A New Adventure September 1st, 1994 London, England
Harry stood outside King's Cross station, dressed in his usual suit and a black trunk by his side, on top of which rested a cage in which sat a snow–white owl, resting her head under her wing. Harry had gone back to Diagon Alley once he had received a letter by hawk that the goblins had retrieved his key. He had seen the bird as he was leaving, and he couldn't resist. She was far too beautiful, and a bird to deliver his mail was quite a treat for him. He would make sure to treat her well.
Beside him stood a man of Middle–Eastern ethnicity, though he had bright, blue eyes, a stark contrast to his skin and facial structure. The man was also wearing a suit, though far less formal than Harry's three–piece, and a regular, tan trench coat on top.
"You sure you'll be alright?" James Evans asked, though seemingly unconcerned. "It isn't a boardroom, you could get hurt."
"Well, Meerlinda had me study some martial arts," Harry shrugged. "I'll be fine. Learning that you were a wizard was far more surprising, though."
"I never hid that I practiced magic, and you knew that Meerlinda is a vampire," James said.
"You never actually showed it to me, either. Just said 'it's all about spirit'. Besides, Meerlinda only ever mentioned vampires and werewolves, and told me they'd been at odds for centuries. I was under the impression they were the only supernatural species there were."
"Eh, fair enough."
"Guess I'll be seeing you in a year, then," Harry said. "Try to find out as much about my family's financial history and current state of affairs, will you?"
"I will," James nodded. "The letter and vial of blood will come in handy for that."
"Yeah, good thing I thought of it, and you told me about it," Harry said with a sly smirk. "See you."
"Here's looking at you, kid," James said before he lightly patted Harry on the shoulder and turned, walking back towards the black BMW.
Harry grabbed the cage and trunk, and started into the station. He drew looks as soon as he stepped inside, and people (Muggles Harry mused silently to himself) started whispering. Looking around, Harry saw a large poster with him plastered on the wall, clearly an advertisement for a rather popular, British financial and scientific magazine.
There were debates in the government as to whether to shut down his business, or let the nation revel in the fact that they had the world's most brilliant and successful twelve–year–old, who at fourteen had managed to secure his contracting agency steady, high–profile contracts with several major corporations, in and out of the British Isles. In a mere two years, The Potter Group had managed to become established as a temp–agency, a private investigations and security firm, a financial and legal consultation firm, and an investment firm. People in high places were also discussing why Harry chose so many different paths for his firm, and whether to try to at least limit his reach.
Harry's secret was that he spread his attention over many fields, because specialising in one would take far longer to get him established. If he spread the name of his group to as many industries as possible, it was far more likely that his firm would be mentioned, and when that happened, and his clients discovered that he also did other things, and would return because of his stellar results, as well as mention him to a variety of others. His adopted mother, Meerlinda, had lent him a few million pounds to get him started, and he had done well for himself. Not only had he returned her money with a 10% interest less than a year after he began, he had also managed to rake in 600% of what she had lent him in the two years. Where he had previously had one floor of his office building, and one to two members of staff for each branch, he now had a floor for his temp agency, a floor for investigations and security, one for financial and legal consultation, and one where the reports, statistics, and incomes were gathered, compiled, and worked into one single report that was handed to him, almost 200 pages every Sunday. It was hard work, but Harry swelled with pride whenever he looked back on his achievements, being only fourteen years of age and having achieved more success than any other person of similar age, and billions of people up to the age of 100. And he felt very comfortable in leaving Jaquelin in charge of The Potter Group as COO while he "went to school" to "complete his education". He had been deliberately vague as to exactly what it entailed, but Jaquelin was the kind of person he could respect; she merely nodded, asked for any details on specific agendas he wanted her to look into, and asked when she could expect him back. Right after she had left his office, Harry had written a note to the financial department's payroll clerks to add a 20.000£ bonus to her next salary.
Harry continued through the train station, and once he reached the platforms nine and ten, he pulled a small trick that his mother had taught him; how to make people ignore his presence. He was too recognisable in his current attire, so his usual tricks of stealth and evasion just wouldn't cut it. He closed his eyes and focused for a moment, and when he opened them again, the people around him seemed to start completely ignore him. Harry moved over to a pillar, and he leant up against it as he focused on his hearing. Suddenly, most of the sounds around him muted, and kept sinking in volume, and then he went to work.
His mother was a vampire, and as such, she had access to some very neat and useful, supernatural tricks. Through blood infusions, she said, she had turned Harry into something of a "human vampire", or a "thrall". He possessed some of their innate abilities, and he did occasionally feel a kind of thirst or hunger that food and drink just couldn't satisfy. His heart–rate was also slower than most humans could survive on, and as such, his skin was just a few degrees cooler and a few shades paler than the average Briton. Among his vampiric tricks was the ability to conceal his presence better, sharpen any of his senses to superhuman levels, see in the dark, experience others' surface–thoughts, and to manipulate their emotions. His most powerful gift, in his opinion, was his ability to command any human of average mental strength or weaker. Those with a greater sense of themselves or willpower were much harder, and people trained in harsh conditions were practically impossible to command. His commands also had their limits, though. He couldn't force anyone but the truly pathetic to harm themselves, and he could use more time and more accurately describe what he wanted his subject to do to make it stick much deeper in their mind, but that held its own set of issues, such as using words or phrases they didn't understand, or wording it in a way too complicated for them to comprehend. The final of his powers were enhanced speed, agility, reflexes, strength, stamina, and resistance to injury, but he rarely needed them. He wasn't a fighter, mostly, but rather a talker. A diplomat. An FBI profiler might even call him a conman.
Through the obscured sounds, he sifted through conversation after conversation, until he landed on a few voices he had heard before.
"Honestly Ron, I've told you!" he heard the voice of the bushy–haired girl he had seen in Diagon Alley. "Harry Potter is famous in the Muggle world, too! He's a genius, I tell you! He's only around our age, and he's already built a small business centre in London! Last time I checked, his net worth was in the 90–130.000.000£ range!"
"What'd you mean?" 'Ron' said. "How many galleons is that?"
Harry was slightly glad that they were right on the other side of the pillar he leant against. He smirked and slipped around, and ended up standing next to the brown–haired girl.
"From around 18.255.578 to 26.369.168 galleons," Harry commented with a smile, startling the girl who was talking as he appeared seemingly out of nowhere, "including a fair bit of change in sickles and knuts. Good morning. I'm Harry Potter, and I would very much appreciate it if you could point me towards Platform 9¾."
There was utter silence for several awkward moments, as the flock of redheads and a brown–haired girl all stared at him in shock. He looked at them with a slightly expectant smile. It wasn't until the apparent patriarch of the family shook himself out of his stupor, and stuck out his hand.
"It's an honour to meet you, Harry," the man said excitedly. "I'm Arthur Weasley."
"Pleasure," Harry said, though sighed inwardly.
"This is my wife, Molly," the patriarch said and gestured to the matriarch, "my sons Fred, George, and Ron," he gestured to a pair of twins and the boy next to the bushy–haired girl, who was (much to Harry's loathing) standing with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, "and my daughter, Ginny." He pointed at the red–haired girl, who immediately moved behind her older twin brothers, her face starting to gain the same colour as her hair. "That," he gestured at the brown–haired girl, "is Hermione Granger, a friend of ours."
Hermione's hand lightly shook as she reached out to shake his, and deciding to have a little fun, he pulled her hand up to his face and lowered his lips until they lightly brushed the knuckles of the girl. He then sent her one of his best lady–killer smiles.
"Charmed," he muttered huskily as he looked her straight in the eye, and he could see not only her face flush to an unhealthy colour, but noticed her knees starting to shake as well, wanting to give in.
Harry also noticed (interestingly to him) that the boy, Ron, seemed to snap out of it and frowned at Harry's gesture. Harry released the girl's hand, though made sure to let their skin–contact linger just a little longer than necessary, and then looked at Arthur.
"And Platform 9¾?" the young millionaire asked.
"Ah, yes," the man realised. "It's right through that wall over there," he pointed towards one of the support pillars. "Just walk right through it, or run if you're feeling nervous."
"Thank you," Harry said with a slight bow in his back, and then started pulling his trunk after himself towards the entrance.
It wasn't long until he was through the passage and saw the shiny, scarlet locomotive, and he whistled lightly in appreciation.
"At least they've got style," Harry muttered with a slight smile.
Harry quickly donned his vampiric mind–cloud once again just as the Weasleys and Hermione Granger stepped through the portal, and he moved away towards the train. He quickly and discreetly got on board and found an empty compartment. He stuffed his trunk on the luggage–rack above him and sat down next to the window. He then pulled out the pouch from his pocket, pulled a book out of it, and began reading, this book being on magical theory. He was almost through it, and wanted to finish it before he reached Hogwarts.
That was not to be, however.
A few minutes after the train had started moving, the door to his compartment opened and a trio of people stepped inside, though the lead, a raven–haired, blue–eyed girl about Harry's age, stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted him.
"What is it, Daph?" asked another girl behind her.
Harry looked up at them, his face set in a very neutral expression.
"Can I help you?"
The girl seemed to be lost in thought, but quickly snapped out of it.
"May we sit in here?" she asked politely, though her face was still set in a cold, deadpan expression.
"Sure," Harry said and went back to reading his book.
The girl and her posse, consisting of the other girl and a boy of southern Italian descent, entered the compartment and placed their trunks on the luggage–racks. They then sat down, the two girls on one side, and the boy next to Harry.
"You're Harry Potter, right?" the boy asked.
"I am," Harry confirmed and stuck his hand out to the youth. "You?"
"Blaise Zabini," the boy said as he shook his hand.
Neither boy smiled, though they both gave simultaneous, courteous nods.
Hmm. I think I can respect this one.
The next to move was the blond girl, sitting across from Harry.
"I'm Tracey Davis," she said and held her hand out, though she smiled a bright smile, one Harry suspected was about half–genuine and half–mask.
"Pleasure."
As Harry released the girl's hand, he moved it towards the black–haired girl who merely looked at it, but then turned her head away. Harry let it hang there for a few seconds before he gave up.
"Don't mind her," Tracey said, somewhat cheerily. "She just has to keep up her 'Ice Queen' persona."
"Ice Queen?" Harry asked.
"That's what everyone at Hogwarts calls her," Zabini said. "Her name's Daphne Greengrass. We're all in Slytherin."
"Slytherin's the House of the…" Harry thought for a little and rummaged his brain, "ambitious and cunning, no?"
"It used to be," Zabini said, and looked just a little sour.
"Used to?"
"Now they're mostly bullies," Tracey said with a sigh. "It's like they somehow started confusing 'ambitious' and 'cunning' with 'snobbish' and 'mean'."
"But not you three?"
"Trace and I come from half–blood families," Blaise commented. "Daphne is one of the few true purebloods remaining in Slytherin."
"I see," Harry said. "Well, I'm only half–blooded myself."
"True, but the Potters were completely pure–blooded until your father married your mother," Daphne finally spoke up once more. "They're quite legendary amongst other pureblood families, I assure you."
"Thank you," Harry smiled a little.
"Of course, they're also heavily notorious and disliked for their habit of mingling more with Muggles than wizardkind."
Harry's smile fell instantly, and the three all noticed it. Blaise didn't react, Tracey started lightly fidgeting, and Daphne simply looked away again, her face showing nothing but disinterest. Harry stared a hole in the pureblood girl's head, but then turned back to his book and kept reading.
The rest of the trip was, needless to say, quite awkward.
•••
Harry strode into the Entrance Hall, dressed in robes of the school variety, much to his dismay. While it was by no means the worst uniform ever, the cloak aside, he would much rather just wear his usual suits. The three (two, Tracey and Blaise) Slytherins had informed him that he was required to wear it for the opening ceremony, and as such, he and Blaise had changed while the girls went outside the compartment.
Harry was by no means a bundle of muscles, though he could perform pretty much any task he had to, but when he had pulled off his shirt, even Blaise had needed a moment to know to look away. Harry was lean and tightly muscled, his physical training clearly evident. He wasn't big or hulking, but rather, he had a tight, toned torso, and strong thighs and calves, clear evidence that he did indeed workout regularly. Far more than boys his age usually did.
Harry was about to walk into the Great Hall after Zabini, but a hand grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.
"Not so fast, Mr Potter," came a strict voice, clearly belonging to an older woman.
Harry turned around and saw a somewhat tall woman clad in deep green robes, wearing a tall, pointed hat, and carrying a stern expression on her face.
"You are to be sorted with the other first years," she said. "I am Minerva McGonagall, your Transfiguration teacher."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Harry said with a small smile.
He was a little taken–aback when he saw a small smile twitch at the corners of her mouth.
"And you. I must say, you look remarkably like your father. Except for your eyes. You have your mother's eyes."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, but to be honest, he wasn't thankful. It was useless information, and he didn't care for anything useless.
Maybe not entirely useless, Harry suddenly realised. People seem to have a soft spot for my parents. That could work to my advantage… if I play my cards right.
Harry had little trouble suppressing the gleeful smirk that tried to erupt on his lips. Harry waited beside McGonagall for the first year students to arrive, only to have a few of their jaws metaphorically hit the ground as they laid eyes on him… though their mouths did gape quite a bit, irking Harry the slightest bit. He appreciated what fame could do for him, but he really didn't appreciate those who couldn't control themselves in the presence of it. Soon, McGonagall led the first years, Harry included, into the Great Hall, where the focus of the entire school's population landed on Harry, and stayed there. Name after name was called up by McGonagall to sit on a chair and get an old, manky hat put on their heads, after which the hat would open a rift above the rim to shout out the House that the new student landed in. The first time it had yelled out had spooked Harry, and he visibly jumped, drawing gasps from the people who saw it.
The Boy Who Lived is actually surprised at something, shocker! Cunts, you'd react the same wa– well… a lot of you probably would.
Soon, however, there were no more eleven–year–olds, and it was Harry's turn.
"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called out, and Harry confidently strode up towards the stool and sat on it.
The professor slowly lowered the hat onto his head, and he instantly heard a voice inside it.
Well, well… what do we have here?
Me, duh.
Hmm, a wisecracker I see. Certainly a Ravenclaw quality. Oooh, and I see quite an amount of intellect. The knowledge to back any claim you make… yet, the most of what I see in you, I also saw in Salazar–
"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat called out, and polite applause came from the Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, whereas the Gryffindor table was brazenly heckling the hat and Slytherin.
Harry caught a glimpse of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger at the Gryffindor table. The boy looked furious and ready to pass out from the blood in his head, whereas Granger looked mildly upset, but mostly disappointed.
Pfft, their call.
Harry walked over to the Slytherin table and then walked down along it, looking for a few familiar faces. One boy, however, thought that it wasn't going to happen. A blond boy scooted over and gestured silently for Harry to sit down next to him. Harry simply ignored him and went on, until he reached Blaise Zabini, who respectfully made room next to him, but other than that, barely acknowledged his presence.
I like him already.
Harry sat down next to the boy and looked towards the teachers' table.
"Now that the sorting has concluded," an old man with long, white beard spoke aloud as he stood from his chair, "there is some practical information that I need to pass on to you."
The man went on to mention how some event was being cancelled in favour of another, and Harry actually rather quickly tuned it out and just stared blankly into space, his mind swirling with thoughts. James had given him some run–downs of how the Wizarding world worked in Harry's off–hours, and had also taught Harry the fundamentals of magic. Harry got an idea, and turned his head until he found a candle, hanging in the ceiling. Harry's eyes honed in on the candle, specifically the flame, and he focused solely on that. All sounds disappeared, and all sights in his peripheral blurred and vanished, until only the candle existed in his world. Harry then imagined the candle dying down, willed for it to happen, and watched with wide eyes as the candle went out. Seeing the result of his effort, he refocused instantly and stared hard at the candle. He imagined the sensation of heat, and thought strongly of the flame the candle had once been aflame with. He saw the smoke intensifying, until fire suddenly popped back into the wick of the candle. He smirked with pride in himself.
James had explained to him just how rare and difficult non–verbal, much less wandless magic was. Harry returned his attention to his surroundings just in time to see food spontaneously appearing on the golden platters and plates. He looked around and saw people happily digging into their food, just like Daphne, Tracey and Blaise were. Harry filled a plate for himself and started eating.