Harry Potter and the Heir of Ancients
Written by: anon
Edited by: anon's cousin
Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine. JKR is the creator, blah, blah, blah. Anything you don't recognize from canon is mine. Anything you may recognize from another fic is either coincidental, meaning it's from a fic I haven't read, accidental, meaning it's from a fic that I have read, but forgot it came from someone else's work, in which case I apologize, or is something that I thought up, but someone else used in a similar way before I had the chance to post this, if that makes sense. Does anybody even read these things?
(Preliminary A/N: I know, I know. It's been 3 ½ months, give or take a week or so, but if I posted what you are about to read the moment it was written, it would have been up almost two months ago. This chapter was getting so big because of all the new scenes I thought to put in, I had to break it in half. The second half, which has become Chapter 7 because there is so much in it that I consider it a chapter unto itself, is already nearly done, and is at least five pages longer than this already! Barring some sort of disaster, the next update should be in a matter of weeks, not months, I hope. About the author notes, some have complained, but more have complimented, so they stay, but within a chapter or two, they should be decreasing in quantity. That's all the groveling and explaining I can handle for now, so without further excessive delay, the long awaited Chapter 6!)
Re-posted 3/19/2004: sorry about the mistakes. Hopefully, they have been corrected. If not, review and let me know.
Chapter 6: Aunt Marge's Visit (Became strangely insignificant as this chapter developed)
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS SHE DOING HERE?!?" Harry shouted at the elder of the obscenely overweight males.
"BOY," the mustached blimp bellowed back "YOU WILL NOT RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME, ESPECIALLY IN MY OWN HOME!"
"You haven't answered my question," Harry replied through gritted teeth, trying to calm himself, his tone saturated with barely-suppressed rage. "What. Is. She. Doing. Here?"
Marge chose that moment to speak up, her rather slurred voice indicating that she had been into the brandy again. "Unlike some people, whelp, I am welcome to stay here whenever I please. And where have you been? Out doing drugs, I expect. Or maybe getting drunk, like your worthless, pathetic parents were when they got themselves killed."
It took every ounce of Harry's hard-learned self-restraint not to retaliate magically. If he had, it would have been far worse than the incident before his third year, when he had inflated her to three times her already porcine size. There were other methods, however, of retaliation than magic…
"I find it quite funny that you are insulting anyone about getting drunk, Marge," he said, in a tone so venomous that it could only be learned from spending years as a student and target of Severus Snape. Marge, her inebriated mind temporarily penetrated, nervously gulped down the rest of her glass, and half of another, before she forgot her uneasiness and continued as though Harry wasn't there:
"So, Vernon, do you know where the little scoundrel was?"
"He was at work, Marge. I convinced an old acquaintance of mine, who is the foreman at a fertilizer plant, to give him a job there. He hauls around great big sacks of dung all day."
"Good. Perfect job for a dimwitted fool like him. But Vernon, why would you even bother getting a job for that lout?"
"We've started charging him rent. I decided that it was finally time to get a little compensation for all our hospitality towards the ungrateful whelp. If he…"
Vernon and Marge's guttural, nauseating, voices became less and less audible as Harry climbed the stairs to his room. Thanks to his extensive library, and its time-manipulating capability, he had, over the course of the last two weeks, discovered and become quite proficient in both Occlumency and Legilimency, both of which had helped him gain an amazing level of control over his emotions, and by extension, his magic. He had his limits though, and if he had to spend a whole week listening to Aunt Marge, he would end up hexing her so badly that the Dursleys would undoubtedly need tweezers to pick up the pieces! He resolved that the best thing he could do for his last week at Privet Drive would be to stay away from the house, and especially Marge, as much as possible. Before he closed his door, however, there was one thing that he needed to say. He knew it was petty, but he needed to get the last word with her, just this once.
"By the way, Marge," he shouted down the stairs, "if you're looking for drugs, you might want to try the large shoe box under your bed; I think Dudley has at least a small sample of just about everything stuffed in there!"
~*~*~*~*~*
Four days later, Harry's plan was working well. He would, as always, wake up and depart for work long before any of the Dursleys had awoken. At the plant, surrounded by friendly faces and personalities, he managed to forget the ill-tempered, drunken, and bloated dog-breeder that was Marge Dursley. His plan was not perfect, however. Marge still accosted him upon his return, which he usually tried to delay until after nine o'clock even when she wasn't there. He had tried returning at an even later hour, but Marge made a point of waiting up so that she could begin insulting him the moment he walked through the doorway. She continually suggested to Vernon that he had been out drinking, doing drugs, spending time with a gang, and any other crimes or dishonorable acts she could think of, which were surprisingly numerous, considering her intelligence, which was not much greater than Dudley's. Dudley had, ironically enough, been inundated with praises and compliments by his mustached aunt, while in reality, he and his gang were guilty of every crime she accused Harry of, and a good few others, as well.
Several times, she had tried to get Ripper (A/N: Yes, the old mutt is still alive, and Ripper still is, too.) to attack him, but a mild playfulness spell wandlessly cast at the last moment resulted in the old dog licking his face.
He found that despite the severe hindrance of his magical abilities, which, to his great consternation, he still could not explain or overcome, he could still perform most simple, common spells wandlessly. It did drain him more than he would have liked, however, so he could not do it all of the time. Overall, he could perform almost any magic within the First-through-Fourth Years' curriculum without a wand, and some of the Fifth Years' work as well.
~*~*~*~*~*
Harry had found a way to avoid Marge for nearly all of his remaining time at Privet Drive, and he was absolutely ecstatic. Stone had invited Harry to come to his home for dinner as a small going away party for Harry, who would be leaving in three days. The dinner was going to be fairly late in the evening, and knowing Stone, he would have something planned for afterwards, which would last at least until midnight. Harry was hoping that it would get too late for him to go back to Privet Drive, and the Stones, hospitable people that they were, would offer to let him stay the night instead of going back to the Dursleys'. That was the best case scenario. If things didn't work out, he would have to go back at such an hour that Marge would either have fallen asleep or passed out in a drunken stupor (the latter was far more likely).
The dinner, Stone informed him, would be Wednesday of that week. Thursday would be Harry's last day at work before left to Diagon Alley on Friday. He would only be forced to see his relatives for a few minutes when he got back from work on Thursday, and then he would be free of them for ten wonderful months. All Harry had to do was tell Vernon where he was going to be, and he would be good to go.
Harry found Vernon, along with the other seven Dursleys watching what appeared to be the end of a movie on television. (A/N: I counted seven Dursleys on purpose: Petunia is one, Marge counts as two, and Dudley is about four, rounded down of course) Harry waited until the credits began before approaching his uncle.
"Uncle Vernon?"
"What, boy?"
Harry sighed in irritation. "Could you once just pretend that you can be civil to me and call me by my name?"
Vernon purpled, "No, boy. Civility is wasted on your kind. Is that what you wanted to ask me? If not, get to the point, I don't want to talk to you longer than necessary."
"Fine, I'll tell you what I came in here to say. Mr. Stone invited me to come to his home for dinner. I was going to tell you that I won't be back tomorrow until very late. Or, if he asks, I may just spend the night at his place. Well, now I've told you, so I can go with a clear conscience." Harry then went up the stairs and into his room before Vernon could say another word.
~*~*~*~*~*
The next morning, Harry left Number Four a bit more weighed down then usual. He had two changes of clothes in a gym bag he had conjured up; one for after work, and the other, hopefully for the next morning.
He arrived at the plant early, as usual, and waited for the other to show up. Once he got started, he went about his work, ignoring the stares he was getting from his fellows at the one-hundred pound line, who were astonished that a fifteen year old could do the work as fast as they could, and seemingly with less effort.
When it was time to depart, Stone and Harry lingered for a few minutes, chatting with a few other people, and then drove off in Stone's car. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a very nice-looking, average-sized house. It was a dark reddish brown color, with black shutters on the windows. There was a small garden on the side of the house, which Harry could see seemed to extend from the back yard. Harry followed Stone up the short slate walkway to the front door, and into the house. Once inside, Stone announced his presence rather loudly, especially to Harry, who was right next to him and had had very sensitive hearing even before his senses' slight augmentation at the beginning of the summer. The ringing in his ears subsided within a few seconds, but he was still somewhat annoyed at his rather large friend.
Mrs. Stone entered the room from a short hallway to the left, walked up to her husband, gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek in greeting, and then to Harry's great surprise, did the same to him.
"Hello Harry. It's nice to see you again."
"Likewise, Mrs. Stone," Harry replied. He was a little embarrassed about being kissed on the cheek by a woman he had met only once before, even more so because of the fact that only three other women in all of his memory had done so; Hermione, Fleur Delacour, and Mrs. Weasley. He was certain that his mother had kissed him as well, but he couldn't remember that. A few moments later, Harry heard the sound of two people coming down the stairs. He turned towards the sound to see Ben and Kristi, who each greeted their father with a hug, and Harry with a simple "Hello."
"Well," Stone said, clapping his hands together. "Harry and I will go get changed, and then we can get started on our plans for the evening."
"Stone?" Harry began. "You never told me that we were going anywhere tonight. I thought we were just going to be eating here, or something."
"I didn't? Oh, that's right; I never intended to tell you. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"
Harry sighed. "Fine. Where's your bathroom?"
"Up the stairs and to the left; just past the messy room. You might also want to take a shower while you're up there, you smell almost as bad as I do," Stone said with a hearty guffaw.
Harry sarcastically followed up with a comment about it not being humanly possible to smell even half as bad as Stone. Stone however countered with the names of several coworkers whose odors were even worse than his own. Harry simply maintained his point that it was not humanly possible, and then went up the stairs, having achieved victory in their battle of words.
Before he even got halfway up, he felt something; a tickle in the back of his mind, which meant that his mage-sense had found something. He hadn't noticed it earlier because he was distracted by the verbal sparring match with Stone, and because his Mage-sense was still too foreign to his mind for him to use it unconsciously and constantly. He would either perceive magic at odd intervals without trying to, or if he made the effort, which was mentally fatiguing, he could 'see' all of the time. Nearly two weeks earlier, he discovered that the ability had also extended to a lesser extent into his sense of smell, which brought about an entirely new dimension to herbology and potion brewing. He turned toward the source of the magic, focused his 'eyes,' and saw the magical person he had perceived; it was Ben. His aura was not extraordinarily powerful, but stronger than average, and a distinctive combination of swirling yellows and greens. Harry was a bit surprised. Why hadn't he seen it at his birthday party? 'Duh, stupid! You couldn't use your mage-sense then.'
Realizing that he was staring, and not wanting to be caught doing so, Harry hurried up the stairs and toward the bathroom. On the way, he paused outside the messy room, which he assumed to be Ben's and used his (for lack of a better, non-cliché, term) x-ray vision to look through the wall. He saw a trunk and closet filled with magical items and books, and Harry could also faintly hear an owl in the attic, which was emitting a slight magical signature of its own.
"Well, well," Harry muttered to himself. "Looks like someone is going to Hogwarts this year." (A/N: Alert, Alert. Harry is pointing out the blatantly obvious)
~*~*~*~*~*
About twenty-five minutes later, after having showered and changed, Harry descended into the living room wearing a pair of jeans and a blood-red t-shirt, both of which were comfortably loose, but not baggy enough to encumber his movements.
He sat down in a chair across from a couch where Lauren, Kristi, and Ben were seated and chatted with them for a few minutes until Stone, who had by some miracle managed to clean himself up, joined them.
They left the house and piled into Stone's car. After a few minutes of driving, Harry realized that he still didn't know where they were headed. "Stone?" he asked.
"Yeah, Harry?"
"You still haven't told me where we are going."
"Of course I haven't. I told you that you'd have to wait and see."
"Come on, I'm dying to know. Where are we going?" Harry pleaded.
Stone grinned mischievously at Harry before he turned his attention back to the road and continued driving. A few minutes later, just when Harry had given up trying to get the information, Stone spoke, "We are going out to dinner, then to a movie, and after that we are going to a football game. Our local team is playing West Ham tonight, and I thought it would be a fun way to spend the evening."
"All that secrecy - to cover up dinner and a movie?" Harry asked incredulously. With a nod from Stone, Harry deemed it official; his boss was nutters, and considering this new insight, Harry felt a lot less safe in the car because it was Stone who was driving.
"Well, yea," Stone continued with enthusiasm. "I figured that with all the time you've been working this summer, you haven't had many chances to just have fun, especially if your uncle is as much of a stick-in-the-mud now as he was when we were at school together."
"You have no idea!" Harry was barely able to get out that one simple phrase before he had completely burst out laughing, and if he weren't already sitting down, or in the cramped back seat of a car, he would have been on the floor laughing. The other four occupants of the vehicle eventually joined in, although with considerably less enthusiasm, as they didn't know Vernon as well as Harry did. Once Harry had nearly recovered, he told them how glad he was to be away from Privet Drive because Vernon's sister Marge was visiting, and she was even worse than her brother.
The moment Marge's name was mentioned, Stone's face took on a greenish tinge, and he shuddered as one would at some horrible thought or memory. This sent Harry into further gales of laughter in which he was absolutely paralyzed from laughing so hard, and was almost certain he had broken at least three ribs.
Harry had managed to recover from his latest episode as they pulled into the restaurant parking lot. The restaurant seemed to be an imitation of a typical American establishment. They were seated in a booth after about ten minutes: Harry and Ben took one side, while Kristi, Stone, and Lauren took the other, with Lauren and Ben being further in, Stone in the middle of his side, and Harry and Kristi in the outermost seats (A/N: Yes, the seating is important…well, sort of).
After about five minutes, a waitress who appeared to be in her early twenties come to their table to give them menus, fresh rolls, and to take their drink orders. After another ten minutes had gone by, during which the five diners had chatted and made their dinner selections, the waitress returned with their drinks and took their order.
While they were waiting for dinner, they chatted pleasantly about normal everyday things such as work, funny things about the Dursleys, Kristi and Ben's friends, and more funny things about the Dursleys. When their food arrived, the conversation continued, although a bit slower due to the fact that no one would speak with food in their mouths. Harry, from habit at the Dursleys, and Ben, Kristi, and Stone, for fear of Lauren, who, despite being the smallest member of her family, had them thoroughly trained and terrified.
Suddenly, Harry felt…something…on his foot. It was moving slowly up his foot, over his ankle, into his pant leg and about halfway up his shin, before backing down and beginning along the same path all over again, occasionally moving to the other side of his leg. Harry tried moving his leg, but the thing, whatever it was, moved with him. He tried again, and again, and again, and each time, the thing followed his movements. Whatever it was, it was making him very uncomfortable. Harry heard someone snickering in front of him and to the left. He glanced surreptitiously toward the sound and saw a table with two men and a woman seated at it. One of the men was facing away from Harry, but the other two were staring at the same spot: right under the table that he and the Stone family were sitting, and more precisely, at his leg.
Quickly, wondering why he hadn't thought to sooner, Harry looked through the table to see what was on his leg. It was Kristi's foot; she had taken off one of her sandals and was rubbing Harry's left leg and her other foot with her own. She was playing footsy with him, or at least she was attempting to. Harry looked at Kristi to see her talking to and facing her mother, but occasionally glancing at him from the corner of her eye and grinning mischievously. Harry was suddenly very nervous, and wanted to get her to stop, but he didn't want to embarrass her in front of her family. How could he do it?
Then something happened which didn't happen too often; Harry panicked. He went ahead with the first idea he had, not caring weather it was a good one or not. He just wanted her to stop, and the first thought which came to his mind was to shock her (mentally, of course).
"So, Ben," Harry blurted out. "Are you looking forward to attending Hogwarts this year?"
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
Lauren, Ben, and Stone had, in unison, dropped their glasses in surprise, and Kristi's foot, which had been at his ankle for the twentieth or so time, suddenly turned cold, and left his leg. During the brief period of stuttering that followed, Harry was thankful that his last rational decision before asking that question had been to wandlessly cast an anti-eavesdropping charm, which would make anyone around them direct their attention elsewhere, and to ignore and forget anything they heard. He was even more thankful, however, for the absence of Kristi's foot from his leg.
"Wh-…Ha-…Ho-…Wh-What are you talking about, Harry?" Stone finally managed to splutter out.
'Oh, well,' Harry thought, 'might as well just tell them. Ben would've owled home and told them himself within a week anyway, so there's no harm in it.'
"I, er, wanted to know if Ben was looking forward to going to Hogwarts this year."
"But how do you know about…unless…do you go to Hogwarts, Harry?" Ben asked.
"Yeah, Ben, I do. I'm going into my fifth year there."
"Why didn't you tell us before, eh, Harry?" Stone asked, sounding a little hurt that Harry had neglected to tell him about his being a wizard.
"I couldn't," Harry answered. "Except in special circumstances, it's illegal to tell a Muggle, er, a non-magic person about the wizarding world."
"So what changed?" Lauren asked. "Why can you tell us all of a sudden? And now that I think about it, why didn't you mention this when we met you on your birthday? Oh! Wait, stop! We shouldn't be talking about this here, it's a crowded restaurant; anyone could overhear us and then you would be in big trouble, Harry!"
"Don't worry, it's alright. I cast an anti-eavesdropping spell. No muggle around us can pay attention to what we are saying, and even if there were wizards around who could, all they would hear is us talking about normal, everyday muggle life, so they probably wouldn't pay attention anyway."
"Well, that's certainly a relief," Lauren said, calming down. "But still, how is it that you can tell us now, and not three weeks ago?"
Harry thought for a moment. "Simple," he said, "it's alright for me to talk to you about the magical world because I know that you know about it. I didn't know or even suspect it when we first met, so I had to keep quiet about it."
"How did you know that we knew?" Kristi asked, finally coming into the conversation.
"I…have a few rare magical abilities," he said. He was somewhat embarrassed at the prospect of talking about himself so much, but he continued anyway, reasoning that they, along with much of the wizarding world, would find out all of it eventually, whether he wanted them to or not, and it would probably be better that they hear it from him, so the information would at least be accurate He didn't want to take a chance at Ben's opinions being hopelessly corrupted by the Creevy brothers' disturbing hero-worship. Despite having thought a great deal over the summer about Voldemort's return, he had only just realized that he had not even considered Minister Fudge's reaction to the news, or the actions that he was probably taking, or not taking. He didn't even want to think of what Fudge may have been doing to keep it all quiet. Harry snapped out of his moment of introspection when he realized that one or more of the Stone family had been trying to speak to him for well over a minute.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Harry asked.
"What kind of rare abilities do you mean, Harry?" Lauren repeated herself.
"Quite a few," Harry said, grinning. "At the end of last term, I bought a copy of 'Powers You Never Knew You Had and What to do With Them Now You've Wised Up'. There are more earmarked pages than not in there now. In fact, I can't even close the book all the way because all of the folds have hopelessly thickened the upper corners." The family chuckled at his little joke, and he continued, deciding that he would have no choice but to stretch the truth at some points, he didn't want to seem too unusual, after all. "Well, I've been taking a lot of the tests lately, and I found that I have the potential to become an animagus, a wizard who can transform himself into a specific animal at will. It's actually a fairly common ability, (A/N: How else do you think Pettigrew could have been one) six out of every seven wizards or witches, according to the book, but it takes months and maybe even years of training to achieve, and the transformations while training are supposed to be really painful, so not many people go through with it. I'm definitely going to, though; my father was one, and I heard a rumor that my mother may have been, too, so this might help me feel a bit closer to them." He forced himself to ignore the compassionate and pitying look on Lauren's face as he said that. Harry continued:
"I also show all the signs of being a metamorphmagus; someone who can change their physical appearance in any way they choose. That one is pretty rare, so I'll probably have a hard time finding a teacher. The book does explain how to do it a little, but the only things I've been able to do so far are make some subtle changes to my face structure, grow and ungrow my hair and finger and toenails a bit, and change my hair and eye color, and even those are extremely difficult. If I try to alter my body structure at all, it becomes unbelievably painful, but according to the book, it shouldn't. I guess it's just a mental block, or something, because the book says that even if I'm learning it on my own, I should be much further along by now.
"There's also my having the gift of Mage-sense, being able to see and perceive magic in a way that most people can't. It's almost exactly as rare as being a metamorphmagus; in a magical population the size of Britain's, only three or four are born in a generation. That's how I knew about Ben. I didn't when we first met because the ability never manifests until after a person's fifteenth birthday, usually within twenty-four hours after the exact minute of the Mage-seer's birth. Fortunately, most of the knowledge of how to use it is just combining instinct, experience, and imagination, so there's almost no studying involved, unless you want to learn tricks that past Mage-seers invented and wrote about. I've been reading up on them, and I've found quite a few that I'm determined to master."
"What can you see in my magic, Harry?" Ben asked. The rest of the family all leaned in eagerly, obviously curious about what Harry would find. Harry let his visual eyes slide out of focus and extended his magical awareness and eyesight to focus on Ben. He delved his mind deeply into the other boy's aura, searching intently for any unusual talents or strengths, and seeing if he could find any indication of how powerful he would become as he reached adulthood. The four Stones sat for nearly three-and-one-half minutes, watching Harry watch Ben, and waiting for some indication that he had not simply gone to sleep with his eyes open. When Harry finally did open his mouth to speak, they were so surprised that they almost dropped their glasses again.
"You will have a special affinity for transfigurative and defensive magic, but you're going to have a little trouble picking up charms. Herbology won't be one of your strong points either because your magical signature shows a closer relationship towards animals than plants, so you might want to find someone in your year to study with who does well in those classes. Potions, well, you'll probably be about average, but because of the professor, your grades will make you seem much worse; he's very biased against students from outside his house, and there's virtually no chance at you being placed there.
"The patterns in your magical signature suggest that you are a potential animagus, some kind of bird, but I can't be certain yet what species it is; I've read that your animal form becomes more specific as you age and mature, and the exact type of animal cannot be determined until you are about thirteen or fourteen.
"As far as power goes, you are slightly stronger than normal for an eleven-year-old, and I think the difference will increase a bit as you grow up. You won't be extraordinarily powerful, but you will be a fair bit more than average. I don't think you should tell anyone I told you that, you might want to keep that knowledge to yourself. Power will attract enemies to a person far more easily than allies, because if someone doesn't agree with your way of thinking, and doesn't think that they can persuade you to theirs, they will judge you as a threat to their own power. There is always someone, somewhere, who is stronger than you, and if there isn't now, there will be eventually. Never forget that; there are no limits, no 'greatest'."
There was silence for a few moments as the family ruminated upon the end of Harry's little speech. Though he hid it well, it was still obvious to them that Harry was speaking from prior knowledge, and perhaps even experience. Lauren, easily the most insightful and understanding among them, was wondering how a boy so young had come to have such experience. She also wondered if there may have been some reason for Harry having so many strange but wonderful gifts. It had been obvious to her from the moment she met him that Harry was somehow unique, special, even in comparison to other unique people, but she could not see just how. She had never before met a person of Harry's age who could speak in such a serious and melancholy tone. And, for a brief moment, when she looked into his eyes, she saw, probably by accident on his part, the pleasant, cheerful mask he presented to the world slip away, revealing a kind soul that had seen far too much horror in too short a time. She had only ever seen that look in the eyes of one other person: her uncle, her father's much elder brother. Sometimes, when he was telling the children of the family some great story, he would fade off for a few minutes, remembering terrible things he had seen or done in the war. What could this young man, barely more than fifteen, have witnessed, she wondered, that they would give him eyes like that? And there had been something else about his eyes, something so…familiar about them that she could not quite place. (A/N: There, that should partially appease those who say this story is too happy. And don't worry; she's not some mysterious, distant relative. Eugh, I hate it when some new character turns out to be Harry's *father's mother's sister's cousin's best friend's … son's niece's former room-mate* which makes them *absolutely nothing!* By the way, the reason Harry is being so talkative does not get explained until the next chapter. Sorry.)
Stone finally broke the silence by asking Harry if there were any other gifts that he had yet to mention.
"Yes. There is one more that I know of. You've actually seen me do it already."
"Do you mean that thing you did on your birthday when you talked to that snake we gave you?"
"Yeah. Except that one's gotten me into a bit of trouble before. You see-"
"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
"Why would doing that get you into trouble?"
"As I was trying to tell you, a Parselmouth, someone who can speak and understand snake language, is extremely rare. Actually, it's the rarest gift I have. I think only two or three are born, worldwide, per century. The reason it's gotten me into trouble is because most people think that Parselmouths are inherently evil. And before you ask, they think that because most, not all, but most, Parselmouths in history have become dark wizards. I wasn't born a Parselmouth, though. The ability was accidentally given to me by the dark wizard who killed my parents; the same one who gave me this scar," he said, shifting his rather long bangs out of the way so that they could see it.
"Me being a Parselmouth is also one of the reasons that Fudge doesn't believe me about Voldemort's resurrection."
"Fudge?"
"Voldemort?"
"What resurrection? Harry, what are you talking about?"
"Sorry," Harry said, "I thought that some of that might have already been explained to you by whoever delivered Ben's letter and brought you to get his supplies. I might as well just tell you; if I didn't, Ben would find out within a week of getting to Hogwarts and would write home to tell the rest of you. It feels really weird telling you this, but in the Wizarding World I'm…well…sort of…famous."
Upon that last word, Harry was assailed from the front by three incredulous "WHAT?"s from Stone, Lauren, and Kristi, and Ben, who had been sipping his drink, gave the right side of Harry's face a soda shower. Harry blinked for a moment, then, after accepting Ben's apology, drew his wand surreptitiously enough for only the Stone family to see, and cast a scouring charm to remove the sticky beverage.
"A basic cleaning spell," he said, in answer to their questioning stares over what he had just done. "I promise that I will tell you everything, but please don't interrupt unless it's really necessary; some of this is very hard for me to talk about, and I'd like to get through it as quickly as possible. Actually, Ben, it's better for you to find out this way. You won't have to hear it from someone who has heard the story so many times that they'll think you're an idiot for not knowing. Anyway, about twenty-five years ago, there was a wizard who went…bad. That was Voldemort. For ten years, he and his followers killed and tortured muggles, muggle-borns, and anyone else who either opposed them or they just didn't like. They did all of this with relative impunity because the Ministry was in complete disarray just from trying to hide it all from the muggles and most senior officials protecting their own skin at the expense of everyone else's safety. Voldemort and his Death Eaters caused such terror that most people today are still afraid to say his name. Instead of 'Voldemort,' they call him 'You-Know-Who,' 'The Dark Lord,' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. It's quite stupid, really, fearing a name: it's not like saying it will cause him to appear out of thin air and kill you. But I'm getting off track again. Voldemort wiped out some of the oldest and most influential magical families, at least those that didn't support his actions or join him outright, and was gradually taking over. Hogwarts was one of the only places left that was really safe from him.
"My Mum and Dad went into hiding with me when they found out he was after them. They were betrayed, though, and he found them. He killed my Dad first, then my Mum, and then he tried to kill me. And this is why I'm famous: the curse didn't work. It hit me, and was deflected onto him instead. It didn't kill him, though; it did, however, destroy his body, transfer some of his powers to me, and rob him of most of the rest of them, so most people believed that he did die. In truth, he barely survived. All that was left of him was a shadow, and I became known as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'." This last part was said with some bitterness. "So that's why I'm famous: defeating Voldemort, and being the only known person to survive the death curse."
"But why didn't it work?" Lauren asked.
"I'd really rather not go into that," Harry replied. "No one is completely sure, or if they are, they're not telling me, and what little I do know is too personal for me to share with anybody; even my closest friends don't know what I've found out about the reasons behind my survival. The story also isn't quite over yet.
"About a week before the last school year ended, a reporter named Rita Skeeter found out I was a Parselmouth, along with a few other tidbits about the private life she obviously feels I'm not entitled to, and wrote an article in The Daily Prophet saying that I was potentially evil and mentally unstable. She learned and wrote that I am a Parselmouth, and that my scar hurts me, sometimes. That night, Voldemort got me away from Hogwarts and used my blood, the blood of an enemy, as a key ingredient in an ancient dark ritual to get his body back. I don't think you could even begin to imagine the kind of pain and terror he inflicted upon me for his own amusement. If not for the peaceful slumber enchantment on my bed and the Occlumency I've been studying, I'd probably never be able to get any sleep at all. I managed to escape, but when I got back to Hogwarts and tried to tell people what had happened, Minister Fudge refused to believe me. Fudge is the Minister of Magic, the head of wizarding government in Britain. He was at Hogwarts that night on business, and he refused to believe my story because he believed Rita's article about me being mentally disturbed. It's also because he's a blustering, narrow-minded, and pompous idiot and can't accept that Voldemort has returned. It's a risk to his office and the power that comes with it, in addition to the hundreds of galleons' worth of bribes he probably takes in every month. He's not capable of handling a war, everyone knows it, and he knows that they know it, so he's just going to ignore or hide the truth until he's either killed, removed from office, or forced to take action and pull his head out of his arse – um…sorry, Mrs. Stone."
The apology was caused by the look on Lauren's face at the last part of Harry's rant. It was a mixture of disapproval and utter fury, and Harry was vaguely reminded of Mrs. Weasley before she went into one of her disciplinary tirades on the twins.
"I'm not angry at you, Harry," she said in a frighteningly enraged tone, "I'm furious at this Fudge person. It sounds to me as if he's more concerned with his own position than in the safety of the public." This had angered her greatly, but also, her rage was caused by having seen yet again that deadened, sorrowful look in Harry's eyes, far more pronounced than it had been previously. Her maternal instincts screamed at her to press him to talk of whatever tragedies he must have witnessed, and to try to sooth his hurt, but she pushed them aside, resolving to ensure that that discussion was private. Harry was being unusually open about his life, and it was obvious that he had left out some of the more gritty details. His determination not to let others see his pain also extended to not telling them about the events that had caused it. She could tell, however, that this uncharacteristic openness of Harry's was a clear indication that he wanted, desperately, to be able to talk to someone about his troubles, even if he could not admit it to himself.
"His excuse is that he doesn't want to start a panic, but yeah, you hit the nail right on the head," Harry replied with a slight chuckle.
"Harry, could you tell me about Hogwarts? What's it like there?" Ben asked a moment later. He obviously wanted to change the subject to something less morbid.
"Oh, you wait 'til you get there, Ben; it's the best place in the world. The food, the secret passageways and moving staircases, the classes and professors, well, most of them, anyway. The whole castle is just fantastic."
"Where will I be staying?" Ben asked.
"When you get off the train at Hogsmeade, you and the other first years will cross the lake in boats. Then, when you get to the castle itself, the deputy headmistress and transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, will lead you into the Great Hall to be sorted into a house. There are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. You definitely won't be a Slytherin, and you just don't strike me as the type to be a Hufflepuff, so you'll probably end up either in Gryffindor, which is my house, or in Ravenclaw."
"How do they get sorted? And how do you know Ben wouldn't be in Slytherin?" Lauren asked.
"They put on the Sorting Hat: it was enchanted one-thousand years ago by the four founders of Hogwarts to contain part of their minds, so that when they died, there would be a way for the students to be sorted according to the virtues that each of them valued most. And I know that Ben won't be in Slytherin because he's a muggle-born wizard. Most of the students in Slytherin are notoriously bigoted against anyone who isn't of pure-wizard descent. While we're talking about that, I should probably tell you about a word used as a derogatory term for muggle-born witches and wizards. It's extremely rude, and the only reason I'm going to befoul my tongue by saying it is so you know what it is, Ben. You'll never hear it from my mouth except for this reason, got it?"
"Yeah, I understand," Ben said.
"The word is 'mudblood'," Harry said, with a grimace, then took a large bite out of his hamburger, quickly chewing and washing it down with a swig of his soda. "Eugh, even mentioning it puts a bad taste in my mouth. Anyway, Ben, just ignore them when they call you that; anyone ignorant enough to use that slur isn't someone whose opinion is worth hearing. My mother was muggle-born, and as hypocritical as it is, I hope for their sakes that none of the Slytherins find out. If any of them insults her by calling her…that word, I know I won't be able to restrain myself."
"Oh, come on, Harry," Stone said, chuckling. "You? Lose control? You're probably the most even-tempered kid I've ever met. Even when some of the real jerks at work get on your case, you barely show anything more than being seriously annoyed."
"Thanks, Stone, but they were only insulting me, and growing up with the Dursley's kind of made me immune to that. None of them have ever insulted my parents or my friends. The last time Marge visited, she got me so angry by insulting my Mum and Dad that I accidentally made her blow up like a great, fat, tweed-covered balloon. Though, except for the fact that she was floating around the ceiling, it really wasn't that much of a stretch."
After chuckling for a moment, Lauren asked Harry if he had anything else to tell them about Hogwarts.
'Hm,' Harry thought, 'what have I left out? I think I covered all of the important things, didn't I? The Sorting, the four Houses, some of the professors and classes…' then it hit him.
"Quidditch," he said, simply.
"Quidgit?" Kristi asked. She seemed to be suddenly concerned that something odd may have been put in Harry's food.
"Not Quidgit, Quidditch. It's a wizarding sport; the magical equivalent of football. It's played all over the world, almost everybody follows it. There are seven players on each team and they're all up in the air on broomsticks."
"Are you on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, Harry?" Kristy eagerly asked, once again interrupting Harry as well as giving him that look which made him very uncomfortable. Apparently, her shock was starting to wear off, and she was resuming her efforts towards flirting with him. (A/N: If her behavior can be construed as flirting. I'm romantically impaired, so I'm not sure, but I guess I've read enough of this stuff to B.S. my way through it without making a total fool of myself.)
"Yes and no," Harry answered. "The school itself doesn't actually have a Quidditch team; each of the four Houses has its own, and they hold an inter-house tournament over the course of the year. There are six games, and the Gryffindor/Slytherin match is almost always the first of the year, usually in the first half of November."
"Why does it take so long to get started?" Ben asked.
"Well, the teams need the time for lots of reasons: choosing a new captain if necessary, getting back into practice, finding and training new players, and a lot of other things as well."
"Are you the Gryffindor captain?" Stone asked, finally rejoining the interrogation. (Oops, I meant conversation)
"Yeah, but only because I'm the only one currently on the team who will still be at Hogwarts after this year. They thought I should get some experience before having to deal with at least five new people next year. By the way, Stone, that movie we're supposed to be seeing, what time is it supposed to start?" He somewhat regretted having so abruptly changed the subject to bring an end to the conversation, but he had felt increasingly uncomfortable at being asked so many questions about himself. After a decade of constant psychological abuse from the Dursley's Harry always wondered how anyone could ever find him so interesting. As hard as he tried, that aspect of his personality, the cowering child under the stairs who believed he was worthless, would always be there, and was often difficult or impossible to ignore.
"Yes, Daniel," Lauren said, "we really should be going. We do have plans for the evening, and we've been terribly rude to just endlessly question Harry about himself like this. We must be embarrassing him terribly," she finished, with a kind, understanding smile to Harry.
"Huh? Oh, right! We really should leave soon, or we'll be late. Where's that waitress with the check?"
"She probably hasn't come anywhere near us because of that charm I put up," Harry said. "I'll take it down, just remember, normal conversation; nothing about Hogwarts or magic." At the Stone family's collective nod, Harry discretely drew his wand from its holster, and cast the counter-charm. Almost immediately, their waitress arrived at the table and asked if there was anything else they needed. Stone thanked her and replied that all they needed was the check and if she could get it as quickly as possible, it would be greatly appreciated. She returned a minute later, and waited while Stone and Lauren quickly examined the cost of the meal, and handed her the required notes, in addition to a generous tip.
Fortunately for their schedule, the cinema was only a short drive away, and during the trip, the family asked Harry a few more questions about Hogwarts: the castle itself, the grounds, teachers, classes, and a little more about Quidditch. As long as he himself was not the main topic of discussion, Harry didn't feel too awkward, so he happily answered all of their questions.
When they arrived, Stone announced that they were going to be seeing an American film called Speed that had recently come out. (A/N: I checked; it came out in 1995. And don't go saying that they would never see it because of the children's ages; parents often take their kids to R or PG13 movies long before they are old enough, and these three are more than mature enough to be trusted by their parents/employer.) None of them got any snacks, as they had already eaten and were quite full. They entered the theater, and took their seats. Harry was directly next to the aisle, Kristi was to his right, and Ben was at hers. Lauren and Stone, in order to leave the children alone, but still be close enough to satisfy their parental protective instincts, sat four or five rows closer to the screen, on the left side of the theater. (A/N: Yet another perfect opportunity for Kristi to make unsuccessful and unwanted advances, and for me to make Harry horribly embarrassed. This amuses me greatly. BWAHAHAHAHA!!! *Must find pills, must find pills.*)
~*~*~*~*~*~End Chapter 6*~*~*~*~*~*~
(Closing A/N: Chapter 6b, A.K.A. Chapter 7, is nearly complete, and should be up in a few weeks. As usual, you have read, so now review with constructive criticism. The Hermione Letter from Chapter 4 has been found, and if I can figure out how to do it, I will put it up in Chapter 4 shortly. Got to get back to work. See you in a few weeks, I hope.)