Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.
-oOoOo-
A/N. – Today is November 1, the day after National Novel Writing Month finished, 30 days in which I wrote more than 100,000 words. What this means in reality for me (and for you) is that I was able to finish Muggle-Raised Champion; get me to the point that I am currently writing chapter 20 of United We Stand …; and help me produce 50k words of a brand-new story that I will begin posting the first Thursday of January next year. Regular updates will continue for many months to come.
-oOoOo-
United We Stand …
Chapter 11
Harry stumbled from the FLOO, caught himself and stilled, looking around and listening. The manor was deathly quiet, but then, he was the only one there.
A year ago, after having spent near enough to a whole year here with just him and Dobby, the silence wouldn't have bothered him. But after the last year when the manor had been filled with fourteen teens, a constantly varying number of adults and three house elves, he was unused to it. Even knowing that he was the only one here, he still expected to hear the sounds of laughter coming from somewhere or the voice of one of the adults, teaching and guiding them in their lessons.
Pop
"Hey, Dobby," Harry smiled down at the little elf who'd just arrived next to him.
"Is Master Harry ready?" he asked.
For the first time in a while, Dobby wasn't wearing his Diricawl uniform. Instead, he was wearing what Harry fondly thought of as his 'Potter Haven' garb: his many-pocketed burnt orange cargo pants, dark green sleeveless shirt of many pockets, black boots and special black belt, finished off with his brilliant white beret with the gold Potter crest on the front.
"Yeah, I guess so," Harry replied. "Just reminiscing."
A snap of Dobby's fingers opened the door to the Receiving Room of the manor for them to go deeper inside.
Most of the manor, Harry knew, had been stripped – the furniture, the contents of the library, even the magical creatures and most of the plants in the greenhouses. All had either been put in storage or moved to the Academy.
"This feels a bit like when it was just the two of us here," Harry commented.
Dobby's bulbous head nodded and once again Harry was struck wondering how in Merlin's name the elf wasn't constantly losing his headwear. Magic, he supposed.
"Dobby liked looking after Master Harry Potter Sir," he commented.
"And you did and do a great job of it," Harry smiled.
In some ways, Harry was glad that he actually had a purpose in being here. The silence, combined with the decided lack of furniture, made the manor feel less warm, more alien, regardless of the fact that he knew every inch of it inside and out. He had absolutely no desire to go exploring.
After passing through what had become the Arts Room, the large glassed in room at the back of the manor, the two went outside and to the left. And there, just off to one side, half hidden behind one of the greenhouses, was the object of their being there today: the great metal vault that had originally come from under the remains of Potter Manor on Ynys Crochenydd.
After it had been unearthed by the dwarfs when they were digging the foundations for the new school, it had been transported here. It'd taken Potter blood to open it and Harry still vividly remembered the sight of Tippy, the last remaining Potter house elf, curled up at the very front of it, where he was still protecting the contents in death.
Inside this large metal container were relics of his heritage – furniture, books, paintings, jewellery, suits of armour, and, as one would expect, many large exquisite pots. This was all that was left from the manor of an Ancient and Noble House that had stood for centuries and had been gathered by generations.
And now it was in danger again.
When the body of the late Cornelius Fudge had been returned after the TriWizard Tournament, it had come with a message from Voldemort. Part of that message was him naming Harry (amongst others) as his mortal enemy and his vowing to kill every family member and friend that he had. Harry had no illusions that that would include utterly destroying anything that was his.
And while Potter Haven had the best defences that gold could buy, the fact that it stood devoid of people meant that anything here didn't have a way to fight back if the defences were breached.
Stepping up to the vault, Harry tied a piece of rope that Sirius had given him to the handle of the vault's door. Then, with a single tap of his wand, it disappeared in a swirl of colour. He knew that it would land near the pier on the mainland across from the island where it would then be transported later that day by the school's hovercraft across the narrow body of water to safety.
"Well, that's that, Dobby," Harry said into the newly vacant space. "There's still the Peverell property to check out though, although that's not something that I've got time for today."
"Dobby is ready to look over Master Harry's Peverell place," he said.
"Thanks, Dobby. Just have a bit of look around to see if there's anything that you think I need to see or if there's anything potentially valuable there – monetarily or in terms of heritage. Be safe," Harry instructed.
"Yes, Master Harry Sir," Dobby replied before popping away.
Finding himself alone once more, Harry spun about and began making his way back towards the FLOO.
-oOoOo-
"So many choices, brother," Fred remarked.
"Indeed," George replied. "They've really gone all out, haven't they?"
Currently, the two were laying on their beds in their room at the Burrow. Each was in an identical position, as was their wont, with one leg crossed on their upraised knee. Each held the Diricawl Academy brochure in their hands as they read through each page most thoroughly. They had their parents' blessing to attend the new school, something both of their siblings had also been given. But before the new school year started, they were required to owl in their subject preferences.
"Five seems about right," George remarked.
"It's more than we got on our OWLs and if we managed it, it'd please Mum," Fred agreed.
"This thing says that we can also choose up to two extras to study without sitting the examinations," George read.
Flipping to the appropriate page, Fred noted another part to that section.
"Or we could add two to study at a lower level and take as OWLs," he said.
"The question being – would that be too much? Five NEWTs and two OWLs in the one year?" George asked.
"You're right there, brother," Fred agreed, "it'd be our OWL year all over again."
"And that was the year we undertook the least number of pranks," George said.
"A truly sad, depressing year," George comment mournfully. "At least we made up for it last year."
"Well, that was more a service to the school than anything," Fred remarked. "No quidditch and the TriWiz wasn't as fun as everyone thought it was going to be."
The two gave identical shivers, remembering the horror that was the First Task with a loose, angry, rampaging dragon. Hundreds were injured, many were killed and little Professor Flitwick, one of their favourite teachers, had been permanently disabled, his back too damaged for even magic to fix. And that didn't take into account that a whole bunch of dragon handlers were killed as well. They were just thankful that their brother, Charlie, survived, as did Hagrid, although he did lose an arm in the fiasco.
"I'm not sure how much pranking we're going to do this year, either," Fred stated.
"No Slytherins to prank …"
"Or Greasy-haired bats to torment …"
"McGonagall back watching us like a griffon …"
"And Harry, mustn't forget the reason we're going there, …"
"Too right, brother, if it wasn't for his masterful …"
"Ingenious …"
"Fantastic prank against our mother …"
" – we'll forget that he used Ginny for the moment – "
"Then we wouldn't be going …"
"No, we don't want to annoy Harry."
The two shared a Look.
"We'll still prank, of course," they finished together.
Identical maniacal grins that would be sure to send shivers down the backs of the staff of Diricawl if they actually ever saw them, appeared.
"We can decide on the first of them later," George stated.
"Right. Back to subject selection," Fred agreed.
"Charms, Transfiguration and DADA are a given," George said, marking the three off in his book.
"Well, there were the only ones got OWLs in," Fred agree.
"Animagus studies looks interesting. Could you imagine the kinds of pranks we could pull with that?" George grinned.
"Indeed, brother, but it says that you need a minimum of two years and we've only got the one."
"What about adding it as one of our extras? We could get a long way in a year …"
"And we're smart enough to figure out the rest on our own if need be," Fred agreed, marking it off.
"Potions?" George suggested. "We didn't get the OWL …"
"Bit pointless, really. Snape only accepts Outstanding OWL students …"
"And who in their right mind would want to spend an extra two years with the slimy git?"
"Good thing we're not in our right minds, then, isn't it?"
"Couldn't agree more. But this isn't being taught by Snape," George noted.
"And would be dead useful for WWW," Fred agreed.
"Let's mark it down as a NEWT subject."
"What about this one? Business and Finance. We'll need that sort of know-how to run our shop," Fred remarked.
"Once we get one. Right. That's five plus one, so far," said George.
"Healing?"
"Nah," they decided unanimously.
"What about Spell Crafting? Nope, scratch that. It says that you need OWLs in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."
"Herbology?" George suggested.
"Yeah, we've also been okay at that …"
"When we try, of course," George finished.
"We could add it as our sixth?" Fred said. "If we don't pass, we don't pass, but I'm sure that we'd learn something useful. Besides, it'll be wicked to have a house elf as a professor."
"What about something unexpected for our final extra?" George asked.
"Unexpected is what we do," Fred remarked.
"But if we do the unexpected, doesn't that make our unexpectedness expected?"
They looked at each other, contemplative looks on their faces, a state that would send any sane man, woman, witch, wizard or person of other hereditary descent, running for the hills.
"Perhaps we should try to do the expected a bit more," George suggested.
"Throw 'em off our game …"
"Keep them guessing …"
"Yes, good idea, brother," Fred said.
"Gobbledegook," George stated. "Learning the goblin language could be good for business."
"While still having the potential for pranking," Fred agreed.
After marking it down, they looked over their choices and nodded.
"That gives us six NEWT subjects and two electives," Fred summarised.
"Mum'll have to be happy …"
"Overjoyed …"
"Ecstatic even, with that selection."
"Right, let's go show her and get it sent off to McGonagall," Fred said as they swung themselves up and out of bed.
-oOoOo-
Lord Voldemort threw the paper down in disgust. It landed, echoing slightly in the room devoid of all life except the Dark Lord's own. One of his minions would be by later to clean up the mess and he expected that it would be soon, especially if they knew what was good for them.
The longer that he was forced to look at the nauseating headlines of The Daily Prophet the angrier he became. Oh, he could simply banish the thing himself or set fire to it or blast it into a million tiny pieces, but where was the fun of taking out his anger on a piece of parchment? It was much more satisfying to find someone who could scream when you were venting.
Even from his throne, he could make out part of one headline and his fantastic memory filled in the rest of it, along with the contents of said article.
OWLs For Five Underage Diricawl Students
by Rita Skeeter
Yes, dear readers, you read that right. It seems that whatever they're teaching at Britain's newest school, is working. Four students of Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies were recently tested in and passed an OWL examination, despite the fact that all five had not yet reached their fifth year of magical studies.
And the results are even more shocking when the ages of said students were actually released.
Harry Potter, as one has come to expect, passed a second OWL, this one an Exceeds Expectations in History of Magic, after gaining an Outstanding in Muggle Studies one year ago.
His girl-friend, muggleborn Hermione Granger, sat for two OWLS – Muggle Studies and History of Magic – gaining Outstandings in both, proving that young Harry is enraptured by the intelligent type.
The remaining three students all passed their Muggle Studies OWL with an Outstanding result. These were Hannah Abbot (a fourth year, like The-Boy-Who-Lived-Again and his girlfriend) and brothers Colin (second year) and Dennis (first year) Creevey, both muggleborns.
That's right, dear readers, you read that right. A first year gained an Outstanding result on an OWL examination.
When we at the Daily Prophet questioned this result with the Wizarding Examination Authority, we were assured that the results were quite valid. The question that this reporter finds herself asking is: are these five simply incredibly intelligent or is this a symptom of a flawed examination procedure and a failing Magical Education System?
Be assured that I will not rest until these questions are answered. Until next time.
-oOoOo-
Potter, it all came down to Potter, Voldemort fumed, him and that blasted school of his.
There'd been other articles throughout the past few weeks, all extolling the wonders of the new school that Potter had started. Snape had even been in complaining about the numbers of students that Hogwarts was losing, not that it was much of a loss, muggleborns the vast majority of them with some half-bloods thrown in for good measure, along with a couple of worthless, penniless blood-traitors.
And it wasn't as though he could even attack the school itself. Voldemort had surreptitiously examined the wards from the mainland nearby, or at least as nearby as he could get without alerting others that he was there. The wards were strong, some of the strongest that he'd ever seen and with the wardstones at the bottom of the ocean, near impossible to break.
And that wasn't even accounting for the way that Macnair had been thwarted from even entering the island. A ward that detected the Dark Mark, detected it and then ejected its bearer, was worrisome, very worrisome indeed. It bore much thinking about.
But attacking the school wasn't the only way the get at Potter. No, there were other ways, Ways which were a lot more entertaining, especially when the screaming began.
Ah, if only dear Bella was here. She so does enjoy the screaming, he mused.
And that was another area that needed to be addressed: releasing Bellatrix and his other servants from their prison.
A tentative knocking interrupted his musing.
"Come," he called.
One of the newer recruits, barely out of Hogwarts judging by the look of him, timidly scuttled into the room.
"I was sent to ask what time you'd like breakfast, my Lord," the boy asked, his head properly bowed.
"I will be down in thirty minutes," Voldemort stated. "See that everything is arranged perfectly."
"Yes, my Lord," he replied quickly. "Do you require anything else, my Lord?"
A single glance in the direction of the reviled newspaper was enough to have the recruit scurrying across the room. His speed was even enough to stay Voldemort's wand. Besides, he was savouring what was to come.
"Inform Malfoy, Macnair and Yaxley that I will require their services as soon as breakfast is done."
"Yes, my Lord," the boy replied obediently before retreating from the room to carry out his orders.
-oOoOo-
The street was muggily quaint. And once one looked around, incredibly boring. The street was full of cardboard cut-out houses, each one identical to the one beside it. Every lawn had been mowed to a precise height, and each one was bordered by beds of flowers trying to outdo the ones nearby.
Four wizards appeared from out of thin air and looked around with near identical looks of disgust on their faces, if one could see such a thing considering that three of them were wearing long black cloaks with the hood pulled up and bone white masks on their faces.
"This is the place?" Voldemort asked.
"Yes, my Lord," Yaxley was quick to answer. "One of my contacts in the Department of Records smuggled it out to me."
"Which one is it? They all look disturbingly the same," Malfoy asked.
"Number four," Yaxley replied.
At their Lord's gesture, the three men followed him across the road and up the garden path. Macnair raised his wand as they approached the door, only to have his hand lowered by Voldemort.
"The niceties must be observed, Macnair," he was told.
Finding the small button beside the door, Voldemort reached out one long, white finger.
"A doorbell. How quaint," he commented as he pressed it.
Mumblings were heard from the other side of the door and a gigantic dark shape could be seen drawing closer through the window.
A morbidly obese man with a moustache that would make a walrus proud opened the door, puffing slightly as though he'd just run a hundred metre dash instead of walking through his house, a smile that was supposed to be pleasant but came off as though he actually had diarrhea, on his face.
"Yes?" he asked before he realised who, or rather what, was on his doorstep.
"I'll have none of your freakish kind here," he hissed. "Get lost!"
Instantly, Voldemort's wand appeared in his hand and he flicked it, silencing and freezing the man where he stood.
"That is no way to talk to your betters. Move aside so that we can enter," the Dark Lord said airily.
The fact that it was Voldemort's wand that made the frozen man move was inconsequential, the results were the same – the wizards entered the house, Yaxley even going so far as to close the door behind them.
"Now, where is your lovely family?" Voldemort asked.
The sound of a scraping chair from further down the hallway, answered his question and with a flick, he levitated the man before him.
The room that they entered was a kitchen, a place that Voldemort thought that the other three men with him may never have seen before. A thin, bony, horse-faced woman at the sink turned at their entrance, a look of absolute horror on her face as she realised what she was seeing and Voldemort smiled. The enormous boy seated at the table stuffing his mouth full from the three plates surrounding him didn't even bother to look up, his attention fixated on a television perched atop the fridge.
"Wh…what d…did you do to my V…Vernon?" Petunia Dursley whimpered.
Already there was whimpering and he'd barely begun.
A flash of deep red light cut across the room, striking the television and exploding it, sending bits of plastic flying throughout the room and causing black, charred edges around the new hole in the kitchen wall.
"Hey!" Dudley protested before turning angrily.
It was amusing to see the bravado of the boy disappear instantly as he took in the four robed figures, their wands in their hands.
"Thank you, Macnair," Voldemort drawled, "the sound that box was making was distracting. And as to what I have done to 'your Vernon', the answer is: hardly anything. Yet."
He eyed the stick-thin woman who carefully reached out for her son and pulled him from his chair back towards her. This was the sister of Lily Potter? Voldemort couldn't see it. If there was a family resemblance, it was well hidden and she showed none of the courage of her dead sister.
"Do you know who I am, woman?" he asked, his head cocked slightly as he ran his fingers lovingly up and down his wand.
Her terrified nod was in stark contrast to the confused eyes of her son and husband who was currently propped against a nearby wall, a trickle of blood oozing from his cheek where he'd been caught by a piece of the once-was television.
"I am Lord Voldemort," he stated and watched as the light of recognition dawned. "Ah, it's always so wonderful to go where I am known."
"Why are you here?" Petunia asked timidly.
"That would be your nephew's doing. He's been bothering me and as I can't get to him at the moment, I thought that we would pay your lovely family a visit," Voldemort replied.
A shriek of dismay and outrage from Petunia erupted as Lucius slashed his wand down, opening up a long diagonal gash in Vernon's chest and stomach. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering on the kitchen floor, wall and even onto the table. Vernon, for his part, made not a sound, a by-product of the petrifus totalis. Tears streamed from his eyes, though, telling one and all that he felt the pain.
A wave of Yaxley's wand ensured that the screams from Petunia and the boy wouldn't be heard outside of the room.
"Crucio!" Voldemort said, almost lazily, dropping Petunia to the ground.
Macnair reached behind his back, pulling out a miniature axe which he promptly enlarged with a tap of his wand.
A second diagonal swipe from Lucius caused a corresponding gash in Vernon's torso, this one going the opposite direction from the first that he'd made.
"There you go, Walden," Lucius drawled. "I even made it easy for you; X marks the spot, after all."
With a maniacal grin, Macnair took a step forward, gave his axe an experimental swing and drove it forward. He may have been slightly off-target, but with the strength he put behind the swing, it cut through what was left of Vernon's clothing and skin, only to become lodged deep inside the belly of fat.
A retching sound behind him made him pause in his removal of his axe and he looked back to see the boy throwing up, a quite impressive display considering all that he'd been shovelling into his mouth when they first arrived.
By the time the axe was removed, blood was spilling in sheets from the corpse of the walrus-sized man. A massive crash-splat heralded the man landing face down in his spilled guts.
"Efficient and effective as a demonstration for Potter," Voldemort told his Death Eaters and their corresponding flinch said that they heard the disapproval in his voice. "But we also need to show these muggles their place. Yaxley seems to have the right of it."
Indeed, when the two men looked at the muggles lying on the ground, it was to see two quivering, whimpering balls of flesh, trying to curl up protectively into themselves. Dozens of cuts littered their bodies and the tendons behind the knees of the large slob of a boy looked to have been severed.
"D…d…dud…l…ley," Petunia stammered through her sobs, "w…w…watch."
"Yes, boy, listen to your mother," Voldemort instructed. "Watch. Watch what we can do to you."
Voldemort watched, amused as the boy sought his mother's eyes, confusion written on his face. He frowned slightly when that expression changed and there was a slight corresponding nod from the mother.
"Dodo," the boy managed and disappeared in a swirl of colour.
"Dodo," Petunia echoed a micro-second later.
Voldemort stared at the now vacant patch of kitchen floor – bar the twin pools of blood – where his victims had been moments before. Portkey. It was the only answer. Somehow, Potter had predicted this and taken steps to protect his only remaining family.
Throwing his head back, Voldemort let out a primal scream of rage, his wand lighting up, sending jets of coloured spells left and right. Cupboards exploded; tiles melted; pots and pans spun about the room, holes piercing their silver metal; glass, both window and of the drinking kind, shattered into a million pieces.
Finally, when he had calmed somewhat, he turned to find his Death Eaters cowering in a corner away from his wrath.
"String that up and torch the place," Voldemort commanded sending a piercing hex through the back of Vernon's neck to emphasise his point. "And don't forget to set the Dark Mark."
With that, he turned and in a swirl of robes, apparated away.