The Story of a Potter

Posted: 06-01-2014

Summary:

The house of Potter have all but died out. The wizarding world is but a joke of it's former self. When the future looks bleak for the citizens of the wizarding world, fate has sent its hero. A dark knight that is both just and merciless, fair to the good and a demon to those doing evil's deed. This is the story of Harry Potter, the wizard to lead them all.

AN: I would like to thank Commando678 for being my beta, and also for guideing me through the dos and donts of fanfiction. Really man, thanks!

Chapter 1 : First Blood.

A splitting headache woke him from his sleep. He knew right away that he was on his back lying sprawled on the ground. The pain in his head prevented him from making any coherent thoughts

Thud...thud...thud...thud...

It was like a circle of war drums banging in his head. Trying to make sense of what was happening, he tried to stand up. Pushing himself to a sitting position his hands had their first feel of the ground he was lying on.

It was damp, muddy, and above all, it had a god awful stench that quickly found his nose. Looking around he could see that he was in some kind of cage; no, he corrected himself, not a cage, a cell, which meant he was a prisoner.

He panicked slightly but chose to remain silent, lest he would alert whoever kidnapped him. Looking around, he could see that he was surrounded by walls everywhere but to his left, where he could see metal bars that formed the entrance or exit to where he was at.

Pushing himself to his feet was a mistake he would not repeat in the near future. It was as if all the pain in his head focused on one spot, making his nauseous. His hands were on his trembling knees as he vomited.

Emptying his stomach contents seemed to lessen the pain in his head, making him able to make more rational thoughts.

Not wanting to sit around in he own vomit, or who knows how many other's, he moved to the corner of the cell that had a layer of straw scattered to it. It was obvious that he was not the first one inside this cell. He could see signs that more than one person were held here before.

Tally marks on the wall indicated whoever were here before him were held for a long time.

The reason he didn't show signs or worries, or panic; as many his age would, was because of two things. One of which he found out last year, when the seniors of his school had the habit of dressing up like ghost to scare the juniors, he would just stare at them calmly. It wasn't that he was scared so shitless that he couldn't talk, no; it was because he had an abnormally well developed 'left hemisphere' part of his brain, the part that deals with processing logic and reasoning.

In those dark un-used classrooms, some of the seniors would send their victims to go and get something for them while others would wait, dressed as ghosts to scare several kinds of shit out of them. When it was his turn, he did as told and went to the classroom and saw the ghosts as everyone else, but instead of freaking out, he adjusted his glasses and looked around, as if waiting for more surprises.

Beside the suspicious order to go to that particular classroom, seeing ghosts in it were something any calm mind would deduce as a joke or prank. But these were children and they weren't supposed to think that logically, except him, Harry James Potter. The prankster seniors, believing that he had nerve of steel instead of a highly logical mind really grew to like him for it.

The other thing was that he had no fear of death. When a person is exposed to an overdose of stress, anxiety or traumatic experiences, the fear of death is lessened. As research shows, when a soldier has seen death constantly, or is under situations where the threat of death is constantly present, death becomes a type of friend, a type of escape. Now, put those emotions in a pre-adolescent child, systematically abused by the family he lived with, the effect became much worst.

It wasn't that he had no emotion, no; he just never saw the need for them and buried them, deep in his heart. Sitting cross legged on the straw, he recalled what happened and how he got to this place.

~XXXXX~

(Flashback: 10 o' clock in the morning. St. Francis Middle School Bus Tour)

'Quite down you lot, I shan't tell you again to not to shout', shouted Sister Elizabeth, who, along with Father Harley were the overseer of the School field trip. She was a slim woman of 43, joining the convent at a tender age of 19 when she got the call.

From head to toe you could call Sister Elizabeth you typical nun, slim, near the skinny side and had an aptitude for children. Right next to her was Father Harley, who in contrast to the nun was not your typical Catholic priest. He was black, 6'3 in height and well built, he had a bald shaved head and was an ex British commando. And though he looked like he could melt ice with just a glare Father Harley was a softie at heart, and the children knew it. This was the fourth time the two of them accompanied the children in their field trip.

It was the 18th annual field trip for the students of St. Francis Middle school. As tradition, this outing was held every year in the beginning of summer break for the 6th graders of the school. The school trip, normally lasting for 9 days was the major event for anyone who had ever been in the 6th grade of St Francis middle school; it was a good time for them to know what was in the country. The University of Sussex, the football ground at Westfield, home to Westfield FC and the winery at Horsham were the major scenery. Every year they would visit these places, that is, should the funding allow. They were not able to have it the previous year due to lack of funding, but improve in the country's economy this year made the trip possible.

Picking up the microphone Sister Elizabeth started to explain the historical significance of various sites they came across. Well, historical wouldn't be quite correct as the site included race tracks, a movie theater which was established only five years before, and last but not least a paintball ground which was a major attraction in South east Sussex.

At the end of the bus near the window, Harry was enjoying the view. To him this trip would have been much better if his cousin Dudley weren't coming along, Dudley, the fat fuck.

As he was in his own world, only half paying attention to Sister Elizabeth's voice through the speakers in the bus he was tapped on the head by the person from the seat in front of him.

'Hey Harry, is it true it was you that pranked Sister Margaret?', asked Thomas Cleverly, the tall freckled faced boy who was Harry's classmate.

This was the current topic of conversation around school before the field trip was announced. Somehow, during the middle of taking her class, Sister Margaret's hair color was changed to bubblegum pink. Though no one claimed to be the engineer of said prank, by default, Harry potter was the culprit. And why not?, though no proof could be found, last year, was it not him that crashed the class computer's hard drive when he was using it, was it not him that somehow managed to heat up the water in the cooler to boiling degrees when he was drinking from it, was it not him that somehow cut off the head of St Francis's statue in front of the school and attached it upside down, the list went on and on.

So whenever some unique prank happened, he was to blame. Try as he might to deny it, it so happened that he was always found at close vicinity of where the pranks happened.

'Shut it Tom, as I've already said it wasn't me!', Harry said in his defense.

'Yea right! Heard that before', said Sam Jefferson, the boy sitting next to him. But as Harry was about to deny the accusation Sister Elizabeth made use of the speakers to make her presence known.

'Cleverly! Potter! Jefferson! Stop your private committee and pay attention. Cleverly, sit straight', shouted the nun.

Soft snickers could be heard from the other students, especially from the students who sat at the other side of the bus. 'What a bunch of losers', commented Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin, which earned him a glare from the three boys.

As Harry was busy torturing Dudley in his mind for the cheeky comment, he was brought out of his thoughts by a noise, actually it was a couple of noised mashed together to form a piercing sound.

The best he could compare it to was the sound of a sonic boom made by the fighter jets he saw at an air show. The others in bus were busy covering their ears from the piercing sound.

Sister Elizabeth, who was busy explaining the history of the bridge they were about to cross had to drop the microphone to cover her ears, turning to Father Harley who sat next to her for some sort of explanation. Said Father was dumbfounded, there wasn't any military airfield in the Sussex country, also, no military jet would fly so close to civilian areas. Even if they were in the middle of a one way country road, it was only several miles to the nearest town.

As the front tires of the bus were on the bridge it happened. A bright red light hit the front of the bus at the driver's side, the light hit the bus with such a force that the front end of the bus was lifted several meters off the ground, while the front bottom of the bus was exposed, several red lights that looked to be more potent than the first struck the exposed section, pushing the bus back a good distance causing it to start in an awkward roll.

It was complete chaos; gravity seemed to have no meaning for the passengers as up and down exchanged places, screams could be heard from the many terrified students. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity it stopped. It was as if someone had hit the mute button, all was quiet, like the silence was daring anyone to break its few seconds of existence.

It started as a hushed sob; you could tell it was a girl, too much in pain to cry out loud. Others joined quickly till there was a tempo of shouting, cries, some called out the name of their deity.

Beneath the rubble of the upside down bus Harry managed to gather his bearings, it took him a few moments to clear his spinning head but he managed. He was upside down in a messy bundle of bags, seat covers and what he was sure was a foot to his face, his weight resting uncomfortably on the back of his head. But somehow, he managed to roll upright, the foot at his face making it a difficult task.

'Harry', it was a soft voice, trembling. Looking to his right he could see who the foot belonged to, it was Jefferson. The poor boy was pinned to his seat by a steel rod in the same position he was previously, his upper half that is, while his lower half was bent at an angle the human body was not supposed to bend.

They say that white lies are useful for cheering up friends and loved ones when they are down, or sick. But here, when death was as sure as the rising sun, what would one say?

'Oh! Tom...' was all Harry could say as tears rolled down uncontrollably. A soft 'Harry' was all Jefferson could whisper before he slumped dead, his eyes still open in all its terrified state.

Before he knew what was happening the was the sound of steel being torn, the two sides of the bus were ripped open and a hand reached his throat, dragging him outside and dropped him on the hard asphalt road.

Looking up he saw for the first time the people who were responsible for this whole ordeal. A quick head count told him there were seven of them, those that he could see anyway, but, the way these people were dressed, and looked, that was what bothered Harry.

His attempt to stand was halted by a quick hand to his shoulder, forcing him on his butt. 'If you don't want to die keep still', growled the person handling him. Looking at his face one emotion filled Harry to the bone, Fear!

The person; man, was animalistic. From the predatorily red gleam of his eyes to the stance he took, it reminded Harry of an animal, a dog, no! He corrected himself, a wolf. The man was not tall, barely 5'8 in height, his clothes were faded, and a sure sign they have been through rough weathers, with a leather coat that covered the majority of his body. Though barely a few inches taller than Harry, he handled him in such a way that it seemed like Harry was a feather.

'He's going to kill me', was all Harry could think off.

'Please, please', he looked to the source of the pleading. It was Jonathan McKinley, one of Dudley's friends, he was handled more or less the same way as Harry, but except the person manhandling him was even scrawnier.

'Fuck they're strong', Harry thought. Looking around he could see a number of his classmates were also outside the wreckage, possibly dragged out like him. Some were okay, barely a scratch on them. But the others, they were not a delight to look at, broken bones barely connected by skin, huge gashes and cuts on their person and bleeding profusely. He even saw Dudley lying on his back, unconscious, there was a tear on the front of his shirt that came from a cut, and his shirt was soaked in blood.

A scream brought his attention to the far end of where he was looking, it was Sister Elizabeth, fending off a guy trying to hold her with her left hand, her right hand was hanging to her side, a dislocated shoulder maybe. The other attackers were finding it amusing that the injured woman could still put up a fight and roared in laughter.

'Stop playing with food Bofur', came a cold voice from the top of the bus. It was a man, who; if possible, looked even more terrifying than the others.

No more than a second passed from the command as the guy called Bofur tightened his grip on Sister Elizabeth, spun her around and bit her neck from behind. The nun only had a chance to utter a gasp as Bofur tore off of a large portion of her neck.

Before anyone had a chance to make a sound a figure rocketed out from the upside down bus and speared the cannibal, it was Father Harley. The priest's face was a zig-zag of cuts; blood seemed to flow from his head instead of sweat. Roaring with anger he attacked Bofur, spearing him on the side.

The cannibal let go of his victim and she dropped like a doll, blood gushing out from her neck. The most painful thing for the students who saw her was that if you looked in her eyes, you could tell she was still alive, her life force slowly fading the blood.

In all possibility, Father Harley; a well-built man, still very strong even at the age of 49, an ex-commando to boot, trained in the art of armed and unarmed combat should have trampled the little cannibal before you could say 'pie'. But amazingly, Bofur did not budge an inch. Instead, the scrawny little man just let the Priest crash into him, it was like a car smashing into a stone wall, before Father Harley could recoup, he grabbed Priest's head with both his hands and head butted his face, a sickening crunch could be heard as even more blood flowed from Father Harley's face. And as if the gore wasn't enough, Bofur dropped the limp man to the ground, took something that looked like a gear shaft from the bus lying on the ground and bashed the Priest's head repeatedly.

Before he could control his body, Harry was up in his feet and racing towards Bofur. No sound escaped his lips but his face betrayed anger, pain and revenge. As Father Harley had done Harry leaped towards Bofur but the man dodged with the agility of a cat, spun around to Harry's exposed back and swung the gear shaft at the back of Harry's head, and from there, everything went dark.

(Flashback Ends)

~XXXXX~

(Auror Outpost: South Sussex, Near The English Channel)

Auror Captain David Fuller was not a happy man, out of all the captains in the senior corps he was selected to man this desolate outpost. Why was he; An apprentice of the legendary Mad-Eye Moody ordered to this side of the country?. 'Honestly! Nothing ever happens out here' he grumbled to himself.

What irritated the Captain the most was that there was an on-going investigation at central. Two months ago, a pack of lycans began abducting children, no doubt to increase their pack. Now, this would have been normal ten to fifteen years ago, but after the disappearance of the Dark Lord in 1981 things had been quite, the Dark Lord's allies retreated to the shadows from whence they came.

This was the first big case in almost eight years and war hardened aurors and their junior counterparts were itching for action. Also, the last known kidnapping happened almost a week ago at Hogsmeade Village where fifth year students, two boys were kidnapped, never to be heard from again. This was the third time such kidnappings had happened; the first one was in Wiltshire, which was where some of the more prominent purebloods lived, here a child, who was barely 10 years old was taken. The second one was also a Hogwarts student who was on his way back to school after attending a funeral service of his grandfather; he was taken near King's Cross station where he was waiting for an escort from the school.

There were few aurors who were more senior than him nowadays, and out of those few privileged aurors to live long enough, he was probably the only one whose station was constantly changed around the country, or so he thought to himself.

Since the first incident, the Ministry had been in a state of alert. Aurors were called back from any previous engagements they might have had and were on duty 24/7, which was why this outpost, like many other around the country, which were rarely used since the last war; was made operational again.

In every outpost, a team of 8 aurors were on duty. These teams generally consisted of a captain which was usually a veteran, one medic, and the rest were green horns fresh out of the academy.

As the captain sat in his chair in the duty room, contemplating on his lack of good fortune, he was brought out of his thoughts by one of his subordinate who was the makeshift radio man. 'Orders from HQ sir, there had been some kind of accident concerning a muggle school bus, they want us to check it out', he said, handing the captain the order paper.

Looking at the paper carefully David told the private to rally the others. 'It might not be so boring after all' he thought, working with muggles was always fascinating.

~XXXX~

Eight brooms hovered at the tree lines near the bridge where the ambush took place. The aurors on those brooms were under a concealment charm, observing the situation before stepping in; they couldn't apparate to this location as there was not appariton point nearby to conceal them. They could see the school bus, or what was left of it, surrounded by a bunch of muggles.

It didn't take them long to obliviate those muggles and send them on their way, and they levitated the bus to the side of the road and put it under a notice-me-not charm.

There was blood all over the bus and road, and it had that stench, the kind of stench that meant there had been death in that place. The first analysis revealed that powerful dark spells were used which shocked the team, it was now clear wizards attacked the bus, the question was why?

Blood samples, tissue samples, hair samples were collected all over the scene, all in a matter of minutes using magic. The medic had drawn a rune circle placing the samples one at a time to find who it belonged to. Though the test was not as accurate as DNA testing, it was useful for finding out if the samples belonged to wizards, muggles, or any kind of magical creatures out there.

The first ten or more samples had that distinct brown glow when placed inside the runic circle. Then, there was a moment of surprise as the thirteenth sample; a strand of hair, had a silver glow. 'WEREWOLF!' the medic shouted.

As soon as the medic revealed his discovery, several emotions went through the captain, sadness; for whoever was unfortunate enough to come across the werewolf. Surprise; for finding werewolves at a place like this, and joy; for finding werewolves at a place like this.

'Anyone we know?' asked the captain.

The medic drew another rune circle, placed the hair in it and pointed his wand at the hair. 'Slavakus', then the hair had the same silver glow till it reduced to a small silver glow at the tip of the wand.

Taking out a folded parchment that had the ministry's emblem on it and unfolding it on the ground, he placed the spark on it till it was absorbed by the paper.

There were several names written in ink on the parchment, the names of 38 dangerous werewolves known to the ministry. After a moment, a name written in the parchment had the same silver glow.

'Bartholomew Bofur, a member of FenrirGreyback's pack and his right hand man', grunted the captain between clenched teeth.

~Chapter End~