Disclaimer: I am a hobo. I own nothing. Nothing of Colfer, and nothing of Rowling. Can I have some change please?
Re-done as of August 25, 2004
Chapter One: Nail-polishFowl Manor
Rural Dublin, Ireland
Artemis frowned at the letter before him, a frightening thing to behold. It didn't frown back. The letter just sat there, looking so innocent in its elegant green handwriting, mocking him.
It had come to Artemis' attention violently: he and the owl that had carried it collided in the hallway outside of his room this morning. After a small flurry of downy feathers that Butler promptly rescued him from, he had brought the letter to his study, forgoing all thoughts of breakfast. Pity. It was waffle day.
"To Artemis Fowl the Second
His Bedroom
Fowl Manor
Rural Dublin
Ireland
It has come to our attention that you have discovered the existence of magic on your own. May I be the first to congratulate you on your success, and I assure you, you are the first Muggle ever to do this. We must, however, request that you join the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although it is no burden, if you do not undertake to develop your magical abilities, we will be forced to remove your magical memories. It would be my reluctant duty to do so, but do it I will if I must. Professor McGonagall shall be along shortly to discuss the terms of you going to this school. Here is a list of needed supplies, which can all be found in Diagon Alley."
And so it went on, listing not only books on transfiguration and vampires, but outrageous ingredients, like 'eye of newt' and 'toad spittle'.
His glacial-blue eyes skimmed the letter again, a faint frown creasing his pale skin. Although the greater part of his mind thought this was an elaborate scheme to swindle money from young criminal prodigies like himself, the fact that they knew that he knew about magic still remained.
Of course, it could be some immature prank the People down in Haven pulled. They were still licking their wounds from the last round, but for all he knew of their current state of affairs this could be some sort of preliminary to an ambush, luring him with the prospect of gold. Unlikely, yes, but only six months ago he had thought that of the sheer concept of magic.
But how to get proof? There was that slight chance that it could be real—Elves were real; they were every bit as mythical as witches, and nearly as romanticized in contemporary literature. So why not Hogwarts?
Time for some research.
He turned in his leather swivel-chair towards his custom computer. Every few minutes he brushed his black hair back from his face, briefly interrupting the sound of rapid typing.
Within fifteen minutes he was flying through the LEP's database, scanning through the intricate spiral lines of Gnommish hieroglyphics.
He paused at a page heralded by a picture of a large castle surmounted by a distinctly Medieval-style crest. Translating quickly, he began to read the page. To his growing excitement he found that not only did Hogwarts exist, but was red-flagged by the People's Council.
His brow furrowed suddenly. Would they have posted this just to further undermine him? It was very possible—Foaly's security encryptions had taken him days to unravel after he discovered the website, which was saying quite a lot. This could be the final thread in the web of entrapment. McGonagall could be nothing more then another blue-rinse, and they would be the ones to let it through…
No. He was completely without doubts when it came to the fact Foaly had not discovered his 'surfing' of the LEP site. The Council would never allow him to look at such detailed schematics of Haven and Atlantis and remember to tell the tale.
So it was true. Intriguing. Artemis could hear the clink of piled gold inside his head as schemes unfolded. Alchemy, invisibility, levitation… all at his disposal.
Artemis rang the bell that would bring Butler and Juliet running. "I have something to tell you…"
Juliet blinked large blue eyes at Butler. "So you want me to go to this… Diagon Alley… and help Artemis pick out his new school things." They had been through this five times already, but Juliet could scarcely believe it. She blinked again. "Without you."Butler nodded, regret of losing such an opportunity to buy new 'toys' clearly evident on his face. He would simply be too noticeable, and it would be a good experience for Juliet to be living alone in Hogsmeade. She could keep her temporary Principle close by, and Butler could visit his sister 'Alice' without suspicion. He would check up from time to time as well, between juggling his new ward Angeline and doing some research of his own on the Wizarding world.
They were in one of Butler's favorite rooms in Fowl Manor: His own. It was one of two places, the other being Artemis' suite, Angeline had not yet dared to touch with her obscenely embillishing hand, remaining sparse and clean as he preferred. Off-white walls and a soundproof lining insured protection from both the hot Irish summer and Juliet's blaring music, and the Spartan appearance to the twin-sized bed was only amplified by the fact it was the only other piece of furniture in the room besides a barely-filled bookshelf (His clothes resting with his impressive arsenal within one of the cleverly disguised panels in the wall).
But Juliet ruined the aura. Simple blue cloak Butler had for her or no, her long, gleaming blonde hair, bright pink Hello Kitty t-shirt not even reaching her midriff let alone her low-slung jeans, her over-the-top make-up… Butler could only be thankful she wasn't wearing those 'thongs' he had been unfortunate enough to see seen in an ad in the newspaper. Then again, how would he know otherwise?
Juliet sighed. "So I suppose the only question is what I'll wear while shopping."
Butler, taking her all-too seriously, drew the aquamarine-blue cowl that matched her eyes perfectly.
Her eyes grew larger, stretching the limits of her glittering-green eyelids. "That thing? It doesn't match my eye-shadow! It doesn't even match my nail-polish!" She did not seem to care that it matched her eyes; the fashion idiosyncrasies of teens were fathomless.
The huge manservant just shrugged. Although he was used to this, sometimes he swore that she was the only person in the world to take beauty over practicality. Obviously, he had never been to America.
Ignoring the teenager's protests, Butler pushed the voluminous cloak on to her shoulders. None of her many (and well-concealed) weapons could be seen. Only daggers were in those numerous sheaths, because Artemis said technology didn't work in the magical world. That meant no Sig Sauers.
A small cough interrupted them. Much to Butler's eternal embarrassment, it was Artemis, pointing at the door. Perhaps Juliet was right in calling him an old man. "A cat is waiting outside the main doors. Our friend from Hogwarts, no doubt."
Somewhat shamefaced, the manservant walked out his door to the grand entryway just around the corner, Juliet trailing behind with the expression of a knight whose sword was rendered dull. The main doors, which had been very well refortified after a certain Troll attack, loomed like the Trojan gate it was modeled after. Butler flipped one tapestry over to reveal a bird's eye view of a small tabby-cat, spectacle-like markings around its eyes brought to sharp detail by the high-res monitor. It scowled up at the hidden camera as if it were a misbehaving child, somehow twisting its feline features into a frown.
Butler looked at Artemis questioningly, who had taken position in front of an equally austere portrait of his dead father that hid a safe-room. He nodded, and stepped until he was closer to the tense Juliet. Caution was the first thing that had been schooled into his mind, even before the quadratic equation.
The (senior) Butler opened it, spare hand trailing towards the Sauer at his waist as the door slid noiselessly on its hinges. The indignant cat strutted into Fowl Manor, glaring around at them as if it was indeed Artemis' father, coming back to reclaim his wealth. Tail high in the air, it flounced past the tense Butler and stopped. A slight, very non-feline smile curved its thin lips when it saw how tense everyone was. It suddenly became a she in roughly the time for Butler to draw that nearby Sauer.
She ignored this coolly, hazel eyes not even sparing him a glance, and walked right on up to the duo in front of the oil painting.
Much to Artemis' shock (A very rare occurrence, indeed), the witch before him looked almost exactly like those 'romanticized witches from contemporary literature'. Black hair only lightly touched by gray was coiled beneath a pointed hat, accenting her angular features and classical Headmistress appearance. Long black robes swept the immaculate Persian rugs below, and through the shifting folds of onyx he could see where another layer of green dusted with intricate Celtic knots lay. Her lips, still thin despite the transformation, seemed eternally glued in a frown, eerily like the one Artemis wore at that very instant.
"Put those guns away." She ordered Butler in the tone of a schoolteacher saying Put those scissors down; you might hurt someone. And, with a nod from Artemis, Butler complied. Running with gu—scissors was apparently a common source of injury, wherever she came from.
Silence reigned upon her throne as McGonagall and Artemis openly examined each other. McGonagall seemed to be looking at Artemis with a transformed red correcting pen, circling all the bits she didn't like and leaving it for all to see. Artemis looked away first, his own abstract pen beginning to run dry.
"Have you told your parents?" she asked eventually, her words crisp and unburdened by all the ink she had used.
"No. Nor do I plan on it," he replied icily, meeting her eyes and deliberately trying to make McGonagall at least lose a bit of patience with him, if not ink. Hurried words led to blunders, which lead to threats, which led to more information. Charm, however disgusting when used in large doses, did have its uses.
"Then where are they?" She asked this suspiciously, sensing something was afoot immediately. Schoolteacher instinct.
Artemis cleared his throat. "My mother is in France, taking a vacation from the pressures of home."
"I wonder why," Juliet muttered beneath her breath. Alas for her, but it echoed in the acoustically perfect entryway, magnified tenfold. McGonagall swiveled her unflinching gaze onto the American teen's, and she fell silent, remnant echoes aside.
Artemis continued, not feeling the least bit sorry for Juliet. "My father is somewhere in Northern Russia, presumed dead. Undoubtedly you already know this, but that is just as well."
The witch squinted at him. Old age apparently affected Wizarding kind as well, although the wrinkles upon her face had destroyed nearly all thoughts to the contrary. "I do believe I remember now." McGonagall looked thoughtfully into the distance, lost in her own thoughts for a few moments before continuing. "You will need to be tutored during the tail-end of summer at Hogwarts so you can be placed in a class of your own age. I believe that to be sufficient time, judging by the profile Dumbledore kindly lent me?"
Artemis nodded. He had no doubts about that.
"I will provide transport to Diagon Alley," McGonagall continued, watching the boy's face carefully, "and a Portkey to Hogwarts for when you're ready. Also—"
"Three things," Artemis interrupted."Yes?" asked the witch briskly, not liking being stopped in mid-speech. Those that had dared done so before had either detentions or equally harsh words waiting for them.
"One: Can I bring my companion Juliet to Diagon Alley, and then on to Hogsmeade? Two: My mother assumed I'm going to Saint Bartelby's. She had her heart set upon me going there. Three: What is a Portkey, and how does it work?"
McGonagall sighed, somehow making that sound like an It is your fault I have this migraine. "We'd rather you not bring a bodyguard with you even just as far as Diagon, but, unfortunately, we cannot legally stop you."
When Artemis raised his eyebrow, she continued tiredly. "They aren't used to the Magical world, and, generally, Muggles and Magic don't mix. For the second query, you should know better then to ask me that. It will be kept secret from her, at least until your father gets back."
Artemis couldn't stop himself. "So my father's alive?" he blurted out, sounding eager and hopeful. He managed restrain himself from anything further, although both of the Butler siblings gave him a sideways look.
The Professor massaged her forehead with worn fingertips. "Yes, he is alive. But I cannot tell you more then that."
But if he was alive… Something sparked in the back of his mind then. He may not like to admit it, but it was a touch of optimism.
His new-found hope was slid into the subconscious as McGonagall continued. "If you touch a Portkey, you go to the enspelled location. In this case, Hogsmeade, nearby Hogwarts." She glared at them again. She obviously hated migraines. "Happy?"
It was Juliet who butted in this time. "How are we getting to Diagon Alley?"
The witch smiled thinly. "Magic." Turning quickly, she said, "Be ready to leave in a hour," and she disappeared. A small tabby-cat trotted its way past Butler, and out into the fresh air again through the still-open door. Butler looked slightly peeved that he had neglected such an obvious security hazard. That was two today. Three strikes and you're out.
Artemis turned to the two stunned bodyguards. "We have work to do."
Exactly fifty-nine minutes later, Juliet turned to Artemis before the front door. "Are you sure all my clothes are packed?"
He nodded, gesturing towards three bulging pink suitcases between them. Butler being occupied with checking the perimeter, it had been up to him to carry them down the staircase with nearly fatal results.
"And my nail-polish?" There had been an entire, albeit smaller, bag devoted to the dubious art of cosmetics. Juliet should have known by then what happened to such detestable frivolities that came under Artemis' whim.
"No."
"WHAT?!" Juliet shouted at him, long braid flying behind her as she ran back up the mahogany stairs to her room. "HOW do you expect me to live a YEAR without my NAIL-POLISH?!"
"Because," Artemis stated calmly as he steadily watched the unmoving door, "you are not a Muggle in Diagon Alley, nor in Hogsmeade. You are a young witch whose parents could not afford for you to go to Hogwarts, so you moved to Hogsmeade for a job at the Three Broomsticks, with your wealthy uncle Jacob visiting often to see how you are fitting in. You are Alice VanHartesveldt."
Juliet paused halfway up the steps, pretty face twisting itself in inherent Butleric thoughts. Then, slowly as all those unwilling to accept defeat are, she turned and walked down the stairs again, golden head bowed. He was right. As always. Stupid genius.
Right on time, the tabby-cat squeezed through the crack between each of the oak doors and smoothly transformed into the scowling Professor McGonagall. Her frown deepened as she saw Juliet's three hot-pink suitcases, all stretching at the seams.
"Is this really necessary?" she asked primly, eyeing the pink luggage with obvious distaste. Obviously, she thought they were Artemis'. Obviously, she was very, very wrong.
Stiffly, he replied, "They are Juliet's, madame."
"Mademoiselle."
The two stared at each other for a few moments, twilight-blue eyes meeting hazel. This time Artemis was prepared and his 'ink' did not run dry.
Juliet broke the silence, unknowingly shattering the contestment. "Can I at least bring some eye-shadow?"
Artemis barely resisted the urge to snort in disdain. "Can we go please go now?" he asked, tone edging towards the line dividing a simple query and outright begging.
"Gladly."
She flicked out a slender rod, and made several complicated-looking gestures that Artemis, of course, tried to memorize. Fowl Manor disappeared in a whirl of white fog and golden sparks, one piece of pink luggage bruising Artemis' shins as it tumbled through towards a break in the mists.. A whole new world beckoned, just waiting to be robbed.
Juliet with that obnoxious girly-girl bent was done on purpose, and has, believe it or not, a basis in canon. I shall not spoil it yet, it being a (minor) plot-point later.
Namárië,
Nallasariel the Weeper