The Welshman
by Hyena Cub
Rating: PG-13 for violence, language, and death, especially later on.
Genre: Harry Potter

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Author's note: I am not English born but have attempted to use the correct grammar, punctuation, and spelling. As the story is from the point of view of a British person, i figured it should at least try to sound proper. For any mistakes, do please forgive me! : )

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The story posted here is a work of fanfiction only, and the characters, places, and other copyrighted materials from Harry Potter belong to their respective owners.

The author of these fanfiction claims NO rights to anything taken from Harry Potter. All works are intended solely for entertainment purposes, and no money will be made from this story. Any and all original creations belong to me.

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CHAPTER 1: First Whispers

'Voldemort was one of the worst Dark wizards in the history of England. His reign of terror spanned three decades, spreading fear, death, and atrocity across the British Isles. Born in a Muggle orphanage in London in the mid-1920s, 'Lord Voldemort' was orphaned when his mother died after childbirth. She lived only long enough to give him his name: Tom Marvolo Riddle. An odd and sadistic child, it could be said he truly began his reign of terror there in that orphanage, where he learned early on he had dark powers that he could control…'

I stared at that paragraph for some minutes, trying to imagine such an evil man as a child. Of course everyone starts off as a child, but sometimes it wasn't so easy to imagine it, especially with the illustration in the book of a snake-like looking man with no hair and red eyes. I closed the history book and tapped my finger on the cover, trying to imagine what it must have been like, living when that monster was in control of the country. That kind of thing could never happen now, of course…Voldemort had been nearly a century ago.

I was fascinated with the old wars, and Dark magic. Not that I was interested in using it of course, don't get me wrong, but fighting it…now that was different. I'd wanted to be an Auror for as long as I could remember, ever since I learned what an Auror did. My favourite class at Hogwarts was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and it was also my best.

'Calen!' came Mum's voice from downstairs. 'Supper! What're you doing?'

'Homework!' I yelled back. I was, too; I had an essay to do for History of Magic and I had chosen to write about Voldemort. It was too bad, really. I liked history, but couldn't stand the teacher. Cuthbert Binns had been teaching the class for decades, and he was as boring as a pair of old socks, maybe more. Too bad he was a bloody ghost – we'd never be rid of the old goat!

I left my history book on the bed and clattered downstairs, nearly tripping over the hem of my robe. A lot of my friends often wore Muggle clothing during the holidays, and I did too, sometimes. But it could really be uncomfortable; when I didn't want to deal with it, I wore robes.

My parents and my little brothers were all at the table when I got there, and my father cocked an eyebrow at me. 'It's a bit late to finish summer homework, isn't it? Term begins tomorrow.'

I grinned and shrugged. 'So long as it gets done…it won't take long. It's just a foot of parchment on a history subject of choice, so long as we covered it last term. I'm writing about that Voldemort bloke.'

Dad shook his head at me before turning to his meal. 'Still determined to be an Auror, are you?' He didn't like the idea of me being an Auror; he said that Aurors were too likely to die in the line of duty. Mum was a lot more understanding; she worked in Magical Law Enforcement herself.

I shrugged. 'Better than sitting in an office all day,' I said. 'Either an Auror or a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts.' Treasure hunting sounded fun to me!

'Oh, leave the kid alone,' said Mum with a laugh. 'Let him go his own path.' It was a conversation I had heard over and over…Dad had always been a bit of a mother hen…so to speak. I grabbed myself some pork chops and potatoes and began to eat.

'I wanna be one!' said Kieran, my second-youngest brother. 'And a Quidditch player, too.'

'You can't be both, you berk,' I said with a laugh. 'You've got to choose one or the other.'

'I do not!' Kieran hollered. 'And I am not a berk, Mum, he called me a berk!'

'Do not shout at the table!' Mum shouted. She turned to me, looking irritated. 'And don't call your brother a berk.'

I grinned innocently. 'But Mum, you always taught us to tell the truth.'

Killian, the oldest of my baby brothers, had to stifle a giggle, but Mum gave me an evil glare. I held my hands up in surrender. 'Okay, okay…sorry.' But when Mum looked away, I made a horrible face at Kieran, who made one back.

'Well try not to do anything insane this year at school,' said my father. 'No death-defying dives on your broomstick, no mad-bludger wars…just do my heart a favour and try not to risk your life too often? And tell Ke'koa I said the same goes for him!'

I had to laugh. Ke'koa Ilima was my best friend, had been since we were toddlers, and he was even more insane when it came to thrill seeking. 'I'll tell him,' I said. 'And if you hear anything about Hell freezing over, you'll know he listened.' Everyone laughed at that. Mum tried to glare for cussing, and Dad tried not to show he was amused, but I knew better. 'Don't worry…I promise to come home all in one piece.'

'I intend to hold you to that.'

I managed to finish supper without annoying my parents too much more than that, and stood up, stretching. 'Well…reckon I should go finish that essay. It's half done, anyway. Then make sure I have everything for tomorrow.'

'All right,' Dad said. 'And don't forget your scales, this time…make sure they're in your trunk as soon as you get up there.'

I agreed exasperatedly; I only forgot the stupid things once and they never let me forget! Shaking my head at how irritating parents could be, I took the stairs two at a time to get to my bedroom before my parents called out any other bits of parental advice.

As amusing as my family is, I still haven't introduced myself, have I? Guess I should probably do that.

My name is Calen Weasley--yeah, I'm one of the many Weasleys in the United Kingdom. We're probably the biggest wizarding family in all of Europe, for that matter...you should see our family reunions.We need a scorecard just to keep everyone straight. I've got two parents and three little brothers.

My parents apparently like names beginning with a 'k' sound. My father is Cullen, and my mother is Cadence. My name's Calen, my second brother is Killian, my next brother who's eight, is Kieran, and my youngest brother's name is Kian. That last always amused me, because his name means 'ancient', and he's all of three years old.

We live right in the middle of London, in a mostly wizarding neighbourhood. There are a few Muggles on the street, but they're friendly sorts, and actually know about us wizards. Dad says it's lucky the Ministry doesn't know about them. As medieval as most the Muggles were getting lately about things like magic, the Ministry were kind of getting paranoid about secrecy.

I was about to go to Hogwarts for my third year, and hoped to get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I made reserve last year, and had practiced hard, so I was hopeful about my chances this year. My little brother Killian had been asking me questions the past week about Hogwarts; he was ten that year, and would be attending it next year, and seemed to be trying to get all the information he could before he had to face the dread school; he doesn't do well in crowds, so he was a little nervous about the idea. Maybe more than a little. I hoped Mum and Dad would be able to cool him out a little bit before next year.

The essay didn't take long to finish. There was plenty of information about Voldemort in my history book, and I also had other books with him in it. I even used some information from the Voldemort Famous Dark Witches and Wizards card from my collection. When I finished, I left it to dry on my bed while I checked my trunk. My scales were in there, right where I'd tossed them, and everything else seemed to be in order as well. I crammed in a couple of my favourite books and my poster of the Kenmare Kestrels, then rolled up my essay and crammed it on the top before forcing the lid shut.

I sat on my bed, trying not to yawn, and willing my stomach to settle; it was always like this the night before I went back to school. I knew I would be homesick the first few days as always, and would miss my parents and little brothers. But I loved Hogwarts and its classes and the teachers and the grounds, and the secret passageways. I looked forward to Quidditch and Duelling Club. Little did I know that my school year would be a bit more exciting than I had bargained for.

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Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was as busy as it ever was before a new year at Hogwarts. The train sat idling on its tracks, obscuring everything and everyone in thick, white steam. Cats yowled, owls screeched and hooted, and other sundry animals added their grumbling voices to the din. I imaged the animals never liked 'train day' – all the noise and steam and being shut up in cages all day. I wouldn't like it either, if I was an animal.

The new students jumped up and down in anticipation, or cried at the thought of being away from their parents for the first time in their lives. (I did both the first time I went away to Hogwarts. I was excited, but I knew I would really miss my parents--I guess that never changed.)

I nearly tripped over someone's cat as I headed for the train, my father and my baby brothers at my side. Mum was already at work, unable to get the morning off to see me onto the train, which I wasn't entirely thrilled with, but at least we had Dad with us.

'So why is this "Nine and Three-Quarters"?' asked Killian, looking perplexedly up at the sign above our heads. 'Shouldn't it be 'Nine and One-Half'?'

Dad laughed, and I looked up at the sign too; that had never occurred to me before. Why was it Nine and Three-Quarters? 'I suppose they thought that was a bit too even,' Dad said with a chuckle. 'And "Nine and Three-Quarters" sounds more interesting.'

Killian peered at the sign as if it was erected by a complete madman, but I looked away when a voice called my name.

'Oi, Calen!' it said.

I turned and grinned, recognizing the voice of Ke'koa Ilima, an English-born Hawaiian wizard whose grandparents were from the United States. He was the one Dad had told me to warn against doing anything insanely dangerous; our families had been friends since Dad was a kid, and early on Ke'koa became one of our family, really. He even had a 'k' name. 'Hey! I'll be on the train in a minute, do we have a compartment?'

'We will!' said Ke'koa. 'If we have to kick someone out to get one to ourselves, we'll do it!'

I laughed, shaking my head, and waved him on before turning back to my family. I nodded politely to the conductor that had come to gather my school trunk.

'Bye,' Kian sniffed, attaching himself to my legs. Kian did this every time I went to Hogwarts: attached himself to my leg and wouldn't let go. He wasn't shy, like Killian, but he was an awfully sweet little kid, and I always felt bad leaving him at home.

'Aw,' I said, kneeling down and hugging him. 'It'll be all right. I'll send you guys all kinds of letters while I'm gone! And we can plan what we'll do for the Christmas holiday, okay? Snowball fights and sledding, and tickle torture.'

Kian had begun to smile a little, but at 'tickle torture', he shrieked, laughed, and held his middle. 'No, not that part!'

I winked, letting go and standing up. 'Better be good, then! And you, you mad alek,' I said to Kieran. 'No being a freak.'

Kieran wasn't crying. He stuck out his tongue instead.

'Yeah, I knew it was too much to ask,' I muttered. 'You were born a freak.'

'That goes for you, too, Calen,' said Dad with a smirk. 'I don't want any more owls from Hogwarts about how you painted the Slytherin common room door red.'

I laughed, hugging him one more time…that painting spree had been fun, and if I'd had any gold paint, I would have used it, too. Finally, I backed away from him and grinned. 'Well…see you at Christmas, Dad,' I said.

'Take care, son.'

I hugged my little brothers once more (Killian was now having to fight tears, himself), and turned to the train. A slam told me the conductors were closing the train compartments and I scowled. 'Someday they're gonna leave someone behind! Oi!' I called. 'Wait!'

'Hurry up!' said one of the conductors irritably. 'We can't wait for every lazy sod that can't get on the train on time!'

I gave the man a dirty look, running for one of the front compartments. I slipped in before it was shut, and snuck into the nearest compartment to hang out of the window. A lurch from the train nearly sent me onto the floor, but I caught my balance just in time and stuck my head out of the window. I nearly squished a new first-year as I waved energetically to my dad, who waved back through the steam.

When I couldn't see him anymore, I sighed, ducking back out of the compartment and nodding politely to the first years whose compartment I had invaded. They gave me a strange look; I supposed that being squished by a teenager wasn't normal business for them. They must not have any older siblings.

As the Hogwarts Express began to pick up speed, I began walking down the aisles at a fast walk, peering into the compartments to see where my friends were. I was beginning to think I'd missed them when I caught sight of Ke'koa's grin through one of the glass doors.

Ke'koa had gotten us all a compartment near the end of the train, far from the prefects' carriage. (We didn't like being so near them…it was harder to be obnoxious with those nosy sods so close.) I stepped into the compartment and grinned, closing the door behind me.

Ke'koa was there of course, along with Peter Weasley, one of my cousins – third, I think. There was usually at least one Weasley in Hogwarts at any given time, often more, and he was the only one of us in fourth year. He had red hair, like ninety-five percent of all Weasleys. You think I have a big family, you ought to meet Peter's; he has six big brothers and two little ones. Weasleys have always seemed to have a difficult time producing female offspring…and Peter's family certainly proved that!

Faolan Farson looked up and greeted me tiredly; Faolan was a werewolf, but only our group and the teachers knew about that. I wondered if the full moon was recently; he usually only looked that drained after a recent transformation.

The last of our group was Arcturus Rowle, who was the only Slytherin in our group, but he was a decent sort, not like most the other Slytherins. He didn't fit in so well with his house, and usually ended up getting into duels with them; I suspected he instigated things at times because he liked to duel, but he would never admit it. The other thing about Arcturus was that he was something like one-fourth or one-eighth banshee. This is not something he ever told anyone but his closest friends. I hadn't even known that banshees could procreate with humans—or even at all.

We were a little strange, I guess…even for wizards. But we were all good friends; any one of us would have giving the shirt from our backs to any one of the others without even thinking about it. Ke'koa was probably the most 'normal' one of us, though that's not saying much. I don't count myself. I like Cockroach Clusters.

'Hi,' I said to everyone.

The others greeted me with a 'hi' or a wave or in Ke'koa's case, an 'Aloha'. I'd never heard of a language before where 'hello' and 'goodbye' meant the same thing.

'Where's Killian?' asked Faolan. 'Didn't you say he turned eleven this year?'

I opened my mouth to answer, but Ke'koa beat me to it. 'No, he's only ten. He'll be coming next year.' See? Just like one of the family.

'Wow,' said Faolan, blinking. At first I thought he was referring to my brother only being ten, until he added, 'You sound just like Ke'koa, Calen!'

I laughed, and Ke'koa aimed a rude gesture Faolan's way.

'Hey…did you hear about the latest?' asked Arcturus, his dark eyes bright with excitement or fear, I couldn't tell. He was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands and he waved it in our direction.

'The latest what?' asked Faolan, peering into a bum bag he wore around his waist, muttering about a Chocolate Frog he swore he had in there that morning.

'The latest death,' said Ke'koa, obviously having heard about it. 'There's been another one.'

Everyone groaned, and Arcturus peered down at his paper, giving us a summary of the front-page article. Seemed that a witch had been found dead in Hogsmeade, in her home, along with her grown son, and her elderly parents.

It wasn't a magical death; that much was certain, as they'd been 'shot', the newspaper said. The wizards and witches who worked for the Muggle Relations section of the Ministry said the deaths were caused by a 'gun'. None of us except for Ke'koa (who was going to take Muggle Studies this year and was interested in their weird devices) really had more than a vague idea what a 'gun' was, except that it somehow killed people; Ke'koa said it put a hole through them. It was a Muggle thing.

'She worked for the Ministry,' said Arcturus over the sound of the train below us, running on the tracks, 'and so did her son and her father. The Aurors think that they might have been killed by someone who didn't like the law they were trying to pass…well I don't guess I blame them for not liking the law. This bint was trying to get the non-human wand law repealed…what a git.'

I remembered reading about that in History. There used to be a time when people who were not at least half human were not allowed to even possess, much less use a wand. About fifty years ago, they'd passed a law allowing non-humans wands for the first time ever.

'I bet it's some weird vigilante,' said Peter. 'You know, crusading for justice. All the deaths have been of people like that…remember that bloke up in Killarney? That Malfoy bloke that was found in July with his throat cut?'

'I remember that,' I said. 'Hyperion Malfoy was the one who wanted to keep Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts, right?'

Peter nodded gravely. 'Aye, and he was getting up a lot of support for it, too.'

'Could it be a Muggle?' asked Faolan with a frown. 'None of these deaths was done by a wand.'

'Could be, I guess,' said Ke'koa. 'Or a wizard trying to make the ministry think it's a Muggle mob.'

We were all silent for a few minutes after that. I dunno what the others were thinking, but I was trying to think of what it was like to be a Muggle…moreover a Muggle who hated wizards so much that I was willing to kill them, just because they were wizards. I didn't understand that any more than I understood the wizards who felt the same about Muggles. Wizard-Muggle relations had been badly strained throughout history, and it was stupid.

Faolan then changed the subject to Quidditch, and I was rather glad. I didn't much like talking about death, and the strange attacks had me kind of jumpy. All of the attacks had been on old, pure-blood families, and the Weasleys were one of the oldest wizarding families in Great Britain. Even the Ministry said that Muggle animosity was beginning to approach the level it was in the Dark Ages, when they burned suspected witches and wizards at the stake. Burning to death couldn't be a very fun way to die. I didn't like the idea that things could be headed that way again.

I wasn't sure what caused the Muggles to start hating us so much…I supposed there had been plenty of wizards who were cruel to Muggles, and enough Muggles who remembered that. But still! Couldn't they tell the difference between evil and not?

I was startled when Arcturus poked me hard in the ribs, and I blinked, turning on him. 'What?'

'Are you ever gonna cut your hair, mate?' he asked, grinning. 'We'll have to start calling you Kaylee instead of Calen!'

Everyone laughed, and I gave Arcturus the V. 'Sod off,' I invited, shaking my head. 'So I like long hair, so what? Some of the greatest wizards in history had hair longer than mine…it's a trait of greatness.' My hair was past the middle of my back, which seemed to be a sign that people had to make clever comments about it on a regular basis. I thought it looked cool, personally, though it did get in the way sometimes.

Arcturus snorted, and Ke'koa made an inarticulate sound of scepticism. 'Some of the worst wizards in the world had long hair, too. Barnabas the Barmy had hair longer than yours because he kept forgetting to cut it.'

Even I had to laugh at that one. 'You're real friends, you are,' I said. 'Besides, Arcturus, that's rich coming from you. Your hair's nearly as long!'

'But mine looks manly.'

I was still defending my hair when the lunch trolley came round, and we broke off the conversation to buy some things to tide us over until the welcoming feast at Hogwarts. She didn't have any Cockroach Clusters, since I doubted anyone but me would ever buy them, but she had Bertie Botts and Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties…I got a couple of each of those, and sat back down to enjoy them as my friends made their own purchases.

It began to rain at about three in the afternoon, the sky darkening and the clouds gathering in ominous clumps. The lamps in the train flared up to light the compartments and the corridors, but the view outside was depressing and dreary. I sighed as lightning flashed across the clouds, trailing thunder in its wake.

'Storms, brilliant!' exclaimed Faolan. He loved it when it rained and thundered and all that…me, I hated it. I hated being all wet and cold, I hated the depressing clouds, I hated the cold wind…. I'd much prefer bright, warm sunshine. Ke'koa agreed with me. I guessed it was his Hawaiian blood…he liked bright, hot weather, too.

'Well, Faolan'll be occupied the whole time,' said Arcturus, amused. He was right, too. Faolan hardly moved for the rest of the trip, watching the lightning and listening to the thunder, even as the rest of us chattered away.

There was one thing I hated about Hogwarts, and that was the long train ride there. I mean why couldn't we just use portkeys or the Floo network or something? But, I guess it's tradition, and a train is a lot more convenient for hundreds of kids than some giant portkey. Still, it was easy to resent the train when you were stuck sitting around for hours on end.

When the Hogwarts Express finally began to slow down, the storm was raging full force outside, the rain battering the windows so hard that we could hardly hear ourselves talk. I was gonna get soaking wet just getting myself to the stupid carriages!

'Well then!' said Arcturus, grinning wickedly as he stood up. He put on a stupid, spooky voice. 'Welcome to your doom!'

'Storms aren't doom,' said Faolan as I snorted. 'Don't worry…we'll protect you from the big, bad thunder.'

The rest of us laughed as Faolan and Arcturus got into a roughhousing scuffle, and I ducked out of the compartments so I didn't get stepped on. While Peter told them off for acting like idiots, I slipped out into the corridor.

I'm not sure who won the tussle, but Faolan and Arcturus both seemed a little bedraggled as they joined us and we began to mill out towards the doors.

The rain was cold, the wind was blowing everyone's robes up into their faces, and we were all soaked within two minutes, if not less. Faolan laughed, clearly cheered by the insane weather, and Arcturus cursed as a gust of wind nearly knocked him over. Not that it took much wind to knock him over; he was skinny, and he wore a billowing cloak.

'First years!' called a familiar voice, and I grinned. 'First years, come to me, please!' It was Artemis Fletcher, the groundskeeper. She always took the first years on their boat ride across the lake. 'First year students, this way!'

I raised a hand to her in greeting, but it was raining too hard and she didn't see me. I thought that the first years were going to have a far more interesting trip across the lake than I did, with the wind whipping the water up into a frenzy like it was. I hoped it would be a little calmer next year for my little brother.

'Come on, let's grab a carriage!' called Arcturus. 'Before we drown!'

I didn't argue! The five of us sprinted across the slippery grass outside Hogsmeade Station towards the line of waiting carriages. It wasn't much better in the carriages. We were all soaking wet, the carriage was open so the wind whipped the rain inside, and it smelled damp and musty. I couldn't wait to get up to the castle!

I complained about the storm the entire way there, determined to insult it as much as possible since I couldn't avoid it. Faolan finally threatened to shove me into the nearest mud puddle if I didn't stop insulting his friends. I told him he was barking for making friends with a bloody thunderstorm, and he laughed.

The ride to Hogwarts was not a long one. The carriages rolled themselves over the bumpy ground, splashing up muddy water and adding the creak of axels and wheels to the din of the storm. The musty smell snarled in my nostrils, making me long for the warm, dry Great Hall more and more.

The lights of Hogwarts shone bravely through the storm, like a lighthouse guiding ships at sea to safety. I joined the mass of students sprinting for the shelter of the Entrance Hall, slipping and sliding up the stone steps and through the huge double doors.