A.N.: Hey guys, I'm back with chapter two of Grand Arcmagus Potter! Yay!
Sorry for the delay, life has been crazy, and I have been lazy, but it is here now, so…
Also, afraid that we are still worldbuilding here a little bit. You will find that the first half is pure flashback of Harry's childhood. This will be more common, possibly constant though the rest of the story. Not the half bit, the flashback or sideline bit. This is to help you get what is going on, without ten chapters of backstory.
Also, it is my hope to lengthen my chapters out a bit to help with this, but that is TBD.
BTW, there is going to be a rec at the end, like usual, but I am also throwing in an omake 'cause I can, so enjoy that. Other that, read and review.
For reals, please review. The more (meaningful) reviews I get, the happier I am.
Ok, story!
As he caught his breath after almost an hour-long run to get to this run-down, downright ugly, and apparently closed shop in an alley off of Downing street in downtown London, the short, but surprisingly powerful, pre-teen boy smiled to himself as he stared up at the faded sign that said 'combat training, trade available' in fading letters as he thought about the path that had led to here.
Martial arts had been very important to the seven-year-old Harry Potter for the last three years. True, he was small and vaguely scrawny, and he really didn't have a gift for fisticuffs, but he did, as it turns out, have a gift at ki.
When he was four, after the fourth ever 'Harry Hunt', he had decided that he didn't like being bullied anymore, and had tried to learn how to fight so that he could defend himself. As such, he had managed to finagle a job with a nearby 'dojo' (a charlatan's place, as it turned out) making it so that he could earn some money from them in exchange for help cleaning up. It had been a golden arrangement for all involved. Harry's relatives knew the place was a crock, and they got (most of) the money Harry earned, Harry appeased his guardians and got to study 'mental combat', and the 'dojo' got a cheap laborer. Unfortunately for the Dursleys, Harry had actually managed to learn something.
The first time he had accessed his ki, he had almost jumped out of his skin he was so happy. His instructor, 'Sensy' John, had also almost jumped out of his skin, but that was NOT due to joy. The fraud of ten years running (he could fight a little bit, but his job was to give people a sense of well-being, not teach them actual martial arts) had been so shocked by this boy, who had only been going to his studio for two weeks, now doing something that was only talked about in legends, that he had stopped Harry from doing any work whatsoever and had buckled down to actually teaching him everything he knew, such as it was. In exchange, Harry showed the man how to access his own ki.
Alas, this relationship was not meant to last as, as it turned out, if you put too much of your ki, or life energy, into any kind of attack and let it dissipate, you would die. Thus, Sensei John died of old age at thirty-six, after just fifteen months of training, and training under, Harry. It was a sad day for both of them, but Harry was just a kid, and his instructor died very happy at, for just a little bit, touching the power of the ancient masters. His last words were "I got to access my ki. Worth it!!!"
Unfortunately, the second-in-command at the studio, a man who went by the moniker Shinobi Sam, was twice the fraud as John, and had no imagination or interest in Harry's "parlor tricks", and a five-year-old Harry Potter found himself unemployed, much to his uncle's anger, and his aunt's vindication. Still, he used this opportunity, and the time he gained from it, to spend time in the park, practicing his combat, his ki (VERY carefully), and methods of combining the two, as well as making several interesting discoveries of his own. One years later, Dudley (who had severe motivation issues, as well as being a coward) and his gang of bully-boys decided to take another run at Harry Hunting, which had temporally lost popularity due to Harry's association with a 'ninja'.
Now, many things could be said about a seven-and-a-half-year-old Dudley Dursley, but he wasn't completely thick. Indeed, in the realm of peer pressure, he was something of a genius. As such, to really kick off 'Harry Season', he managed to get his grade (second), the grade below him, and several grades above into the game, going so far as recruiting a few junior high students, and even two high school freshmen. All in all, Harry was up against almost sixty kids, and they were all looking for a piece of the prize money Dudley had 'acquired'.
It was a massacre.
Using, and concentrating, ki could make you stronger, faster, and even capable of evading other people's senses. It was, after all, pure life energy, and if you used it properly, you can unlock your muscles potential, speed up growth temporarily or permanently, rev your focus and senses, improve healing and your immune system, and make it so that your movements are classed as unimportant by another person's brain, thus ignored entirely. They cannot, however, help you through an appropriate punch, gain combat experience, and/or give you any street smarts.
When he woke up two days later in a dumpster (having fallen off a roof trying to get way), Harry registered three feelings. First, pain, and lots of it. That wasn't surprising, given the number of blows he caught, but all-in-all, he didn't really care, but that was due to the other sensations he felt.
The second sensation was growth. He had been beaten, but he hadn't lost. He had fallen, but he hadn't been defeated. He had failed, but he NEVER would surrender. He had grown. He was stronger, faster, better now. He had learned so much! He was ready for the next time.
Finally, satisfaction. That was a big one. He had taken fifteen of his attackers with him. At first, it had been sniping by picking off his enemies one at a time from the shadows. After all, if they can't see you, they can't hit you. Still, he had decided that that was a bad scheme, as he was only leaning a bit per fight. Each take-out was less than a second, so he really couldn't analyses his foes. Then, he moved on to champion matches, or taking on one enemy at a time. That had been fun, but it took FOREVER to beat the three enemies he attacked that way. The group of three he had taken next… that was SO much better. Sure, he got a little roughed up, but he had taken a group of three fifth-graders BY HIMSELF, a second grader, and had beaten them.
Easily.
He managed to take one more champion fight with the sole sixth-grader after that, before a group of five, including Peers and Dudley caught him. Not wanting to let his 'family' know his true capabilities, he had run… right off the edge of a roof, unfortunately.
So, he was human, and still had more to learn. He was six at the time, after all. Fifteen foes in his own age range at his age was INCREDIBLY good, but still, it was time to take things more seriously. After yet another year of trying, and to an extent succeeding, at training himself, he decided it was time to find a new teacher, preferably a better one than his last. Thus began the two-week hunt that ended today.
To say that there were more than a few studios he could go to so he could learn martial arts of some kind is a bit… lacking in scope. He had hundreds of choices, and that was before you added in the fact that he can run at almost forty miles per hour for three hours and had next to no responsibilities besides school and some easily completable house chores like weeding and dishes, plus an INSANE amount of endurance and a need for only six hours of sleep a night. Many people would wonder, then, why he chose this place. After all, it looked like a dump!
That being said, it had three things going for it. If you knew something the teachers didn't, you could learn there for free. For a seven-year-old unwanted orphan, that was HUGE, as he definitely had something to teach. This arrangement also showed that the teachers were the real deal, as they, too, were interested in improving their repertoire. Another thing that really drew attention to this place, was the fact that it didn't draw attention. No-one tried to fight for its honor, no idiots tried to attack it to prove their strength, it was near a nice neighborhood, so it was low-crime, but it was secluded, so it had low foot traffic, and, in short, it was perfect. But the real kicker, was the reviews.
As with many business in this day and age, there were ways to find out what people were saying about it, and unfortunately, most of it was bad; but when you looked closer, you soon realized that the bad reviews were all by people that had gotten kicked out, and every last one of them was going on about how insanely difficult the lessons were. If the only bad thing the naysayers had to say about this place was how difficult it was, this was definitely the place to learn. And so, in a move that would almost seem like fate, Harry walked into what could only be described as one of the only TRUE martial ARTS studio in all of Eastern Europe.
Jacob White had been one of the primary trainers at The Studio for the last ten years. Back in his younger days, he had been a bruiser, nothing more than a tough, really, with no ambitions or drive beyond the next beer or street lady. That being said, when Destiny punched him in the gut, he learned three very important things. 1.) Martial arts, true martial arts, were about so much more than just exchanging blows, 2.) Never assume that someone who is smaller than you, is weaker than you, and 3.) Just because a woman's name is Destiny and she dresses in oriental robes, does NOT mean she is a hooker. Still, they ended up getting married six years after that fateful… hospital trip, so it all worked out in the end.
After all his time here, though, this place, and its masters, surprised him from time to time. Like the five-year-old who walked through the door and up to the sign-in table he was manning today. True, they had some young children that trained or came here from time to time, usually because their parents did, but this kid was here on his own, and he was ODD!
For one thing, he acted like he knew exactly what he was doing. True, he showed from the way he walked that he had at least a little fighting experience, and he was vaguely muscular, in a sort of weak and scrawny way, but he was completely at home in a room full of rambunctious, violent adults. Add to that the fact that there was an air of danger around him, and this kid was one of the weirdest customers he had ever seen. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, his job here had nothing to do with judging the perspective students. He had learned a lot over his time here, but he was nowhere near as good at reading a person as the Master. No, he was here to haze the newbies.
"Hey, kid. You lost or something?" He growled. Now, if there was one thing he was good at from his days as a bruiser, it was intimidation of the physical variety. On the streets, the one who LOOKS the strongest, is thought to BE the strongest, so appearing big and mean was something he was very experienced with. That being said, the kid barely spared him a glance. Clearly, this was no ordinary kid.
"No, I am not lost. Please put your lackluster attempts to look intimidating away, they won't be needed here. I am here to look at signing up for a class in martial arts, preferably of the combat variety, using the learning exchange program."
"Sorry, kid," Jacob replied with a dismissive smirk, "But English lessons ain't an acceptable trade for combat training. Ya want to learn to fight, ya gotta know how to fight in exchange."
"So, are you the one that makes that decision?"
Jacob grumbled for a moment. "No."
The kid actually smirked at him! "Then why don't you be a good lad, and run and get the person who does? After all, if they don't… let you make decisions like that, you will obviously need the… help of someone who can."
Now, Mr. Jacob White wasn't the hottest head in the bunch. Even before the last ten years of martial arts training, he had been able to keep a relatively level head, yet another reason why he had been such a good thug. That being said, this kid was really starting to get on his nerves. With each cleverly veiled insult, his temper grew, until at this point he was more likely to try and squish the kid than try to teach him anything. Then again, given how smug the kid was, perhaps a lesson in humility would be good.
"Tell you what, kid. The man who you are looking for is in the office at the back of the training hall behind me. If you can get to, and through, that door, you can see about lessons here. If you can't you will get lost!!!"
Damn it, if the kid's smirk didn't get wider! "You're on."
The next second, the kid was gone.
Now Jacob, being of the martial bent, knew that the kid would have several advantages in this challenge. He was short, after all, and lithe, so probably quite fast, and his size would make him difficult to grab ahold of, but in all his analyses of the situation, he never expected the kid to just disappear like that. He hopped up from his seat and spun in a circle, trying to spot the kid.
He saw nothing.
He tried looking towards the door to the studio then the door to the office. No kid. No matter where he looked, he couldn't find him. He even checked the ceiling!! After about five minutes of looking for the kid, he (rather worriedly) went to the boss's office, knocked, and, at the invitation from inside, opened the door and went in.
Now, the Master wasn't the sort of person that you bothered often. It wasn't that he was dangerous, per se, though he was, or that he was volatile, just that he liked you to be able to do things for yourself as much as possible, and he could be rather… testy if you bugged him with an easy question. That, and he was odd. Case in point, his office was lined with weapons, and few of them were anything you would call modern. Various swords, axes, polearms, with only the occasional firearm mixed in, hung from all four walls, the ceiling, sat on racks made just for them, sat on racks on other pieces of furniture, and leaned in the corners. No-one knew why, either, but Jacob couldn't help but speculate every time he came in here.
Which was probably why his boss was giving him the 'weird look'.
"Oh, sorry boss. Got caught up in the weapons again. I was wondering, have you seen a kid in your office some time in the last ten minutes?"
The odd look got worse. "Yes, Jacob, I did. What is this about?"
Jacob swore. "I bet him that he couldn't make it in here. He was looking for lessons, but I thought he was just an arrogant poser, which is odd for someone his age. Turns out I was wrong. How did he get in, and when did he leave?"
The odd look hit critical levels, though some humor was breaking through. Still, the Master kept his voice completely level as he answered.
"He didn't leave yet, and he followed you in."
With a sinking heart, Jacob turned around. There, standing behind him just inside the still-open doorway, was the kid. The grinning kid. The grinning kid that said: "You forgot to check under the table."
He had been played.
BY A KID!!!
He wouldn't be living this down any time soon.
---
Ginny woke up with a headache. After the dreams she had had last night, no-one could really be surprised, least of all her. After all, not many people have dreams about their childhood crush running a secret society of magic-users that include her somewhat insane best friend. Something she ate must have disagreed with her.
She sat up in bed with a groan, then blinked. As she was living on the streets, she wasn't sleeping in a bed, particularly a high-grade four-poster with Egyptian cotton sheets like this one. Nor did she sleep in what appeared to be a high-grade library. Nor, as it turns out, did her warehouse have a fireplace, or large windows, or a Harry Potter.
She blinked again, and pinched herself. Yup, she was awake. And that still looked like a ten-year-old, somewhat bookish Harry Potter.
"Good morning, Harry."
"Good morning to you, Ginny. Or do you prefer Miss Weasley."
"Ginny is fine." She said with a growl, remembering her falling out with her family. "Why are you watching me while I sleep. On the one hand, that is rather kind of you. On the other, that is more than a little creepy."
Harry sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. 'Well, I was somewhat worried about you, but really, it was a bigger deal to me that you knew my name. I don't know you, though I have heard about you, and you don't exactly socialize with anyone in the underworld, so you shouldn't have heard of me. I asked Luna, Luna Lovegood that is, if she had told you about me, and she said she didn't. As such, you have something I don't know. I LOVE learning new things! How do you know me?"
Ginny found herself blinking again. "How do I know you? Who doesn't know you? You killed your first dark lord at the youngest age ever, are becoming one of the strongest wizards since Merlin through training and study, and have had so many adventures, that I frankly don't even know where to begin. Honestly, since the first time I remember hearing about you at age four, I have been a HUGE fan. Your work against the vampires alone is groundbreaking, and the giants? Awesome!"
Ginny looked up, and saw one of the most disturbing things she had ever seen. Harry Potter, her hero, the person who had inspired her to run away from home, was looking back at her with thinly veiled contempt.
"Ms. Weasley, I appreciate your fervor and your excitement, but I must indicate my disappointment at… you. Here I was, hoping to find out something new, and all I get for my troubles is an underinformed groupie and a liar? I have done nothing 'against the vampires' at all, rather, through prodigious effort I CREATED the race. I am their progenitor. As for the giants, the only amazing thing I have done as far as they are concerned is put up with their singing. The dark lord bit is true, I daresay, though hardly surprising as he was a student of mine who went insane, but I didn't kill him, I sent him to a sanatorium where he is improving even as we speak. As for Merlin, if he was real, I was the FIRST mage since him, at least as far as I can tell, so of course I would be the greatest. That should set your facts straight. As for hearing about me at age four, that would have been impossible. I only really started my study of magic at age six, so the only way you could have possibly heard about me before then was about my work in martial arts, and at the time, I wouldn't have been famous to anyone but my teacher. Now, would you care to revise your statement, and tell me what you are really after?"
Now, Ginny really did feel horrible about what he was saying, after all, her info came from the book series on Harry's life, and thus was somewhat… suspect. That being said, this BOY was talking down to her, lying to her, and, worst of all, CALLING HER MS. WEASLEY! Her face went as red as her hair as she snapped back.
"Who's lying now? How could you have trained Voldemort at age one-and-a-half? Everyone knows you killed him, and give that he had been around for more that fifty years before that, I bet you couldn't have trained him, time-travel boy. And sure, my facts are a little off, but I got them from the damn book series about you, so what do you expect?!? If you have a problem with them, talk to the publisher that sells the books of your adventure YOU endorse. And what is this crap about you being the first mage since Merlin? Albus Dumbledore, YOUR TEACHER in magic, is AT LEAST a century-and-a-half older than you. And CREATING VAMPIRES! The oldest vampire is AT LEAST a thousand years old. What do you have to say to that, Mr. Boy-who-Lived?"
At the start of the rant, Harry had gone pale with anger, and the air around crackled with power. No-one called him a liar! However, as the rant went on, he grew paler, then confused, and by the end of it, he looked rather disoriented, a feeling Ginny shared the second he opened his mouth.
"What books, and who are Dumbledore and Voldemort?"
Ginny rocked back in her… his bed. "What do you mean? Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has been RAISING you since Voldemort killed your parents, and you survived. That is how you got your famous lightning bolt scar, how I recognized you in the first place. As for the books, each one has a note in the front that says you endorse it. that is how ANYONE knows who you are."
"That isn't possible. The only books that I endorse, are the ones that I have written, and I have never written about any of the adventures I have been on. How could this be? Maybe…" he looked up at her sharply. "What year do you think it is?"
"2000, dumbass. I am NOT a time traveler."
"Then how can this be true? I have a scar shaped like a lighting bolt, but I was told I got it in the same drunk-driving accident that killed my parents, but you are telling me they were murdered? And what is this about a magic teacher? Any mage I have ever met only really became a mage because of me! I have been training magic users since I was seven-and-a-half, and yes, some of them had talent that didn't match anything I taught them… Could it be that they already KNEW magic? If they did, why didn't they tell me. I mean, I know I don't socialize much, and I can be a little… brisk, but they… but I… I am so confused right now. Why don't you tell me what you think you know about me and magic in general, and I will tell you the truth of the matter."
And thus began one of the most informative thirty-six hours of Harry's life, and one of the most fascinating of Ginny's. In the end, Ginny ended up apprenticing under Harry for the next year, until the day the owl arrived.
---
"Dudley!"
At four in the morning, a day and a half after the initiation, Dudley 'Burning Fist' Dursley, the most famous up-and-coming martial artist of the century, whose name could LITERALLY make people run away in fear, was awakened by his annoying cousin calling him.
Whatever it was, he prayed it wasn't another trip to Africa. He had hated going to the arctic, but he could add layers of clothes as needed up there to improve his condition. In Africa, not even being buck naked helped in the heat. Then again, with Harry, they might be going to Mars. That had happened, once. Never again.
Suppressing a shudder, and the desire to smash Harry's face in, Dudley stumbled his way up the stairs of the Circle's mansion headquarters (as opposed to their warehouse headquarters, or their library headquarters, or their… well, they had a lot of headquarters) to the room where the strange girl, and Harry apparently, was.
"Look, cuz, I know that you need to run off on errands at a moments notice, but could you PLEASE not yell at me at four AM without warning me about it the day before? Its bloody early!"
"Sorry, D, but this is big. Get me the Misfits!"
Dudley was instantly on alert. The Misfits weren't the Circle's nuclear option, but they were pretty near the 'teargas the whole enemy country' option. With a quick salute, he ran to send the message. Whatever this was, it was BIG!
--Fifteen months later--
Harry sat in the waiting room of the queen's summer home, rather nervous. Not about his upcoming meeting with the queen of course, he was on good enough terms with her to not need to worry about such things. No, his nervousness was centered around the fact that IT had arrived. The letter that Pockets, or Ginevra Weasley, if you want to be formal about it, had warned him about had arrived. He had officially been invited to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and now he had to tell the queen that their concerns were not unfounded.
When Ginny had first told the tale of the hidden magical world to Harry, he had been… rather uncertain. It was true that he could see such a thing happening, and despite his travels he had not gone everywhere. He also knew that there HAD been mages in the past, his exploration of runes both Norse and otherwise had showed him that. But the idea that there was a whole hidden world of witches and wizards out there, one that had separated almost entirely form the rest of the world, where only those born with a natural proclivity could attend, and the rest were viewed as useless. More-so, that such a world was hidden in his, and the QUEEN'S, back yard without her permission or interaction. This was… unbelievable!! It was unthinkable! It was RUDE!
Of course, Hermione Granger, or the Valkyrie Librarian, if you wanted to be informal, had gotten her letter earlier this year, and, despite her continued grumblings for the trick he had played on her at her initiation, she had brought it to him before replying, which, given her thirst for knowledge, was quite the gesture. But still, he had waited for HIS letter. Her letter could have been a prank, or a trick, or a fluke; now, with his own to back it up, he had proof. And that meant that a section of the queen's land, didn't answer to the queen.
THAT was unacceptable.
In a VERY short amount of time, he was called before the queen. Standing near her throne was the only person that Harry feared in this life, and the only person that could be present in this discussion: the queen's Royal Magician: Scott 'Mordred' McIntyre.
Now the position of royal magician had been, for many years, a figurehead. The person who maintained it was little more than a third son of a lesser noble line that needed to be put in a position that no-one wanted, and that would lead no-where, rather like the Queen's Fool, a position that Harry himself coveted. This was the case for the last several centuries, until the placement of Mordred.
Born Aaron Johnson (not that anyone could prove it). he had changed his name and gotten himself a new identity at age nineteen after charges of corruption and theft hit him in his job at the time, of a private in the U.S. army. That had been ten years ago, and for six of them, he had been involved in everything from petty theft to CIA-sanctioned assassination, using his love of stage magic from his younger years, and his slightly above-average intelligence, to make a name foe himself in the U.S. Right up until, that is, he was sent with a wet-work team to kidnap, and possibly kill, the queen's six-year-old daughter.
Of the ten agents, six were willing to carry out the crime. They died. The other four, led by Mordred, proceeded to kidnap the princess using the designated plan, waited until the people who were supposed to take her from them showed up (Russian mob, oddly enough), wiped them out, hunted down their handlers, wiped them out, found the bankroller, killed him and took all his money, and got the princess back in time for tea. For their aid, the queen granted them all a boon each. Two retired, now quite wealthy, one became a sergeant in the SAS, and Mordred became the Royal Magician (read; bodyguard and assassin). As such, when it had turned out that magic was real, and Harry had proved it to the queen at the grand old age of nine, this kind-hearted soul found the position he had dreamed of since he was a boy threatened by said nine-year old. As such, he did the natural thing, and tried to kill Harry.
Now, to this day, no-one knows if Mordred was really trying to kill him, and no-one probably ever will; but that was the catalyst necessary to convince Harry to teach Mordred the basics of magic, to swear off of EVER becoming the Queen's Magician, and to keep him well-supplied with magical items, ANY magically items, in fact, the Mordred asked for. With no questions asked, of course.
The two of them had a somewhat healthy work relationship now, but the air was still vaguely strained whenever they were in the same room, not helping Harry's nerves in the slightest, especially when he had such huge news for the queen.
Still, Harry was an agent of the Crown, and hell would freeze over (for a second time) before he failed in his duty!
Postscript: Hope ya liked that! Stay tune for the omake!
Rec for this fic is Knowledge is Power by RobSt. H/Hr, time-travel power he knows not, normal stuff, but with a very impressive twist. Excellent story, and SO, SO FUNNY! Can't tell you why, but the cover image is SO appropriate.
Also, I have a new story coming out with chapter one the same day this does by the name of A Game of Vengeance. HP/undecided, time travel, and an OP Harry. Ok, he isn't OP.
HE IS TRIPLE OP! BECAUSE WHY WOULD YOU OP THE MAIN CHARACTER ONCE, WHEN YOU CAN DO IT THREE TIMES!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Ehem, sorry about that. Anyways, it is just an intro so far, but I hope you like it. Anyway, PM me if you have a review or a comment or question, but please be kind and non-repetative or spam-y.
Thanks!
Stiltskin out!
OMAKE:
It was a warm spring day in Diagon Ally. The birds were singing, the sun was shining…
And a young Voldemort was killing people. Lovely!
At this point in time, Voldemort wasn't the evil bastard that we all know and hate. Rather, he was just an aspiring dark lord with a dream for the future, with very little in the way of knowledge or power to back it up. But he pursued his dream with all his might. On this day, however, he would learn two things. 1. Public raids had high risks, and 2. Dreams had costs.
All was going well at this point, however. Children were crying, buildings were burning, and the business cards he was leaving behind were embossed for that professional touch. Then, it happened.
A young Sirius Black, not more than five years old, came running out of Knockturn Alley (where he had snuck without permission) trying get away from some Aurors, who, wisely, fled from the explosions, making it so he could escape. Sadly, his escape was blocked by the leg of the not-yet dark lord. As is to be expected, Sirius fell, and Voldemort did not. As was not to be expected, Sirius was laughing.
Now, it is hard to sell your reputation as a dark lord if you can't intimidate one little brat, as a matter of fact, child intimidation is the first course taught any aspirant for that position at all the schools and seminars, and Tom was thrilled to be able to try it out. Alas, the consequences of that decision would haunt him for the rest of his life, for he forgot the golden rule: Magical kids have bouts of accidental magic!
The lecture of "you must fear me, puny mortal", and "beg for mercy, worm" was well-delivered for an amateur. Sadly, in the Black households, that was how ALL the adults talked, so he might as well have been saying "Good morning, son. Breakfast is on the table." for all that Sirius cared, and as such, he began by playing a game he and his mother played all the time.
Sirius looked up at Voldemort, giggled, made a grabbing gesture, and said: "Got your nose!", and ran off.
With his nose.
Now normally, Sirius didn't actually take the nose. As a matter of fact, experts are boggled by this case to this day, but in this case, Sirius actually stole the nose! As soon as he noticed this, he threw it away with a shriek, down a storm drain, alas.
That is why, to this day, Voldemort doesn't have a nose, doesn't do public raids, and has an irrational fear of toddlers.
The End