"Harry Potter and the Power of Faith"
Chapter Two
- Is Paved With What? -
A/N: I don't own squat, save for the plot.
HP – Started at Night of the DoM, Dumbles told Harry the Prophecy. There were some verbal shenanigans, and Harry's magic absconded him to parts unknown… I.E. California, U.S.A.
Faithverse – Complete AU. The Initiative is early. Faith saw a boy roughly her age appear in front of her with a crack of thunder. In helping him out, she fought her instincts and almost succeeded. Almost.
– Time Trivia Per a Couple of Wikis –
Harry was born July 31, 1980
Faith was born Dec. 14, 1980
Mione was born Sept. 19, 1979
Tara was born Oct. 16, 1980
Date at the start of this fic:
June 18, 1996 – The Night of the DoM.
– More Time Trivia –
California Time is eight hours behind British Time… depending, of course, on whether or not everyone observes Daylight Savings Time at the same … time… Honestly, that's too complicated for me to bother that much.
Personal note:
Never try to write whilst tipsy. The poor spell-checker will be overrun and overheat.
Also, the plot will do odd things and think Luna is in charge.
Don't ask. It'll give you a headache.
Unknown
Faith found herself standing in the middle of a desert, staring unblinkingly at the sun. Coming to herself, she looked around – completely confused. "All right, Faith. Did you swallow the worm?" she asked herself, only half joking. Her freaky meter just pegged itself on overload.
A gentle breeze focussed her attention towards a depression in the sand. More of a very wide basin than a hole, she could see two people next to a fire pit. One was crouching over the other, who was prone on the ground. It looked like the one crouching was tracing a finger over the other's forehead.
"Hey! What the hell's going on?" Faith shouted. Instantly, she was in front of them and disoriented. However, she could see that the crouching one was rather wild looking. Girlish, her hair was matted and stringy, hanging over what looked like shoddy animal skin clothing. She also apparently used mud for make-up.
It was the other figure that drew her attention though, because it was Harry. Animalistic fury gripped her at the sight. "Back off bitch, he's mine!" She was only half tempted to wonder where the hell that came from. As it was, she thought this was one fucked up dream.
The girl stood and spun so fast, that Faith was eye to eye with her before she knew what was happening. The golden eyes were wiggy. The girl poked her in the chest and half growled, "Mate?"
Figuring what the hell, Faith reiterated what she said. "That's right. He's mine… I. Don't. Share."
The girl grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down to where they were both over Harry on either side of him. The wild one put her right index finger between her own eyes, then hers, then the centre of Harry's chest. "Mate?"
"Yes, dammit!" Faith shouted, getting beyond frustrated.
The girl held up her left hand, somewhat placating, then put both hands on Harry's chest. "Mate," she stated in her gravelly voice, then pointed to the scar on Harry's forehead. "Demon."
Remembering what Wesley told her about that scar, only one thing came to mind. "Oh, shit." It wasn't eloquent, but then she was never accused of such a thing before either.
The girl slammed her hands on her own upper chest. "Sineya."
Getting it, she nodded her head up. "Faith." Looking down at Harry, she was all sorts of conflicted. "How do we get it out of him?" she whispered.
Drawing Faith's attention to her again, Sineya held up her right index finger. Faith watched a wicked looking claw grow to about two inches. "Sineya," she growled her own name slowly out. "Slay," she looked down at Harry, "Demon."
And with that, Sineya moved like lightning and stabbed Harry's scar with her finger.
8:57am – Wesley's House – Guest Room
Wind was swirling in the room. Faith was straddling Harry's waist, with her hair whipping about. Her left forearm was braced against Harry's collar bone, and she had her index finger on Harry's scar. A deep, feral – guttural – growl could be heard coming from deep within her throat and chest. If anyone was conscious and witnessing, they would've seen that Faith's eyes had changed from deep brown to amber.
Harry's eyes opened in shock, as an unholy screeching precluded the black smoke and equally black pus that came out of his scar. Faith forcibly held him still throughout his painful spasms. Whumps of air and dark light pulsed out of the point where her finger touched the scar, excising the taint.
When it was over, he fell unconscious again. Faith fell on top of him two seconds later, panting rapidly. "Ow. Damn, bitch, that hurt."
Still bleary, she heard Sineya's voice coming from everywhere. "Mate. Free."
"Thanks," Faith said dryly, still catching her breath. "Now I gotta convince him," she blinked tiredly, weighing her options. "Fuckit. Too tired to move or think, and you make the best pillow."
Unconcerned about her position on top of Harry, Faith fell asleep with a lilt of a smile on her face. In her mind, she had just protected her boy-toy. So, using him for a resting place seemed like a logical reward for her.
Not that she could be accused of using anything remotely close to "logic".
The only reason Wesley hadn't barged in with a crossbow at the ready, was that he was completely dead to the world. He may not have been magically exhausted, but he was so close to that he would've been hard pressed to react to a train steaming through the living room.
4:57pm – Hogwarts – Hospital Wing
Images swam in Hermione's mind: Lucius Malfoy sneering about the trap they set for Harry; Bellatrix Lestrange's insane baby talk; watching stunned Death Eaters being revived over and over – that pissed her off; feeling fire go across her chest; hearing Harry scream.
Her eyelids were heavy, but she was able to force them open. The sterile environment of Hogwarts' Hospital Wing calmed her a bit. However, the screens that were around her bed didn't make her feel all that good about the situation.
Moving her fingers caused her to become aware of a slip of parchment in her right hand. Pulling it up to her face, she had to squint in order to read it. Such was the norm for a pre-caffeinated Hermione Granger. She didn't do mornings without several cups of tea – possibly coffee if it was exam season.
Blinking through the words, they seemed to cure her need for the beverages.
Miss Granger,
You are undoubtedly aware that you were injured. There will be a set of potions that I will recommend you apply to prevent scarring. However, this isn't what I am most concerned about.
While I was examining you, I came across a potion that was introduced into your system. One would assume that it would be against your will, but then again you were the one that made polyjuice in your second year. Naughty thing.
Before I go on, I want you to think about how you have been relating to your friends this year. I haven't broken your confidence, but I found it completely appalling that you had low levels of amorentia in your system that was keyed to young Mr. Weasley.
Wide eyed now and completely awake, Hermione looked away from the letter and reflected on the year. Most notably, she had been more tolerant of Ron's behaviour for some strange reason. That, and she was writing out his homework for him to copy – something completely unheard of for her. Normally, she'd try to coach him and Harry while attempting to get them to take their studies more seriously.
Brow furrowed in anger, she looked back to the letter.
I have taken the liberty of purging you of this with refined bezoar, and you should be feeling righteous indignation over the situation. I would be, and am for your sake. I suggest you not speak of this aloud, as I am sure that Mr. Weasley could not have brewed a mastery level potion. As such, he may not even know about the situation. However, I might ask you to reflect on any edibles you may or may not have received either from him or his relations.
A box of Honeydukes fudge suddenly flashed through her mind, causing her to glare at the letter.
I cannot honestly point a finger at his mother, but it is the most logical conclusion. As such, and this is woefully something I abhor within our community, there aren't many laws that would support you if you were to bring up charges due to you being a muggleborn, especially against a pureblood family. Add that to what you confessed to me two years ago, then there wouldn't be any reservation for others to attempt similar things.
I highly recommend that you wait until you've received your OWL results, and immigrate to either the Magical States of America or the Magical Consortium of Australia. I have yet to examine Mr. Potter, but this will most likely involve him as well, as he is technically your head of house.
Yes, my dear, those oaths you took that night placed you under the Potter Family Aegis. It will not matter in the short term, but will after he claims his Lordship. I'm sure there are relevant texts in the library.
Do not speak of this to me, but please do nod if you intend to remove yourself from the situation. I will do my best to inform your Brother In Magic.
Now, look up dear.
Poppy
Blinking through her tears, she lowered the letter to see Madam Pomphrey looking at her with a pensive expression on her face. Stifling a half sob, Hermione nodded, then curled on her side to bury her face in the pillow. She felt violated.
Poppy patted her side as the letter left her hand. Looking up, she saw the medi-witch incinerate the message.
The medi-witch then fussed over her, informing her of the potions treatment while applying the first of the regime. After she spread the foul smelling potion and then cleaned her hands with her wand, Poppy leaned down to her ear. "Don't worry. I wont let that boy near you."
"Thank you," she whispered back. Hermione was then surprised by the rather gentle grandmotherly hug Madam Pomphrey surrounded her with. What the 'head torture artist', as Harry once called her, said next completely floored her.
"Witches witches need to stick together. Men have no understanding of what's truly important."
"Harry does," Hermione blurted through her tears.
Nodding, Poppy let her back down. "Well, there are exceptions, dear, and he's a rather special and unique individual," she said with a wink and a smirk. "Don't tell him I said that, though. Right?"
4:57pm – Malfoy Manor
Shrill screams had pierced the manor when Voldemort returned. Nearly his entire inner circle were captured by schoolchildren! Having only Bellatrix and her sister in the mansion didn't sit well for him.
Lady Malfoy had passed out hours ago from near insanity levels of cruciatus exposure. Bella got boring after five minutes, when she seemed to be getting off from it. Crazy bint.
Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, Tom's head exploded in pain. Like earlier, when he had attempted possessing the Potter brat, his mind was flooded with pain as the emotions from the lad started overpowering him.
His vision was overcome with the sight of Albus Dumbledore flinching backwards, from someone screaming 'no' at him. He then could feel Potter's rage and nearly smiled. Such darkness could be used, after all. Seeing Dumbledore's phoenix hang its head in shame was confusing, but Potter's rant at the old man seemed to be at the heart of it.
Every muscle in Tom's body then stiffened as he felt the magical backlash of something… else. Gold eyes pierced his vision from the darkness, and there was a crash of noise just before he fell unconscious – screaming.
4:57pm – Great Britain
In various places up and down the country, Death Eaters grabbed their left arms, hissing in pain. In an office in the dungeon of Hogwarts, a certain potions master started weakly chuckling through his gritted teeth.
1:03pm – Wesley's House
Groggy as the day is long, Wesley groaned a bit as he rolled out of bed. Put simply, he was completely knackered. The fact that he'd slept rather long didn't figure into things. It was his magic that still hadn't quite replenished itself.
After going through his usual waking abolitions, he checked on Mr. Potter and found something that he was afraid of. Sighing, he walked around the bed and tried to rouse Faith with a gentle shoulder shake. "Faith? Come on, now. Wake up."
The sight of his Slayer being completely bleary usually meant alcohol was involved. However, her uneven blinking at him preceded a soft smile, which was immediately followed by a scowl.
Grinning up at her Watcher, Faith blurredly mumbled, "I did it." Then her brain caught up with her. "Go 'way, Wes. 'm comfy."
"Did what?" Wesley asked with a bit of trepidation. "You can't sleep on someone you barely know, especially if they don't know you. At least roll off the lad," he chided.
"No," she grumbled. "Got that bit of icky outta him. G'way. 'm tired."
Blinking, Wesley glanced at the scar on Harry's forehead and blanched. Dark stains of something resembling tar had leached out of it, and had matted part of the boy's hair. "Good Lord," he breathed. "Faith, how did you do that?"
Frowning with a scowl, Faith tried to burrow herself into her Harry pillow. "Sineya diddit," she slurred. "Now g'way. 'm sleepin'."
Standing up straight, Wesley was at a loss. Where had she heard that name? Sineya was the First Slayer, and Faith said that she did something. Looking back down, he could see a bit of the same tar on Faith's fingertip. The evidence was there, but how in the world had it occurred?
Realizing that they were both too tired for anything, her especially, Wesley left the room to go have a bit of breakfast. He needed to refer to his library, and scolded himself for not paying more attention to the history of the First Slayer. Something about shadowmen? Well, if anything, they wouldn't need Wo Pang if the diagnostic supported her claim.
He dearly hoped that the boy wouldn't wake until after Faith had moved. There was no telling how that would play out, and he felt a tension headache forming at the fiasco that was approaching.
After filling up on twice what he normally ate, Wesley was thinking a bit more clearly. Finally recognizing the annoyed hooting coming from above, he looked up at the incensed owl. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Here." He placed two knuts in the owl's pouch and gave it a rash of bacon. Real bacon, not that gristle that Americans seemed to love.
Taking the proffered paper, Wesley's eyes bulged at the headline of the Western Oracle.
DARK WIZARD VOLDEMORT
SIGHTED IN BRITISH MINISTRY
TERRORIST ATTACK TRASHES
DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES
BRITISH MINISTER of MAGIC
APOLOGIES TO DUMBLEDORE AND
BOY-WHO-LIVED
Reading through the various articles, Wesley felt a snippet of fear creep up his spine. Apparently, young Mr. Potter led a group of six on a rescue mission of some sort. While it said that they had failed, the resulting backlash of the confrontation revealed that the so called rumour of the Dark Lord's return was genuine.
BRITISH MINISTER of MAGIC
PARDONS SIRIUS BLACK
That article made Wesley's hair stand on end. Reading how it was Peter Pettigrew who had actually betrayed the Potters and murdered those civilians actually made sense. Wesley remembered the so-called Marauders, and Pettigrew seemed to be more in the shadows than the rest. Then, there was the fact that Black and Potter were thick as thieves. Black being taken in by Potter when he was thrown out, or ran away, or whichever it was as the stories varied, Wesley never really believed that Black was guilty.
Then he read that Black had died in that terrorist attack. "Too little, too late," he grumbled.
Rubbing his eyes, Wesley tried to put things in priority. People would be looking for young Mr. Potter. Sighing, he went to the mini-floo that he had placed in the living room. Head height, all it could do was make calls and transfer small objects.
Now, who to contact? It was obvious that it had to be Hogwarts. However, he really didn't need to try to put up with Dumbledore. That man was worse than his own father in dealing out platitudes with heapings of guilt.
He decided to go with the facts: Mr. Potter was injured, so it was reasonable to assume that there were others in similar states. Smiling to himself, he cupped a handful of powder and dusted it into the flame. "East Coast International, Great Britain, Hogwarts, Medical Wing, Madam Poppy Pomphrey."
"Yes? Who is it?" Poppy could be heard, just before her face appeared in the flame. "Oh my! Hello, Healer Wyndam-Pryce. How may I help you this evening?" she asked with a bit of pride in her voice.
"Hello, Poppy, my dear," Wesley said with a self deprecating grin. He so wished he was still working in hospital. "A few things, and I apologize for this not being a social call. First, the prior evening's hullabaloo is all over the international papers. Second, I do believe we need to trade some medical information, as I do believe I have one of your patients."
Poppy's hand went up. "One moment." She disappeared for a few seconds, then came back. Without saying anything, she traced a lightning bolt over her right eye. Seeing his nod, she handed him a thick packet through the floo. "I may be sending you another of my charges very shortly. She was struck with a dark cutting curse that I wasn't able to identify. Is there anything you needed to ask?"
This stilted language of hers was wrong. Then there was the fact that she was going to send him someone else? Concerned, he mouthed 'are you all right?' to her. She shook her head and pointed down. Looking at the packet, he realized he had two of them bound in twine. Undoing them, he saw Mr. Potter's scholastic medical records along with a Hermione Granger's.
He read the note that was attached to Miss Granger's and scowled. Looking up with wide eyes, he saw Poppy nod with an equal frown on her face, then pointed down again. Reading the last on the note, he nodded and scribbled his name and phone number on a bit of paper. Passing it to her through the floo, he simply said "Day or night."
"Thank you Wesley," Poppy said with a sad smile, then mouthed, 'is he all right?' He made a 'so-so' gesture with his nod. She looked away for a moment, then turned back. "I'll get you that information, Healer. Thank you."
The abrupt cut off of the call stumped him. That couldn't be a good thing. Nothing else for it, he went back to the library and poured over the medical records.