Sulaco
Serendipity
A/N: So it's been a while since I've updated anything. That's not for lack of trying unfortunately-it's more like I get three-quarters of the way through a chappie, a story or a drabble and then my brain goes 'ooh, shiny!' and it's off to the next idea. Well, that and I have to curb my re-writing tendencies. They're a pain in the backside. Anyway, long story short, I've got about six separate short stories sitting on my flash drive, all of them really good, yet all with their own little problems to iron out before I post them.
This one is a prologue to a werewolf!Harry story. It's undergone three separate rewrites, continuity changes, etcetera, and is partially based of 'Weres Harry'. Type it into the story search function above and check it out. The premise is pretty cool-Harry gets infected by a werewolf and the werewolf virus-horcrux-momma's protection thingamajig duke it out for ultimate domination. Result? Harry comes out on top and becomes more of a werewolf animagus than anything.
What I want to do with this, though, is factor in all the other crazy stuff Harry's come into contact with. He has travelled time, been bitten by a basilisk, cured by a phoenix, impaled by a dragon and used as a blood sacrifice in a resurrection ritual. Read differently, the above means that he has basilisk's blood, phoenix tears, flakes of dragon bone and truly massive amounts of ritual magic running through this system. Couple that with some paradox-induced chronal instability (basically means he's a bit loose when it comes to time from a magical perspective because of some dementor-related shenanigans), and what happens is that he's got enough mystic bits running through his system to go from one of humanity's terrors from the dawn of time (namely wolves) to humanity's ultimate terror when they make it to the stars.
Basically, due to all of the above, he becomes a xenomorph. And, due to Hermione's involvement in this fic, in which she gets Harry's blood in her wounds after the biting happens, so does she.
Oops. Bummer.
I really don't know where I would take this if I make it into a full-blown crossover-the Blake-verse? Buffy the Vampire (S)layer? Torchwood? Eureka, even (in which Jack Carter finally gives up and calls bullshit on the universe)? I honestly have no idea, only that it would be delightfully funny for all of us.
So there you have it. Oh, and feel free to steal this. Harry the Were-Alien. Sucks to be called Tom Riddle indeed.
Enjoy kiddies. Bye.
Dolores Umbridge stared on impassively as Albus Dumbledore made his case for war.
This was not an unexpected occurence by anyone's reckoning-after all, the man's hatred of anything related to the pureblood supremacy movement was well known. What was unusual, though, was the amount of time the Chief Warlock had waited before making his move. What was downright extraordinary to the assembled members of the Wizengamot was the utterly preposterous, patently ridiculous argument the man was using to justify his case for, as he put it, 'securing the future of Wizarding Britain', which to her sounded like a thinly veiled ploy designed to re-open trial cases that were fourteen years gone.
He was arguing that Voldemort had returned, which was absurd. And he was using the Diggory boy's death as an excuse to do so, which was downright heinous. To use the death of one of your students as a political tool. Clearly, the man had gone around the bend after Potter murdered the boy.
Everyone knew that Potter had done it. He had returned from wherever that portkey had pulled the two contestants with Diggory's lifeless body cradled in his arms. On top of that, the body showed definite signs of having been hit by the Killing Curse while Potter's wand showed nothing but a jumbled, hazy fuzz under the prior incantato charm. Clear evidence that the boy had done a half-assed job trying to remove the traces of the curse he used on the Diggory boy before banging himself up a bit and taking the trophy as well as the corpse back to Hogwarts.
The boy was guilty of murder. Everyone in the chamber knew that. Open and shut case, really. And if it hadn't been for the fact that the tri-wizard tournament specifically allowed such magics to be cast during tasks (a rather regretful oversight that would be amended before the event was held again in four years' time), the boy-who-lived would be known henceforth as the boy-who-lived-in-Azkaban. As it stood, the Diggorys were not pressing charges (little wonder, given the trust they had in the old man currently pontificating on the floor of the chamber), the DMLE's hands were tied due to the exceptional circumstances surrounding the tournament and the Potter boy was currently unreachable by any communiques issuing from the Wizarding World.
A muggle-raised half-blood had gotten away with the murder of an upstanding pureblood with a bright future ahead of him. And the Old Man Dolores had spent so long venerating for his tireless efforts on her and Cornelius's behalf was trying to cover it up, distract them with talk of Dark Lords, war and nefarious plots.
Revenge or deference out of respect for a decades-long working relationship?
Umbridge stared at Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald, tireless crusader agains the darker elements of society, the only one she once believed to be capable of stemming the tide of half-breeds and Dark Creatures lest they overwhelm their already fragile world. The man who had gone mad with grief at seeing his favoured student murder another and was now threatening to drag her country down with him.
Her shoulders straightened unconsciously, eliciting a thoughtful frown from Amelia Bones. She, Dolores Jane Umbridge, would do it. She would grant the purebloods the revenge they desired for the callous killing of one of their own. She would see the Potter child brought, broken and tamed, to the shores of Azkaban. She would stem the tidal wave of evil monsters before Dumbledore's foolish actions emboldened them. She would ensure that Cornelius remained the Ministry of Magic, presiding over the ever-growing prosperity of their war-weary society for decades to come until Wizarding Britain was once more ready & able to command the world as it had done in the past.
She would save her world. Nothing else mattered.
And not even that old fool crying wolf on the floor of the Wizengamot would stop her.
Wolf, eh? Hmm...
Hermione was sitting on a bench, head bent over a piece of parchment as she wrote out an answer to the rather finicky arithmancy problem Vector had slugged them all with over summer. Trapezoidal representations of common spells were a lot more fun, not to mention useful, than was obvious at first glance. When used in conjunction with a four-sided XY diagram using the linear numerology classification of spell effects which itself relied on P. Stibbons' classification of thaumic elements, you could conduct a rudimentary analysis of the spell as well as its effects not only on the target, but also on the environment around it after the spell exits the wand and before it impacts.
The resulting analysis may be crude in terms of precision, but it would serve as a perfect baseline when you re-did the analysis using a hexagon instead. Having a basis for approximation when using hexagonal representative arithmancy cut analysis time down by half, which was incredibly valuable when, while analysing a spell using a trapezoidal medium took around four hours, give or take half an hour, to perform, the same analysis performed using a hexagon took a minimum of twelve hours to complete from a standing start. By starting with a trapezoid before doing the hexagon, you cut your analysis down by two hours at the very least.
It was fascinating, not to mention vital, work to her.
Hermione was not a creature of instinct, an outgrowing of her isolation during her school years. She had been forced, from a very early age, into a position where the only people that regularly interacted with her were the adults in her life. At first, it was because she was the daughter of dentists, which to children everywhere were people to be feared. Then, it was because she didn't talk like other kids did, opting to bury her nose in books when the other kids failed to understand the big words she used as a matter of course. Then, it was because she was buck-toothed and incredibly bossy when spoken to, a side-effect of only being able to talk to people who, unwittingly, talked down to her due to her age. She just took the bossiness the adults exhibited towards her for the norm rather than for the tone adults used to talk to children and reciprocated with her peers.
The end result was that Hermione was incredibly intelligent, well-read, organised, sharp as a razor in terms of wit and utterly useless when it came to thinking on her feet. Everyone she'd ever known had stressed, time and again, the need for planning, forward thinking, taking the long view, following standard procedures etcetera. And while all these were all well and good, the utter isolation from her peer group meant that she had never really played with the others, had to come up with quick solutions to problems she encountered (a side-effect of being able to anticipate said problems so well) and generally was never really taught about spontaneity and the skills needed to be good at it.
And while this would not have been much of a problem had she been normal, she was, much to her chagrin, a witch. And magic is, above all things, about intuitive intent. You have to instinctively feel how to do what you want your magic to do if you want to get it to work.
And Hermione, for all her brains, was absolutely crap at that.
Had she been any less intelligent, any less diligent or just a smidge less motivated, then she would have left Hogwarts ages ago. The only thing saving her from being branded a squib for failing to perform even the most basic of spells for the first two years of schooling at Hogwarts was the sheer obsessive compulsion she poured into her studies. Well, that and Harry. Harry had a way of explaining what to do that allowed you to understand the subject to the point where the spell worked perfectly. After November of their first year, when Harry and Ron noticed just how few hours in the day Hermione spent relaxing and deeming it to be rather unhealthy, they stole her away from her books and helped her with the practical aspects of casting the spell she wanted done if she needed it. Paradoxically, she studied harder the shorter her study periods got, opting to forego breaks in favour of more study time. Ron assisted in his own way, of course, offering insights into her studies she hadn't even considered before due to how obvious the points he made were until you thought about it and figured out that his point was, in fact, surprisingly deep.
So when she took third year, she thanked the stars for the time turner. By the end of it, though, she thanked God for arithmancy. All the time turner did was allow her to travel back in time a few hours-massively cool, but with such severe limitations so as to make it practically useless if you followed the rules. Which she did-prior to Black's rather eventful departure. She'd barely avoided causing a paradox by the skin of her teeth. Said skin had almost come out second best thanks to Harry's bumbling.
But Arithmancy... Oooh la la.
It was the perfect magical toolset for someone like Hermione. Making half-assed leaps of logic and trying to encourage a lack of common sense in your thought processes to get that first spell out was no longer a problem. Now, she could gain an intimate rather than an intuitive understanding of the magics involved in a spell and cast them flawlessly from the word go. Being Hermione, she'd memorised the simpler identification and analysis formulae in her head, which made it ridiculously easy to analyse and replicate a spell on the fly. She was hoping to, one day, have the basic spell-crafting algorithms memorised. If she did that, then she should be able to make up a new spell on the fly for whatever she needed to do! Hell, using that exact same toolchain, it would be theoretically possible to modify existing spells in her head and cast them straight off the bat!
Her mind was her greatest asset. She refused to let her iron control over her instincts slip and compromise that just because it made casting spells a bit easier. If she sharpened her mind and achieved her goal, her spells would come out easier and far more flexibly anyway.
The boys could go hang. She'd show them what a witch of Hermione's calibre was capable of. Instincts or no instincts, she was the brightest of her generation, period.
And what she was doing now was finalising those first steps towards making her magical life a hell of a lot easier. The simplified algorithms her analysis of the arithmancy behind trapezoidal representation theory were generating would speed up analysis time by a factor of 1.15. A 15 percent jump in speed during an initial analysis of the spell meant an average of nine seconds saved per minute spent. This meant a total of 2160 seconds shaved off of the minimum analysis time. 36 minutes gained per analysis. Not an insignificant amount. Plus, the algorithms she was using could be further simplified for use in her mental magical toolbox. Sure the results would be cruder than if you sat down and crunched the numbers on paper, but the point was that she wanted to be capable of doing these sorts of things on the fly.
Vector would give her an O for sure. Which was, ultimately, a point if not necessarily the point to this exercise.
There, the final QED.
Hermione leaned back and allowed a small woop of victory to escape her as she punched the air. All her summer homework, done within two weeks. She was proud of herself. Now she could finally get some studying done. After she'd gone for a walk, that is.
The phone rang as she stepped out into the hallway. Curious, who'd ring the house at this particular time?
"Hello?" A girl's voice asked over the phone. Petunia Dursley nee Evans grit her teeth at having to do this, but it was either a freak who could use a phone or the freaks that thought that wearing an invisibility doo-dad fully negated the partial shadows they cast or the bootprints left on her front lawn. Honestly, the nerve of those fucking idiots.
"Is this Hermione Granger?" Petunia asked over the phone.
"Yes, it is. Who is this?" The girl asked, her freak voice conveying a sense of wariness as Petunia smiled thinly.
"Petunia Dursley." The Dursley matriarch stated. "I was told to talk to you."
"Oh, Dursley? Wait, that's-Harry's relatives?" The confused girl-freak asked. "What are you calling me for? Who told you to contact me? Was it Harry? Is he okay? Please tell me he's okay."
Petunia snorted. "Him? He's currently moping in his room, the good-for-nothing layabout. I was told to report in with one of your kind every so often. This is me doing so. There is nothing to report. Goodbye." She said, moving to put the receiver back down onto its cradle.
"Wait!" The voice cried frantically. "Can-can you tell Harry I said hello please? Only, he gets dreadfully lonely over the summer and this year's been very hard on him, so-"
"No." Petunia snapped. "I will not act as one of your pet birds, young lady. If you are so desperate to say something to the lazy sod, then tell him yourself. Good. Bye." She shouted, slamming the receiver down with a smack.
"Rude little bitch." Petunia muttered to herself. "Can you tell him I said Hiii?" She mimicked in a strangled falsetto while bobbing her head from side to side. "Who does that freak think she is?"
Upstairs, the door to the smallest bedroom closed shut with a muffled plop.
Hermione stared at the phone in her hand, her hands tightening around the phone handle until her knuckles turned white. She had quite a powerful grip courtesy of hauling all those reference books around and very little idea of how powerful it really was, given that the most fragile thing she used on a regular basis was a quill.
So it came as a complete surprise to her when the plastic on the receiver cracked. Not that she cared.
No? To something as simple as 'tell him I said hi'? Asked for very politely too? Who does that bitch think she is?
Her jaw muscles clenched in anger. These were Harry's relatives, then. Ron hadn't been making things up after all. She should have known.
Shaking herself, she stalked back into the kitchen, putting on her jacket & her hiking shoes and fishing around fifty pounds' worth of her pocket money out of the money jar. She then wrote out a note to her mother.
Hey mom,
Gone to check up on Harry. Just received a call from his aunt. She sounded angry. I'll be back before you know it.
Love, Hermione.
P.S.: Took 50 pounds out of the jar to cover travel fare. Take it out of my pocket money please.
There, short, sweet and with plenty of space for her parents to fill in the blanks. Just the way she liked it.
She took the spare set of keys off the rack set on the fridge.
That Dursley bitch wants Hermione to say hi to him herself? Well, she is an authority figure. And Hermione was always taught to obey them. But, as Harry and Ron had taught her not long after they became friends, there are degrees of obedience one can observe.
So she would obey. She would say hi to Harry. In person. And then she would break his Aunt's jaw. She hoped he didn't mind.
Scabior stared at the pink blob in front of him. To say that this day was turning out to be weird was an understatement of epic proportions. "Miss Umbridge." He bowed. "What could I possibly do for the Undersecretary to the Minister on this fine day? Apart from offer you some tea, of course." He stated, brandishing a mug full of warm brown-well, it probably was tea come to think of it, unless one of his associates had been in the potions cabinet again.
The minister's personal lapdog sniffed haughtily. "That will not be necessary, Mister Spencer."
"'ts Scabior Miss. Chose the name meself." Scabior responded politely. "Are you sure?" He asked, raising the mug and taking a sip. "It's quite-blurgh!" He spat out the infernal brew masquerading as a pick-me-up. "What the hell was in that-you know what? Nevermind. What can I do for you then, Miss Umbridge?"
"I need to hire three half-breeds." Dolores stated. "I am willing to pay a hundred galleons per head."
Scabior frowned. "Three tons? That's a lotta money hereabouts. Ya do realise that this is a full moon tonight, right Miss? That means full transformation, ya know."
"Yes. Quite. Hence the money." Umbridge stated.
"Ah, I get it." Scabior said, smiling. "Someone's got a whiff of Fudge's dirty laundry then? Yours?"
Umbridge bristled. "None of that, you scum." She snapped. "This isn't about some fool trying to blackmail the minister, oh no. This is about justice."
"Ri-ight. Because hiring werewolves to inflict justice on some poor sod's worked so well in the past-for the sods. Nah, three tons ain't gonna cut it. The boys would probably take the money, but they'd finger the both a' us in a jiffy if'n when ole Amy catches up to them." Scabior stated in what he hoped was a rather non-chalant fashion.
"Three hundred and full immunity from prosecution." Umbridge stated.
Scabior chuckled "That's funny. The ministry granting a trial to a were? C'mon you old bat, stop thinking I'm an idiot! You wrote those laws. I read those laws. My lawyers exploit those laws. We all know that, should they be caught, none of the boys I send out there are coming back. I want six hundred-a hundred per head and an extra hundred to hire some new faces. Whaddya say?"
Dolores sneered. "As undersecretary to the Minister, I have full authority to grant anyone a pardon in Cornelius's name. Three hundred and the oath that I'll use it."
"Nope. Six hundred and immunity from prosecution for me and the rest of the crew. Your lads over at the DRCMC never catch crims, Dolly, they butcher 'em. If'n I send the boys out tonight, they're likely not to come back." Scabior sighed. "Look, I want this, you want this, but if you can't front the gold, then wishes may be thestrals, but we still ain't goin' anywhere. So what's it gonna be? Six hundred and immunity? Or do you have somethin' you think's worth three tons ta me?"
Umbridge frowned before smiling. "How about a get-out-of-Azkaban free card? A blank pardon note, signed by the minister, guaranteed to work on everyone except confirmed Death Eaters." She smirked. "That work for you?"
Scabior went very still. That... could actually be worth it. "Two of those, immunity and four hundred."
Umbridge brightened. "Deal!" She stated. "Though why two such cards, if I dare ask?"
Now it was Scabior's turn to scowl. "Because you fuckers sent my wife to good ole Az last month. She's pregnant, but that don't matter none to you folks, don' it? I want her outta there, no muss, no fuss. The other's for me, to save for an, ah, rainy day."
"I see." She said, digging four sacks, a rag and an envelope out of her pocket. "Here's the money, the tickets and something that belonged to the target. Do your best, you hear? If you don't get results, your wife will be having her child-and yours, I assume-in the Azkaban nursery wing, understand? Where the little tot gets to spend playtime with the Carrow's and Lestrange's brood." She stated in an unforgiving tone. "This never happened. We never met. The unfortunate accident happening tonight had nothing to do with us."
Scabior looked at her carefully before nodding. "Well, on that note, it's time we be off then. Gotta go convince three weres that today's a great day to die while you go off and do ministry-type things with the minister."
"You do that." Umbridge said, standing up and leaving.
Scabior sighed as he stuffed the rag in a silk bag. Sometimes, being a crime lord sucked. The money was nice, but dealing with the worst humanity had to offer got real tiring after a while.
He just wished them luck. The wolves and the sod. They'd need it, with a creature like that coming after them.
Harry stared out of the window in his bedroom. Today was another summer day. Another day with nothing to do but contemplate the past year. Another day to decide that ranting and raving at the unfairness of it all wasn't really worth it. Another day to stare at the sky until the nightmares went away.
He really wished he hadn't had the time to complete the majority of his homework in the first week. It would have lasted longer, except that he'd spent so much of the past year going over the heavy stuff with Hermione (and Ron after the first task) that he could quite comfortably pass his OWLs right then & there. That, and the studying techniques he'd perfected were extremely efficient and speedy. While Hermione favoured precision over anything else, Harry wanted the information and wanted it yesterday. He could do accurate if he needed to, but when your definition of 'need' revolves around 'the maximum feasible amount of something necessary to survive a life or death situation', it tends to skew your priorities.
So now he'd done his work, some of Hermione's assignments over the past two years (she'd been handing them to him as brain teasers since the beginning of third year) as well as correcting some of Ron's more ambitious work aimed at emulating his twin brothers (honestly, the plans he came up with were good, but the spellwork research? Yikes). He officially had nothing more to do but wait out the summer.
Harry sighed. This was so dreadfully boring.
Nothing but clouds, grass, trees, houses and the ever-present threat of attack. After a week of this, an inescapable conclusion came to him.
Harry was going mad.
He wasn't sure what was doing it-the forced inactivity, PTSD, Voldemort's day-dreams, the boredom, it could be anything.
But he was definitely sure that he was going nuttier than a squirrel with constipation.
It wasn't at the point where he was hearing voices beyond that of his nemesis interrupting his dreams. But he was pretty sure that he was hallucinating.
Because Petunia had placed a call about an hour ago. One to a rude little bitch freak, to report about something. She'd only ever called him a freak in the past, so he assumed that it was probably someone in Dumbledore's camp.
What convinced him that he was going mad was the utter certainty he felt that the person on the other end of that line had been Hermione.
But it couldn't be. None of his letters had come back with a reply. Hedwig had come back with nothing when going to the Grangers' place or the Burrow, looking mildly pissed too. She was probably still doing her summer homework, so he didn't think much of it. He idly wondered if she'd beat her previous record-a 20 foot long scroll detailing the effects of the treaty of 1066 on wizarding-muggle relations, single spacing, fine print. She could be stuck on an assignment for ages, but what she came out with had more research and brainjuice behind it than a hundred historical novels written by magical folk. So he wrote if off as no big deal.
So what business would his aunt have had with his other best friend?
Probably none. Hence the madness theory.
He sighed, looking at the bright blue, cloudless sky above, the pristine uniformity of the world around him, the complete and utter lack of any sign of humanity anywhere but in the kitchen where his aunt had started preparing dinner which, it not even being noon yet, was a testament to just how much the Dursley males actually ate.
He turned around, looking at his obsessively neat room, the parchment papers piled high inside his trunk, the books meticulously arranged so that the most useful/interesting ones were close at hand when he went to bed, the stacks of magical doo-dads that served as a reminder of Hogwarts, the white-washed walls, lumpy ceiling with a bare light-bulb hanging from it, the worn floorboards, the cupboard overflowing with Duddykins' junk.
He shook his head, put on his running shoes, hid his wand inside a sleeve where a series of loops sewn into the inside held it in place, slid a tired-looking flannel shirt four sizes too big for him over his lanky frame and opened the door.
He needed some fresh air, not to mention lunch. He would get neither sitting in his relatives' house.
The train ride to Little Whinging station was relatively uneventful. Her shoes were comfier than they normally were, even if they were still stiff and awkward to use. Daddy had bought them in anticipation of the Granger family's yearly trip to the Forest of Dean, where she would hang around a barbecue with her aunts, uncles and cousins for a day before everyone went their separate ways again. It was a family tradition that apparently dated back to the early 19th century, when one Hector Granger, fresh from the battlefields of Waterloo, invited the whole family to divvy up his ill-gotten gains equally. Thank Merlin, God, Buddha and Maeve that nobody had ever bothered to write a book entitled 'Granger: A History'. There were so many chequered pasts lurking in her family tree that you could use sections of it as a naval signalling flag.
She looked around downtown Little Whinging (not to be confused with Greater Whinging, which was hundreds of miles north, apparently) and sighed. Even the town centre had bland written all over it. Little wonder Wizarding Britain had such a low opinion of muggles, unlike the French, Bulgarians, Irish and the Americans.
The British were famous for their stiff upper lip attitude worldwide, after all, and this was most definitely reflected in their town council planning policies-everything had to be sensibly proportioned, decorated and appended. In other words, every town centre in Britain had let go of its quirky legacies of grand, sweeping Georgian and Victorian marvels of architecture, its thatch-topped medieval buildings three stories high and pre-war, art-deco-style shopping arcades in favour of brutalist government buildings, uniform semi-detached properties and uniform downtown malls that made them look like someone had ripped out a section of seventies London and translocated it into the middle of the Green Belt.
Of course, the second you walk down any side-street in the area you were more than likely to come face to face with the real Britain-quirky homesteads, little farmhouses caught out by urbanisation, architectural masterpieces, old-style churches, pubs famous for getting Vikings drunk after a raid on the local area etc.-but that actually required some initiative on the behalf of the observer, an item that most wizards found in real short supply as far as she could tell.
No, wizards came into contact with the bland portions of the muggle world and looked no further, never noticing the remarkable hodge-podge of styles, environments, histories and legacies buried under a thin layer of bland bits of 'progress' left over from the mid-eighties. They saw the ugliness of failed planning policy and called it muggle.
Hermione, who did pay attention to the world around her, found such a condescending attitude to be incredibly insulting.
But she wasn't here to get fired up about something. The wizarding world was not on her mind right then & there and could be safely ignored until she got to King's Cross. No, right now she was looking for Harry. She sighed and went over to the large tourist information map stuck to the side of the station.
Hmm, it was a fair walk. About half an hour, by the looks of things. She had her return train ticket which, thanks to the goblins' assistance in preserving the statute of secrecy (who achieved this by bribing one C. Fritton to fake up some attendance papers for some boarding school somewhere), she managed to get for a heavily discounted ten pounds fifty rather than the twenty-five she would have spent under normal circumstances. She had a bottle of water. And it was noon.
Food? Or Harry? Food first. No offence to Harry, but a hungry Hermione was a cranky Hermione. Either she took care of this now, or she really would break that bitch's jaw.
Harry Potter enjoyed walking down the streets of Little Whinging proper. Beyond the be-shrubbed borders of Privet Drive, he enjoyed near complete anonymity courtesy of, ironically enough, his relatives. He was never allowed to roam before attending Hogwarts, spending his time between the cupboard, the kitchen, the garden and school. Because of this, the likelihood of him being recognised by anyone other than a random primary school classmate who was stuck in Surrey over summer and/or anyone other than close acquaintances was virtually nil. Hell, he'd run across a few muggleborn out on a lam before and hadn't been recognised.
It was the robes that did it. He was sure of it.
He smiled as he breathed in the mildly polluted air. Anonymity. He'd missed it. No judging, no fooling around, no evil Dark Wizards out to kill and/or frame/incapacitate/kidnap/murder him. It was refreshing.
His smile got larger as he fingered the money in his pocket. He hated carrying galleons around on him. Same with sickles and knuts. The trousers he wore didn't exactly have reliable pockets handy and, once you got beyond one or two coins, the buggers got really heavy. Paper money was the way to go. It may be about as substantial as a politician's promises and half as durable, but at least it didn't rip holes in his pants whenever he didn't have a wallet or a pouch handy.
That, and a hundred pounds' worth of twenty pound notes did wonders for your confidence. Speaking of pants, didn't M&S have a sale on or something? Eh, probably or something. They were bloody expensive either way.
But that could wait. First, some food.
Well, he could go for the American fast food place that'd just opened around the corner, but that particular action would probably end badly. He knew Dudley. Dudley loved junk food. Hence, with Harry's luck, snagging himself some junk food of his own may well end with him re-enacting his least favourite childhood game of Harry Hunting.
Bloody Dudley. Always ruining bloody everything.
Harry grumbled to himself before he spotted the local pub. Hmm, pub food. He hadn't had any in a while.
Eh, worth a try.
The interior of the pub was the exact opposite of what he'd come to expect after such fine establishments as the leaky cauldron, the three broomsticks and the horror stories making the rounds about the Hog's Head. For one, it was clean. Not a heap of sawdust in sight. The ceiling was higher than the outside let on, too. A skylight could be seen illuminating a corner of the pub. The publican was cleaner than the floor, which was saying something. A dazzling array of beers were advertised as being on tap while a glass-fronted fridge held cakes, pastries and bottled drinks.
Harry stared. This was not what he'd expected.
"You a bit young to be comin' here aren'tcha?" The publican asked. "I don't serve no beer to anyone unner 17. Pers'nal policy."
"Uh, food?" Harry asked dumbly.
"Whaddya want?" The man asked gruffly.
"Dunno. What's on special?"
"C'mere." The publican stated kindly. Harry walked over to the counter. The man handed him a laminated piece of paper. "This 'ere's the menu. Pick something, then drop off yer order at the corner kitchen. If yer want anythin' ter drink, get back 'ere. Got it?"
"Understood."
"Right. No funny business or I kick yer out. 'n Melody says hi, by the by."
"Melody?" Harry asked. "Melody Pond? How's she doing?"
"Piss awfully." The publican chuckled. "She's gone ter stonewall son. Misses yer n' some of the others something chronic."
"Well, say hi to her from me please. Tell her I miss her and the endless games of hide n' seek too."
"Sure thing son. Now get. I've got a pub to man." The man said, turning back to his spirits collection. "I told 'er this whole 'new design' thing was too posh, I did." He muttered to himself. "Look at this place. So much neon, I might as well be a frickin' stripper. Bloody women."
Harry chuckled as he sat down and read through the menu. Chips, chips with gravy, chips with cheese, chips with cheese & gravy (yum, that), fish & chips, chicken & chips, steak & chips, steak & chips & salad, prawns& chips, prawn cutlets & chips, curry & chips, hot dogs & chips, burger & chips (salad optional)-seems that everything came with a side of chips.
Perfect. Harry loved chips. It's one of the few things he really missed when attending Hogwarts. Well, that and electricity. Lamps and lighting posts filled with conjured light simply couldn't compete.
He selected the burger with salad and chips before heading off to the pimply-faced youth behind the counter he vaguely recognised as being an upper-year that used to chase him around with Dudley when he first started attending primary school. He placed the order and handed over a crisp twenty whilst repressing a scowl. He hated bullies. He hoped this kid got his come-uppance one of these days. He'd been very good at making Harry's life hell that one year.
And the bastard had short-changed him by one pound. That was just not on.
He opened his mouth and was about to yell out when everything went dark.
"Guess who?" Hermione said impishly. She didn't get to do this much in Hogwarts, but hey. It was the little things in life.
"Argle!" Came the strangled yelp in reply.
"Nope, not argle! Guess again." She suggested.
"Hermione?" Harry asked, a surprised smile finding itself on the boy's face with very little in the way of prompting from the brain. She lifted her hands and turned him around. "Hermione! What the sodding hell are you doing here?" He exclaimed happily.
"Language." She admonished with a smile. "And I am getting some lunch, same as you."
"You know what I mean. " Harry stated in deadpan. "You live in Kent. This is Surrey. It's about an hour's train ride between here and Sevenoaks."
"And how do you know that?" Hermione asked.
"I read train timetables for fun." Harry said. "They're quite entertaining."
"Bollocks."
"No, seriously!" Harry persisted. "Trainspotting is something of a hobby when I have the time."
"Really now."
He smiled. "Indeed. Needless to say, I don't have much in the way of time nowadays, but it's a nice thing to indulge in." Hermione chuckled. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"
"Your aunt called me. It was all a bit strange, so I decided to come and drop by." Hermione admitted with a shrug. "Good thing I found you before I made the trek to Privet Drive though. Your aunt's a rude harpy."
"Don't be so quick to judge Granger." Harry warned playfully. "She isn't just a rude harpy. She can be a mean old bitch too. She's a woman of many talents."
"Isn't that the truth." She muttered.
"What, no admonishments about my French?" He teased.
"Not after that phone call, no. Honestly, she deserves to be called worse, but my vocabulary of swearwords is nowhere near as extensive as Ron's." She admitted. "As long as you're stating the truth, it's not worth a reprimand."
"So you got the call and decided to just hop onto a train, cross county boundaries and hike for thirty minutes to say hello?" Harry asked curiously.
Hermione nodded. "I was about to go for a post-homework celebratory walk anyway. Well, that and you haven't been sending me any mail. I was starting to get worried."
Harry groaned. "Oh, not this again."
"What?" Hermione asked in confusion.
"'Mione, I've been sending you letters twice a week over the last two weeks. I just assumed that, since you were knee-deep in homework, that it would be some time before you could reply to me." Harry explained. "It's like summer three years ago, all over again."
"You mean that someone's been intercepting your mail." She stated worriedly. "But who could be doing this?"
"I don't know, nor do I particularly care. I just want them, whoever they are, to stop doing that." Harry shrugged, dismissing the issue entirely. "Well, now that I know, I guess I'll just have to call Ron and tell him that I'm fine and won't be needing him to come fly to the rescue anytime soon."
"You seem awfully blasé about this." Hermione pointed out warily. "If I were you, I would be blowing my top right now. And-oh, a steak with salad, hold the chips please." She stated at the counter boy, handing him money and getting the exact money back, much to Harry's annoyance. Clearly, his former tormentor had slighted him just like he used to ages ago.
"What's the point?" Harry asked. "It's happened before, we have a solution to the problem, no problem. No big deal. I'll just use the phone and give Hedwig a few days off."
"Right. So how is your summer going then?" Hermione asked, careful not to sound too worried.
"Better than normal. I'm allowed to roam free, the chores are easily handled and the weather's nicer than usual. Really, apart from thinking about last year and having Voldemort invade my dreams every so often, it'd qualify as being the nicest summer I've had in dog's years."
"Well, that's good." Hermione declared, nodding firmly before sighing. "I worried for nothing, didn't I?" She asked sheepishly.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Harry laughed. "When I heard my aunt rant about the freak bitch after calling you, I thought I'd finally lost my mind. Now that you're here and most probably not some hallucination I've conjured up for myself, I get to finally show you where I grew up."
"Really?" Hermione asked, slightly excited at the prospect.
"Truly. I warn you though, it's not exactly a mansion like they described in those books they sell." Harry stated playfully.
"Well I know th-wait, you actually read those books?" She asked with a dumbfounded expression.
"Hah!" Harry exclaimed. "As if! No, I just took what I knew about Lockhart's writing and made an educated guess about what a ponce like him would write about me. Now come on, let's pick up this food, have lunch and I'll show you around."
Arthur Weasley was an odd duck, that was for sure. He was the kind of pureblood wizard that is generally lumped in with Lovegood for one simple reason; his undying obsession and continuous cluelessness vis-a-vis the muggle world.
For instance, he uses a muggle fellytone as a centrepiece above the fireplace. He had it installed, up & running and everything. You could call muggles using it. It was positively scandalous.
Which meant that, when the phone rang, it caused undue excitement amongst the Burrow's inhabitants, especially the patriarch. The Weasleys were being called. Via muggle phone. Terribly exciting, that.
Ginny, ignoring the general chaos, went and picked up the phone. Unlike her parents and brothers, she'd actually listened when the muggles explained how to use a phone. She'd used it to call the Creevey brothers when her parents and siblings were out doing boy stuff.
"Hello, Weasley residence!" She shouted, hoping to convey the message above the background noise her extended clan generated on momentous occasions such as these.
"Ow! Bloody hell, not so loud!" A tinny voice exclaimed on the other end.
"Sorry." She murmured, abashed. "Who is this?"
"Uh, missus Weasley? Is that you?" The voice asked tentatively.
"No, this is not my bloody mother." Ginny huffed. "It's Ginny."
"Oh, sorry Gin. It's Harry here." The voice stated.
"Harry?" Ginny exclaimed, causing the entire room to fall silent. "What's going on? And why didn't you just owl us, like you usually do?"
"Actually, that's why I'm calling you." Harry said. "Have you received any mail from me in the last two weeks?"
"Yee-ess, Monday and Friday, regular as a tempus." Ginny asked tentatively. "What is this about?"
"Well, Hermione hasn't. We're thinking that someone's been intercepting my mail before it gets to her. I'm just ringing to see if something similar's happened on your end." Harry stated.
"Wait, someone's been tampering with your mail? But that's illegal! Doubly so since it's your personal post owl! Have you told anyone else?" Ginny exclaimed, struggling to keep her tone from getting shrill again.
"No, I haven't told anyone apart from Hermione. It's just that this has happened before and I wanted to see if this was done in the same way."
"Wait, when did this happen last time? It could be the same culprit." Ginny pointed out.
"No, I highly doubt that Dobby'd try that again."
"Dobby? You mean it was when-when... oh." Ginny said in a small voice, feeling dread turn her insides to ice once more. The last time something like that happened, she'd almost died. The hand holding the receiver aloft started trembling. "D-do y-you th-th-th-think it's h-him?" She asked fearfully.
"No Gin." Harry stated firmly. "If it was him, then that means that he'd know where to find me, in which case I would be dead already. Don't worry about it."
"Harry, I can't-" She squeaked. "I'm scared Harry." She admitted in a small voice.
"Don't be. Stick with your family, you'll be safe. This is nothing. I'll just be contacting you via phone rather than via Hedwig, alright?"
"Alright Harry. Take care." Ginny said.
"You too. Bye!" Harry said, followed shortly by the bleep-bleep-bleep that signalled a disconnected line.
Ginny turned to look at her family, still pale and shaken by the fright she'd just gotten.
"Gin-gin?" Ron asked, approaching her. "You alright?"
Ginny just ran at him and engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug. "Promise me you won't go writing in any strange books this year!" She blurted out.
"Uh, okay Gin, you have my word?" Ron stated in confusion. Him? Writing? That supposed to be a joke or something?
"That-"
"So-"
"Ickle-"
"Gin-"
"Gin-"
"Any reason why?" The twins asked, chuckling at their baby sister's antics.
"Oh, don't listen to me you two. You go right ahead. One of you is more than enough." Ginny answered cheekily.
The twins pouted while everyone else let out a nervous laugh.
The payphone clanged as the receiver went back on its holding tray. Harry and Hermione stared at nothing for a minute, pondering what they'd just learned. Harry then turned to look at the park bordering Privet drive, still deep in thought. It had been a busy day. Fun, but busy. And now the sun was setting. Harry wished this day wouldn't end. Sharing this with at least one of his friends had helped him more than he could ever say. But the purple-orange tint spreading over the horizon dashed those hopes. Harry sighed. "What time do you have to go back?" Harry asked.
"Before twelve." Hermione stated. "Tomorrow's a Saturday, so my parents and I will be sleeping in anyway."
"So that leaves us what, three, maybe four hours?" Harry asked.
"Yep." Hermione admitted, her stomach growling. "I'm hungry."
"Well, I have an idea then." He stated. "Want to go meet the relatives?"
Hermione snorted. "No, not particularly."
"I can relate, trust me." He drawled. "But there will be food on the table. Quite a bit of it."
Hermione's stomach grumbled. "I guess I can put up with them then. For the sake of food."
"I am flattered I mean so much to you." Harry deadpanned.
She laughed.
Petunia opened the door to a most unwelcome sight. The freak was back, which was bad enough. But he had brought company with him. Company... of the female variety.
"Auntie." Harry said, fidgeting as his aunt kept staring at him. "This is Hermione. You talked on the phone this morning."
"Oh." She stated, voice cold as ice. "So it was you this morning."
"Yes madam." The freakish little chit stated in a frigid tone. "I decided to take your advice. Thank you."
Petunia sneered. "Good. Well, you've said hello. Run along now."
"Well, Auntie, see, she's a good friend of mine and it's a long way home for her so-" he stopped shaking his head. "I invited her for dinner so that she could eat before leaving."
"What." Petunia snapped. That little presumptuous bastard. She'd slaved all day long to provide for herself, Duddykins, Vernon and the freak and now he, the freeloader, wanted her to feed another freak? "No."
"Excuse me?" The freaks asked, shocked at her refusal.
"You heard me! Away, the both of you. You, I don't want to see until tomorrow at the earliest. Take the freak bitch and buy her something for dinner if you care that much to invite her here. As for you. " Petunia snarled. "Fuck off back to freakland and make sure you never darken my doorstep again, you hear?" She shouted. "Do not dare to presume that, just because I have to take one freak under my roof, that I'll suffer any more of you than I need to. Now off!" She roared before closing the door.
"That could have gone better." Harry stated, shocked at what had just occurred.
"You think?" Hermione snapped. "Harry, don't take this the wrong way, but I hate your relatives."
"Don't worry." Harry reassured her. "I've felt the same way for longer than you have."
She sighed. "It's getting dark. Let's go. We'll have a snack downtown or something."
"Sounds like a great idea." Harry stated, smiling at the thought of more chips in the near future.
"Then we'll get you a train ticket so you can come back with me." Hermione stated.
Harry abruptly stopped walking. "Really?" He asked in a strangled voice. "You'd do that for me?"
Hermione turned to look at him. "Well yes. It's not like I am going to let you just sleep in a gutter somewhere Harry."
"That's... thank you." Harry said solemnly. "I hate sleeping outside."
"Wait, are you telling me they've done this before?" Hermione asked angrily. Harry remained silent. "Why those no good, bigoted, fucking bastards!"
"Hermione, language!" Harry exclaimed, laughing at her indignified anger.
"Don't you language me! To leave a child out in the streets! They fucking deserve to be visited by Death Eaters, they do!" Hermione shouted.
"Hey!" Harry snapped, stung by the tirade. "Don't say that! They're gits, but they're still family, alright? I've lost enough family to Death Eaters, thank you very much."
Hermione cringed. "Sorry Harry, I forgot."
Harry waved it off. The duo continued walking in silence. Dogs barked in the distance.
"Hey Harry." Hermione asked tentatively. "Did... did they ever beat you?"
"No." Harry replied. It was truthful enough, though not entirely.
"And those scars? You know, the ones on your leg?" Hermione pushed.
"Marge's dog." Harry replied curtly.
"So what Ron said-"
"Drop it." The anger in Harry's voice made Hermione cringe once more. More dogs barked, closer this time.
"I'm sorry." Hermione said.
"Just don't bring it up again."
"I'm not a very good friend, am I?" Hermione asked.
Harry snorted. "No, you're not a very good friend Hermione." He paused for a second, looking at her dejected face before continuing on. "You're my best friend."
Hermione smiled. "Prat. Ron's your best friend. You're just flattering me."
"Wrong. Ron's not here. And if he were, I wouldn't have tried what I did." Harry admitted. "Maybe, back before the Goblet, but not since."
"I thought you'd forgiven him."
"I haven't forgotten though." Harry stated, smiling back at her. "Thank you. For coming. For checking up on me. For backing me up. I never say it enough, but thank you. It means the world to me."
They crossed the main road and turned left, heading straight into town. The barking grew louder.
"Hey Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Hm?"
"Is it just me or are those dogs getting louder?"
The full moon emerged from behind a cloud. A monstrous howl greeted it.
"Th-those aren't dogs." Harry stated, panicking. "Run!"
The two ran towards the broadway, shoving people aside in their dash down the street. The howling turned into snarls. People screamed.
"Harry!" Hermione yelled. "The muggles!"
"Damn." Harry cursed under his breath. That was why he ran into the town-they were after him and Hermione. The muggles would have slowed them down. But no, she had to figure it all out. Bloody damn. How was he supposed to keep her safe? Wait-the car park. "Follow me!" He shouted, hanging a left across the street, the sound of tires squealing accompanying his and Hermione's dash over the road.
"Oi, stop! Police!" A cop shouted behind them, starting to give chase. Harry cursed loudly this time.
The car park was almost completely deserted. It was a multi-storey commuter's set-up intended to store the vehicles for the benefit of those workers that went to London during the week and came home early Saturday morning. Nary a soul in sight until one o'clock Saturday. Perfect for hiding out. Not-so-perfect for running away from werewolves though.
Harry vaulted over the guard-rail, pausing to help Hermione across. The policeman was gaining on them. The werewolves were gaining on him though. "Oi! Stop! That's private property-Aaa-ugh!" One of the werewolves bowled the man over, not stopping for the tasty midnight snack as Harry'd hoped it would.
There were three of them. Shit.
"Harry, come on, we've got to go!" Hermione said, pulling on his sleeve. Her wand was out. Good girl.
"Right." He said, extracting his Holly & Phoenix feather wand from his shirt. "Let's go."
They spotted the door to the staircase-and the bolt holding the door in place.
"Alohomara!" Hermione shouted, flicking her wand at the door. The bolt popped into the air like a champagne cork, the locks disengaged with a massive clack, the lights went out and the alarms went off. Harry put on a burst of speed, planted his hand firmly on Hermione's back and pushed her forward as the snarls and howls of triumph started to grow louder. He pushed her through the door and drew it closed. Unfortunately, a werewolf barrelled into the door, knocking him to the ground as the door crashed inwards.
He pointed his wand at the thing's opening jaws. "Depulso!" The beast went flying into the opposite wall, yelping as its head impacted against the hardened concrete. "Incendio!" Harry shouted, jabbing his wand at the enormous beast once more.
The werewolf howled in pain and anger as its fur lit up, filling the stairwell with the smell of burning carpet. Harry picked himself up and made for the stairs. The second werewolf poked its head through the door, jaws snapping as it urged its howling companion away from its meal. "Reducto!" Hermione shouted, the blue bolt hitting the wolf's nose. Half its head sheared away in a shower of gore.
Unfortunately, it was not dead.
Harry limped quickly up the stairs to catch up with Hermione, the shock of his fall hindering his movements. The third werewolf was nowhere to be seen.
Just as they were reaching the second floor landing, the lights went out and the sprinklers went on.
"Fucking fantastic!" Harry shouted.
"Harry! Language!" Hermione shouted back as the fire alarm added to the cacophony of the burglary alarm. It was a symphony of pain to their ears.
"The roof!" Harry shouted.
"What?" Hermione shouted back.
"THE! ROOF!" Harry shouted.
Hermione nodded her consent, her profile barely visible in the dark.
And up they went, in the dark, the howls of sirens and werewolves dogging their every step.
Officer Thompson picked himself up off the ground, gingerly kneading some life back into his right arm. That would be one heck of a bruise in the morning. He cursed. Fucking kids. Fucking dogs. He moved back onto the car park entrance's side-walk before fumbling with his walkie-talkie.
"Dispatch, we have an emergency developing at the Little Whinging commuter's car park."
"This is dispatch, please detail the nature of the emergency."
"A couple of kids just got chased into it by what looks like a pack of rabid dogs."
"Please provide a description of the children officer."
"Two teenagers-one male caucasian, dark hair, approximately 5 feet two inches tall, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and an oversized checkered shirt. One female caucasian, brown curly hair, approximately 5 feet four inches tall, dressed in cargo pants and a leather jacket."
"Be advised, two teens matching that description were reported for breach of the peace not far from your location."
"I know. I was giving chase to them when the dogs showed up."
"Right. Please clarify-how many dogs were there and did you spot any specific breeds officer?" The dispatch officer asked acerbically.
"Well, there were three of them. Huge bastards too. I'm pretty sure I spotted one that was about a metre long, tail not included. No idea what particular breed they were, though. It's a bit dark out here." Thompson answered professionally, not letting his rising irritation show on his face.
"A metre long? Come on man, surely-"
"Look son, I don't know who the fuck you are, but I am not kidding around here!" Thompson growled at his comms unit. "One of those bastards ran into me while they were making for the kids. I ended up kissing fucking tarmac because it decided to use me as a springboard. If it'd been gunning for me, I'd be dead. So stop giving me lip, mate, and send over some fucking back-up, why don't you?"
"Ah, right officer. Sorry. Backup's on its way. Contacting animal control now."
"Thanks dispatch. Over and out."
"Over and out." The comms officer signed off before sighing. "Jesus Christ. Metre long dogs? Delusional ass. Fucking weird job. Can't wait to finish me degree."
"You're still live mate." Thompson stated with an amused tone.
"Wait, what? Oh sh-" The radio squealed as the comms line cut off.
The car park was massive. Six stories above ground, two below, it was the latest and greatest project the Little Whinging town council had funded in close to a decade. Nothing fancy, really-it was basically a massive tower of concrete having more in common with a pallet than with a house. The video cameras, however, were state of the art-digital cameras with in-built night vision and back-to-base monitoring capabilities, to be exact. Harry and Hermione could have chosen a better place to run to. Because right then and there, they had an audience they weren't even aware of.
It is doubtful whether they would have cared anyway. They were fumbling around, trying to make their way up a dark, wet staircase, trying to not make a sound that could be heard above the noise assaulting them from every side.
The alarms cut off abruptly. Though the lights were still off and the water still raining down from the sprinklers overhead, this qualified as an improvement. Not that they could hear anything beyond the hiss of highly pressurised rain going everywhere, at least the sound didn't beat against their ear drums like the hammer of an angry god.
Harry carefully moved up another step, making sure to keep his left hand on the steel guardrail as he did so. Hermione followed suit, the dim glow of an exit sign two floors above them providing a semblance of visibility the girl could use to follow Harry's movements. The sickly green colour given off by the sign reflected off the rivulets of water running down the walls, turning solid objects into shadow and destroying night vision as it did so. In short, the light was worse than useless to them.
A groan echoed through the area, causing Harry to pause with one foot in the air. They waited silently, praying that it was merely a random noise from the building's plumbing, a passing train, one of the weres getting frisky with a car-anything but the idea that the wolves knew how to open doors.
Nothing. Harry sighed silently, putting his foot down on the step.
Boom.
Both teens started and turned around, looking for the source of the noise. Barely visible in the green light, they spied a door.
A door with a large bulge in the centre of it.
Boom.
The door shuddered in its hinges, the bulge in the centre getting larger. Snarls of canine pain echoed through the small space.
The wolves were on the attack again. Time to go.
"Come on!" Harry said, gripping Hermione's jacket forcefully. "We've got to move! Now!"
"Wait! Confirma!" Hermione shouted, a bright orange ball of light illuminating the tight space before hitting the door.
Boom.
The door didn't shudder this time. The bulge didn't grow. The hinges didn't fail. Instead, a pained keening sound went up as the werewolf behind the door found itself quite thoroughly concussed.
"Now we can go." Hermione stated in satisfaction. "Come on then! The spell won't last that long with a determined werewolf there." She said, pushing Harry forward.
"You have got to teach me that spell." Harry said with an envious tone. "That was bloody brilliant! Lumos!" he shouted, no longer bothering with stealth.
"Fine." Hermione huffed, jogging after Harry and shaking off the water obscuring her vision and making her wand slippery. "But only after we're out of danger."
The bright ball of light sitting on top Harry's wand did some interesting things to the shadows in the corridor as well as the concrete wall. Every movement caused a shift in the shadows, making it look as if the darkness was shying away from the two teens. Air bubbles cut open by the diamond saw blades used to shape the walls became pockets of unfathomable depth, making Hermione think that beyond those walls lay starless vacuum rather than a small Surrey town. Old stains glowed under the magic of the lumos, their outlines resolving into nightmarish patterns of human-shaped stains against the wall. Though she knew that this was most likely left over from some homeless person or other seeking shelter on a rainy night, she couldn't help remembering that similar shapes adorned the streets of Hiroshima and Nagasaki not that long ago.
She shivered to herself, the absently conjured bluebells shifting colours to reflect her mood. Silver and grey. Proof positive that, while similar on the surface, there is a world of distance underneath.
She stepped over a shimmering stain of what she fervently hoped had only been vomit, sticking closer to Harry than she'd had before.
A gleaming 6 came into view at the top of the stairs, the water that had soaked her to the bone now confirming that the chilly night-time wind was getting stronger the farther upwards they went. She willed the bluebells to hover closer to her, the harmless warmth given off by the jellyfish-like constructs of light helping to stem the shakes she would doubtlessly feel soon enough.
"We're almost there!" She exclaimed at Harry.
"I know." Harry grunted, carefully lighting up any nooks & crannies he could find before getting closer to the door. "Please be quiet Hermione. They can hear us."
"Sure." Hermione said. "Who goes first?"
"I do." Harry said firmly.
"Harry..." Hermione started, only to be cut off.
"No. This is not up for discussion. I've done this before, you haven't. Ergo, I go first, you watch my back." Harry stated.
Hermione seethed for a few seconds, one of the bluebells giving off a red sheen that did interesting things to the corridor around them. "When this is over, we're going to have words, Hadrian James Potter."
"If we survive." Harry corrected blandly. "And Hadrian?"
"Your non-abbreviated name. I found it in notable figures of the 20th century-wizarding edition."
"I... I had no idea." Harry admitted.
The silence lasted for three seconds. "Let's go." Hermione stated.
Harry opened the door. Cold wind blasted the warmth from the bluebells away.
But that was not why Hermione shivered.
"Report." The Auror on duty snapped out as he entered the DRCMC offices.
"We have a werewolf attack in progress. Three of them running through a muggle town." A witch manning the situations desk said in a strained voice. "They've ignored any muggles they come across and are chasing down two children. Apparently, there's already a muggle pleaseman on the scene and more are incoming."
"Has anyone managed to get there yet?" The Auror asked.
"No. Amos is still in mourning, so we're a bit slow at the moment. Macnair has requested authorisation to engage and dispose of the creatures, but with no-one to authorise it on hand, well..." the witch shrugged. "My hands are tied."
"Where is the attack taking place?" he asked.
"Uh, lessee-a muggle town called 'Little Whinging' in Surrey." The witch stated, perusing the file that'd appeared on her desk. "Magical inhabitants... two of them, one Arabella Figg, squib and-Harry Potter?" She shouted in shock. "The Boy-Who-Lived lives in a muggle town?"
"Right. That information is secret for a reason, by the way. Keep that information to yourself. And tell Macnair his permission to engage is denied!" He ordered, leaving the office as quickly as he could. Locating a floo at the end of the hall, he threw a pinch of powder into the fire and stuck his head in. "Amelia Bones' office!"
"Auror Hagar." The head of the DMLE stated icily. "What a surprise. What's up?"
"Madam Bones, there is a werewolf attack in progress." The Auror blurted out quickly. "I think it's Potter Madam. He's being targeted by three of them."
"Right. Good work Auror. Get back to your post, I have a few calls to make."
"Aye aye madam."
The town looked bigger from up there. The wind was chilly, but the hot summer air had yet to fully dissipate, which provided a degree of relief to the two soggy teenagers.
"Scourgify." Harry muttered, pointing at his clothes. The water and accumulated grime of the day dropped to the ground in a soggy splat. "Scourgify." He muttered again, pointing his wand at a dazed-looking Hermione. She came to when she noticed her clothes drying up almost instantaneously, replacing the bone-deep chill of water-logged clothing with that chafing feeling only stiffly dry clothes were known to afford.
"Thanks Harry." She said, turning her gaze away from the sea of lights dotting the countryside around Little Whinging and turning to face her best friend. "I needed that."
Harry shook his head. "Easy with the 'thank you's there. We've still got to get out of this mess."
Hermione nodded. "I know." She stared up at the full moon. "Bloody good timing for a visit, eh?"
Harry chuckled as he scanned the rooftop. "Yeah. Just our luck."
She conceded the point. "Just another Tuesday."
"I thought it was Friday."
She shrugged. "It's something my cousin says. Ask me about it later."
"Alright. Hey!" Harry shouted in excitement. "Look at that!"
Hermione looked to where Harry was pointing. It was a bus. A double decker bus.
What the hell was it doing on the roof of a car park?
The two teens stared at the openings to the fifth floor. A metallic-sounding barking came from the two chasms. The rampways were exceedingly large to their young eyes, openings into an abyss populated by fur, muscle and teeth. The opaque film and scratches obscuring the view through the plexiglass windows of the bus did little to minimise the impact of the view in front of them.
Three figures stepped out of the shadow of the ramp. The first werewolf had seen better days. Patches of bare skin could be seen even from their position, the bright orange patches of smouldering fire running up & down the thing's legs indicating that Harry's incendio had not been completely extinguished by the sprinkler system.
The second was horrifying to look at. Half its snout was missing. The right side of its face looked like it had been gouged out. A bleeding jaw surrounded by shredded meat & bone was visible in the moonlight, the larger-than-expected orb of milky white indicating that, somehow, the eye remained in place despite most of the support structure holding it up being reduced to bony shrapnel.
The third, though, was worrying. Unlike the other two, it wasn't snarling like a rabid dog. It wasn't twitching or moving its head from side to side. It just came out of the shadows, sat down and stared at the bus.
Harry noted the attitude. This was the leader of this little get-together. The were didn't look noticeably bigger and its pelt was indistinguishable from the other two's, but what garnered his interest was the different shape of its underbody. Small tufts of fur puffed out at regular intervals all the way down the inner torso of the beast.
The leader was female. For some reason, this didn't inspire confidence in Harry.
Hermione, on the other hand, was panicking. They had nowhere to run. If anyone came looking for them, muggle or wizard, the three werewolves running around would tear them to shreds. And if they didn't and everyone survived, well, she and Harry would be answering a lot of uncomfortable questions.
Either way, they were fucked.
"Harry." She whispered. "We need to get out of here."
"Not yet. See the wolf hanging back there?" Harry asked her, pointing out the large female were sitting on the sidelines. "She's in charge. We need to figure out a way to take her out before we make a break for it."
"She, Harry?" Hermione asked, perplexed. "How do you know it's a she?"
"Those tufts of hair. Remember that statue of Romulus & Remus?"
"Ah." She said. "How does this help us?"
"Simple-she's got a plan. If it works, we get eaten. If it doesn't, she'll come up with another one. The other two are the muscle here. Take out the brains, the muscle stops working. They won't know what to do."
Hermione nodded, conceding that Harry was making sense. She ran her eye across the 'muscle', hoping to see if there was anything they could do to even the chances. Stupefy has a tendency not to work on werewolves, after all, and while her reducto does damage, it's nowhere near enough to stop the bastards in their tracks. The shot the other'd taken was damn lucky. She didn't think she would get lucky twice.
But explosive damage spells did work in slowing them down. The trick was to get close enough to ensure that the weres didn't dodge them.
"What are you thinking about 'Mione?" Harry asked her, eyeing the burnt werewolf apprehensively.
"We can't stun them, but the reducto and incendio we threw made them back off for a while." She stated. "Second time's the charm, maybe? We hit them with those and then go for the leader?"
Harry shook his head. "It would work, but it leaves the problem of how to take her out. She's too far away for us to hit her and I doubt she'll take the attack against her two companions lying down."
"So what are you thinking of doing?" She asked.
"We wait for her to make her move. When she does, we concentrate on one were at a time. That way, we get at least one of them off our backs, which should make dealing with the other two easier." He admitted. "Hey, it's not much of a plan, but..." He shrugged when he caught her expression.
"Right. Reductos then?"
"No. Bombardas." Harry stated.
"Harry, we're trapped inside a bus. If one of those goes off in here, the wolves won't have to come for us because we'll be dead." Hermione snapped.
"Right. Then I guess we do the Gryffindor thing." He said sheepishly.
"What, charge them?" She commented snidely.
"Play it by ear, actually." He retorted.
"Because that's worked so well so far."
"We're still alive, aren't we?" He pointed out.
"Point. By ear it is, then." She conceded.
The leader barked. The two weres swung over to look at her. The leader barked more insistently this time, growling for effect. Burn victim snorted. Scarface huffed. The leader's growl intensified.
The two werewolves lined up with the double-decker bus and charged straight at its side.
"Here they come." Harry intoned emotionlessly.
The weres hit the bus head-first, causing the chassis to shudder and lift slightly. They threw themselves under the lifted wheels, allowing the wheels on the multi-ton vehicle to drop down on them. To the teens' surprise, they weren't squished. Instead, the weres were now underneath the front & back wheels of the bus, supporting most of its weight on their shoulders.
Harry felt the cabin begin to tilt slowly. The weres were standing up, using themselves to tip over the double decker. Clever. "Hermione!" Harry shouted. "Downstairs, now!"
She nodded, dashing for the closest set of stairs. Harry dashed for the other set on the far side. As he did so, he noticed the leader line up with the center of the carriage. He ran faster.
Outside, the female were steadied herself, lowered her head and charged forward. As Harry just cleared the stairs, the wolf came into full view of the window. Even tilting over, he could still see the leader's shoulder blades outlined in the moonlight. She wasn't the same size as the others. Up close, she was a whole lot bigger.
The leader jumped onto the tilting bus headfirst. She hit the behemoth, head first, in the centre of its mass.
Boom.
The tilting accelerated. "Take cover!" Hermione shouted as she ducked into a row of seats.
But it was too late for Harry. He held onto the metal bar near the centre of the carriageway and hoped for the best.
The double decker bus gained momentum as it fell, making him feel like he was floating in zero gravity for about half a second before the vehicle made contact with the ground. The sound was deafening.
The long beam of metal was violently wrenched from his grip, causing him to be launched straight at the ground. His left shoulder hit first, causing a massive jolt of pain to travel up and down his body. The plexiglass window underneath him split with a crash, the shards of hardened plastic curling outwards and skewering his left arm as he landed.
He moaned in pain.
"Harry! Harry!" Hermione cried frantically. "What happened?"
"I think my left arm's broken. I've also got bits of the window stuck in there."
"Shit!" Hermione cursed. "Do you still have your wand?"
"Yeah. Held onto it." Harry said in a shock-induced daze. "It may prove useful in the future."
"Right. Can you stand up?" Hermione asked.
"I think so."
"Do so." She urged. "I can't see you."
Harry stood up, screaming as the curled plexiglass ripped the gash in his arm open upon extraction. "That hurt! Bloody hell, rather take Voldie's crucio than go through that again."
Hermione appeared next to him, gently grabbing hold of his left arm. "Let me see-bloody hell." She cursed. "I cannot fix this. It's too deep." She pushed Harry's arm against his chest, ignoring the slight yelp of pain he made doing so and pointed her wand at the arm. "Petrificus." Harry felt his arm going rigid. "There, that should keep it in place until tomorrow. Whatever you do, don't jostle it too much. Your arm's bad enough as it is."
"Where are the weres?" Harry asked, still shaking off his daze.
An almighty crash sounded through the cabin, followed by a low growl that sounded like it came from what used to be the top of the cabin.
"Guess that answers that." He muttered, gingerly moving to face the erstwhile roof of the deck.
A high-pitched squeal of metal sounded through the cabin. Hermione covered her ears. Harry turned towards the source of the sound, saw three claws slowly parting the aluminium plating that separated the two decks and jabbed his wand out at them. "Reducto." He yelled.
The spell impacted with the aluminium sheet, blowing a hole right through it with an almighty bang! One of the weres yelped in pained surprise as superheated aluminium shrapnel hit its flank.
Hermione then ran up to the hole and pointed her wand through the opening. "Incendio!" She yelled.
The magical flames did not hit the werewolf, however. Instead, it hit the bus seats, seats made of injection-moulded plastic and covered in a synthetic plush. The light of the flames turned into an orange glare, the magic eagerly devouring the benzene products and growing by the second. The were let out an almost human-sounding scream of pain, fear & panic as its hiding spot turned into a deathtrap.
Another crash sounded through the cabin, shards of plastic raining down on what used to be the driver's seat. Scarface had arrived.
Harry led the charge with a banishing charm. "Depulso! Reducto! Chiroptera Mucus!"
The were dodged the depulso, but ran straight into the seat Harry'd aimed at with the reducto. The shockwave of the explosion, combined with shards of metal & plastic peppering the wolf's flank, left it dazed for half a second. More than long enough for Ginny Weasley's bat bogey hex to hit home.
The glowing orange bats streamed out of its snout, snapping and chirruping angrily. The werewolf, finally understanding what was going on, changed strategies and tried to snap the beasts out of the air whilst ducking for cover. The bats, seemingly smelling the creature's blood, went straight for the massive wound in the thing's snout.
One of them, its wing ripped apart, landed on the were's eyeball. It attacked.
The werewolf screamed as the thing tore its eye out, thrashing around on the deck of the car in maddening amounts of pain. Hermione, sickened by the sight, decided to end this. "Reducto!" She shouted, her wand pointed at the were's head as it tried to shield its wounded side from the shrieking constructs.
The wolf's head moved. The spell missed, hitting the former floor of the bus.
The emergency fuel tank lodged underneath exploded.
BOOM!
There wasn't much left of the werewolf. There wasn't much left of the front side of the bus, either. The wolf on the other deck was still screaming as the magical flames danced across its pelt and down its airways, slowly suffocating by having its lungs deep fried in the intense heat. Even a were wouldn't survive that. The driver's section was flung aside, the magic of the spell having rendered the diesel fuel so volatile that the gas tank exploding ended up aping a landmine going off underneath the driver cabin. The magics involved were so potent, there wasn't even enough of the fuel left to burn.
The two teens were on the ground, clutching their bleeding ear drums and trying not to scream too heavily.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across the massive hole ripped out of the floor of the bus.
The leader was here. And she was pissed.
Spotting the two teens, she snarled and charged before they'd figured out what was going on. Those humans had killed her mates. There would be no surrender.
She jumped on top of the girl, who managed to raise her arm up to catch the thing's jaws rather than allow the were to go straight for the throat.
Hermione screamed in pain as she felt bone break and muscle give way under the beast's bite.
Harry saw what was going on. There was no time to try to trap her, stun her or incapacitate her. She'd hurt Hermione in front of him. Nobody hurt his best friend and got away with no. Nobody. Acting on instinct, he managed to bring his wand to bear on the beast and shouted out the first spell that came to mind.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green bolt flew through the air. The fluttering of wings, evidence of things unseen beyond the walls of reality, sounded in his deafened ears. The entire deck was illuminated with a sickly glow of unnatural light. The bolt hit the werewolf square on.
The wolf's jaws slackened, dropping Hermione's injured arm onto the hysterical girl. She twitched once. And then she was gone, her dead weight dropping straight onto the injured witch.
He would not think about this right now. He would not. That could come later. Hermione needed him. Right then. Right there.
He looked at Hermione's form. She was babbling, he could see that much. He didn't know what about, given that his ear drums were probably ruptured, but she was not happy.
Given that she was currently crushed beneath a werewolf that probably weighed half a ton in a wrecked, burning bus, it wasn't like this was completely unexpected.
What he did next was incredibly stupid. In his defence, he was dazed, concussed and had just gone four rounds with three werewolves, his best friend was freaking out and he'd just cast an unforgiveable. He put his wand away, grabbed the inside of the werewolf's jaw with his good hand, braced himself and pulled.
Good news? Most of the wolf came off Hermione, enough for his friend to free herself. Bad news? He'd cut himself doing it.
So he was going to become a werewolf. As was Hermione. He didn't care anymore. He knew what happened to people who cast unforgiveables. His life was fucked. As was hers.
Big deal.
He gingerly pulled Hermione up, looking down at his friend's ruined arm. It was a mess. He was pretty sure that, if it hadn't been for the jacket, she would have lost that arm when the were started pulling on it.
Making sure she could stand on her own for a second, Harry picked his wand up and pointed it at her. "Episkey." He incanted. Even if it didn't do anything, it was worth a shot. The glow of the charm hit her. And while it didn't do much for the arm, she did manage to look up in surprise before switching her wand to her good arm and casting the same spell on him.
"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" The miserable-looking girl asked him.
"Yeah 'Mione, I can." Harry stated.
"What happened?" She asked, confused. "Why is my arm broken too?"
"The werewolf happened while we were out of it. She bit you. I dealt with her." Harry stated emotionlessly.
"You what?" Hermione asked. "How?"
"The Killing Curse." Harry said. "I... I cast the killing curse."
The silence was heavy.
"Nothing's going to be the same again, is it?" Hermione asked.
"No." Harry stated, looking at the destruction surrounding him. It looked like a warzone. "No, it won't."
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Take me home."
"Okay."
"Got anything?" Officer Jones asked.
"Yeah." Officer David said. "It's a terrorist attack."
"Say again?"
"A terrorist attack. Someone set the dogs on these kids and cornered them in that bus over there. Based on what the kids looked like, I'd say they were inside when the thing went off. Fucking lucky kids, I say." David said, waving at the wreck burning away quite merrily as the firemen worked their magic.
"A terrorist attack. In a Surrey suburban enclave. That's preposterous. " Jones deadpanned.
"Not really. Saw lots of cases just like this about fifteen years back. Stopped right quick in the early eighties too. But that, right there? Bet my retirement that that's exactly what happened here." David insisted.
"Oh really." Jones intoned skeptically. "You sure? I didn't hear nothing like what I'm seeing here."
"We used to just write it off as a weird IRA thing. Got hushed up by the higher ups too." David shrugged. "I'd be surprised if you'd heard about it. The only reason I did was because I used to work on those cases."
"So what do we do then?" Jones asked, quite tired of this whole disaster. "It's not like there's a standard procedure to follow or anything, is there?"
"Just do what I used to do-kick it up the chain until you get word to ignore anything and everything you saw here today." David said, nodding his head towards the massive black wolf-thing the animal control people were hauling out of the burning carcass. "'ts not like anyone would believe shit like the hounds of the baskervilles chasing a bunch of teenagers into a bus rigged with explosives only for the last of 'em to drop dead from cardiac arrest before it could chow down on the sprogs anyway."
"Right." Jones said, clutching his head in anticipation of the report he'd have to write. This job so wasn't worth the migraines sometimes. "I think I'll go do that. Who do I contact about this?"
"Chap called Arthur Weasley handled this kind of stuff through Scotland Yard. I think I've still got his contact details somewhere..." David said, fumbling through his wallet.
"Just e-mail them to me." Jones offered. "I've still got to escort the kids to the hospital and contact their parents.
"E-mail? What's that?" David asked, baffled.
Jones groaned as the migraine came into existence. "Nevermind, just send me the details later."
"Right-o."
Harry awoke in a muggle hospital. This was a first for him. He was used to waking up in infirmaries, though, so he was somewhat familiar with the procedure. He fumbled for his glasses and put them on.
An elderly-looking redhead bearing a striking resemblance to his classmate Susan stood in front of his bed, a wand in hand.
His wand.
"Harry Potter?" The witch inquired.
"Yes." Harry answered. "Where's Hermione?" He asked worriedly.
"In the next bed over. I've just finished talking to her." She offered.
"Ah, good." Harry nodded. "My apologies madam, but I don't recognise you..." He inquired.
"Amelia Bones, director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Pleasure to meet you mister Potter." The witch stated, not budging from her spot.
"Ah. Am I in trouble then?" Harry asked.
The witch nodded. "Quite a bit of trouble, I'm afraid. Not only did you barely avoid breaching the statute of secrecy, but you also destroyed a fairly valuable piece of muggle machinery, pissed all over the underage magic laws and you cast an Unforgiveable at a magical being." She stated. "In fact, saying that you are in trouble is a slight understatement. Casting offensive magics is grounds enough to have your wand snapped and yourself drummed out of Hogwarts with no right to appeal. The Unforgiveable is an automatic life sentence in Azkaban when cast against a pureblood wizard or witch, no matter what the circumstances. And, with what the spell results tell me, you and your friend are now werewolves. As such, you would have no legal recourse whatsoever should any of these charges be brought before the Wizengamot. The sentence for any breach of magical law, as far as werewolves are concerned, is death."
Harry remained silent.
"And then there are the offenses carried out by your companion, Hermione Jane-"
"I accept full responsibility!" Harry blurted out in a panic. "I don't care what happens to me. Just leave her out of this. It was my fault she got into this mess. She doesn't deserve this." He added dejectedly.
Amelia snorted. "Relax Mister Potter. If I wanted to have you up on charges, then you would be in a holding cell rather than a hospital, regardless of your injuries."
Harry looked at her, stunned. "Come again?"
"Mister Potter, you and your companion fought off three Dark Creatures who came after you with the clear intent to kill. Everything you did, you did in order to ensure the survival of yourself as well as the survival of your companion. Self-defence is, as far as civilian matters are concerned, one of the few exemptions to the laws regarding the use of magics by underage students and breaching the Statute of Secrecy. As for the muggle vehicle, it's being handled by the muggles and is no longer your concern. You did nothing wrong under those circumstances, I can assure you." Bones explained.
"So I am not going to be executed." Harry said, relief clearly palpable in his voice.
"Good heavens, no! And if anyone tries to make it so, they will fail. I will not allow it." The elderly witch stated.
"Can you do the same for Hermione?" Harry asked carefully.
"Already have." Bones admitted.
"Thank you."
"Good day, Mister Potter. I am sure you'll make a full recovery soon." Amelia said, twirling around and disappearing with a crack.
Harry fell into a blissful sleep.
The second time he woke up, it was morning and Hermione was standing over his bedside.
"Thank you for saving my daughter." She said.
Wait, so maybe it wasn't Hermione. He fumbled with his glasses, putting them on fairly quickly and looking at the person who'd just spoken to him.
So this was Hermione's mother. Goodness, but they looked exactly the same except for her blue eyes! "Hello." Harry croaked out, still attempting to gain his wits. "And don't mention it. She's saved me plenty of times in the past."
The woman's smile twitched slightly before she sighed. "Agnes." She stated, extending her hand.
"Harry." He said, taking her hand and shaking it.
"I know. Hermione speaks very highly of you." She said in a faux conversational tone.
"How is she?" Harry asked.
"Fully healed up, which has a lot of the doctors puzzled here. Her left forearm had been pulped by a rather large dog just last night, so having it fully healed come morning is raising a lot of eyebrows." Agnes admitted. "Same for you-broken shoulderbone, bruised pelvis, cuts and lacerations all over your body, more muscle bruises and contusions than you could shake a stick at-the doctor stated that the fact that you managed to walk my girl out in such a state is nothing short of miraculous. And this morning, you're fit and healthy too!" She exclaimed. "Life's a wonder, innit?"
"Yep!" Harry answered, smiling at the good humour the woman was displaying. "So she's good enough to go home?"
"As are you." Agnes stated. "I called your aunt and relayed the whole story. Hermione told me the rest. You're coming home with us." She stated firmly. "And you're staying there until I've had a word with your relatives regarding the definition of hospitality." She hissed.
"Ah, sorry about that." Harry said. "It was my fault."
"No, it was all your Aunt's. She admitted as much over the phone, the harpy." Agnes muttered darkly. "And there is no way I am letting the boy who saved my girl sleep in the streets."
Harry stared up at her. "You know, you're a lot like Hermione."
Agnes huffed. "Please. I'm the matriarch here. Hermione's a lot like me, not the other way around."
He chuckled. "That she is."
"Now come on. Get dressed, packed and ready. We're leaving in ten." Agnes stated.
"I'll hop right to it." Harry exclaimed.
A home.
He'd never had one of those before.
