A/N: In light of the fact that, if you've read this far, you probably already read the books, I've decided to skip everything up to Harry's return to the Dursley's, as everything has occurred basically the same.
Chapter 3 - The Return, The Armory, And The Encounter
As Harry waved goodbye to his friends after departing Platform 9 3/4, he smiled slightly, and turned to find his relatives. He waved to catch their attention when he finally found them, and couldn't stifle the savage grin that split his face at their expressions.
Vernon looked like he was building up to a nice shade of maroon, though his eyes betrayed the hint of fear behind his typical anger. Petunia tried to look impassive and failed miserably, her own fear even more pronounced.
Dudley, however, was the most amusing by far, in Harry's opinion. He had his father's blustery expression, but the naked fear in his eyes told Harry that he was also entirely aware that his favorite sport of 'Harry Hunting' was no longer an option - not considering Harry was now taller than Dudley, with a much leaner build, and muscle to match his own.
"W-what happened to you, boy? Where did you manage to out on so much muscle?" Vernon asked, scowling, clearly aware even in his ignorance that Harry shouldn't have been so much bigger.
Harry just smiled and shrugged, pulling up beside them with his trunk and Hedwig's cage, and he quickly reached up, clapping Vernon on the shoulder as if they were old friends.
"Come on Vernon, don't want to waste time here, do we? I'm going to be quite busy this summer." Although the Dursleys collectively scowled at Harry, he held his smile, and waited until they left to return to the car, easily matching their swift strides.
After his trunk was placed inside the car and Hedwig's cage sat in his lap, Harry attempted to retain his smile during the entire trip, though Vernon quickly put a stop to it.
"As soon as we get back I'm putting that trunk and your bloody owl in the closet! And you're going to sit quietly in your room snd not make a single sound unless we let you out for something! Understand, boy?" Harry scowled briefly, before he grinned again.
"I don't think so Vernon. I have to practice this summer, and I have a few things to take care of in London."
Petunia and Dudley both yelped when Vernon nearly jerked the car into oncoming traffic when he twisted briefly, his entire face turning red with fury in the brief second before he turned back to the road. He remained silent for several moments, excluding the sound of his teeth gnashing as he no doubt fought to control his temper. When he finally spoke, his voice was more of a bark.
"Never! Absolutely not! The nerve! Ingrate! Freak!"
This time it was Harry's teeth gnashing as he fought down the urge to reach forward around the headrest and crush his windpipe...it would be so easy...
Instead, Harry grinned, and his right arm lashed out, quick as a snake, and grabbed his cousin in what might've looked like a friendly headlock, if not for the fact that Dudley was quickly turning blue, eyes bulging as his fat fingers attempted to pry Harry's powerful arm away from his neck.
"Vernon..." Harry began, sounding very calm. "I have difficulty using magic right now, but I've received a rather useful ability in exchange - I no longer need magic to threaten you. This is not an empty threat, as it would have very little effect on my returning to Hogwarts, because I no longer need my wand. This is only a fraction of what I am capable of, and I suggest you avoid seeing what I can do." Harry finally released Dudley, who collapsed against the door, gaspib for breath amd staring at Harry with obvious fear.
"Also, just to guarantee your cooperation, I should probably inform you that my godfather broke out of wizard prison last year, and he's on the run. He likes to keep in touch with me, though...keep up with my news...check if I'm happy..." Harry's grin only broadened as Vernon's face grew paler.
"F-fine..." Harry put his hands behind his head amd began whistling, as if he hadn't just threatened his only remaining blood relatives with all the subtlety of a jackhammer. Oh yes, this summer was going to be so much better...
xXx
After a rather tense ride back to Privet Drive, Harry and the Dursleys all entered, not a word spoken between them. Not even Vernon raised an objection when Harry took his trunk and Hedwig's cage upstairs, though he certainly wanted to, judging by his expression. After Harry shut the door and sat on his bed, he laid down and crossed his arms behind his head, smiling at finally having his books and wand completely available.
After several minutes of enjoying his freedom, he sat up and searched around in his trunk until he found his objective - a bag that barely looked big enough to hold a bowling ball, and felt like it weighed nothing, with the charms placed on it. Harry smiled as he opened the bag and started to count the coins, starting with golden Galleons.
Looking at the sizable pile of gold he still had, Harry dumped it all back into the bag and nodded to himself.
'Okay, first stop, Diagon Alley, so I can convert this into Muggle money, then I'll see about finding someone who doesn't care who they sell to...'
Early the next day, as soon as breakfast had been served - which Harry skipped, staying only to remind them what would happen if anything was misplaced - he walked out of the house down the street, making sure to get well out of sight of the muggle suburbs. Dressed in a newly acquired jacket, t-shirt and jeans, he made his way out of sight and held up his wand - regardless of not being able to properly cast magic, he could still call the Knight Bus.
xXx
After a brief trip and two borderline heart attacks - courtesy of a passing between two large trucks, and turning in front of firetruck - Harry found himself in front of the Leaky Cauldron.
After taking a few moments to steady himself, Harry walked in, keeping his bangs down low over his scar, the faint beard growth on his chin and cheeks helping to deflect attention. After successfully navigating the pub without being discovered, Harry made his way to the wall, tapping bricks with his wand in order to enter Diagon Alley.
Harry quickly made his way down the long street, ignoring the witches and wizards, young and old, weaving in between them on his way to Gringotts. When he arrived, he looked around, and decided to head towards a goblin with a relatively small line, only two people.
It didn't take long for Harry to get through the line, as they were both shuffled off, keys in hand, to access their vaults. As Harry approached the goblin behind the desk, he spoke.
"My name is Harry Potter, and I'd like to exchange some galleons for pounds." As he said this, Harry placed a handful of the small gold coins onto the desk. "What's the rate for twenty-five galleons?"
The goblin stared at the pile appraisingly for several moments, a calculating gleam in his eyes, before he met Harry's gaze and spoke. "At a ratio of thirty-to-one, that comes to seven-thousand, five-hundred pounds. Minus the exchange rate of seventeen percent, and a service charge of three percent, your total comes to six-thousand pounds."
Harry stared for a few moments, his eyes wide, both in the value of his gold, and at the absurd exchange rate. "But...but why so much? For exchanging it, I mean."
The goblin stared back, a look of disdain crossing his face as his lip curled upwards. "Mr. Potter, you are currently the eleventh wizard in the history of Gringotts to request such an exchange. We must make a profit, and such an unusually rare request warrants an unusually high rate."
Harry frowned, but nodded after a moment, and removed an additional handful of coins from his pockets.
"Then...I'd like to exchange these as well, another twenty-five galleons, and invest - in muggle businesses. Can you do that?"
The goblin now displayed a subtle interest. "Of course, Mr. Potter. Of course, this is even rarer than your initial request, requiring a rate of...twenty-two percent, plus the service charge of three percent, for a total investment of five-thousand, six-hundred, and twenty-five pounds. Is this acceptable?"
After a brief hesitation, Harry nodded yes, and the goblin took the fifty galleons, placing them below the desk where Harry couldn't see, then stood. "This will take just a few moments, Mr. Potter..."
The goblin opened what looked like a miniature trap door built into the desk, and placed his unoccupied arm inside, buried up the elbow, and wore an expression of mild concentration. True to his word, less than a minute later, he removed his arm and closed the trap door, a stack of crisp hundred-pound notes clutched in his hand before he placed them on the desk, sliding them towards Harry. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Potter?"
"No, thank you. Well...what about the investment?" Harry asked, pausing in the act of rising from, and returning to, his seat in the middle of his question.
"You will be contacted by owl within the next twenty-four hours to confirm the details of your investment. Forty-eight hours after receiving your answers, your investment will commence, and begin to accrue interest. Any more questions?"
With another nod and a muttered thanks, Harry departed Gringotts, a small grin on his face at the realization he now carried more than Vernon's weekly income in his pocket.
xXx
After a short break to grab a bite to eat from a small cafe, having skipped breakfast earlier, Harry made his way towards the less popular end of Diagon Alley, turning into Knockturn Alley and almost flinching with the drastic difference.
Where Diagon Alley had been bright, upbeat, and filled with small, crowded families, Knockturn Alley was dark, grim, and populated by individuals who kept to themselves, clearly eyeing the other denizens - whether as predator or prey, Harry wasn't sure, though he suspected it was a bit of both.
Harry carefully weaves his way between hags and wizened old men, many trying to sell their dubious wares to the passers-by, and finally entered a pub, helpfully labeled on the hanging wooden sign as the Whispering Toadstool - a name which left little doubt as to its origins, considering the overpowering scent of narcotics, though Harry doubted he would've had trouble smelling the fumes, even before his transformation.
Upon entering, Harry was overwhelmed by just how much more potent the odors were inside, and found a new respect for whatever charms had been cast on the building to retain it so well. Though, as his eyes began to water, he also wondered whether it had been the owner's efforts, or perhaps the neighbors who didn't feel like getting high every time they set foot outside.
Regardless, this was clearly a place that had at least some dealings with the muggle underworld, as evidenced by the vaguely familiar look of drug addicts, much like he'd seen once on a previous trip to London. Men and women sitting around a table, slumped in their seats and passing around a long, narrow pipe of some sort, smoke billowing from both the pipe and their open mouths; strung out addicts sitting by themselves, syringes in hand; even the occasional, less violent sort, small clusters of happy, tired looking people who laughed seemingly at nothing, clearly only there for the company and the menu, platters of unidentifiable meals situated on the tables, as their choice of hallucinogen was the type without repercussions, only being difficult to obtain in the wizarding world.
Harry made sure to keep his distance from the less lucid inhabitants, weaving in between the apparently random locations of the tables, and sat down at the bar, where a seedy looking wizard with a thin, rock-like face, watery green eyes, thin, slick blonde hair, and a sour expression stood cleaning a mug with a rag, seemingly looking off into nowhere, though one eye seemed to track Harry the entire way.
As he sat, Harry watched the bartender slowly turn to focus on him, a vaguely suspicious look on his face that was probably permanent. "What'll ya have?"
The man's voice was as flat as a board, even and neutral, like his eyes Harry met his gaze and placed five galleons on the bar. "Information. I'd like to buy some muggle weapons. All I need is a name and place."
The bartender eyed the coins suspiciously, narrowed eyes flicking between Harry and the gold, his entire body tense and frozen in the middle of so-called cleaning - dubious, considering the grime on the rag.
"My mind ain't what it used to be. Don't think I can help you," he finally said, though his eyes locked onto Harry's. Sighing, Harry placed another five coins with the originals. "I think my memory is still pretty fuzzy..."
Biting back a scowl, Harry placed ten more galleons with the others, noticing the greedy gleam in the man's eyes.
His lips curved upwards slightly. "Starting to come back...just a little bit." Harry growled, enjoying the faint stirring of fear in the man's expression as he slammed ten more galleons onto the bar. "Final offer. The next thing I'm putting on the counter will be your skull."
Harry trimester in satisfaction as the greedy bartender swallowed, scooping the coins off into his shaking hand before placing a small piece of parchment on the bar, waving a wand previously hidden on his person as a name and address flowed onto the paper, seemingly from thin air. "Go to that address, and ask for that man. He'll supply you with whatever you want."
"Thanks," Harry muttered, sliding off the barstool and taking the parchment with him, ignoring the tense stare of the bartender as he departed.
xXx
"So this is it...what a dump."
Harry muttered to himself as he approached the squat building, one of several crammed into the dingy offshoot of Knockturn Alley, its entire appearance the definition of 'slum.'
The windows were not boarded up - they were bolted down. Large sheets of metal covered nearly every entryway besides the door, and even that looked somewhat imposing, a stone archway with a solid-looking slab of metal, no obvious knob or keyhole. The only apparent access - of a sort - was a small slot, faintly recessed, with a purple, bloodshot eye embedded in the center.
Harry frowned, but walked up to the door, and knocked. Almost instantly, the eye focused on him, dilating as a quiet, but deep voice emanated from it. "Who is it?"
"Name doesn't matter. I'm looking for Gil Gavis. I'd line to see his inventory." No sooner than Harry finished speaking, the eye shut, and after a few quiet wisps of gray smoke, the door slid down into the ground, revealing a hulking figure, his neck nearly as thick around as Harry's chest, muscles fitted on his frame as if he'd been born with a tank for a skeleton, bald head and beady black eyes narrowed as he stepped aside. "Down the hall, third door on the left."
Harry stepped cautiously past the giant, listening as the door rose up behind him, and glanced backwards, eyebrows raised as the hulking man now looked to be made of marble, arms crossed beside the doorway.
Harry quickly made his way through the short hall, the faint heat that permeated the place nearly as uncomfortable as the fading yellow wallpaper, amd found the doorway he'd been directed to, opening it hesitantly.
The first thing he noticed was the surprising size of the room, nearly as vast as the Great Hall from what Harry could see, with a chest-high counter running from one wall to the other, clearly to block potential customers and thieves from the merchandise. The second thing he noticed were the long shelves that stretched to the ceiling, all laden with obvious weapons, from javelins and longbows to what looked like a missile in the back, though Harry didn't care to contemplate this any further, and started when he heard a quiet couch, which echoed surprisingly well. He walked forward and finally saw the man he had come to visit, he was sure. He was of average height, neither muscular nor skinny, and carried himself with a subtle confidence, cold blue eyes meeting Harry's from beneath a peculiar hat he was unfamiliar with. He was leaning forward on the counter, one hand closed in a fist, propping up his chin.
"Gil Gavis?" The man nodded, and said nothing. "Nice trick with the statue. Pretty impressive." Finally Gavis let out a soft snort, standing up and reaching a hand out to shake. "Thanks, but its not mine. One of the other blokes in the building made it as a security system in place of a month's rent. Dull personality, but it scares potential thieves, which is all it has to do. Trust me, between myself and the rest of the people in here, there's not a thief alive who would get out in one piece - I speak from experience."
The arms dealer's flat, cold smile was enough to send shivers up Harry's spine, and he didn't doubt the man for a second. "Well, I'm certainly not here to steal...I'd like to purchase some weapons. What have you got for guns, knives?"
Abruptly, Gavis straightened, and was entirely business as he lifted two large tomes from beneath the counter and set them on top, turning them to face Harry. "What do you need? Stilleto or cleaver? Assault rifle or hold-out pistol? Whatever you need, I've got it, or I can get it."
Harry frowned and opened one of the tomes, an intricate illustration of a rotating knife with a long, narrow blade and a moulded rubber grip emblazoned across the page. "Umm...I think I want something...heavy. Something that can take a beating and dish out some damage. Something that relies more on force than skill."
Gavis nodded and slid his fingers between two pages, amazingly precise as he promptly flipped the slab of enchanted paper, revealing another illustration, much like the first, except that the knife shown had a solid-looking hilt, contoured to perfectly fit into a large hand, and a blade clearly designed to kill. The hilt was a roughly oval-shaped cylinder, only slightly wider than the blade at an inch and a half, and nearly five inches long, in addition to the three inches of hilt. The blade itself was double-edged, though one end was straight, like a razor, and the other curved slightly at the last inch, leaving a rounded end, and the curved edge was serrated, tiny teeth curving towards the hilt - designed to shred upon being removed.
Harry whistled faintly in appreciation, and looked back up at Gavis. "How much?"
"One hundred and fifty pounds should do it." Harry choked, and stared. "Let me guess...you don't sell many, do you?"
The wide grin was as good as a spoken answer, and Harry sighed, before glancing at him. "Pounds? Not galleons?"
Gavis rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "Muggles are easier to deal with, so I deal strictly in their currency, easier than having to convert galleons at the goblins' bloody rates..." Harry grimaced, nodding in agreement. "As for the rent, I just supply arms and protect the premises. Lot of creeps around here, so it covers my rent, and I dont have to touch wizarding money at all."
Harry nodded again in understanding, and glanced at the other, unopened tome. "I'll take two of them. And as for guns...I need something light, cheap, reliable. And I'll want two of those as well."
Gavis nodded again and flipped open the tome, slamming the thick stack of papers again as an illustration filled the page. "Beretta, not bad on all counts, reliable, easy to use. Not as much stopping power as some guns, but not bad for a handgun."
Harry studied the rotating gun for a few moments before nodding. "How much?"
"Eight hundred a piece, so sixteen hundred. With the knives, nineteen hundred."
Harry grimaced again, but nodded. "Okay...last thing...I want something with some stopping power, just in case, but it needs to be easily concealed. Got anything like that?"
At this, Gavis frowned, rubbing his chin with one hand for a moment before reaching for the tome again, lifting a section of pages Harry didn't think remained - particularly considering it was twice as thick as the previous stack, which had seemed to leave only a few pages. As Harry looked at the newly revealed weapon, he frowned, and glancesd back at the arms dealer. "A revolver?"
He nodded, and seemed to notice Harry's skepticism. "It's designed for home defense. You can load it with shotgun shells or rifle rounds. It's American made though, and I don't have any in stock. I can order it, but it'll take 'bout two weeks. And it'll cost extra for special delivery. About sixteen hundred pounds."
Harry stared down at the illustration for a moment before looking back up. "I'll take it. What's that total again?" Harry reaches into his pockets for the pound notes as the man pulls a wand out of his sleeve, waving it and summoning the two knives and the two Berettas, and they slide them across the counter at the same time, Harry taking the knives and frowned as a tangle of leather straps landed on the counter.
"Holsters, free of charge. Pleasure doing business with you." And with that, Gavis turned and walked into the back, counting his new money. Harry sighed, and moved to put on the holster for the guns, one sliding in under each arm, and the holsters for the knives, which wrapped around the inside of each thigh, the actual holster resting on the outside of each leg, though he let his jacket hang down over them, grateful he'd taken it from Dudley, leaving plenty of room for whatever he needed.
Smiling down at his new armaments, Harry quickly departed the building, mindful of the enchanted statue as he passed it, and made to leave Knockturn Alley.
xXx
The trip from Knockturn Alley to the Leaky Cauldron was uneventful, but once he departed the wizarding pub back to muggle London, things became significantly more complicated.
As Harry exited the pub sometimes after sunset, having forgotten just how quickly time passed, he found himself nearly bowled over by a heavyset man in a brown coat. Just as he turned to say something to the man, he caught a whiff of something familiar...something that reminded him of Lupin.
It was only his new, sharpened reflexes that prevented the two men dressed completely in black from succeeding where the first man had failed. His eyes narrowest as he realized that no normal human should be able to move that fast, and on the spur of the moment, he broke into a run, chasing after the trailing pursuer.
Several long stretches and many sharp turns later, Harry caught a hint of blonde hair vanishing into the London Underground several hundred feet ahead, and followed, body tensing as he heard gunshots.
When Harry finally dropped into the middle of the carnage, now silent, he was met with the sight of the man in the brown coat laying on the floor, bleeding from his head and chest, though clearly still alive, as his head was rolling to the side, and Harry could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, hear the faint groans of pain. The two men stood over him, two large handguns held by each, though currently only one was pointed at the man.
"The target has been caught. Check for observers while I finish the beast off," the man with the black hair said, and Harry felt a growl rising in his throat as he realized that the man on the ground was a werewolf, like Lupin - like himself.
Harry barely processed what he was doing as he let out a fierce shout, more animal than man, and launched himself as the two black-clad men, feeling the muscle upon his body growing, thickening, fur sprouting like grass in fast-forward. Both men turned, but only the black haired man was fast enough to sidestep. His companion was too slow, and stumbled backwards, coughing blood as Harry's initial swipe had left four narrow, but deep gouges in his chest, the center two starting around his Adam's Apple, which bobbed up and down as he gasped for air. He was quickly put out of his misery as Harry leapt again, landing on his chest snd driving him to the ground as he lunged, felt his teeth hit bone, cracking it, and threw his head back, blood streaming from his lips, and the man beneath him all nut decapitated, throat shredded and spine clearly destroyed.
The surviving man could only stare in horror at the large black-haired Lycan that had killed his partner, though his eyes narrowest and his mind focused when the beast turned to face him, bright green eyes bright with bloodlust. He allowed a snarl to twist his face, staring in hate at the animal before him, and the duel began.
Harry lunged again, right arm extended to strike the same way he had attacked the first man, though his current opponent proved just as agile as before, sidestepping and allowing Harry's clawed hand to slam into the ground, shattering tile and stone like glass. Harry howled in anger and pain as he felt a searing pain at the side of his head, his sensitive ears almost deafened by the virtually point blank explosion, and he turned, snarling at his opponent who leapt backwards, horror once more returning to his face before it hardened again, and he brought both guns up, and fired.
Harry howled again, more pain than anger, as round after round slammed into his chest at less than six feet, dozens of spherical chunks of his torso seemingly scooped out, and he staggered forward after hearing a rapid clicking. Suddenly his opponent discarded the guns and reached into his jacket, throwing two sharp disc-like weapons at the Lycan. Harry yelped, pure pain, and stumbled backwards, the two silver discs buried in his chest, and he reverted, slowly shrinking, gasping in pain as the man approached him, eyes cold and a sneer twisting his expression as he reached into his jacket once more. "Time to put down another mongrel..."
"My thoughts exactly."
Harry stared as the man's eyes widened, unable to do anymore as a gleaming metal blade punched through his throat, quickly twisting, decapitating he last of the black-clad killers. The man who stood behind the falling corpse carried a powerful animal scent, one that Harry was sure would've elicited a territorial urge and a growl had he been in less pain.
His long brown hair hung loose, draped over his shoulders, and a rough beard dragged down his cheeks and around his mouth. His dark eyes studied Harry with what could only be fascination as he crouched down to look Harry in the eye. The last thing Harry saw before he lost consciousness was the man's necklace, an ornate golden medallion of some kind, and he knew no more.