ARTEMIS FOWL: THE WIZARDING WORLD
A/N:For those wondering, the fairies of Artemis's cannon world have been completely removed from the story. Instead, you get The Wizarding World. Yah(?)
Hopefully, you'll find that even if you've never read (the fantastic) Artemis Fowl series, you'll be able to follow.
Also, there appears to be a problem this sites formatting, and the story may appear rather confusing because of them. Ill re-uploading once they are fixed.
DISCLAIMER: I'm not JKR or Eoin Colfer, and don't own their stuff. Surprise.
Yours Sincerely, (the cunning and ingenious) Magnorum.
UPDATE: Fixed the formatting problem. Italics, line-breaks and bold print is restored!
Somewhere in Ireland, there is a manor. To be specific, Fowl Manor.
It is very large, very white, very clean and rather strange.
If you asked most about the Manor ( at least, those who lived close enough to it to know of its existence), you would hear some incredibly odd stories about it.
If one was to contact one of the more rumor-prone locals they might even hear tales of the previous owner of the Manor, the infamous Artemis Fowl I, who, if one trusted the locals, had been involved in some many criminal operations that no-one could agree on exactly which one had been his first and owed his entire (admittedly enormous) fortune to his dastardly criminal genius.
More, one might hear of the immortal hulking man-giant known merely as 'the Butler' who preferred to dress in a pin-striped business suit whenever in public and who seemed to serve whoever was the latest in notoriously ethically lacking Fowl line. Even if said Fowl was a 12-year-old boy.
Usually, by this point, whatever inquisitive tourists asked about that manor in the far countryside dismissed the locals as fools and idiots.
But a few, albeit, a very, very few listen on, enraptured by whatever particularly talented storyteller that they had come to encounter. Or perhaps they're just also idiots.
These few might hear tales of how the legendary Artemis Fowl I died.
About every 1/10 of those curious travelers hear the true story of how Artemis Fowl I- for the rumors range from assassination attempts, heart disease, cancer, and murder.
But those rare, lucky 1/10 hear perhaps the most ridiculous tale they could even conceive regarding the Fowls'.
That is, that after he purchased large parts of land and industry in Russia, the local Mafia deemed him… unwanted and decided to send their own congratulations on Fowls' purchases.
These congratulations came in the shape of the high-power torpedo missile aimed at the Fowl Star as it traversed the Kola Peninsula.
To this date, no humble tourist inquiring about the history of the area has listened further on after this, and no internet browser bothered scrolling further down, but if they did, they would undoubtedly hear tell of the devil-spawn of Fowl Senior, the 'vampire-boy.'
Vampire boy? What do you mean Vampire boy?
T'at Fowl lad, the newest one looks just like 'is father, with 'is black hair and the palest skin you'll ever see! If I 'ain't seen 'im in person I'd swear 'e'd never seen the light of day before, probably been skulkin' about that manor of 'is all 'is life.
His manor?
Aye, that's right. Ever since the last Fowl died, that boy seemed to own the place.
How old did you say he was? 11? Surely he's not mature enough to own a manor by himself. Surely that's not legal! Doesn't he have a mother?
By this point, the locals would start chuckling heartedly amongst themselves.
You've never met a young' un' like this one laddie. And you probably won't meet another one.
Aye, another would add, nodding wisely 'vampire boy. '
Such is the conversation that the back-packers and possible new home buyers would hear when in the area surrounding Fowl Manor.
Of course, by this point, most would dismiss those storytellers as delusional lunatics and move on in search of a quieter, less absurd part of Dublin.
Perhaps that is for the best then.
This way, they'd never hear that the 'vampire boy' had followed in his father's treacherously un-moral footsteps and had been plotting criminal exploits at the age of four. Or that he'd spoken two languages before he could walk. Worse, they might hear stories of those poor souls who trespassed on Fowl territory and sought to steal their gold.
Such stories might just blow their tiny, ape-like primordial brains.
However, for the sake of the tale, we shall assume that one of these apes-dressed-as-men stayed past the stories of the 'vampire boy' and they encountered a particularly sadistic person. Perhaps, said person was one of those old men who sat on their balconies in equally ancient rocking chairs and told horror stories to the couple that had just moved in next door. Perhaps he was just telling his grandchildren a bedtime story- censoring all the more... Unsavory elements of course-. I shall leave it up to your imagination to decide.
Whatever the case, surely there is no story greater than that of the first truly ingenious exploits of Artemis Fowl the Second. Sure it doesn't have any morals (and very few of the characters have any ethics) but old Grandpa here could warp the story to fit his needs,
I, however, will do no such thing,
Perhaps it was that old Grandpa over there and his stories that lead you to this reading. Perhaps it was an internet rumor about a notorious criminal who came good, or perhaps you were just bored.
Whatever lead you here, you should know… Artemis Fowl was only ever the good guy if you were Artemis Fowl…
Bethesda Babbling had spent the last two hours tracking down the location of Fowl Manor. Apparently, Dumbledore couldn't be more specific than 'Somewhere in the Irish Countryside'. She swore it was on purpose. As if Albus Dumbledore couldn't just give her a portkey to the home of a muggle.
As such, she'd wandered through the streets of Dublin and a few local towns like an idiot, asking strangers every now and then about the location of the manor. Nine times out of ten she was answered only with an odd look or a blank expression. The few that bothered to answer told her only that if she was looking for a cup of tea, there better company than Fowls. The name said it all apparently.
So she had wondered, and strolled and asked until some random muggle took pity on her and pointed her in the right direction.
"Don't know what good it'll do you though. The boy doesn't let anyone in without his say so, " the Irishman had said, giving her the same half dubious, half suspicious look.
She'd ignored the comment at the time, but she was starting to understand it now.
In front of her stood an enormous gate, straight out of a 17th-century manor. That was of course, only if you ignored the disconcerting humming sound it emitted and the black cylindrical objects that swiveled to look at her as she stood there, like crows hunting carrion.
And the wall… Well, it said something about the family's temperament that it was roughly a meter thick, five meters high, and topped with a weird curly wire that looked distinctly unpleasant to hold, along with more of the cylinder crow-things.
For the life of her, she couldn't figure out how to get past the wall in any way short of apparition or a broomstick. Neither was an option, on the off chance that someone other than the Fowl boy and his relatives saw her do it, and her memory charms had never been the best. She'd prefer to deliver a letter without totally erasing some poor muggles' entire life.
Suddenly she turned at a rumbling sound behind her and turned to find…
An… Auto-bile? No that wasn't it… Auto-Moble? That sounded close, but for some reason, she had the word 'Car' jumping around in the back of her mind. Suffice to say, she had never taken Muggle Studies.
The auto-whatsit slowed to a halt in front of her, allowing her to get a better view of it.
She didn't like it very much. But she'd never liked black things much. And the vehicle was entirely black, from the tinted windows to the shining bonnet. The only exception was a glittering silver ornament that had the letters 'FB' in large font.
Another thing she didn't particularly like about it is that it absolutely stunk of money, Bethesda had never been particularly rich- a member on Hogwarts staff didn't pay nearly as well as one might have thought- and even as a child, her parents had never been particularly well off.
But this car…. It was smelt in such a disgustingly obvious way that the owner was rich beyond rich, as had his parents been, and his parents before him, and their parents… She could practically see the old money rolling off it like water.
Inside the vehicle, Artemis Fowl the Second leaned back in the lavishing leather seats.
"Do you think she's going to move? I have things to be doing you know Butler."
The Butler's had been serving the Fowl's for as long as the Fowl's had been wealthy enough to pay them to do it- which was longer than any historical records currently available to the latest in the Fowl line could reach.
With a habit for producing outrageously well-built individuals, the Butlers had long since retained a reputation for being amongst the very best in the business when it came to violence, and as such it made sense that the Fowl's had maintained the tradition of hiring the Butlers as their elitely trained bodyguards, drivers and intimidation tool.
The current Butler was 7 feet tall and had to stoop his neck just to prevent it from hitting the roof of the Fowl Bentley, and currently sat in the driver's seat of said Bentley.
Next to him in the passengers was his charge, the 11-year old Artemis Fowl the Second, who was currently examining the woman in their away irritably. It had been a bad enough morning when his mother had insisted he attend school and he'd wasted a precious hour faking his attendance and hacking his school's database to mark himself as a present.
Butler beeped the horn loudly.
The woman only began stepping towards the car, signaling she wished to talk.
"Oh dear. I'm going to have to talk to her. How... tiresome, '' Artemis sighed and began to swing the onyx black doors of the Bentley open.
Bethesda watched the door swing open, expecting the father of this Artemis Fowl to appear.
What she got was the muggle- version of a young Lucius Malfoy with black hair.
Dressed in an elaborate and pristinely clean business, black slicked backward so that every strand appeared orderly, and black leather shoes, he eyed the dirt on the road as if it was a personal insult. He could have been mistaken for a rich businessman in his late 30s if it wasn't for the fact that he was about 5 foot 6 and had a distinctively childish face that was greatly at odds with his adult store. Bethesda was suddenly very conscious of her mildly shabby robes.
"I'm afraid, Madam, that you're going to have to remove yourself from the road. Or my bodyguard will remove yourself for you. Your choice really. After all, within a meter, if the gate is private property, and thus counted as trespass."
Bethesda stared at the boy for a second, before quickly shutting her gaping mouth.
"Would you happen to be Mr. Artemis Fowl? I'm here to offer him a place at a school, Ho-"
Artemis cut her off, eyes developing a dangerous gleam. It was stupid really, after all, Bethesda was a fully matured witch, and master in runic magic, but something about this boy made it difficult to contain a shudder.
" My education surpassed the passing grade for a university degree in the most elite institutes of learning in the world in almost every field when I was 8. I must, politely, decline. Good day to you." Artemis spoke, voice lined with contempt, and inclined his head her and stepped towards the Bentley once more.
Bethesda almost panicked- refusal wasn't exactly an option, you didn't just "politely decline' an invitation to Hogwarts, particularly a muggle-born. The results for his magical health could be disastrous.
"No, I'm afraid you don't understand," she said, stepping forward as well, hand dropping towards her wand, preparing for a demonstration and other hand latching on to his wrist. "It's a school for magic-"
"Pfft."
Bethesda suddenly felt drowsy. So, so, so tired. And there was this itch on the back of her neck. She tried to scratch it, but she was just... exhausted. Her arms.. Her arms were just.. So… lethargic.
The last thing she saw before she slipped into unconsciousness was the boy turning to face her, eyes glittering dangerously, as he slowly prised her hand from his wrist.
"Do not touch me," he hissed.
She understood now, why the Fowl's had such an unpleasant reputation, and then everything went black.
Noting the small red dart in the woman's neck, Artemis glanced over to where he knew Butler would be standing next to the Bentley, tranq gun in hand.
"That was awfully dramatic." he signed.
Bethesda awoke amongst some bushes behind a tree.
Standing up she quickly brushed herself down and looked around.
If she peeked around the tree, she could faintly make out a (presumably Irish) settlement in the distance.
Great. She knew she was still in Ireland. Such a precise location.
Her memories of what happened before she'd fallen asleep and woken up here were… Foggy, She remembered talking to the Fowl boy, but little else.
Curse this she thought angrily. The boy can find his own way to Hogwarts.
She'd slip a letter to one of the Hogwarts owls. Maybe slip in a mention to Diagon Alley so he had somewhere to go. She would need a new one she noticed, as her old now was crumpled beyond illegibility.
Dumbledore won't be happy, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Dumbledore should have been more specific about where the manor was the rest of her shot back.
Brushing herself down one last time and glancing around to check no one saw her, she vanished with a small pop.
There was an owl. An owl, screeching hysterically and flying about his study.
"Butler… why is there an animal in my study?"
He- Artemis- stood in his personal study. Like everything else Artemis associated with, it was immaculately clean with not a paper out of place. Traditional red carpeting with elaborate black patterning's decked the floor. Towering bookshelves full of heavy tomes, encyclopedias, and all other methods of data recording lined three of four walls, the total amount of volumes numbering somewhere in around 800- and this was just the referencing section. If Artemis ever needed to do some actual research, the enormous Fowl library located just down the hall was the second-largest privately owned collection of books anywhere in Europe. All were flawlessly ordered and shelves, with study papers resting against each other in a similar fashion to the books but even more numerous in quantity.
On the one wall not full of books set an enormous map of the world. Pins were inserted to it at odd intervals across it with grey string connecting them, along with other, smaller maps, images and general important papers connected to it as well.
A desk so large that it was almost- almost, but not quite- an impractically large desk occupied a large part of the room that wasn't already filled with books or papers. Upon the desk sat far too many desktops for them all to be needed and on the crammed ground below it was jammed with a contingent of humming computers and engines. Some were your humble Microsoft computer engine (although with a multitude of Artemis's own upgrades), and others serving no apparent purpose, which probably meant it was something illegal. Most things were in the Fowl household.
Taking up the barest sliver of space was almost an expensive-looking black leather armchair, and fighting for purchase on the desk was also a delicate marble chess set, about halfway through midgame.
It was a credit to Artemis's prodigal organizational skills that the room looked professional instead of nightmarishly messily and clustered. Well, professional, if you didn't count that the person who used it most was a 12-year-old boy. Albeit, a 12-year-old boy with an IQ similar to Da Vinci's and more intelligent and knowledgeable than most schools combined.
But then, he was also a Fowl.
Fowls are very irritable at the best of times. Artemis was on a couple of hours sleep, and there was an animal polluting his study.
Even as Artemis opened his mouth to speak again the owl swooped over his head once again and…. Ejected waste content, so to speak, from its hindquarters. Right onto the shoulder of Artemis's previously impeccable suit and in his… hair. In. His. Hair.
A moment of stunned silence passed.
Such was the atmosphere in the room that even the computers paused their whirring lest they incur the wrath of an unclean Artemis Fowl the Second. The last time a similar atrocity happened, it had shortly been featured that day on international television that multiple animal (especially birds) right supporters had suddenly found themselves bankrupt.
Artemis denied all knowledge of the incident.
Nobody believed him, but they couldn't prove it either.
Artemis finally broke the stony silence.
"I am going to get myself some new clothes. Butler… sort this out," he said before storming out of the study.
"Sorry birdy…"
As Artemis strolled through the brightly lit corridors of Fowl Manor, he might have heard the faint sound of a silenced pistol shot.
He shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't like it had sufficient intelligence to achieve sentience. Besides, it should have watched where it… ejected its waste.
Although, it was curious that it was awake at such hours. More interestingly, how did it even get inside the house? And, unless he was much mistaken- which was indeed a very rare occurrence. To his memory, which was perfect, the last time it had happened was when he was 5 years old- that species was not found in Ireland.
Artemis would have to research it later.
"More infidel owls?"
Butler shifted uncomfortably. For some reason, he had the inexplicable feeling there was an impending apocalypse. And it was probably because he was somehow responsible for letting the owl inside the manor
The 7-foot, world-class bodyguard tried to shrink down into himself.
Needless to say, it didn't work very well.
Not that there was anything he could have done about it - stopping the owl getting in that is. . After all, professionally trained assassins working for a wide assortment of international mafias hadn't been able to infiltrate Fowl Manor back in the day of Artemis Senior, so it was entirely beyond him how the accursed owl had once again found itself flittering about the roof of the study.
"Butler. Explain."
"Erh… I don't know sir…"
"Remove it."
"Of course Sir, of course. Right away…"
Sighing in a highly exasperated fashion, Artemis moved to sit down at his desk, absentmindedly brushing aside a clump of stray papers off his desk and into the bin at its side as he did so, and began typing furiously on his laptop.
He never did see the letter.
"Butler."
"Sir?"
"What. Is. The. Manner. Of. This?!"
Butler gulped.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and the sun was blazing high overhead, about as warm as it got in Ireland, and any form of 'warm' was enough to make Artemis and his deathly pale complexion redden in frustration.
Yet, it was not the sun that had the young 'vampire-boy' so disgruntled. It wasn't even the crystal clear sky and glittering green grass that magnified the accursed sunlight.
No, it had more to do with the… parliament of owls that had decided that the Fowl Bentley was a good place to roast. In broad daylight.
Even as he stared at the car- parked on the driveway to the Manor- in consternation, one of the owls - possibly a Tawny- lifted its hind feathers and… ejected excess nutrition onto the window of the previously perfectly clean window of the Bentley.
Butler watched in horrified fascination as a blood vessel popped in his young charges forehead as he watched the white liquid slowly slide down the window.
Butler was almost stunned when Artemis's head didn't blow clean off his head when the rest of the Owls- about 15 or so- followed the original's example, lifted their tail feathers in unison, and…. Well, I'm sure you can imagine.
"BUT-ARRRGGGHHHHH!"
A large Tawny had landed on Artemis's shoulder, enormous talons digging into him.
Butler almost chortled. Almost. One did not laugh at Artemis Fowl the Second, no matter what sounds he made.
"What the…"
An official-looking letter had fallen from the owl's beak and drifted lazily to the ground.
As he leaned down in curiosity, owls suddenly forgotten, he didn't even notice the Tawny poop on him before taking off.
Dear Mr. Artemis Fowl II
Somewhere Near Dublin in The Irish Countryside, Fowl Manor.
"Butler?"
"Sir?"
"Tranquilize the owls. Now. I'll be performing a dissection in due course. Please do minimum damage to the specimen."
"Of course sir."
"Hmmmm…"
"Hmmmmm…"
"Hmmmm….
Artemis had confirmed his earlier suspicions- 87.5% of the specimens Butler had managed to acquire for him were not native to Ireland- and the combinations of species that had appeared in the parliament would usually result in vicious cross-species violence.
There could be no doubt- Artemis had completed a detailed dissection of each specimen and was certain his identification had been flawless, but there simply didn't seem to be a logical explanation for what he had found.
And then there were DNA samples he had taken…
Most modern computer analysis software would only have picked up something amiss with the pattern after several hours of complicated assessments, but all the equipment available in Artemis's laboratory was at least a decade ahead of even the most ground-breaking technology currently available to the rest of the world. As such, it picked them up in under half an hour.
The standards that Artemis Fowl the Second held himself to made 'high' standards tremble in their boots.
To say that the genetic anomalies that the program had unearthed were perplexing was an understatement in the most severe way.
The pattern was, of course, aligned with the species he had originally identified them as, except for that one strand.
Artemis had no idea what to even think of it- which was a first for not only Artemis but Fowls as a whole. An Unsolvable Problem? A Nonsensical Riddle? An Unobservable Pattern? Difficult for mere mortals perhaps, but no such thing existed for Fowls. The mere idea was equal to blasphemy.
And yet…
It simply just shouldn't be there. Nothing in his studies had given light to that string. For the life of him, he couldn't even hypothesize the possible effect it would have on the sampled specimen.
The blood samples were slightly (but only just) less of a quandary.
The glucose levels were absurd- far higher than any creature of its size had any right to possess And then there was his little 'crackly' problem.
Upon Artemis's first attempt to extract a sample from the creature a brief crack of electricity had transferred itself to the needle. Which on its own, was highly unusual. Then add in the fact that it was powerful enough to shatter the glass vial that would be used to extract the blood….
Put simply, that should not be possible. Full Stop. The amount of energy behind such a thing should be able to be feasibly contained inside a stinking animal corpse and if it had, it would have likely caused the death of the creature.
The only currently available explanation was well… The Letter. With a capital 'T' and 'L'.
But what it proposed was utterly preposterous. Inconceivable. Completely lacking of all sentient reasoning.
Magic… Ridiculous.
But then, the Church had said similar things about the existence of other planets.
Perhaps…
But make no mistake, Artemis thought grimly, if this was some sort of absurdly exquisite scam, Artemis would have their credit card details in a matter of minutes. Furthermore, they would swiftly find themselves charged with treason and would be undoubtedly sentenced to a life sentence in jail.
Artemis, of course, would deny any knowledge of the incident.
"Butler, run a fingerprint scan on this letter"
"Of course sir"
Artemis paced his study, anxious for the results, before mentally berating himself. Fowls did not get anxious. He stilled his pacing, clasped his hands behind his back, and let his face cool into a mask of confident composure.
It was not as if he had pondered the existence of creatures that had little respect for most humans - admittedly rather limited- conceptions of what was possible, but he highly doubted they would delve into something as petty as a prank.
Would they?
Surely not. 'Hogwarts', honestly.
Butler sighed, fingers tapping the desk as he impatiently waited for the test to complete. Of course, this technology was light years ahead of any commercially available fingerprint scanners. Even the national government would kill (which, in itself wasn't a particularly unusual occurrence) to have their hands on this kind of tech. Alas, the limitations of the rest of humanity.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
If Butler had been the height of most men, he would have had to sprint to the scanner to get there in the equivalent time. But being 7-foot and possessing a build reminiscent of Goliath, he crossed the distance in a singular casual stride.
"Wait what, that can't be right."
What he found on the paper was not extraordinary, nor impressive, it was….. Nothing.
"Artemis", he called.
A young adolescent boy stood in the doorway, expecting.
"Butler?"
"What is it? What has the scan revealed?".
"Well you see, that's sort of the problem."
Artemis chuckled dryly, surely Butler was not suggesting what he thought he was suggesting. But, as always, his luck ran out on him. He strode over to the monitor screen that projected a fluorescent blue image of the parchment upon which the letter had been written.
"This is… highly unlikely."
There was, unsurprisingly, a mess of white marks that were fingerprinted upon the envelope of which the letter had originally been printed, alongside an interesting array of marks and other unidentified bacteriums that presumably belonged to himself and the now-dead owls but on the actual letter… Nothing.
"Such a feat should not be possible. Even if you print the letter, you still have to come into contact with it at some point in the process of preparing it to be sent and handing it to the…" He paused disdainfully. He still had trouble accepting the concept, but there didn't really seem to be any other viable explanation. "... messenger owls. Even if they wore gloves, there would still be some sort of mark left behind, or even the slightest trace of DNA or a bacterium. Nothing is simply not possible."
"With all due respect Sir, I've spent my entire life either serving or training to become the bodyguard of a notorious criminal. I know."
Artemis stayed quiet and stared at the letter. He could faintly make out the words written in curling ink upon the parchment.
Supplies are collectible at Diagon Alley, London…
Well, he had nothing else to work with.
"So… What now sir?"
If there had been a table nearby, Artemis would be drumming his fingers steadily to the rhythm of "La Campanella".
"To the heart of the matter Butler. To this Diagon Alley."
A/N:
Soooo…
Thoughts? Comments? Reviews?
I've got an awesome plan for this one, and have spent the last 3 months or so thinking about it.