1st September 1995, Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley, London.
Harry was muttering invocations with the names of the seven angels as he stared at the goblin across the desk from this. Melek the Mage Angel should hold back his wrath, because he was frankly having trouble restraining himself. The strength of will from the Invocation of Gabriel would be useful, and soon he would need the command bestowed by the Invocation of Michael. Even healing could soon be needed, not one of Harry's strengths, but the Invocation of Raphael should boost that. Invoking both Uriel and Azrael's power and ruthlessness would give him the edge he would soon need when the time of battle came. He even invoked the name of the Morning Star, for power, light and dark alike, to deal a balance.
"You are certain of this." he stated in a low, deadly voice as he felt the runes, faintly patterned on his the flesh wrist, flare to life as he finished his invocations, a rush of power and foreign emotion flushing through him.
"I am. You are Hadrian James Potter, son of the late James Charlus Potter and Lillian Marie Potter née Evans, and elder brother, by five years, of Edward Oliver Potter." Grimblade the Gaunt eyed the mage with caution, noting how one hand was clenched on the grip of a bastard sword, the other pale as it held onto a staff.
"Then pray do tell, why am I not with my brother, or my brother with me?" Harry growled.
"Such information costs-"
The hand clenched and unclenched on the staff, a ceramic dish on the goblin's desk erupted into shards. A flash of cold anger before it was quickly reined in.
"However in your unusual case, I'm sure that we can work something out." Grimblade continued without pausing; "The Goblin Nation is only somewhat aware of what led to your being separated. Following the deaths of James and Lily Potter, both children vanished from the public eye into the custody of Albus Dumbledore. Just under ten years later, Edward accessed his trust vault, and has since done so twice, once each summer in the company of the Weasley Family."
"I shall have... words... with Dumbledore." Harry gritted out between clenched jaws; "In the meantime, you can secure me ownership of Apethorpe Hall."
The hand finally left the sword and produced several neatly folded thick-grade paper letters, sealed with two wax seals.
"A compulsory purchase order by Her Majesty's Government followed by immediate transfer of ownership to one's self. One for your own records, others to file as necessary. I expect a team of your best enchanters and warders to secure the site for renovation, and be subjected to a mind-wipe after their work." Harry snapped out the orders.
"Yes sir." the goblin agreed, taking the sealed papers. Discretion was the better part of valour.
"Good. I would hate to have to find a new account manager because the previous one had the misfortune to be relieved of his skin." Harry stated, staring into the eyes of the goblin before turning and storming out. His next target? Hogwarts. Just as he was about to head down the marble steps of Gringotts and prepare to travel to Hogwarts, he paused. And smirked. As Harry burst into a cloud of dark smoke, the last thing to vanish was this mad grin.
1st September 1995, the Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland.
Albus Dumbledore smiled to himself as he watched the students depart to their common rooms, followed by some of his teachers, save for the mysteriously-absent Minerva, who had not returned after removing the Sorting Hat from the Great Hall. The huge doors eventually swung closed, and having finished the last mint humbug, he rose from his throne and headed towards a side door with a direct link to his office.
Just as he was about to lay his hand on the iron ring to open the door, the silence of the Great Hall was interrupted, the great doors bursting open. Minerva McGonagall entered, escorted by a tall, slightly haughty-looking man, with an aquiline face, sharp eyebrows, a hint of moustache and beard showing thinly on lip and chin, shoulder-length hair. His clothes were expensive, a thigh-length jacket with a high, buttoned collar in black, lined with red silk, sharply pressed trousers in the same colour and long black boots. A final touch was a lapel badge formed of a draconic ouroboros. All this registered in a moment as he approached.
"Thank you doamnă Minerva, I fear I shall have to bid you farewell, for my matters with the headmaster are private." the stranger bowed to the Transfiguration Professor, speaking strongly-accented English; "You do your art a justice that I fear I can never achieve, my patience has never been my strongest suit, my magic is quick, crude and powerful. I have read of your skill before, and it is finer and more subtle than any I have ever managed."
Dumbledore was intrigued by this stranger, whose charisma gave him such command that the blushing Minerva McGonagall accepted the bow and the kiss on the back of the hand before she left, leaving the two men alone in the hall. The stranger turned to watch her leave, before turning to approach Dumbledore, walking with long, steady strides.
"I commend your transfiguration professor, her dedication to her art is commendable." the stranger noted; "Rather more commendable than your own actions."
"Who are you?" demanded Dumbledore, tensing as the stranger advanced.
"I fear that had I not agreed to hold this discussion with you, my apprentice would have been rather less polite about it. He is... a little displeased with you, Albus... Percival... Wulfric... Brian... Dumbledore." the stranger ignored him; "Yet a master's prerogative is to deal with such matters on behalf of the apprentice."
"You have not named yourself, nor your apprentice." Dumbledore's hand drifted toward the Elder Wand as the stranger continued to stride steadily down the empty hall towards his position on the dais.
"Ah, my apprentice... you knew him once Albus." the stranger smiled, drawing out Dumbledore's name; "His brother was a student in this very castle, may even still be for the next few minutes."
"You never answered my question." stated Dumbledore.
"My apprentice, his name is Harry James POTTER!" roared the stranger, before calming himself; "His brother I am sure you know, Edward, a former student of yours."
That could not be allowed. Dumbledore spun and dashed towards the side door, only for the stranger to suddenly appear in front of it, placing himself between the elderly wizard and his path to the younger Potter. A knife appeared in the stranger's hand, and then with a flick, and without a flinch, he opened the palm of his other hand, blood welling around the wound. Smearing the lifeblood across the door, suddenly red flames roared up, sealing that portal from Dumbledore.
He turned to race towards the great doors, only to see the stranger thrusting a spread hand at the great doors, sending them swinging closed with a crash, followed by a twist as the latches, forged of solid iron, crashed into place, sealing them.
"Who are you, who wields magic without focus and so easily takes to the dark magicks, and those of the blood?" Dumbledore turned his wand on the stranger.
"I am Prince Wladislaus Dragwlya, Voivoide of Wallachia and master of all Romania." the man introduced himself.
This gave Dumbledore pause for thought. In December 1989, a warlord in Wallachia gathered to him the disaffected of the muggle world, the power-hungry of the magical, thugs, mercenaries and, according to unconfirmed rumours, vampires and a young battle mage. He seized power, put his own muggle government in place, butchered the previous one, and put the Soviet Magical Administration of Romanian Territories to death, ruling it himself. The name, Wladislaus Dragwlya rang bells, the odd pronunciation of the name was another to consider. Zladis-laus Dragoolia. Distant synapses were firing in Dumbledore's mind, trying to dredge up some buried memory or piece of knowledge, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was.
"You stole from my apprentice many years of peace and happiness that should have been his childhood. I condemn you for a thief." the stranger whispered, suddenly right beside Dumbledore.
Then there was a flash, a sudden sound of air being displaced and a terrible pain. The kilij was a powerful cutting sword, a sabre with a weighted head, and from nowhere, the Wallachian warlord had drawn one and sliced off his left hand at the wrist. A flash of bloodfyre cauterised the wound, while at the same time preventing it from ever being reattached.
"Traditionally, both hands would have been cut off, but never let it be said that I am not merciful, you may yet wield your wand and you will not die of blood loss... perhaps." the stranger's mocking laughter rang long and loud for minutes after he'd bowed to the agonized Dumbledore, before sweeping around, his cloak swirling around him before erupting into a bloody mist and vanishing from the sealed hall.
1st September, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland.
The first one into the dormitories as his classmates caught up with one-another in the common room, Edward Potter was leaning over his trunk, about to retrieve his invisibility cloak and map when a voice greeted him.
"You're Edward Potter?"
Edward spun around, drawing his wand in a smooth motion from a basilisk hide bracer and levelling it at the intruder. He hadn't noticed the figure sat by the window, swathed in dark robes covering glints of ringmail and dull plates of dragon hide which obviously formed some kind of armour.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The figure cocked his head to one side, observing him closely.
"Edward Potter indeed." he murmured to himself; "Would you believe me if I said I was your long-lost brother?"
"No." snorted Edward. "According to everything I've read, my brother vanished Halloween of 1980, aged four."
"Hmmph. According to Gringotts, the Ministry of Magic and a bit of my own blood magic, it's true. Harry James Potter is my name, born of Lily and James Potter." the figure replied.
"If it's true, I can verify it... the map never lies." Edward didn't take his eyes off his supposed brother, leaning forward to snatch a folded piece of parchment from his trunk, for a moment taking his wand off the figure in the window and tapping it, muttering the passcode. A few moments later, he snapped; "Explain."
"I don't have long. Dumbledore probably would like to intervene." Harry warned; "I don't know the whole story either, but my work has seen me assigned to operate in Britain."
"Dumbledore?" Edward didn't understand.
"As far as I can work out, Dumbledore was responsible for breaking up the remains of the Potter family, and has essentially mothballed the Potter estates, tying them up in mile after mile of red tape to make it nigh-impossible to gain control of." Harry explained brusquely.
"Potter estates?" Edward still didn't understand.
"What kind of wizard couldn't carve out a fortune for himself in the non-magical world." Harry scowled, the level of ignorance causing him headaches; "A successive dynasty of wizards..."
"Right, so where do we go from now?" asked Edward.
"My master is having some words with Dumbledore, I'll be leaving here soon, you can either stay or come with me." Harry offered; "I've got my own duties, but I can try and teach you a bit of combat magic, and you can have a holiday on a sandy beach occupied by bikini-clad women."
"How do I sign up?" Edward, like many boys his age, still had the attributes of a teenager, mentally.
"I'm surprised you agreed so quickly." Harry narrowed his eyes from under his hood at his brother.
"I don't really have any family, I had two friends, but one of them turned traitor last year, the other refused to communicate with me through the summer. Fickle friends are worse than no friends at all." Edward admitted, quickly stuffing his things back into his steamer trunk.
"We should head down to the courtyard, my master will meet us there." Harry stated, grabbing his brother and pulling a torrent of magic around them. Atomized, a swirling cloud of black particles and magic took them and the trunk out of the window, racing down around a maze of towers, spires, walkways and crenellations before plunging into the courtyard, through the open doors and into the entrance hall.
When they materialised, Edward was shivering, unused to the feeling of the wind rushing between every cell of your body, but took notice as a well-dressed man stepped through the great doors to the main hall.
"Your brother?" he asked with a curious accent.
"Indeed." nodded Harry.
"A pleasure, Wladislaus Dragwyla, at your service." the man offered Edward; "Now I believe we should make our way to my home for the night."
"Mister Potter, where are you going out at this hour?" demanded a sickly-sweet voice just as they were about to step into the courtyard. "And bringing strangers into the castle, without my permission."
Harry raised an eyebrow at the squat figure, clad in an awful collection of pink knitwear which he wouldn't be seen dead using as kindling in his fireplace.
"Madam Dolores Umbridge, a Ministry stooge – I mean bureaucrat. She's been appointed High Inquisitor to control Hogwarts and its students." Edward explained bluntly.
"An Inquisitor?" Harry suddenly was grinning like a shark in a tank full of blood. "To whom do you answer?"
"To the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Oswald Fudge." she puffed herself up.
"You're using the title of Inquisitor, outwith the auspices of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, and worse, doing so in front of a Lord Inquisitor." Harry suddenly became as cold and immovable as granite; "Do you know the penalty for impersonation of an officer of the Holy Office... and the penalty for claiming the title of Inquisitor?"
"How dare you threaten me, I am Dolores Jane Umbridge!" the squat woman brandished a stubby wand; "Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic himself and High Inquisit-"
Harry drew his wand and executed her, moving so fast he was almost a blur. The mud churned up by hundreds of students walking into the castle suddenly coalesced as a spear of mud and grass, before suddenly twisting into gleaming steel. Then with a flick, as if backhanding a tennis ball, flung it straight into the Inquisitor imposter, driving it diagonally up through the right-hand side of her unprotected stomach, into her intestine, through her pancreas, liver and through her left lung. As she spun around with the force, he summoned the spear out the other side, causing horrific damage and the traumatic amputation of her left arm.
"Perhaps we should leave." advised Dragwyla, and in a few moments, all three had vanished, leaving one corpse behind.
A/N: Another attack on British soil. Usually I'd post some kind of defiant comment about how a few terrorists can't destroy us. That's perfectly true, they can't. It doesn't mean that we shouldn't react. Something needs to be done. How many times can you pull the lion's tail before it turns around and opens your throat?