Hello all, and welcome, to the Rise of the Gubraithian. It started out as an idea, that Dumbledore was once noted to have made Gubraithian fire, a fire that never burned out. I thought to myself, Dragonblade, does that mean there could be other elements that are Gubraithian? Maybe they were an entire culture, maybe it was sacred High Magic that were only talked about in myths and legends of the magical world. So I have written up a brief intro on how Harry could have gotten his hands on some of this ancient magic.
If you want to adopt this adorable little story just PM me, though know that I wont stop anyone from trying their hand at it, because more stories means more GOOD stories. So... yeah...
DB3200-
Harry Potter: Rise of the Gubraithian
Element- Creature- Ritual-
Fire Demon, Heat shall never harm you, though your Fires ever burn
Ice Wendigo, The cold shall never sting you, though your crystal shall never shatter
Water Dragon, Beneath the waves life shall you find, though your tide shall never wan
Wind Poltergeist, Fleetness of foot is your domain, though your winds shall ever blow
Earth Golem, strength of body you honor true, though your foundation shall never crumple
Lightning Bird, The eye of the tiger you have, though your flash shall ever shine
Wood Ent, endurance of body has always been yours, though your life shall never give
Metal Changeling, bones of the strongest steel do you possess, though your strength shall never break
Darkness Dementor, sight in the darkest night is your right, though your shadow shall ever fall
Light Patronus, Never blinded by the searing light are you, though ever shall you fight the coming night
It started as a childish fancy: I was spending the rest of the summer in Diagon Alley and decided to spring for a few books on advanced magic's. Partially because I could, partially because I was curious to see where my magic could one day take me.
Then I started to learn about the incident surrounding my families death, the reason I lived in a home I despise, with people I despise, and was attacked by the Dark Lord Voldemort: Sirius Black. I wanted vengeance for that. So I would spend some time looking through the regular books that students read and learned from, then I would start going back to the advanced books, seeing what I could use as the instrument of my revenge.
One book in particular caught my eye and soon I found myself drowning in the mystical wonders of that book, falling just as surely as I would have had it been a book on the dark arts. My friends became worried, but I was too far in to pull out. If I had stopped practicing the art I had chosen I may well have died or killed another due to my half trained skills in both the art and the other magic's needed to control it. Dumbledore himself eventually became worried enough to step in, but at that point all he could do was help my training along.
Soon though I started to actually learn how to use these new abilities I had granted myself. Even half trained I was powerful… almost too powerful. There is a reason High Magika is not taught to the young. It's too powerful for a person to properly wield without the wisdom of when to use it. In the end I nearly killed an innocent man, and only through the use of another form of High Magika, that of Time, did I save Sirius Black's life and start to truly come into my own magic.
Soon it became a way to win a competition. People had told me that I was doomed to lose, that I would never be able to beat Victor Krum, the international Quidditch superstar from the dark arts school, or Fluer Delacour, the part Veela enchantress and upcoming charms mistress from France, or Cedric Diggory, the average Joe from jolly old Hogwarts, a modest kid with loads of skill, power, and potential, whether it be in the dueling arena, the Quidditch pitch, the class room, or with the girls.
I would like to think that, at one point in time, I would have not been so arrogant, that I would have tried to just survive the tournament that I didn't enter myself into. But by that point I didn't take shit from anyone, and I would have been damned if I was going to give those who criticized me a leg to stand on. So I trained… and I fought… and I killed… and I Won. God. dammit!
And in doing so I nearly died, I got another man killed, and witnessed the rebirth of a madman, the reformation of a Dark Army, and realized, once more, that while I had the power to win I had lacked the wisdom to do what was right, and in my stupidity and anger had not only walked into a trap, but left a trail of subtle destruction in my wake.
That was the end of last year, and right now I'm staring into a mirror on Privet Drive, Hoping that by looking over what's happened in the past two years I won't make the same mistakes this year. I have a feeling it's going to be a hard one, if the rampage that The Daily Prophet and the Ministry are trying to rain down on me is any indication.
But I won't be that kid anymore… So let's start from the beginning: I had just gotten to Diagon Alley after accidently blowing my aunt up…
I woke up around six thirty in the morning. I had gone to sleep early the night before due to all the stress and anger from the night before.
It was near the end of July when my aunt Marge came for a weeklong visit. My uncle and I had cut a deal of sorts: I would play the misfit child that was regularly beaten when I went away to school during the year and he would sign a permission slip so I could go to Hogsmead, the wizarding village, during the school year.
I had almost made it too.
The last night she was going to be there she got drunk and started making comments about my parents. The one about my father I could handle. From what I've heard from Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape, he was somewhat arrogant and more than a little bit of an ass. Then again Snape does hate me for something the man apparently did during their school days together. I may not like my greasy potions professor, but to command such hatred against one person… I can't help but wonder about my father at times.
No, it was the large woman comparing my mother to a dog that got me angry enough for my magic to lash out and try to hurt the fat dog breeder. I ended up blowing her up… Like a BALLOON, not the other kind of blow up, though who knows what would have happened if she had continued to balloon like that.
So I got my stuff and walked out the front door… Even I will admit that it wasn't one of my brightest ideas.
Well, long story short, I ended up taking a form of magical transportation known as the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron, met the Minister for Magic and his amazing Bowler Hat of Doom, and got myself set up for the remainder of the summer at the Cauldron on the Ministry's bill. Not bad for a nights work if I do say so myself.
Well, as I was.
Its six thirty in the morning, I have my school trunk, I'm in the magical world without adult supervision, and I'm Harry Bloody Potter… Life is Good!
Getting out of bed I wash and throw on some clothes. A nice new pair of jeans and one of Dudley's old cast off shirts over a plain white shirt… you can hide all kinds of things in Dudley's old shirts and it makes me stand out a bit… ok, so I'm trying to come up with a silver lining to still wearing Dudley's old clothes, cut me some slack.
Most people think I don't like my fame, they think that when people look at my scar I get all self-conscience and wobbly kneed. Truth be told I am indifferent to my fame and I kinda like it when people look at the scar. I mean, I grew up in a home where I wasn't beaten, but overly ignored unless I was being yelled at or told to do more work. Now here I am, getting attention for something that's not negative… I kinda like it. The fact that my parents had to die for it to happen though is a major obstacle in the way of enjoying it.
It might be a bit contradictory to act one way and then be another, completely opposite way, but what can you do?
And once again, I'm getting off track… please try and remind me when I do that, will you? … Great.
So I throw some clothes on, get a bite to eat, and then the start of my journey begins: I go… to the bank!
Don't you hate it when they edit out those little parts of the stories? You never hear Frodo complain about having to wait in line for his turn to throw the stupid ring into the volcano.
Now first, I must give a word on goblin's, for they are at the heart of several of the old stories. Three things you must know about them: A)They are a warlike people that kill what they hate and fight for glory, honor, and the bloodlust, B)They Hate you. Not you personally, but in general they hate everyone that's… well, human, C) Their culture is an advanced one, one that is beyond the understanding of nearly all human's, save those who live fully in both the muggle and magical world's, because that's how the goblin's live and they have taken both magic and technology and mixed it together to great effect. Not that they'll ever share it with me or any other wizard, because… they hate me.
Now I guess there is one more thing you can say about the goblin: They make a deal, be it species wide treaty or personal trades, and they. Will. Keep. It! A goblin gives you his word and it is as good as giving you his life. That said, break your word with a goblin at your own risk… trust me here.
Now I had originally gone to the bank to get some galleon's, that's all, buy some nice things. I handed over my key and the goblin at the teller stand gave me that weird look they always give me, before barking out an order for a goblin to take me down to my vault.
The goblin's must not like me, (yes, I KNOW I told you they hate me, it's just an expression) because they gave me an old thing that liked muttering under his breath… the whole ride down.
As I gathered my gold I started to think on what I would buy with it. Rich clothing, presents for all my friends, loads of Zonko products for me and the Weasley Twin's to have fun with… and then I decided I wanted something else: Books.
Not school books or standard and allowed magic's, but something powerful, or even forbidden…
That thought had me shivering: forbidden knowledge. Things the Ministry has deemed too dangerous to use or too powerful to be wielded by anyone. The Dark Arts even…
'No, never the Dark Arts!' I decided right away, never the magic that powered the Dark Lord, never the magic that had destroyed my family. 'But…'
'Maybe,' I had thought to myself, 'I should go look the rest up myself. I doubt I can use them, but you never know. Besides, if others were able to learn them, then it's not impossible. Maybe I can start focusing my studies in the right direction.'
Ok, I admit it… I also thought it might be fun to think about what I could do with those powers one day: Stop time so I can make a sandwich, eat it, beat up Malfoy, do an Irish jig, and then watch as he falls over in pain… I still like daydreaming about that one in fact.
Now I know you might be wondering if I would actually have enough money for these books if they're so old and valuable, but most people, particularly pureblood wizards and witches, don't realize how much stronger our economy is compared to the muggle one. A single Galleon can go a LONG way. I saw Mrs. Weasley take a single galleon and a half dozen sickles and made it stretch so she could buy robes, books, and other school supplies for five children, one of whom needed the newer, more expensive NEWT level books. At that point of in my life, I didn't realize how strong out economy really was, and I had a vault filled to the brim with gold and had heard talk of a larger family vault that I wouldn't have until I turned seventeen.
So a couple of pouches with a few hundred galleon's a piece, give or take a hundred coins… Hehe, I was about to get swindled real good!
Now, probably one of my stupider moments in life was when I managed to end up in Borgin and Burkes through mispronouncing a name while in the floo. Luckily for me, because I had done that I now knew how to get to said shop…
Unfortunately for me I was a bit underdressed to go prancing through the much darker alley… Though from the looks of things down there, I may have been overdressed.
Heading back to the Leaky Cauldron I went up to my room and pulled free one of my School robes, setting to work on removing the school logo and house sign and trying to attach a black hood from one of Dudley's old jumpers to the back of the robe. If I had been smart back then, like I am now, I would have just gone to Madam Malkin's.
Three hours later I had a semi respectable looking piece of garbage… Really, out of everything at a trash heap I would have picked this out first, and that's not saying much.
Ok, ok, ok, so I donned the monstrosity that I called a cloak and went out into the world… Oh, I guess I have one more thing to distract me from the story: Diagon and Knockturn Alleys
Diagon Alley is really neat, I have to give them that. All the things you can see and smell, it's just so much and so peaceful. The buildings all loom over top of the alley and in more than one case you can see trees on the top of buildings, though there were probably other plants up there too; people in the wizarding world usually grow their own plants and vegetables. That's not to say, of course, that everyone does or that everything can be home grown. But in general greenhouses are only used to grow potion ingredients and the only farms that I know about are orchards that the Weasley's used to have and those that belong to distilleries and wineries.
Knockturn Alley though, that's a bit of a different story. It's dirty, broken down, and the people in it are just as filthy. People go missing from this Alley while other reports of rapes, murders, and thefts run rampant through British society. Surprisingly, while Diagon Alley isn't well known outside of the British Isles, Knockturn has an international reputation for being as Dark as it is. How's that for irony. There is not plant life here and not everybody the walks around is human… or alive, though for wine, beer, whiskey, or any other alcohol of choice it is the place to be… um, so I hear…
Ok, as I was:
I knew exactly where I was going, seeing as Borgin's and Burke's wasn't too far off the main road from Diagon Alley. It is a curious store, filled with all kinds of artifacts, both of dark and light origins, and many newer creations, once again both light and dark. One of the objects on the back wall, behind the counter bore the crest of Gryffindor House even, though none of the stories I had ever heard had the founder bearing a shield.
Borgin, as he was called, stood behind a glass counter, putting a shining sword with a bronze heron on both the hilt and blade in the case, on either side were weapons, one a short sword that glowed blue and the other a golden sickle. The man himself was thin and old, with thick, dark grey, oily hair that hung down over his ears, leaving his wide forehead bare.
Seeing me walk in his eyes narrowed greedily. A small smile coming on to his face making the rest of him look as oily as his hair.
I ignored him, wondering what his reaction would be if he saw me with my hood down. Casually I looked around, noticing a few of the objects from my last trip were gone, such as the hangman's rope and the human bones. At the time I shuttered at who or what would need human bones… Back then I did anyways.
A few objects were still there, like the vanishing cabinet that I had appeared in during my last visit, and the 'Hand of Glory' that Borgin had tried to sell to Malfoy junior.
Looking around I didn't see what I was looking for. There were books, plenty of them, but I wasn't rightly sure WHAT I was looking for. Grudgingly I turned towards the man who was eyeing up my coin bags eagerly.
"How may I help you today, Mr…?" the man started, leaving it hanging for me to answer.
At that point I could only think how crazy this all was… "Brutus." I said, the idea of crazy bringing up Vernon's school of choice for me, St. Brutus'. "And I am here, Mr. Borgin, because I heard tell that you recently came to possess several new tome's of magic… Powerful Magic." I didn't know if that was true and didn't bother hiding my voice, knowing it would only end badly if I did. I had listened in on enough of Dudley's TV shows to know it never worked.
The man's eyes lit when I mentioned the books, "Ah, yes, several tomes, young man, though it isn't just powerful magic, but High Magic, or High Magika, as it is professionally known." You could hear it in his voice, the Capital 'H' and 'M' when he said the words.
"Indeed, the Goblin did mention this." I said, getting a wide eyed look from the man. Once again, if I had been smart I wouldn't have said this, but I was young and threw around words as if they held no power "Are any of them cursed? I would rather NOT bleed from my eyes as I read." In fact I later learned that book was quite a good read if you are careful on how you go about it.
The man, clearly shaken, responded to me in the negative. I wondered back then why he was so disturbed, what the problem was. All I did was mention that a goblin had pointed me this way after all. But as I said I was ignorant and goblins hate humans. Poor Borgin probably thought I was an Elf or some other kind of magical creature in the guise of a human
Shaking my head I proceeded to pull free a pouch from beneath my cloak, placing the practically solid brick of Galleons on the glass counter. "I wish, then, to make a purchase." I said quietly. Briefly I thought the man was going to refuse before he snapped his jaw shut and smiled at me, going in back and bringing forth a dozen books, all bound in leather rather than cloth.
One at a time I brought each book to bear, looking them over. Two was in French, five were in English, one was a strange but familiar serpentine language that I could almost recognize, two were what I first thought to be Old Norse, the last two were Ancient Greek
They were all quite interesting. I had only once seen a book similar to these, the previous year they had taken Moste Potente Potions from the restricted section. It had been a horrifying read. These were just as bad: The French ones were clearly something to do with the dead, skulls and bones were a common picture in both. The English ones ranged from blood and poison Magika, one on the Dark Arts which I promptly placed down, another one on mental magics. The Greek Tome's were some sort of Arithmancy books or a magic heavily focused in Arithmancy. The serpentine book was… strange, I couldn't help but stare at the flowing text. I recognized it, I could almost read it, nearly get the words off the tip of my tongue…
Shaking my head I remembered putting the book down, suddenly aware of Borgin's eyes on me.
Then I picked it up. THE book.
The front cover of the first was a traditional elemental wheel. Fire, wind, earth, and water flowing into each other, with the picture of a sun half covered in an eclipse right in the middle of them. Opening the book I read through it and the words seemed to reform themselves in my mind. I could clearly see that the words were not English, but I knew… I knew that I could read that book front to back and understand every last word.
I didn't even glance for more than a second at the second before I saw it was written in the same strange tongue.
I remembered how clever I was, making it a point to pause and look thoughtfully at each book, separating out a couple that I wouldn't need. I know now that the Greek books were old and powerful Warding guides. I also know now that the books on mind magic's would have been invaluable to me. I regret to this day not taking those with me, as learning Occlumency and Legilemancy is strikingly hard without proper guides and there are far too few teachers out these to spend enough time that it takes to master these arts.
No, I put those three aside and bought the rest, paying handsomely to the crooked old man for the others. I figured at the time, that I would stop someone from picking up those terrible books, that I could save lives by preventing them from getting out.
I was an idealistic little twat.