. "Good, good," Charlus said.
"Did you need a voice activated page flipping spell? I worked one up in fourth year."
"Got it covered," Charlus said. "But teach it to Harry some time."
Harry thanked him and then Wallace left.
After he finished his lunch and put the tray outside his suite, he began assembling the parts in how he'd use them.
"This is called mise en place. It's a french term for everything in its place. It's technically a term chefs use but it's useful in all aspects of life."
Harry nodded. "I know. I mean, I didn't know that word but I know the use."
"Excellent, now let's go over the instructions to build it."
Harry picked up the parchment and began reading aloud.
Charlus watched as Harry used the Darkness to create a crude scalpel—as time went by, he could tell Harry would have superlative control over the Darkness after the quickness of his silk creation— and cut the thin gold wire into four millimeter long struts.
They were set above the watch fob then Harry added the applicator to the glass etching material. Fourteen runes were drawn into the enlarged convex quartz crystal that would cover the watch face then once Charlus had nodded, Harry began the careful strokes of each rune, annoyed by how the stroke order felt unintuitive.
"Good, good. Now spit on it!" Charlus ordered. "Cover all the runes with your saliva. It will reinforce the runes while making the watch more attuned to you and therefore to me."
Harry next used silk constructed of Darkness to wipe it clean and held it out for Charlus to look at. "Excellent. Now, Finite Incantatem to cancel the engorging spell."
The quartz crystal shrunk back to its two inch diameter.
He placed it above the sapphire crystal and ticked it off on the list then picked up the tweezers and began slowly assembling the gears.
Three hours of careful assembly and Harry began the final assembly, inserting the red and gold crystals that marked the hours—ruby slivers for 3, 6, 9, and 12 and the topaz for the rest—on a black facing of obsidian that the gears could be seen through when backlit.
The fob went in next, hiding a purple gem that began to gleam white as its inherent magic set the pocket watch to the correct time and created a backlit dark purple face.
"Now let's see if it works properly. Close it then open it via the crown and press it three times in rapid succession."
Harry did as told and Charlus was pulled into the watch. "Excellent," his tinny voice said. "Shake it."
Harry did as told, smiling at the sound the ghost made.
When he stopped, Charlus made a few squeaking sounds then looked like a waterfall of iridescent light that coalesced into a pale blue ghost.
"That was disconcerting. But useful. That crystal took all my concentration to stay in."