I do not own anything, except my own storyline and OC's, Just FYI.
As usual, summer was somewhat boring. While he could spend time with his family, it really just had little to do. The last year had really had an effect on him, and he found little interest in doing 'Childish' things with Tom. It didn't help that Vernon seemed extra vicious, knowing Harry would be leaving by august. He had rarely found time for his nightly flights, as his disillusionment wasn't quite up to par, and he couldn't do so with his invisibility cloak.
'You know the only reason you go to that school is they'd kill us if we didn't send you there! Otherwise I swear you'd be dead!' His foot slammed into Harry's chest, causing him to tumble backwards and hit his head. His Uncle had not learned when to stop, though.
'I swore I'd beat the magic out of you, and I am a man of my word! You've studied there, how do I do it!? Well!?' He pounded on the Ravenclaw's legs, making him fall from where he'd been stumbling back up.
'You cannot! We are an entirely different species, and if I have my way, we will see to your kind extinct!' Harry had never considered himself a blood supremacist, especially since Hermione had proven herself far more competent than many Purebloods, but something about Muggles made his blood boil. Perhaps it was his Uncle, maybe it was the way his primary school teachers had done nothing to help him. The only one he'd see saved if he could help it, was his cousin, Ben, and May. All others were dead to him.
Slamming open the door as Vernon readied himself for another bout, he sprinted away, calling upon anything to help him. Thankfully, Dobby appeared, grabbed his hand, and apparated the two to Potter Manor, treating the boy's wounds. The elf was truly the kindest being he had met so far.
'Master Potter must go away from those Muggles.'
'I've told you Dobby, I cannot. Dudley would be in trouble, and we both know he is far better than his parents.' The elf huffed, but returned to his duties. Harry himself simply leaned his head back, closing his eyes. This happened far too often, yet there was too little that could be done. Legal measures could not be taken, seeing as they were Muggles and a magical court could not and would not convict them, and the muggle side wouldn't let him sue his guardians. Any muggle he met dismissed his pleas as first childish drama, then teenage rebelliousness.
Only Ben and May could even attempt something, but when they had tried, had found themselves denied, as they were not his guardians. When the Prime minister got involved, he ended it by saying that as a Magical, it was the Wizarding World's responsibility, despite preventing them from trying Muggles. The man was a bastard, and exactly the type of Muggle Harry wanted to destroy.
After his injuries were taken care of, Dobby apparated him to Tom's house, where Trip was sleeping over. The three had become good friends, and watched the Star Wars prequel trilogy once more. Since he couldn't exercise much lest he risk breaking his stitches, it was the perfect activity. Other than reading, but he needed to spend some time with his friends.
Trip was a good friend and brother, fierce and loyal. The boy had proven himself many times over, always providing him some comfort when things seemed tough. But no one was perfect, and the boy had his share of flaws. Much like himself, he had a bit of a Hero complex, yet also had a very strong sense of right and wrong. Anything he judged to be evil, he refused to deal with. Thankfully, Trip was far more open minded than the Ministry.
Tom was the same, but tended towards the darker things in life, which scared Harry, to a certain degree. Not out of fear of his friend falling to Voldemort, he had expressed far too much distaste at the possibility, but out of the interest he seemed to have in the Slytherin's work. But the boy's biggest issue was pride. He'd shown himself to be very arrogant, a trait Harry likened to the fact that despite being a younger and reborn version, many things would be similar or the same between the two. Distracting himself, he turned to the Tellie, and made some nasty connections.
Anakin Skywalker, a boy saved at a fair age, special and showing incredible promise. Developing a forbidden relationship, proving himself one of the best and making a brother on his journey. But plagued by nightmare and divisions, the Dark Side began consuming him, making him become the very thing he feared. The connotations were scary.
They'd both been 'Saved' around the same age, both being special and having amazing, untapped power. Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived, Skywalker as The Chosen One. They seemed to be torn from the same cloth. His relationship with Daphne, while not forbidden, was frowned upon because of the contract, and scrutinized for their families history. Demonstrating his power as the best in his year and the next, making a brother(s) along the way who trained with him but was still weaker, and plagued by nightmares and visions.
They'd been growing stronger and more often, as he saw that Nihilus-like figure, struck him down and tore off his mask to reveal himself. His fear grew, as he became more and more scared of turning evil, and had begun avoiding learning the magic which seemed to classify as such, including yellow, red, purple, and black. While it prevented him from learning important skills, he judged that the risks did not outweigh the benefits.
Even now, when all seemed normal, he thought of prophecies. They were well-known in the Magical World, and judging by everything that happened, he was scared that he just might be involved in one. But that required a look down into the Department of Mysteries, which needed special access. Sirius would probably have a way though. He decided to ask as soon as possible, and turned back to the movie. When Anakin turned to Vader, he felt a sliver of Deja Vu.
The rest of the summer progressed normally, as he spent time with his brothers. Before they left for Sirius's, Trip pulled him aside. It was clearly very serious, as there was no smile, which had been present most of the summer, instead displaying a grim line.
'Harry, I need to confess something to you. I… am not just the Fawley heir.' He was confused. How was he any more?
'I do not understand. Your last name is Fawley, is it not? How could you be the Heir of more houses?' Trip smirked.
'You're the Heir to Potter, Black and Hogwarts, how did that happen? My mother was a Shafiq, and the only remaining member is an elderly man on the edge of teetering off. By the time I reach seventeen, he'll be dead. And, because my family was responsible for the Yaxley elimination, with the exception of my stepmother, I almost certainly have it by right of conquest. No idea for sure though, since it only works if you destroy the entire family, and my stepmum might have just enough blood in her to prevent it.' Harry nodded.
'How does Right of Conquest work? I mean, I've defeated Voldemort at least Thrice now, I think. Shouldn't I have his stuff?'
'Well, no. The only reason the law was put in place was so if a blood war was cast, the destroyed family's name would not fall extinct. While she's from a far-off cadet line, as she is still technically of Yaxley blood, the title could pass onto one of her kids. Since you didn't eliminate Riddle, nor destroy his family, you can't claim the Right of Conquest. And typically so long as the last of the family dies from old age, it may pass to the line that birthed it, which I'm also unsure of. its a lot of grey areas.' He shook his head a bit to clean the spiderwebs, processing all the new information.
'Ahh, thanks Trip.' His friend nodded, and they moved over to stand at the front of the house, where Sirius and the infamous Mad-Eye Moody stood. The retired auror would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, as a favour to Dumbledore. The man was scary and intense, as well as very perceptive. The most frightening part was his advice.
Every occasional moment, when all seemed calm, the man decided to pop-up with incredible speed, yell 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' and hobble off. Harry was certain the auror had mastered House-Elf apparition. But he was a nice man, as they'd had quite an interesting conversation when he'd come over for Harry's birthday at Tom's.
'Look Lad, I know things might seem tough, but understand that it all goes away eventually. Your blood curse may be a well-kept secret, but your Grandfather and I were schoolmates, and I wanted to know why he was rejecting such a damn pretty lady! My own was enough for me, and our son's proven himself quite the strong man. Harry raised an eyebrow. Another person believed in the curse? He'd been a warrior! He should have known what happened.
'Right, right, get to the point. Well, you've progressed far more in your relationship than you could really believe. I think if her parents hadn't stepped in, you might have even begun hugging! Doesn't seem like much, but you Potter men always seem to value intimacy more than anyone. And don't worry. I won't tell anyone about your little 'projects.'' The Ravenclaw flinched now, this man seemed to know more about him than he did! What was going on?
'The point is, Harry Poterimus, don't be frightened of the unknown. Embrace it, because it will pay back in spades. I just had a few bad run-ins, testing Fate. Trust me, not a good idea. Have a good Birthday, lad!' The man had given him a book on Dark curses and their counters, and left. It had proven surprisingly interesting.
'Sirius!' Tackling his godfather in a hug, they laughed as the portkey activated and vanished from sight, landing in front of a large building marked 'No.12 Grimmauld Place'. Inside it was dreary, but surprisingly clean considering it all. The answer to that became clear when several pops were heard and some House-Elves in greek togas, where the first Black had originated before moving to Europe, embroidered with the Black crest. Harry recognized them as those he'd met when he once visited Black manor, though several houses were occupied by other families, who were paying a small rental fee.
The Chang's, Davis's and Malfoy's all paid, though the Malfoy's had gotten theirs as a dowry for Narcissa, on the condition they pay a fee of 1,000 Galleons per month. Currently, they kept it at 10, seeing as they believed Draconus would inherit the Black title. Or they did, yet failed to up the price, instead requesting a meeting with the new Lord Black. Obviously, they thought they could bribe or bully him into letting them keep the house with no pay. That would not happen.
Walking into the house was an interesting affair. There was a long hallway that led directly to the kitchen, stairs to the right that led to the bedrooms, the left gave way to a sitting room. Through there, was the formal dining room, to the left of that and connecting it to the kitchen was a large library. Filled with books, he imagined Hermione might get an nerdgasm simply from looking at it. Below the stair was a door that led to the basement, where a classroom and dueling arena was set up. Sirius explained most pureblood houses contained a similar area somewhere, to teach their children how to read and write.
Given a space all to his own, Tom and Trip had each been given their own as well on the third floor and to his right, he laid back on the bed. It was soft and springy, the walls painted grey and a portrait hung of his ancestor, Phineas Nigellus Black. Hermione, Daphne and Liz would be arriving soon, Draconus and Ronald couldn't come, though apparently Luna had decided to tag along, sending them a letter, which arrived at the exact point the invitation was being prepared. Harry blamed the MacMillan blood in her, clearly it had shown some effect in her, as well as him.
'But' He mused 'It does prove itself useful, though seems to be more of a curse for me.'
Turning over in his bed after having dressed himself, he fell asleep for another restless night of terror and horrors.
A signal resounded in his head, loud and constant. It was time for his first session. The evidently Dark Wizard had not called him, and Hope had begun to sprout that he was free, and it had been a hallucination or dream. Apparently, he was not that lucky. So,m calling goodbye to his friends, telling them he'd be going for a walk, the signal grew louder as Harry stepped out onto the cement.
There he waited with a hand grasped around his rope and portkeyed them to the room he had seen before. In a chair sat the figure from before, still holding that bundle. He shivered as he recalled the voice that even now unnerved him, especially as he would have to hear it again. It had reeked of death, and this would not be a fun trip.
'So, Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Said to be the most powerful since Merlin himself, even more so than I. Well, let us get on with your training.' He took a look around the room, memorizing every detail and escape.
The paint was a fading and peeling green, curling away from the walls much like parchment dried after water spilled. Behind it were cracked oak wood, tiny patterns seeing some sort of goal to destroy themselves. He watched as a new one formed, ever so slightly, right-left, right-left. The crack continues to grow, and the faded wood feels rough as he unconsciously moves towards it, bumps and scratches meeting his palm, calloused from his years of labour.
It had an odd lightness to it, as if he could push and it would bend outwards, yet it refused to break. There was a large holed in one side, and as he moved towards it there was a feeling of dread that met him, as if that very spot was cursed and someone feared for his life. Carefully touching it, it was as if someone had taken every feeling mankind had ever wrought from Pandora's Box and placed it here, like that very item had been implanted in the wall, designed to suck out Hope and entrap it in it's wooden walls.
It smelled of moldy leather, old polish and rainwater, the latter he suspected coming from the outside. Focusing on every scent, he absorbed them all via his advanced nose, thanking his animagus. The man left a nasty odour of unwashed skin and bad breath, broken teeth adjoined in a dirty mouth. The bundle it carried had snakeskin he recalled from the chamber, with an odd tinge of freshness, as if it had just bathed. To his left, where the doorway sat, a snake lay in wait, poised to strike if he attempted to exit through there.
Recalling his teachings from the Headmaster, he placed his palm on the cracked paint once more, trying to detect any magic. A soft hum reached out, cold and cruel. Much like the aura the bundle gave off. From there he divided it into seperate parts, different wards had different… tastes. As his focus was primarily spellcasting, he wasn't well versed in what each meant, but the key identifier of an anti-apparition was a coldness, one that felt ever-lasting. Even Dumbledore's naturally warm type had practically frozen him with its strength. Here he felt frost forming on his fingertips, and slowly let go of it. Another, anti-portkey, had a tinge of ozone, but with rare drops in it, telling Harry it was keyed to certain people.
Turning around he noticed a pine table, but unlike the rest of the room it was not frayed, instead it looked new. The linings along it did not hold a single oddity, perfect in every way. Five legs held it up, bars connecting each one to each other, with wavy patterns of red splayed across it. But even these were perfectly placed in a pattern that relaxed him, something that caused his tenseness to rise. Sitting on top of it was a globe, blue sea projecting an aura of peace.
The land was dotted with small spots of brown and red, black words spelling out each country. Yet, it was strange, as it was ordered in a way he'd never seen before. The Empire of Brazil, Republic of China, Kingdom of Britain, Republic of America, and many more. But some didn't even exist, most of Africa was divided into either a Northern or Southern label, and the entire Middle East was united as one. Alaska didn't exist, but was still part of Canada, Hawaii was its own major superpower, and most notably Australia was divided in two. How had he not heard of this? These sorts of things seemed important, especially when Britain owned part of Russia, apparently.
Stepping closer he inspected the details, noticing even more that seemed wrong. Antarctica was almost entirely a lush green, but there was a label saying it's temperatures were so cold no life whatsoever could exist, except in certain parts. Had magicals done this to the land? Had they made it habitable, yet not shared with the Muggles? It definitely made sense, especially when among the darkness of the deepest sections, he made out the Democracy of the Antarctic.
And he spotted a line going along the equator, so blended in you wouldn't be able to see it with normal eyes. Carefully prying it back, another planet was present. Completely black with orange lines running through it, the celestial body looked eerily like that of Coruscant, but the colour of the orange was all wrong. In fact, recalling the Star Warsian place, the patterns were different. Where was this? Why was it labeled as Dead?
'Ahh, you have found what I hoped you would. Yes, that is Draoidheachd, the homeworld of Magical people. I suppose Muggles would have once technically been welcomed, but we split off far too long ago now.'
'What… What is this!? I've never even heard of it!' There was a sense of amusement emanating from the figure as Harry twirled it around, memorizing every detail.
'Of course. It has long been forgotten where we all originated from.' There was an intake of breath as they began. Harry turned his head sharply to listen.
'We are not the Originals. Our species has lived for billions of years, and even now we are not what we once were. Advanced in culture and technology, space travel was a commodity afforded to even the poorest of people. Our homeworld was far larger than Earth is, and more diverse of resources. But when it was in danger of collapsing from our own greed and arrogance, the best of us sought to save our race.' While far-fetched and sounded like bullshit, some degrees made sense.
'Our kind crash landed, it was on this desolate wasteland of rock. The Dinosaurs had just died, with there being no hope for life's continued survival. It seemed to be the end of us. But the smartest amongst that group figured, if we were to hide ourselves and wait until it passed, perhaps we could repair it? A Noble Quest, but in the end a futile one. Most died, and the few who remained were mentally challenged, because the stasis pods were not designed to go on for so long.' This… it had to be a lie.
Slowly we bred and built ourselves up, at some point in the process Muggles were born. But I really have no idea how they were truly created. Thankfully, this planet was teeming with magic, and allowed us to regain our former strength, if not our intelligence. That the animals here had natural magic simply assisted us in fostering our resurgence. Phoenix and Thunderbirds, Basilisk and Naga, each one allowed us to retain our new connection with this planet and grow.' A long pause took hold, which Harry took advantage of to look at the chair.
There were rips and tears, green padding faded into black as white stuffing stuck out. There was a lining of something that looked oozy and gross. When he reached out to touch it, there was a sensation of disgust that became overcome with curiosity, but as he pulled back it too retreated to it's resting spot, and he was bewildered by it's behaviour. What was it?
'I do not know everything, merely what has been told to me. But I suspect you will have doubts, so read through these.' With a snap, several figures appeared and handed Harry books, which he sat down to read. They all essentially said what the figure had, and with a quick spell he'd learned from Severus, their age confirmed it. But how?
'It is not how, you should be asking, but why? If they had the technology to travel galaxies, could they not have chosen a more suitable planet, larger and prosperous? Perhaps even struck a deal with their allies, the-'
'Gallifreyans.' He looked up with wide eyes, as he read over them. Their biology was fascinating, with two hearts that were used to pump pure energy through their veins to mutate their DNA into something new, at least superficially. It even healed life-threatening wounds. With lifespans spanning thousands of years a life, they likely bred so slowly their population never increased beyond a few billion. And if their homeworld was really this large, they could have easily split with the old magicals, and there would have been enough room for several other species. Especially since the Magical population capped out at Three Billion. After that, Magic itself prevented them from making more children than one for every person a life. There had been so many studies it was incredible.
'Indeed, if their history truly went so far back and there was enough room, why not share? I believe i've found the answer.' Harry paid the utmost attention. 'Because they couldn't. Seers may be a rarity nowadays, but they had entire sects devoted to Future-Sight. And their evidence told them they had to rebuild, to remake themselves. Only then, when they had finally hit the point the Gallifreyans had already met, peaceful, honourable and no infighting, if not a little arrogant, only then could they truly rejoin their brethren. I know you can look in your DNA, identify the points you need to.'
Carefully peering into his cell structure, he analyzed what was inside. What he saw shocked him. Endless potential, they could transform into anything. But deeper than that, he saw it. They were far more advanced than what others thought. Beyond the superficial identifications they were more of a new species, were traits of a far older variety. Locked sequences inside their genome. Not a blank slate, but a covered painting. How was this possible?
Dumbledore had long since taught him how to peer at what made him, for knowing yourself was the best way to channel magic and physical limitations were important. But now… there was more at work here. The old man had clearly had an ulterior motivation to show him, beyond just assisting him in his magic.
He had known. He always knew. It dawned on him like a brick slamming against concrete, smashing it open as new information poured inside his head a million meters a minute. How was this possible!? What was going on!? What kind of conspiracy was happening!?
'Humans never existed.' The Figure went on, allowing the boy time to come to grips with these revelations. 'For what species on this plant of Birds and Reptiles could have created us? The sentients of this planet are long since known. Silurians are the natives here. So if not that, what are we?'
Harry's throat moved up and down, sweat pouring off him as the realization came.
'We are…'
Read & Review Plz! No, they are not Kryptonians.