The Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling

Part 1: The Avadroid Invasion

Chapter 2

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2016, February 22
Monday
9:47 PM
Old House, Location Unknown
(Full Moon)

Owowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowow…It really was most painful. More so than the zaps from the Training Collar. He didn't know how he managed it, every month. He knew he had Werewolf DNA in him; Mr. Stark had said so. But, unfortunately, he also had DNA of half a dozen other things in him. So, instead of turning into an extra-large bloodthirsty allergic-to-silver poodle every full moon, he turned into a…thing. How do you even describe something that doesn't exist? he thought. He knew he had fur. He knew he had wings. He knew he had claws. He knew he had toxic breath. Well, not toxic, just smelly. And, most peculiar of all, he knew he self combusted into dark blue flames. Maybe that's why I end up naked every time?

He growled again, as pain seared through his nerves—his bones ground together, and he got smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until he was the size of a large kitten. Except his tail, which was about one-and-a-half times the length of the rest of his body, and his wings, which—though he didn't know it—had a span of twice his tail-length. Just before the human part of his mind was smothered by animal instinct, he wondered why in the name of Stark he couldn't have a larger full-moon form. Like a lion. Or maybe a dragon. Perhaps a tree? He emitted a high pitched squeal of laughter, for his transformation was complete.

He leapt onto the windowsill of the rundown shack, jumped as far as he could, and allowed his wings to do the rest. They flapped once, twice, and the Supreme Implementor of (Retrograde) Impulsyonics, Umbryonics, and Spectromancy became the urban legend of the small community: the dreaded "Fuzzy Dragon Thing that's always on fire and breathes fire and burps fire and farts fire and"—etc, etc. Of course, he didn't know about his reputation. He was just bored and liked flying.

He flew through the snow covered trees, he flew through snow covered shrubbery, he flew through clouds, he flew intofrozenwindows—causing many a child to wet him/herself—and lastly, just as dawn was breaking, he flew into the rundown shack that was his abode in such times of crisis.

Once again, he felt the searing paint through his nerves, but this time, he was growing. His tail painfully receded into his coccyx, and his wings shrank into his shoulder blades. Finally, everything was as before—except for the fact that he was lying buck naked on a dusty wooden floor. He saw the spare garments he'd brought, which were cloned by the House Elf, Spunky, and hurriedly put them on. After all, he mused, it would not do to be discovered by Mr. Stark while in the buff.

He sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, waiting for Mr. Stark. He shivered in the cold, and hugged himself tight in a—futile—effort to keep warm. At about the time Mr. Stark usually came, he was startled by a particularly loud pop. Spunky.

Spunky was a decrepit creature: a meter tall, wrinkly, with a perpetual hunched back. His voice was quite squeaky, and broke often. Despite his oddities, however, he like Spunky: he gave him Pain-Killer when Mr. Stark 'punished' him for making mistakes, and gave him blankets during cold nights. Mr. Stark had bought Spunky from an old American couple, many years ago. Apparently, Spunky was odd even by their standards. The Implementor shouldn't have been surprised, therefore—but was, very much so—when he discovered that spunky spoke in a very…different manner to most House Elves. That aside, he was quite interesting. After all, not many House Elves would call you "dawg" instead of "Master", or say "I got'choo, bro" in the place of "yes, sir". Coupled with the serious expression, hunched back, wrinkly skin, and squeaky voice, it was quite a spectacle.

On his particular morning, Spunky reported that, "…da big boss bin' boss-napped, yo. Lil' Boss gotta live on his own fer a while. Da Spunkster gonna take da lil' boss home now." With that, he grabbed the Implementor's arm, and snapped his fingers.

After the usual effects of Elf Apparition wore off—namely nausea and dizziness, or as Spunky would say, "'dem Zubbzies"—the Implementor was informed by the eccentric creature that there was food in the refrigerator, before he popped off.

For a long while, he stood there, staring at the place where Spunky had disappeared. Then, he decided to move. So, he moved his head to stare at the wall instead. It was far more interesting anyway. This…was strange. No Invictus Stark? No shouting at him? No torturous needles? No pain from the Training Collar? Woot.

He snapped out of his state of staring and dashed down into the cellar. He was greeted by the chirp of Mr. Stark's latest experiment: the "Alternative Linkage Polygenetic Hybrid Animal", which he had shortened to "Alpha".

Created four years ago, Alpha was a black bird-like creature, except for his tail, which was thin and flexible and had fan-like feathers, and his beak, which had teeth, he spouted flame and could apparate like a Phoenix—and then there was the fact that he was tiny: the size of a large hummingbird, in fact. The Implementor often worried about letting him out, for the wind could easily knock him about and break his neck or something. But then, he thought, Alpha can apparate.

"Hello, Alpha," he said, stroking the bird's chin, "Mr. Stark's gone missing. You know what that means? We're free!" He jumped up and down so many times his feet got tired and sore, at which point he sat on his old patchy mattress. He loved the idea that he was liberated from Mr. Stark, for however long. He hated the man, despite the fact that he created him. Breathing heavily, he looked about his 'room'. There were vials of potions and Muggle gizmos in a corner, and a cauldron sat in the middle of the chamber with an unfinished potion inside. The floor was rough stone, with cracks and bumps—and a secret chamber he'd created with Spunky's help. He rose, walked to the chamber only he, Spunky, and Alpha knew the location of, and lifted the plate sized chunk of circular rock. Underneath was a basin-like dent, a foot deep, in which he kept a few tools like screw drivers, hammers, wrenches, and a few batteries.

At that point, he realised something grand: he no longer had to stay in this house. Sure, if Mr. Stark ever got back, he'd be furious, and his Training Collar would bring him straight to the Implementor, but then, Alpha hated Mr. Stark as much, if not more, than he did. He was sure Alpha would help.

After confirming as much with the bird in question, the Implementor called his trusty House Elf, who appeared with a pop and enough swag for a dozen people.

"Spunky," the Implementor said, "I'm leaving."

Spunky failed to respond. He stared at him with round, tennis ball sized eyes with deep blue irises.

"I know I probably won't find shelter anywhere else, but at least Mr. Stark won't be there." He remembered the merciless teachings of Mr. Stark, about the idiocy of Wizards, and he remembered learning to brew even the most complex potions, and he remembered, when he was seven years old, blowing up the cauldron in a fit of rage. Then he remembered the placement of his Training Collar. As he traced the cold, round steel, he recalled the pain that went into his body with the touch of a button. The feeling of his nerves being on fire. Granted, his monthly transformations were more painful, but they didn't last nearly as long as the Training Collar's zaps. He had indeed been trained—like a mutt, he thought angrily—to fear mistakes, and to fear Invictus Unoctus Stark.

Spunky still failed to respond. Alpha trilled from his perch. Then Spunky frowned and waved a long skinny finger threateningly, squeaking, "Boss gon' find you, man! He gon' find you and beat 'choo up with dat collar." Spunky suddenly hugged the Implementor's legs tightly for a second, then backed away. Tears filled his eyes. "Take care bra," he tearfully said, "Get as far from here as you can. Ya can't let that ass get'cha."

The Implementor patted Spunky's head, smiled, and said, "You too, Spunky. Are you sure you can't come with us?"

Spunky shook his head, his ears flapping wildly. The sound was rather like pigeons flapping their wings. "Nah, nah. This Elf's bound to that son'f a bum. But'choo got another chance, yo, and you gotta take it!"

"But Mr. Stark won't be pleased with you at all, Spunk—"

"Get'cho asses out!"

2016, February 23
Tuesday
6:02 AM
Location Unknown

Despite his oddities, it was really quite difficult to argue with the irate House Elf, especially since the irate House Elf was irate for the Implementor's own good. So, with Alpha on his shoulder, and his clothes fixed up by Spunky, he stepped out the door and began to walk down the lane. It was still early, and the cold snow froze his hands and feet—the latter especially, as he had no shoes.

"Alpha, know any place we can get warm?" Shivering, the Implementor desperately looked around for some sort of shelter. Alpha trilled in the negative, and they continued walking. The old and desolate houses on either side gave off creepiness like a stench. They walked for what seemed an hour, but looking back, he wasn't far from where he'd begun. Can't have walked more than a hundred feet, he realised. The wind picked up, and Alpha huddled closer to the Implementor's neck. Despite the cold Training Collar, it was still warm. They walked on.

Just as the Implementor was about to give up walking and sit, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dread filled his veins and his blood—cold enough as it was—grew colder. He braced himself for the pain he was so familiar with, but it did not come. He must be really angry this time, he thought fearfully. He then noticed that Alpha was perfectly calm. He should've taken off by now, he thought. He turned around to face the person who possessed the hand on his shoulder, and was met with the definitely-not-Stark face of a tall man with flaming red hair.

2016, February 23
Tuesday
6:15 AM
Archivel Street, Vixen, Britain, England
(Bloody Freezing Cold)

Auror Ronald Weasley had been sent to the last known location of the suspicious Invictus Unoctus Stark, who had reportedly been kidnapped the day before. He had been most disgruntled to discover that warming charms were not, in fact, allowed, due to magical signature tracking. He briefly wondered how a Squib would be able to track his signature anyway.

He was currently just outside the door of the residence, 54 Archivel St. He was about to pull his wand out to unlock the door, when it opened on its own. Ron blinked in surprise, wondering when and how he'd gotten so good at wandless magic, when—

"You a coppa'?" Looking down, he saw a hunch-backed House Elf peering suspiciously up at him.

"Sorry?" he asked, unsure of what a 'coppa' was, and quite wary of this eccentric creature.

"Is you a coppa'?" the House Elf repeated. "Ya' know, dem' Wizards that keep da bad kids in line? Whatchemacallems, dem Aurors!"

"Oh," Ron said, understanding, "Yeah, I'm an Auror. Ron Weasley." He showed the Elf his badge. "I'm here about the disappearance of Invictus Unoctus Stark."

The House Elf squinted his eyes and scrutinised the badge. "Ya mean da big boss…yeah. He bin' boss-napped. S'all der's to it, yo."

"Regardless, Mr…uh…"

"Spunky."

"Right. Regardless, Spunky, it's my job to inspect his premises and gather evidence that may lead to his…ah…boss-nappers." He said this carefully, as the little Elf was somehow intimidating. Hermione'll never let me hear the end of it, he thought, intimidated by a House Elf!

Spunky continued to peer suspiciously at him. There was an awkward silence for several seconds, in which the House Elf scrutinised the Auror and the Auror tried to look innocent. Apparently deciding that Ron was not, in fact, about to plunder the entire establishment, Spunky stepped aside and let him in.

"Thank you," Ron said sincerely.

"Da Spunkster's gon' warn you now, gov," the House Elf grimly warned, "da big boss ain't a nice guy. You ain't gon' find teddy bears n' such on da shelf'ses."

"I'll keep that in mind." Ron assured.

"You do dat." Spunky advised.

Ron examined the drawing room thoroughly, noticing the mess, the dust, and the papers with complicated drawings of human bodies and complex formulae. He decided to leave those for now. He then examined the kitchen. There was hardly anything there—he supposed Invictus relied on his House Elf for sustenance. Invictus' bedroom was as messy as the drawing room, but had no documents. He then approached the door to what he assumed was the cellar. He noticed that Spunky, who had been following him, grew stiff and tense. Ron opened the door quickly, before Spunky tried to stop him. Spunky grew even more nervous.

Ron headed down the stairs quickly and quietly, silently igniting his wand. The cellar was obviously used to house someone. There was a patchy mattress on one side, and a make shift bird perch on another. In one corner, there were vials of potions and what looked like Muggle trinkets—they didn't seem to be magical, anyway. He rounded on the fidgeting House Elf.

"Spunky," he said, in a soothing manner, "who lives in this cellar?"

Spunky hesitated before answering. He did not quite meet his eyes when he did. "I told'ja, didn' I, de big boss ain't a nice guy?"

"Yes, Spunky, you did, but that doesn't answer my question." He knelt until he was eye level with the Elf. "Who lives here, Spunky?"

This time, Spunky did meet his eyes. "Lil' Master," he said, "he's finally free, man. Free of that son'f a Doxie. But he's still in danger, still in deep doo."

Ron sat down. "Tell me everything, Spunky." Seeing Spunky was hesitant, he added, "I can only help 'lil' Master' if you tell me where he is and what's going to happen to him."

Spunky seemed encouraged by the thought that Ron was going to help this 'lil' Master', and so he confided what he knew. "Lil' Master was a vict'm, I tell ya, a vict'm. Da big boss hurt 'im real bad, man." Spunky sat down. "Ten years 'go, da big boss brewed up a potion, and it took a long time…long time…and when it was done? Fwoop! A lil' wee baby pops right out of it, man. Big Boss made a kid! Don' ask me why, man, I dunno noth'n. But he brewed a kid. An' he raised dat kid with no love at all, man. He learned him potion-brewin', and if he made a mistake, zap!—" here Spunky threw his hands up "—he shocked 'im with his Collar. An' he threw 'im outta de house ev'ry full moon, cause he has a condition! Big Boss was a mean bro, bro! Lil' Master did good to leave." Spunky drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "Did good to leave."

Ron was quite intrigued when Spunky said that Invictus had 'made a kid'. He asked some more questions, but all Spunky would say was "did good to leave." He seemed deep in thought, so Ron thanked him and left.

He stepped outside into the bitter cold, wondering where the 'lil' Master' was now. He was about to apparate to the Ministry to report this, when, mid-turn, he saw a thin boy walking bare foot through the snow. He was quite far away, but was walking slowly, with a small animal on his shoulder. He had no jacket, and was in clothes a few sizes too big. Not wanting to scare him, he ran to him instead of apparating. When he was about twenty feet away, he realized that the animal was a peculiar bird. He also noticed a band of steel on his neck. His thoughts immediately went to what Spunky had said earlier—"he shocked 'im with his Collar." His collar. He caught up to him, and put his hand on his shoulder.

The boy froze instantly. He even stopped shivering. Slowly, he turned around and looked into Ron's face. The boy had unkempt black hair and black eyes. He had a rounded nose, framed by an oval face. His expression was at first one of fear, and then relief, and finally caution.

Although he matched the description that Ron had gathered from Spunky, he couldn't be too sure. So, he chose his next words with care. "I couldn't help but notice that you've got no jacket," he said.

The boy seemed to relax slightly.

Deciding he would tell him his name, he said, "My name's Ron Weasley. What's yours?"

The boys eyes widened, and he asked, in a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used much, "The Auror?"

Ron smiled, and nodded. "How did you know?"

"I read about you in the paper," the boy replied, "You stopped the raids on those Muggles."

"I am flattered you remember. Anyway, I'm here about the disappearance of one Invictus Stark. Do you know him?"

The child gulped, and said, "Yes, he is my creator. And Alpha's." He motioned to the bird, which chirped.

"Ah," Ron said, "So Spunky was telling the truth."

At hearing Spunky's name, he looked up, startled.

Ron smiled wider. "Yes, I spoke to the House Elf. He told me your whole life story." The child did not look any calmer. "You can relax now, you know. You are free."

How did you like Spunky? Most people portray House Elves as polite-and I'm sure they are-so I thought I would shake things up a bit. The consequence of my shaking up: Spunky, the gangsta' House Elf.