Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his. And now, in this chapter, I give the dear lad some more copyrighted relatives. Please don't eat me, oh various TV corporations who own them! I would say something specific, but that would be telling, na na na!
Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though
Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.
Chapter Eight: Aftermath
As soon as he was back at school, Henry went straight to the health center for his appointment, switched just this once to the afternoon. "The bank still has to check and see if my family has any problems with doing the ritual about any talents," he said when they asked how the trip had gone, "and why my name was changed."
"So who are you, then, Mr. Carpenter," an amused healer asked.
"I won't say till I know I don't have to go by this name."
"What, do you fancy yourself part of some witness protection program, like what the Americans have?"
"I was born in England during the most recent magical war, is all I can say for sure."
"Very mysterious, lad, I'll not tell a soul," said the healer, as he checked Henry over. "You'll still need another week at least on the nutrient potions."
"How can you tell?"
"Because, once you reach the height you should be now, you'll stop growing so fast, my boy."
"What if I'm supposed to be having a growth spurt right now?" Henry wanted to cover all his bases.
"In that case, you'll still need the extra nutrients. Your vision's getting better, as well. I don't think you'll need glasses at all right now, but who knows about later on down the road. Here's the box, now off you go."
Altogether, it had been his shortest trip to the medical wing yet, leaving him with most of the afternoon remaining. Wandering aimlessly, Henry found himself in the library, where he sought out a secluded, yet still sunny corner and pulled out the scroll from the goblins. He still wasn't sure he could ever think of himself as Harold, even if it was similar to Henry, especially considering that his mother at least had called him Harry when he was a baby. At least it explained why he'd been called Henry, given the conversation between "Uncle" Virgil and "Aunt" Peony, he'd once overheard, about what he'd responded to as an infant. Even so, he wasn't sure he could really get used to being called Harry, either.
Unrolling the parchment further, he found them, unfortunately, in a section entitled "Currently Living Relations." Petunia Monica Evans, also termed Peony Dixon, married to Vernon Horace Dursley, also termed Virgil Dixon, and son Dudley Vernon Dursley, also termed Dewey Dixon. Frankly, this dashed a lot of hopes he'd had of not being related to them, though he still held out hope they'd kidnapped him in hopes of getting money from his rather more wealthy parents. Plus, it hurt to have to envision his mother as a sister of the woman he'd grown up calling Aunt Pony behind her back for her horsy face. He had always held images of parental perfection and beauty in his mind when considering his long-lost parents. Plus, he still didn't know for sure if they were alive or dead, though they weren't specifically listed in this section of the document, though he'd checked.
Then, inspiration struck, and Henry walked over to the library help desk. "I'm looking for information on British magicals with the last names Potter, Evans, or Addams. Which areas should I look under?"
The librarian looked moderately surprised, then nodded briskly, "It depends—if you are thinking in terms of British magical peerage, I'd look at genealogy sections from the late midieval to Victorian period. The Addams Family is primarily American, you should know. If you've been given a research project on the British Troubles with dark lords, and the fall of Voldemort in 1981 to the last of the Potters, you'll need modern history."
"I erm, well," Henry spluttered, before collecting himself, "mostly I'm interested in the latest Potters, and all of that, but would like to tie it in a bit with the old peerage info on them. And British noble family laws they might have had, since I don't know much about that important background stuff."
"Nobody much does except for them, those secretive, stuffy nobles. But you do look a little lost, anyways," the librarian conceded, her stern expression softening, "what class assigned a little tyke like you such a huge paper?"
"It's um, a bit of an independent and long term project," Henry was trying not to panic, "I grew up in the regular world, in Australia, but know I was born in England. So I researched some of the mundane history before coming here. Now I want to learn about magical Britain."
"And naturally, the Potter name has already come up. An admirable goal, if a bit beyond yourself, lad," she said, "I'll get you started on some of the basic histories of the troubles, and a few biographies of the late James and Lily Potter." At this, Henry made an odd strangled gasping sound, before she continued, "just keep in mind that there tend to be a lot of contradictions in accounts of these times. Reporters writing history, you know," she said with some disdain.
Henry followed the librarian numbly as she walked down the stacks, taking the books she indicated with him back to his corner with a mumbled "thank you." Researching his family had seemed like a good idea right until hearing a librarian casually mentioning that his parents really were dead. At least the pictures in the books were a relief—his mother seemed to have gotten her sister's share of the family good looks along with her own. Actually reading the books did reveal a lot of inconsistencies, as the librarian had warned. All he could really tell for sure was that hey had both been found dead by the killing curse on the same Halloween night after his first birthday, and that afterwards the dark lord had been declared vanquished, which seemed to be true, as magical Britain had not seen him since.
The rest of the details seemed to be pure speculation, about how the events were connected, and why he had disappeared, or what had actually happened in that cottage. Even on the subject of the employment of his parents there was little agreement. Most likely they were just living on his father's family fortune, not secret ministry spell research employees. Henry's favorite ludicrous story for shear over-the-top madness was that he was prophesied to defeat the dark lord, who had killed his parents personally, before casting the undefeatable killing curse on his baby self, which had rebounded and physically destroying the dark lord. This story also claimed that he had an indelible curse scar in the form of a stylized lightning bolt centered on his forehead, all this about an event that had no eyewitnesses. He did have a faint zigzagging scare above one eye, but it had hardly changed when the dark magic had been taken out of his head, so he doubted it was related.
Henry sighed, and turned to the genealogical books, in the off chance they were more informative. Probably not, considering that the records seemed to indicate that the Evans line was entirely mundane, when he knew the Addams side at least was magical in America. Everything was written in such formal language he could hardly understand it. Suddenly, he noticed supper would be over in about fifteen minutes, and dashed off, dumping the bothersome books in the return bin on his way. The healers would have his hide if he missed a meal and nutrient dose. Fortunately, he made it in record time, though he had to settle for his least favorite flavor of pizza. He could never figure out why people around here seemed to think pineapple was a normal topping for a hot dish like pizza.
After he was done eating, Henry went to the post center, and asked if he could send an ordinary letter from there. "I mean, I don't have one ready to send yet, but it absolutely has to arrive by ordinary means, not some kind of trained bird, ok?"
"My boy, this is a real post office. We may have an aviary attached, and exist in a school, but sending mail in ordinary fashions is why we are here," said the man behind the desk rather pompously.
"How much does postage to Australia cost, then, so I'll have the right amount at hand once I get the letter written?" The man only pointed at a convenient chart, which had prices in a variety of currencies, even. Henry nodded, and went back to his room, sat down at his desk, and stared at a blank piece of paper for a long time, before he started to write.
Dear Aunt P,
Considering that we will not be seeing each other again, this is probably my last chance to contact you, unless you've already moved. I have recently gotten some information from a particularly nasty breed of bankers, regarding my dearly departed parents. However, I have not been informed of the reasons for the secrecy under which I was raised. Whatever you can tell me about your lost sister in a letter, or why we are in Australia would be of great help in my future dealings with this world. I don't really need the petty details of how she grew up, or anything, and hardly expect anything nice like that from you. If you ever do need to contact me, the school address should suffice for the next seven years.
Your Nephew H
Henry honestly didn't expect a reply to this letter, ever, but wondered if he'd hear anything from her if the family really did get investigated by family services. Such a letter might actually be amusing, especially if he didn't have to hear that lecture in the shouted version they would have preferred. He took a bit of perverse pleasure in imagining their rants, had his family heard that he was going to church regularly. As he sat in the mission sanctuary the next day, he wondered if should feel guilty for having such vindictive thoughts about the Dixons, or Dursleys, or whoever they were. Looking around, he spotted Lauren, her red hair making it quite easy, and drifted over to ask her. "Erm, hello, Lauren Lentz, do you remember me?"
"Of course I do, silly, it isn't every week that I meet a Henry Carpenter!" Her voice was quite soft, even with the teasing tones, "how have your prayer experiments been going?"
"Oh, I didn't really pray a whole lot, I forgot. But I think things went as well as they could have, you know." Henry twisted his hands nervously, "is it wrong to think bad things about my relatives, and you know, laugh at them in a mean way?"
"Are these the same family members who never wanted to see you again after sending you here? I think that was what you were saying about them, but it has been a while…" she bit her lip.
"Yes, that's them alright. I hope the lawyers really do send somebody to investigate them, like they promised, and get them in big trouble, and, and, I'll laugh," he ended in a whisper.
"They weren't very good to you at all, were they," she said kindly, and Henry burst into tears, to his surprise. "I'm pretty sure God understands how you feel about them, wanting revenge, justice to fall on them. You can tell him about it, in a prayer, and ask him to forgive you, if you feel really bad about it, Henry." She wanted rather desperately to hug the boy, as he curled in on himself, sinking to the ground, shaking with silent sobbing. After a long silent moment, where she watched him, Henry roughly rubbed the tears off his face with a fist, looked up at Lauren with his mouth open, and vanished in a swirl of puce colored flames.
When Henry woke up hours later, with a foul taste in his mouth, he found himself laying on the cool dirt floor of the school ritual room he'd used before. He knew it had been hours when he whispered a quick "tempus" and found that it was four in the morning. He'd probably completely freaked Lauren out, vanishing that way. Now there would be one less person who would be nice to him. "Even in the freak world I'm a freak. How fantastic," he muttered to himself. The room had a slight echo, but his words came back twisted, "fantasssstic freakssss," all sibilant and whispery. It was pitch black, too, the lighting charms or torches probably only activated by people coming through the door, and suddenly Henry was afraid.
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Far away in London, the little girl with the riotous mass of curls was not even remotely afraid. In fact, she was on an outing to the zoo, with her parents, and the little family had left to have a picnic lunch in a nearby park. The three of them had just finished their sandwiches when a little blond girl leapt out of the bushes to tackle her. "Aha, Daddy, I knew it! the Rotfang Conspiracy has indeed kidnapped Princess Thumbelina in order to force her to collect the eyeteeth of unsuspecting children!"
At this, a rather befuddled looking man in a pith helmet stumbled out after her. "Now my dear moonlet, we can't just go around accusing people of being dentists with magical children."
"How on earth did you know all that about us?" It was hard to say which one of the Doctors Granger had spoken first. "How long have you two been following us?"
Their daughter sat up, despite the blonde's attempt to pin her down. "My name's not Thumbelina. I'm Maia."
"Rather the better version of the name, I should say," replied the blond, "You don't happen to have a tuft of hair growing out of your forehead, do you?"
"No, of course not," the brunette replied testily, "if I did, do you think I'd be around my parents?"
"You weren't abducted or adopted by these foul tooth-pullers, then?" asked the strange girl's father.
"No, I should say not. Who are you, sir, to insult my parents so?"
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"Lumos," Henry whispered, and gasped when the simple spell produced not a floating ball of light, but rather activated glowing white lines making up some sort of ritual circle around himself. This was not good, and not just because the room still remained extremely dark. Henry sat up and clasped his knees to his chest, "oh God preserve me, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, please help me, God," he began to murmur as he rocked back and forth on his haunches, "God, I don't even know what this ritual pattern is supposed to do, oh God, I'm so scared." He fell silent when he noticed some runes flaring at the sound of his voice. At a loud clicking sound, Henry jumped to his feet, small orange flames bursting into existence on his clenched fists.
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"Lucius Lovegood, at your service," the tall man responded to the girl with the wild curls, pulling a few blond flyaways back into the ponytail at the nape of his neck. "You can call me Odd, though, just like everyone else."
"You still haven't apologized for insulting my parents, sirrah," she said sternly.
He chuckled darkly, "now why would I bother, when they won't remember any of this happened, hmm?"
"Because little Maia here is a witch like me, daddycakes," said his daughter in a chiding tone, "and I can hardly have her hating me even more in school, later, than usual."
"Ah, of course," his bemused expression was back now, "I would never want to create enemies for my little snozzleberry, now would I? Please do accept my apologies. My phobia of dentists is quite extreme, though I do try to control it. I shall comfort myself with the thought that you are neither fudge."
"Apology accepted, provided we keep our memories and you tell us all something about the magical school, if you can," replied Maia's father, who was clearly not going to pursue the strange statements made by his counterpart.
"Wait just a minute," his daughter cried, "how do you guys already know about this magic? You never mentioned it to me, after all."
"Oh sweetie," her mother said, "the witch who gave us the seed said you might get a letter from her school when you were eleven. We wanted to wait to see if that actually happened, so as to not get your hopes up falsely."
"Ah, well, that is logical. Now how do you know what I am?" She said this very imperiously.
"The arglefrasiers in my baton can sense these things and have been telling me secrets ever since my Nana's elevenyith potion exploded on me," the girl replied, waving around the glittery handle of a baby push toy.
"And I suppose the side effects of that potion are unique and non-replicable."
"Daddy did look at his mother's notes, but she hadn't recorded anything on the last, unfortunately. You are the only one to try to understand. It's rather a bit like having a secret between friends, I'd imagine."
"If we'll be going to the same school someday, perhaps there is a chance we could become friends," Maia replied wistfully, "even though I'm not terribly fond of the way you tackled me."
"But why wait, when travel is fast and affordable?" This was shouted by Mr. Lovegood, "surely the dentists allow playdates?"
"We'd be delighted," they replied in unison, and that was that.
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The click turned out to be the door opening. Henry clutched his pounding heart, as he listened vaguely to what the two figures outlined in the strong light from the hallway were saying.
"I'm telling you," said a male voice, "it's completely pointless to search down here. There's just no way the little brat could have ended up down here. He's probably somewhere in the deep jungle, in the nest of some kind of local firebird."
"And I'm telling you, that kid came back to the school the last time he vanished. And if it is my job to search the basement level, by Merlin, I'm going to be thorough about it," said a voice Henry was able to identify.
"Professor Lowell?" Henry questioned softly, "is that you, sir?"
"Har-Henry, what are you doing in there?" The man shone a light of some kind into the room, making the boy wince at the brightness.
"I just woke up here. I think I've accidentally activated something here, if you can see the lines of light." The professor shut off his light. "With bunches of runes I could swear were moving."
"Bert," said Lowell, "you'd better go fetch a ritualist. That looks like a summoning circle, if I've ever seen one." After that, there was a long uncomfortable silence, as Henry swayed slightly in the center of the circle, and the professor leaned against the doorjamb wearily. "I'm getting too old to be up this late. Early, whatever. It should be dawn in less than an hour."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. You know something about me, don't you, professor. Or what else could that slip with my name mean, hmm?" Henry tried not to make his voice sound accusing.
"So you do know that you are going by a false name, after all. I was a friend of your father, James Potter, what seems like a lifetime ago." Lowell rubs his arms almost unconsciously. "Nothing could have surprised me more than seeing you here, however. I'd almost convinced myself I was imagining things."
"I hope you are willing to tell me everything, later," Henry said, seeing the other boy coming back with one of the women who had assisted with the large ritual to cast the dark magic out of his head. "Hello, I um, can't remember who you are. What, um, have I got myself into here?"
"Dear boy," she said with some alarm, "you've activated our containment ward circle for dangerous demon or djinn-kind! I'm going to have to confer with the healers. What on earth could have set them off? Boy," she said to the upper level student who'd fetched her, "you'd better get the head healer, and tell him to bring Carpenter's file."
Henry sighed and dropped down to sit cross-legged on the floor. This would probably take a while, before they'd get him out. It was just his luck that the delayed talent testing would turn out to be so important. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by my own freakishness anymore."
"Now, Harry, you are not a freak. The wards probably were probably just reacting to the fact that you were on fire when you disapparated. I mean, the Lentz girl did say you were on fire or something like it," Lowell said sternly.
"And being on fire is something I do quite often, or haven't you heard, fox? Please continue to call me Mr. Carpenter, professor." Henry was quite peeved.
"I had thought the rumors were just that. There isn't exactly a family history of strange magical powers on either side, for you," the professor said.
"Nevertheless," Henry said, "Here I am, with all kinds of firepower. I suppose you didn't know anything about my mother, then." The boy casually summoned up a fireball and began to toss it between his hands.
"I knew her—not as well as your father, but I knew her. She wasn't from a magical lineage, Mr. Carpenter. Her parents were completely ordinary." Lowell continued wistfully, "Lily had the reddest hair, and eyes as green as grass. I don't think you inherited anything from her, you are your father's image, right down to the hazel eyes."
Henry could not help but laugh, and laugh. When he could breath again normally, he spoke. "Do you know the phrase 'spittin image' is a corruption of saying 'spirit and image,' professor? I may be my father's image, but I have my mother's spirit. And her ancestors were anything but ordinary. Even ordinary people know the Addams family is magical,"
The ritualist, who had been silently watching this conversation like a tennis match couldn't help but gasp aloud at this revelation. "By all the gods, lad, you really might be part anything, the way that family is rumored to be. Demon, djinn, dragon, firedrake, firebird, anything really. Don't look at me like that, Lowell! Have you really never heard of the Addams family?"
"What!" said the head healer upon arrival, "don't tell me this has something to do with them! I thought I was here to see what's to be done about Mr. Carpenter. How badly hurt is he?"
"There's nothing wrong with him, except that he set off the creature containment wards for flame travel. We need to know what he is, and how to get him out of there, safely. For everybody." Her last words sounded quite ominous to Henry.
"When was the last time you had one of your nutrient potions, Henry?" The healer was basically ignoring the ritualist's comments.
"Lunch yesterday, no actually, I never made it there. Breakfast," Henry said, feeling rather guilty for missing that many meals.
"Good, we should be able to give you the talent revealer potion, then, with no problems. Please tell me I can just levitate it over to him," the healer glared at the woman who could answer his question.
"It would interfere. You could actually just walk over there. It is only a barrier to him."
"Well, that's even better. I'll need to run a scanning spell, anyways," he said, and walked quickly to Henry, and handed him the potion. "Bottoms up, Henry, try to get it all in one gulp. This can knock people out, and with your history…"
"It surely will," Henry grimaced as he swallowed the thick fluid in the Erlenmeyer flask. "Do potions always have to taste…" he began before crumpling to the ground. Oddly, Henry's eyes stayed open—it was like he was petrified, or being held in stasis. Translucent red dragons and birds swirled around in the air between him and the healer, coalescing into some kind of snake. He could see the man's mouth open and close, but heard nothing but a kind of rushing or roaring sound. The room seemed to recede, till he felt like a tiny bug exposed in a huge barn. Henry could actually feel the tug of magic that levitated and carried him out of the room in the healer's wake. Only then did he actually pass out. Nothing could have surprised him less than waking up in a hospital bed. "So, what am I, exactly?"
The young healer at his bedside must have been assigned to wait for him to wake, because he jerked up from leaning against the wall. "You are a full djinn of the ifreet tribe, in addition to being a wizard," he said, reading off a paper, "since apparently being a djinn is one of those dominant traits, which actually makes no sense, since it can skip generations. Magic always complicates inheritence."
"Would that be a reason my mother might have had flames flickering in her hair, faintly?" Henry was surprised when the healer nodded.
"I'm kind of surprised yours doesn't, actually. Your mother must be an active ifreet, as well, if that's what her hair is like. I made some of these beings a hobby for a while before I got into healing, actually."
"My mother is dead, actually," Henry said, trying not to show his sorrow.
"Well, you'll need to contact some other ifreet then, for training. There's more to being a djinn than just the fire."
"Like all the wishes and living in bottles garbage? I've read my fables, too. Aren't they Middle Eastern? How can I contact one of those clans?"
"I'm sure there has to be at least one professor around here who is in contact with some clan or another. There's really no rush, djinn powers are usually activated at puberty. I mean besides the fire, obviously. I could be wrong in your case, actually," the healer finished, rather uselessly.
Henry sighed, "I'm starving, actually. Can I eat? Am I going back on the nutrient potions?"
"Oh, right, yes, let me just warm up your tray here. Did you know ifreets have an affinity with snakes, along with fire? You might even be able to talk to them!"
"Yeah, I know. My cousin used to have one as a pet. Most boring thing to talk to, ever."
