Disclaimer: I own nothing but the general plot and the OCs
Still have no idea where this is going. I reckon I'll just try to make it as weird and unlikely as possible and see where it takes me. Hopefully somewhere absurd. Still on the prewritten ages ago parts.
I've decided Harry will have gotten up to some weird stuff in the years between dying and Hogwarts, I'm not sure what yet, but it will probably become part of the story at some point.
:this is parseltongue speaking:
no beta
let me know what works, what doesn't work so well for you, or just any thoughts. As well as any prompts for what you'd like to see.
Chapter 2 - Year One Of Seven
Ever since ten year old Harry Potter had come up in a discussion between neighbours in Little Whinging, the neighbourhood had thought of him as a trouble maker. The worst kind of child. Inherently bad. But they would put up with him out of the kindness of their heart and hope that one day he would straighten himself out and be good, like their own children. In the mean time they would click their teeth and shake their heads when he was mentioned. They would glare at him and watch him cautiously when he was in the vicinity lest something troublesome happened because of him.
It never occurred to them that he had rarely actually been caught doing something wrong by anybody. But their children's school troubles were often blamed on him, unfortunate happenstances that took place by the actions of a hungry fox or two squabbling dogs or some naughty children were placed upon his shoulders when discovered. The time he had ended up on the roof, and had changed his teacher's wig was just enough to firmly solidify his reputation.
Before, Harry Potter had been the unspoken blight of the neighbourhood. But then the child had been hit by a car, and they hoped that his behaviour would have been improved during his time in the hospital, and afterward recovering. However now he was rarely thought about. Of course he was still a trouble maker, not even a car could knock some sense into him, but he was not the unspoken blight of Little Whinging anymore.
It was the awfully strange luck that seemed to plague the neighbourhood for the past year. Things tended to happen that caused a disastrous amount of chaos to all that resided there, whether it was caused by something good happening to the wrong person at the wrong time, or something bad happening at the most inconvenient point. And despite their initial suspicions, little Harry Potter could not be at fault for all this, because it started when he was still largely immobile in the hospital. The rate at which people moved out of the place had trebled. And there was something about the school that frightened the children and teachers, but they would not say.
This meant that when a loud scream erupted from number four Privet Drive, people barely even paused in their activities to look toward the house, before ignoring it altogether.
In the kitchen of the house, Aunt Petunia was whimpering and sobbing over Dudley Dursley, who was desperately scratching at his throat and rapidly turning from red to blue, tears leaking down his cheeks.
"Vernon do something!" She shrieked hysterically at her husband, who was purple with both fear and anger.
He was not hovering uselessly over Dudley however, but attempting to maintain his glare at the other boy across the table. Harry calmly sipped his orange juice and quirked an eyebrow with a small smirk. He could practically smell the mounting terror and pressure in the room, the sweat beading on his uncle's forehead was a sight to see as he began to rapidly lose composure, listening to his son choke and struggle to breathe.
"I just want my letter back uncle," Harry gave an innocent smile and widened his eyes to appear younger than he was. Aunt Petunia attempted to slap Dudley on the back and clear his airways, but merely ended up knocking the boy against the wall, which he bounced off of. Harry giggled, amused by the fact that his cousins fat allowed him to actually bounce, and Vernon finally snapped. Harry suspected it was the giggle.
"Fine have your damn letter! Just stop hurting Dudley! Stop it now!" Harry eagerly snatched the letter from his uncle's hammy fist and skipped happily up to Dudley.
"Thank you," he grinned in a singsong voice that caused both adults to shudder. Aunt Petunia backed away from him and pointed a trembling finger at her son.
"Fix this! Please, help him," she begged, on the verge of hyperventilating. Harry gave a mock bow, before his cheeky grin returned to his face and he flicked Dudley on the back of the head.
Dudley began to cough before a disgusting chunk of half chewed bacon spat out of his mouth, and the boy desperately sucked in some much needed air, his nose and eyes still running. Harry wrinkled his nose and tutted disapprovingly.
"You should learn to chew your food properly cousin," he scolded, before being unable to hold back a delighted laugh at his cousin's expense, "ciao! Don't wait up dear Aunt and dear Uncle." He called over his shoulder as he left the house. Vernon and Petunia Dursley stayed frozen in position, until they heard their door knocker squeak and fall off the door with a bang, a sure sign the boy was truly gone and not tricking them again.
Harry walked up to Mr Hailes, who was busy pruning his roses in the front garden, "good morning Mr. Hailes," he greeted shyly. His Art teacher looked up suspiciously at the child and grunted in reply. Mr. Hailes did not like Harry Potter at all, and went out of his way to berate and criticise all pieces of artwork Harry ever did. It did not help that Harry enjoyed drawing about things that did not exist, such as monsters which lived at the heart of a volcano, and creatures under a red sea that captured and drowned lone children at the beach. He had consistently failed the boy for years now.
He eyed Harry's hands warily, as they seemed to cup something in between them. He dreaded to think which poor animal the boy might be tormenting.
"What are you holding?" He snapped sharply. Harry's too-green eyes lit up in excitement.
"Oh I'm glad you asked Mr. Haile, you see I found something and I don't know what it is. I was hoping you might take a look at it." He offered his clasped hands out with a hopeful look on his face. Mr. Haile narrowed his eyes, on one hand he wanted to catch the boy doing something he shouldn't so he could have him punished, but on the other he didn't trust this not to be some sort of trick. However, eventually his wish to see Harry in trouble won out over his suspicion, and he edged closer to lean over the child's hands.
Harry opened his hands slowly, and Mr. Haile frowned in confusion and disgust. It was a small sliver of something black and oily, yet it emitted a soft glow of light and seemed to wriggled and convulse and reach out to grab what it could not find. Mr. Haile opened his mouth to express his revulsion in the most acerbic manner possible. But before he could take a breath, the sliver shot out of Harry's hands and into his mouth. Mr. Haile bent over and shuddered violently as the wriggling thing slid down his throat.
"I hate it when you do that, boy. It's the most vile experience," He rasped out in between coughs, before straightening up, his red eyes glancing down at Harry with a mixture of distaste and caution, "am I in the body of an old muggle man? How foul."
Harry tilted his head and pursed his lips in suppressed humour, "come now Marvolo. You know I don't trust you in a body capable of magic. What if you decided to try and leave me? I couldn't have that. I need to keep you around when you aren't in my head."
Marvolo sneered, "so you can easily kill me when I become inconvenient you mean."
Harry beamed at the man, "exactly!" He chirped happily. He patted the man's cheek, ignoring his flinch, "cheer up Marvolo, you know it's inevitable. I'm never going to give you a magical body you can overcome, and you can't do anything to me in the meantime because you aren't capable of performing magic on your own. You're too weak."
Marvolo hissed, incensed at the insult, "I'm strong enough to cause you pain boy, if I so wish. Torturous pain that will leave you begging for mercy! And I still have my ability to command snakes. Be careful of what you say to me."
Harry threw his head back and laughed, much to Marvolo's displeasure, "Marv, you do say the funniest things sometimes. You know as well as I that I'd kill you if you hurt me. And I decided to keep your snake talking ability for myself."
Marvolo bristled in outrage, but Harry ignored him, "well I think it's a fair bargain. I let you live until you're the last soul piece left, I allow you to watch this 'Dumbledore's' death, I cure you of your insanity, and you give me everything you are capable of, and never cause me pain or betray me to another you. That was what we agreed upon a year ago when I found you leeching off me in a rather rude manner without even asking first."
Marvolo bared his teeth angrily, "you forced me to agree or you would have killed me on the spot. It was blackmail, not a fair bargain."
Harry shrugged, "eh, you say potayto, I say potential weapon of mass destruction. Oh come on Marvolo, lighten up! We're going to have some fun."
"I hope Voldemort destroys you boy." Harry made puppy eyes at the red eyed man, until he looked away with a scowl muttering under his breath about devil children.
"Fine, what do you want from me you insufferable brat," he finally growled.
"I want you to tell me how to get to Diagon Alley and get my school things," Harry bobbed up and down excitedly, a huge smile on his face.
Marvolo's eyes shined at the thought of finally being among his own kind again, and he gave a vicious smirk, "I can tell you more than just about Diagon Alley boy."
Harry whooped and rather ruined Marvolo's evil look by throwing his arms around the man's middle, much to his horror.
Sometime later, Mr. Haile groggily opened his eyes, and sat up from where he was lying on the ground, a headache pounding behind his eyes and his mouth tasting like ash and metal. He groaned piteously at the various protests his muscles voiced and tried to recall what had happened. He remembered pruning his roses, and then nothing. Maybe he was dehydrated.
He stood up slowly, before he noticed something that made him shriek loudly and clutch his hair in emotional anguish. His prize rose bushes had been ripped out of the ground and pruned to death. All the rose heads lined up like some twisted love note. Caught up in his shocked disbelief, he didn't notice the childish cackle that seemed to float through in the wind quietly.
Harry wandered quietly into the Leaky Cauldron, ducking his head to avoid eye contact and hide the naughty grin on his face. He'd nabbed the wizard's wand from his back pocket in order to open the entrance. He figured the guy would still be there when he got back, since he was passed out in a corner drunk at noon. By the thick wafts of melancholy coming off the man, and the dreams Harry had caught a glimpse of, the man had been left by his wife for his younger, better looking, wealthier, more successful in bed brother. Harry had replaced the wand with a porn magazine, in the hopes that the guy might get a hint about why he kept 'accidentally' checking out guys throughout his marriage. Whoever said Harry wasn't nice clearly had no idea what they were talking about.
He tapped the bricks in the order Marvolo had told him to, and entered Diagon Alley with a look of wicked glee. This place had so much potential for trouble! Wizards and witches called muggles oblivious because of their tendency to explain away magic, but magical people had their own brand of obliviousness. For people who wielded and immersed themselves in an unpredictable and near limitless force, they were ridiculously narrow minded and stuck in their preconceived notions. They were horribly unimaginative.
Harry couldn't wait to blow their whole world apart piece by piece.
A familiar nudge against his mind reminded him to stop looking around and get going. He had a lot to do today. But first things first, he had some money to get from his vault. He entered the bank, resisting the urge to rub his hands together. The warning above the entrance came across as a challenge to him, and he determined then and there that he was going to be the first to rob it before his school years were up.
Walking up to a goblin he saw that they looked remarkably similar to the little ground diggers that frequently waged war on their cities from his other old home reality, just for the excuse of pillaging and leaving again. They had been rather fun and crafty buggers, and occasionally he had helped them steal and burn down the buildings in return for a night of drinking, dancing, singing and fighting amongst them. Because boy did they know how to party.
"Hello sir," He gave his best puppy dog eyes at the teller, who sneered in response.
"Yes, what," He demanded curtly.
"I've never been here before. But I just found out recently that mum and dad were magical and they might have left some things for me. I was wondering if you could find out about that."
The goblin looked down at Harry with a deep grimace, that would have made a lesser person uncomfortable. Harry on the other hand, smiled casually back at the goblin and tapped his fingers comfortably on the desk top.
"Do you have a key?"
"Nope."
The goblin bared his teeth in an irritated snarl and replied with contempt, "what is your name then, boy."
"Harry," he smiled innocently up at the goblin, knowing that he was being deliberately obnoxious.
"Family name," the goblin's voice came out as a low angry rumble.
"Potter." The goblin's eyes flicked quickly up to Harry's half hidden scar and back down. It was barely noticeable, but Harry caught the action, and narrowed his eyes.
"You know of me. How." It wasn't a question but a command, and the goblin's eyes widened at the sudden shift in the boy's demeanour. There was madness lurking below the depths of those eyes.
"You are famous Mr. Potter. I suggest you look yourself up in the history books." The goblin shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wishing the irritatingly playful child to come back, instead of this sharp dangerous character, "you have an account manager who will discuss your vaults with you and give you a key once you provide proof of identity through blood. Come with me."
Like a flip of a switch Harry was back to smiling happily at the goblin, "oh good! Lead the way, old chap."
The goblin shuddered at the disconcerting change, and lead the way to back offices.
An hour and a half later, Harry triumphantly skipped out of the bank, three hundred gallons heavier, leaving behind an exhausted and stressed account manager. The boy had chatted the goblin's ear off, and it had taken a full forty minutes before the poor creature realised the boy had cottoned on immediately to its hangover and was now both taking the piss and taking advantage of its slower mental state that afternoon. It got exponentially worse from there.
As a result, Harry had managed to convince the fellow to open his family vault to Harry six years early (which he had emptied of books), give him access to the Black family vault (which he had also emptied of books), Sirius Black's and Bellatrix Lestrange's personal vault due to the fact that Harry had technically barely managed to have a toe in the door to be in the running for Black heirship, due to his godfather being incarcerated shortly before the man's parents' deaths but never fully disowned. He now was the heir to both the ancient and noble House of Black, and the ancient House of Potter. He had four properties, one of which was destroyed, and more money than he was ever likely to use. Some of these things really shouldn't have been legally done.
On top of that Harry had unknowingly placed himself on the number one top priority client for the goblins. Not because he was that important of course, but because he was clearly the client most capable of making life inexhaustibly difficult for the short tempered creatures, and they wanted him in and out of their bank as fast as humanly possible in the future.
Harry flitted in and out of shops at whirlwind speed, leaving behind befuddled shop keepers and harassed customers. He bought robes, a trunk that was capable of containing a library in one of its three compartments, twice as many potion ingredients than needed, any and all books that caught his fancy, a rather cheeky, foul mouthed 14 inch snake, appropriately named Tiny, that could wrap twice around his wrist comfortably. On top of hundreds of other odd little bits and bobs from various shops that either fascinated him or he thought could be useful for wreaking havoc if applied properly.
Finally he went to get a wand. Entering the dusty looking shop, his presence announced by a bell, Harry looked around curiously. He felt a presence in the corner of the shop, but ignored it when it didn't seem to be a threat.
When Mr. Ollivander finally announced himself, Harry just chirruped a hello in reply. This was clearly a fellow joker, who got their kicks out of creeping out children with his mysterious all knowing ways. They spent a moment eyeing each other, assessing each other, before simultaneously breaking out into familiar knowing smiles, as though they'd known each other for some time and were sharing an inside joke.
"You aren't what I expected Mr. Potter. Not at all. I dare say you'll give the staff at Hogwarts quite a shock," the old man stated with an amused tone.
"I should hope I do, multiple shocks. Hmm that's quite a good idea. A bespelled shock on all the cutlery at the teacher's table. A nice soft warm up I think. Thank you Mr. Ollivander."
The old man gave a quiet whispery laugh and shook his head, "well now, hold out your wand hand and let yourself be led to the right wand. Just follow the pull."
Harry pouted, "don't I get to wave half the wands about making myself look silly, and get myself measured and the whole deal? That's what I'd been informed would happen."
Ollivander gave Harry a pointed look, but his lips twitched, "and give you an excuse to wreck half my shop? I don't think so, Mr. Potter. I'd quite like you in and out as fast as possible."
Harry gave Ollivander a mischievous grin, "now now, sir, let's keep this child friendly. I'm only eleven despite how mature I seem."
Ollivander tutted at Harry's humour and urged him to find his wand. Harry held his hand out and felt a soft pull from his magic in the direction of the back of the shop. He let his hand guide him and closed his eyes, twisting left and right slightly until he got to the right shelf. He finally picked up one of the old dusty boxes, and took the wand out at Ollivander's suggestion. The wand emitted silver sparks upon picking it up and Harry sighed, feeling as though he'd found a piece of himself he hadn't known he'd been missing.
"Phoenix feather core, holly, 11 inches. Your wand and You-know-who's wand share brother cores your know."
Harry tilted his head, "brothers?"
"The same Phoenix shared two feathers," Ollivander looked solemnly at Harry, as the boy pondered this information whilst he payed.
"Huh, well I'll look that up in the two wand lore books I got. Thanks Ollivander, I'll visit sometime," Harry saluted casually with his wand as he left, and subsequently set the display on fire, broke the bell on the door, cracked the shelves and put scorch marks on the desk.
There was a pause, in which Harry's eyes glinted merrily and Ollivander looked exasperatedly at the boy, "please don't ever visit me Mr. Potter. I fear you'd destroy this shop entirely."
"Oops," he smirked, and left with shop with a loud laugh.
:Well Tiny, an entire two hours to take a look down the infamous knockturn alley. This ought to be fun: he murmured under his breath to the little snake, who had somehow managed to get himself under the hood of his jacket and wrapped up comfortably in his unruly locks.
:I'm sleeping brat: Tiny hissed in reply grumpily, causing Harry to smile fondly. Looking back at the ominous alleyway, filled with all sorts of disreputable beings, Harry's fond smile twisted into a baring of his teeth in anticipation.
He was sure to find all sorts of naughty little gems down there.
So yeah... still don't know what to think about this story. Next up Hogwarts introduction.
