Disclaimer: Not mine. Talk to Rowling. Just borrowing them a while.
Last Time
"Potter's body is not in the house." He Snape said.
Albus looked at him in surprise. Most wizards who have completely lost control of their magic had died from the severe strain on their body. Anything within the reach of the released magic was usually destroyed, including the wizard. If Harry's body wasn't in the house, then he had somehow managed to survive where few others ever have. Yet another feat of the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Then where is he?" Albus whispered to himself, surveying what was left of Private Drive. No one answered him.
The Founders' Heir
Part Two
The Founders and Darion
Harry woke to the bright light and sterile smell of the Infirmary; something that he had extensive experience with. He groaned and curled over on his side, pulling the blankets up over his head. Now that the light wasn't giving him such a headache he could concentrate on what happened to land him there in the first place.
Foggy memories of his summer at the Dursley's flitted past his consciousness; from Vernon's annual start of summer lecture to Petunia's constant praise of Dudley's boxing achievements. Never mind that Dudley nearly failed his classes and spent more time beating up kids than he did opponents in a ring.
The attack suddenly found its way through his hazy mind and he sat upright, eyes wide, as the memory played itself out in his head.
The sudden motion apparently didn't agree with him as his head began to spin. He groaned and let himself fall back to the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.
The Dursley's were dead. Harry had little love for them, but they were his family, and they had died because of that; because of him. A tear escaped and slid past his temple. Too many have died because they were close to him; his parents, Cedric, Sirius and now the Durselys.
Harry slammed his fist into the bed, forcing his melancholy thoughts away. He was not going to wallow in self pity, not when he had a self proclaimed Dark Lord to take it all out on. He sat up again, this time slower, allowing his head to get used to the new position.
From what he could tell it was sometime in the early afternoon, but late enough for the sun to shine directly through the windows. The Infirmary was empty, and there were no noises coming from Pomfrey's office. Harry looked around for his wand and glasses, at which point he realized that neither were present, and he could see fine. Double checking his face for his glasses to no avail, Harry concluded that someone must have corrected his vision. He briefly wondered why they didn't do so years ago. Now he only had to locate his wand and slip out before the Medi-Witch tied him to the bed for the next three days.
He barely touched his feet to the floor when she came bustling in. Only, this wasn't Madame Pomfrey.
"Oh no you don't, young man!" the little blonde haired witch said, "You aren't going anywhere until I'm through with you."
Harry let her push him back onto the bed and putter around him before speaking.
"Um, where is Madame Pomfrey?"
This caused the petite witch to stop her muttering about irresponsible boys and look at him.
"Who dear?"
"Madame Pomfrey, the Medi-Witch?"
"Oh, sorry honey, she's not here right now."
"Oh." Harry was really confused. He didn't remember ever being in the Hospital Wing without Pomfrey.
"Where is she? Is she alright?"
"I'm sure she's fine, dear!"
"Alright." Harry watched the woman mutter spells over him for a moment. She was one of the smallest people he had ever seen. If it wasn't for her older facial features he would have sworn she was a student. The woman was just petite!
"If you don't mind me asking, who are you?" Harry asked. The woman stopped her spellwork, which caused the myriad lights hovering over Harry to dissipate.
"I'm Helga Hufflepuff." Harry just stared. He had heard of people claiming to be descendants of the founders, Tom Riddle jumped to mind rather quickly, but saying you are the founder wasn't something he had encountered before. His shock caused him to be sarcastic.
"Oh sure," he said, waving his hand nonchalantly, "and I'm Godric Gryffindor."
"No, you're not," a new voice joined in, "but you are his heir."
Harry turned skeptical eyes towards the doorway and nearly jumped out of his skin. A middle aged, black haired wizard stood in the doorway, his face nearly blank except for the bemused look in his eyes. Harry had never seen him before, but he would know that face anywhere, even without the flowing beard that he remembered. This man looked like a replica, albeit a young one, of the statue in the Chamber of Secrets. He looked just like Salazar Slytherin.
Harry tore his eyes away from the man and eyed the little witch next to his bed. Now that he looked at her, she did look remarkably similar to the little old witch depicted in Hermione's 'Hogwarts, A History', which he finally got around to reading this past summer.
He was just too tired to try to argue how absolutely barmy this whole deal was.
He looked back to Slytherin, who was smirking at him. Harry was strongly reminded of Snape.
"So, um, how did I get here?"
"We brought you here." Helga said. Harry looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you are an Heir." She said as if that explained everything.
"Right." Harry was completely lost. Why would the Founders cart him around through time? And what exactly was he an heir of? Harry eyed Slytherin, who had yet to move or speak again.
"An heir of what?"
"Gryffindor." Helga said.
"Lovely." Harry said, and plopped back onto the bed. This was just too much and he was exhausted. He threw an arm over his eyes again and commenced to mumbling about the unjustness of his life.
"Actually, you are also a possible recipient of Slytherin's inheritance as well." Helga's voice interrupted his tirade.
Harry momentarily lifted his arm and eyed the little witch.
"Oh, that's just absolutely wonderful. I'm going to go to sleep now, ok."
"Of course dear!" Helga immediately entered her medical role, which comforted Harry greatly, as it was something familiar to him, even if it wasn't Pomfrey. "You depleted your magical stores immensely. You'll feel tired for a few days yet." The witch said, tucking the blankets around him, "We'll answer your questions when you're ready to get up and about. Sleep well."
And Harry did.
There was nothing that the Order could do; nobody knew where Harry was. There were searches, but they found nothing. News of the attack on The-Boy-Who-Lived spread like wildfire; many believed him to be dead, others, that he was captured by the Dark Lord and was dead anyways.
The Weasley family took it hard; Remus Lupin even harder, as he had become the boy's surrogate Godfather. The wizarding world sat with a collective breath, all wondered what Voldemort would do now that their savior was gone.
So it was that the welcoming feast at Hogwarts two months later was a more subdued fare than usual, especially from the Gryffindor table. Even the Slytherins seemed quiet, though a number of the other students attributed it to their plotting, or gloating.
It wasn't long, however, before the school had something new to talk about.
A loud and violent bang startled everyone in the hall, making no few students and professors jump in their seats. Everyone quickly found the source; indeed it was hard to ignore the cloud of blue smoke issuing from the large fireplace behind the head table. A crash and a string of curses accompanied a stumbling figure who was unsuccessfully trying to bat the blue dust out of his robes.
The sight was rather comical considering half of the staff was now standing with their wands trained on a man who was sneezing, and hadn't even looked up yet.
"Who are you?" the Headmaster spoke up. His voice was politely curious, but there was an unmistakable hint of warning.
The stranger paused in the motion of shaking out his robes and looked up. Many students close enough to see clearly gasped. As it were, some of the professors did as well. The right side of the man's face was lined with a variety of scars; no doubt form some incident that caused no little amount of pain.
"Hello!" he said cheerfully, returning to batting at his robes, ignoring the question, or not hearing it.
The Headmaster was silent, only the few nearest him could see the shock and confusion on his face. The stranger had apparently given up on his robes, which were still very blue in spots, and had pulled his long hair out of its tie to shake it out as well. This revealed the man's arms as his sleeves slid to his elbows. A second round of gasps was heard. The man's arms were horribly scarred. Both arms had a thick ragged line from his palms, down along his inner forearm and tapering off near his elbows. The stranger, however, didn't seem to notice the attention he was getting.
"Darion?" the Headmaster whispered. The young man looked at the Headmaster again, taking the time to study the elder's face.
"Hello Bill!"
"My name is not Bill." The Headmaster stated rather indignantly.
"Oh." The stranger looked at the Headmaster as if trying to figure something out. His face suddenly brightened in recognition.
"Oh, sorry, Abe." He began, again turning his attention to his robes, "Mixed you up with your brother. Is Albus around?"
A number of the students looked at the strange boy like he was some sort of idiot. How could you not recognize Albus Dumbledore? The young man again looked questioningly at Albus.
"Who decided to make you Headmaster?"
This, interestingly, caused the normally stoic Headmaster to stutter.
"I'm not the Head…Abe isn't…I'm not…"
"Oh!" the stranger interrupted, "Well, that's good. Albus in his office then?" the boy waved in the general direction of the Headmaster's office, "It's that way right?"
The Headmaster spluttered a bit as the young man walked easily towards one of the side doors, his blue splotched robes billowing out behind him.
"Well, come on then, old man." The stranger said, "I want to see if old stoney recognizes me at all."
Albus stood still for a moment, staring at the door the boy had disappeared through. Sudeenly an odd look crossed his face before he bolted through the door.
"Darion, wait! Darion! Don't you dare hex him! Darion!" the Headmaster's voice echoed back through the halls.
No one knew quite what to think, as everyone sat stunned, staring at the door the Headmaster had just run through. No one had ever seen the Headmaster run before. No one had ever heard him yell either.
The stranger quickly traversed the halls to the Headmaster's office, Albus not far behind him. He rounded a corner and spotted the stone statue of a griffin that guarded the entrance. He smirked rather evilly.
"What are you smirking about?" the Headmaster asked, coming up beside him.
"Just remembering the last time I came up this way is all." The young man didn't take his eyes from the statue, "and wondering if Old Stoney here has managed to re-grow his backbone."
"Well if you hadn't broken it in the first place, there wouldn't be a problem." Albus retorted.
The young man turned to him, "He deserved it."
"He did? Or did you do it to get back at Godric for something?"
"Godirc didn't have anything to do with it. That blasted statue shot fireballs at my head!"
With this said the stranger stalked down the corridor towards the Griffin.
"I didn't know he could shoot fire." Albus mumbled.
Darion stalked up to the stone statue and stared the Griffin in the eyes. Albus sidled up to them and watched the interplay curiously, memories from his youth rising up quite unexpectedly. Darion tilted his head to the side, studying the statue.
"What's the password?" the youth asked.
"Fizzing Wizzbies." Albus said softly.
The statue jumped to the side, revealing the spiraling staircase beyond. Darion smirked and made his way up the stairs, the Headmaster following along behind him.
"How disappointing." The stranger mumbled as he entered the office. "I had hoped for a bit more of a fight from the old Griffin." Darion sprawled himself in one of the chairs before the desk, throwing his leg over the armrest. "What did you do to make him so mellow, Bill?"
Albus shot a look at the young man as he settled himself behind his desk.
"Perhaps it is old age, Darion."
Darion hummed his agreement, as his eyes wandered around the office, settling on the old phoenix. Fawkes stared at the youth, ruffling his feathers and preening under the attention.
"Lo Fawkes." Darion chuckled.
The Pheonix crooned and ruffled his feathers importantly.
"Darion." The Headmaster began, "What are you doing here? This isn't your time. Was something wrong with the calculations? Rowena has never made a mistake before."
"Golly, Bill. I haven't heard you ramble since that time you and Abe were turned into girls."
"Yes, and you didn't have anything to do with that, did you?" Albus said stiffly.
Darion placed a hand over his chest, "Me? I'm hurt, Bill." He grinned.
"I do wish you would stop calling me that. My name is Albus, as you very well know, Darion."
"Yes, but Bill is so much more appropriate, don't you think?"
"Hmph."
"So, how is Abe?"
"Fine, fine. He's running off somewhere in America I do believe."
Darion laughed. "Chasing some new rumor, I'm sure."
"Yes, something about Big Foot."
Darion laughed again, and leaned back in his chair, casting his eyes over the portraits of the old Headmasters. The two sat comfortably for a few moments before Albus' curiosity finally got to be too much.
"Darion. Why are you here?"
The youth smiled, and turned his attention back to the Headmaster.
"I'm here, because my training is complete."
"Yes, but, Darion, this is not your time."
"Yes it is."
Albus looked shocked and sat back, folding his fingers under his chin in thought. Darion watched him with a small smile on his face. He couldn't help but wonder if the old man would be able to figure it all out.
"I am not familiar with the Elddir family line, nor do I recall any by that name attending Hogwarts in the last century." Albus began. "You never attended Hogwarts, did you?"
Darion's smile grew larger. "I was sorted into Gryffindor."
"Really? You were never given a House from the Founders."
"Yes, I know. They never could agree on one House for me, so they never put me in one. The Sorting Hat, I believe, just put me in a House because it had to."
"That still does not explain why I never knew of you before hand." Albus said.
"That is because Darion Elddir is not my true name."
Albus again looked shocked. "But, none of the other Heirs changed their names."
"No, they didn't. I believe I was the only one to go by a false name."
"Why?"
Darion sighed. "A few reasons; mostly because there were too many Heirs who would know who I was if I used my true name; you included. The Founders decided that it would be better if nobody knew my identity. That way no one would be aware of the abilities that I possess. It gives me a distinct advantage."
"An advantage over what? Darion, the Heirs are not meant to be against each other."
"Yet you fight against Voldemort." Darion sighed again. "The Heirs are not meant to try to take over the world, either. Tom is using his inheritance wrongly, and Salazar knew this. That is why no one knows my true identity. That is why you think that you don't know who I am."
"Salazar sent you to take care of Tom."
"Yes, though I would be here anyways."
"What do you mean?"
The youth cocked his head at the Headmaster. "Are you missing any students?"
Albus started, and leaned forward, his eyes looking intently into the young man before him. Darion smiled slightly, and waited for him to make the connection. He knew the exact moment that Albus figured it all out. His eyes widened, and the ever present twinkle doubled in intensity. Darion's smile grew.
"Harry?"