When Harry Potter woke up, he had a huge headache behind his ears that pained him terribly. He groaned in distaste as he sat up and examined the dark room he was in. It seemed to be early morning; he decided when he saw the light that came from the dirt stained glass of the window. "Where am I?" He wondered aloud.
Beside him, on a small little desk there was a black tape recorder. The red light on it was on, showing it was playing something. Harry strained his ears – he could make out it was an English tutorial, or something like it.
"Now, say it with me – 'The dog sat on the fence.' Good!" The tape recorder played in a heavy voice with a bit of a German accent.
Harry knew English perfectly, because he had been in this dark room for a week in a state of semi unconsciousness brought on by a special potion Mr. White had given him. Now he sat up, and he felt his bladder was about to explode. He needed to piss real bad. He walked out of the room, barely noticing the rich texture of the hard wood floors, or the drapes and furniture that spoke of luxury and money. He walked across the narrow passage way, opening every door he could find. Most of the rooms were filled with large cartons and boxes. Harry looked inside one out of curiosity and saw they were filled with books – magical books like
"Beginner's Guide to Dueling" and "How to cook up potions in a jiffy" and stuff like that.
"I can read," Harry said, amazed. He had a blurred memory of a nursery ward where a fat, extremely large woman would read him story books and had taught him to read. It seemed he had not forgotton everything from Mr. White's memory charm; though he did not know about the memory charm.
He continued his journey to find a washroom, and at the end of the hallway there was a window that looked outside on a nice and big field. "The hell with it," Harry muttered and raised the window. Then he took his piss, saying in relief, "Aaah." He walked back to his room, thinking of how strange it was, what a strange situation he was in. One minute he was in a . . . a. . . what was it? He forgot. Orhpa-orphana-something. Oh well, if you forgot something, it wasn't that important anyways. Next minute he was here.
He walked back to his room, got into the cozy covers and dozed off to sleep. He woke up again to someone shaking him. "Get up, boy. Get up!" Mr. White was saying.
Harry clenched his hands into fists and rubbed his eyes, getting rid of the snoot at the edges. "Who are you?" He asked Mr. White.
"My name, Harry, is Mr. White." He said. "You are my grandson." That was a lie. Harry didn't catch on though.
"I am?" Harry asked. "So you are my grandfather?"
"Yes, yes. Now come and have breakfast with me in the kitchen." Mr. White said and walked out of the room. Harry made to follow him but Mr. White put an arm on his shoulder as Harry was exiting the room.
"No, no, Harry. You must wash and clean yourself up. The loo is down the hall and on the corner left. I'll see you down in ten minutes I hope."
"Why-?"
"Oh, Harry, you hit your head a week ago and forgot everything. The doctors call it amnesia. So you have to relearn everything all over again." Mr. White said sadly, though his eyes spoke different. The eyes looked like they didn't care one way or another.
Mr. White went away – down the stairs. Harry went to the loo. The porcelain tiles were sparkling clean, and the place had an air of antiseptic, the smell you get when you go to the hospital or the doctor's office. Harry turned on the golden tap, and water rushed out. It was cold water. Harry cupped his hands and washed his face. He saw a white toothbrush leaning out of a coffee mug to the side, and grabbed it. There was toothpaste in the mug also, a little tube you get on airplanes. He brushed his teeth, washed, dried himself with the fluffy pink towel on the window sill, and went downstairs. He heard sounds of Mr. White singing something –
"When the world turns around, you gotta make your own waaaaay, your own waaaaay, when the world turns around, you gotta get rich your own waaaaay, your own waaaaay. . . "
When Harry entered the white walled, white floored, white stove, white cupboarded kitchen, Mr. White stopped singing, a bit embarrassed. "Here you go, Harry. I made you some pancakes." He was frying two eggs on the pan. There was a batch of crudely made pancakes on a little plate, with blueberries that looked freshly picked, and a jar of jam to the side. There was a fork and a spoon sitting on top of the pancakes in a criss cross fashion like a pirate's flag. "There's some vanilla ice cream in the fridge if you want something on top of that."
"Th-thank you." This felt so strange to Harry for some reason. But why would he feel strange around Grandpa?
"Grandpa?" Harry asked, slowly and cautiously. He was testing the waters right here. "Does anyone else live with us?"
A frown crossed Mr. White's face, but it disappeared quickly under a smile. "No, your parents died when you were a year old, from a dark wizard. Your grandmother died before you were born. Sorry."
"Dark wizard?"
"Oh I forgot, you haven't been initiated yet. Well yes, you know magic right?"
Harry shook his head.
"You are smart for your age, Harry. You'll figure it out."
Harry nodded, picked the plate off the counter and went to the table. The kitchen was very big; the table was gigantic; the chairs were fit for giants. They were purple, very fluffy looking. Harry sat on one, his small legs dangling off the edge of the seat. "Okay," He said quietly and dug into his pancakes.
"Just kidding, Harry. I'll explain everything to you." He came over with his own plate of eggs, ham, and a cup of coffee in his left hand.
"You see," He said, taking a large bite from a silver fork. "There's two kinds of people in this world – magical, and unmagical. We call the last ones muggles."
"Magical? Are you magical?"
"Indeed I am," Mr. White said and laughed at Harry's eager looking face. "So are you, my boy, so are you."
"Can you show me?" Harry asked excitedly.
Mr. White set the mug down and pulled out his wand from his long white coat. He waved it and a bouquet of white lilacs sprouted out. He waved it again and the lilacs changed to a golden phoenix. The phoenix flew around the room, before it changed into a monkey. The monkey squawked angrily, so with another wave of Mr. White's wand, it disappeared.
"Wow," Harry said, wide eyed. "That's amazing. Will you teach me?"
"I sure will, Harry but I am not done explaining. You see in the magical world there is the ministry of magic. They are a bunch of bastards, they are, and there's also the wizengamot, which is a little better. There are three kinds of people in wizarding society – Mud bloods, which are people who are born to non magical parents, half bloods, people who have only one magical parent, and purebloods, people who have two magical parents. The half bloods are the best of the lot in my opinion because you get a bit of this and a bit of that."
"Am I a half blood?" Harry asked.
"Yes you are. So am I as a matter of fact. Now back to the explanation. You see in the wizarding world, gold is the highest priced commodity. Whoever has gold has power, and freedom. Now the purebloods have a lot of gold and it is our job to take their gold, being half bloods and all."
"But isn't that stealing?"
"No we aren't stealing. They will give us gold if we do odd jobs for them."
"What kind of odd jobs?"
"My aren't you smart. Only four years old and asking the right questions. Odd jobs as in killing people."
Harry blanched. "Killing people?"
"Oh relax, its perfectly alright. Darwinism and what not. Evolution. The best survive and the weak die. You have to accept that, my boy. It's a harsh cruel world, and people die all the time."
Harry stayed silent for a few minutes as he digested all this along with pancakes. "I get it," He said slowly.
"Good lad. I am personally too old to do odd jobs anymore, but I will teach you how to do them. You are a smart lad, I told you that didn't I?"
"Yea," Harry said brightening, and flushing a bit in embarrassment.
"So you will pick up things very easily. But I must warn you, in this line of work, things are not easy."
"What do you mean?"
"There is a lot of risk involved."
"Oh, okay. Did my parents do this?"
"You bet, they were the masters." Mr. White lied like a master himself.
"Then I want to do it too."
"Wonderful. We'll start training you right after breakfast. One thing though, doing these odd jobs is illegal. Those ministry bastards don't like us since they are usually the targets. So if you see anyone don't tell them about it, okay?"
"'kay." Harry said. "Good pancakes."
"They are, aren't they?" Mr. White beamed. "I made 'em myself."
"What kind of training?"
"The works, my boy. The works. Everything you ever need to know. I'll teach you dueling – we have to get your wand first, and I'll teach you potions and how to do rituals. I know a couple buddies, muggle ones, who will teach you martial arts and sword fighting and weapons. Some of my magical friends will give you a crash course in the dark arts."
"When can I start doing odd jobs?" Harry asked, eagerly. "I want to do my parents proud because they were masters at this."
"Good lad. Good lad." Mr. White finished his breakfast and pulled out a cigar. He lit it with his wand. "I think you will be ready in three years at the most. What do you think?"
"Really, only three years?" Harry asked, eyes showing excitement.
"You bet. This will all be a crash course. Basically I'll force everything you need to know into you and fast too. Normally it takes about fifteen years to get good, but your father did it in five years."
"What about my mum?" Harry asked.
"She was a muggle born. She learnt from your dad." Mr. White was spinning a web of lies, and he loved this.
"You said that a dark wizard killed them…?"
"Yes, they attempted something too big for them to chew on alone. But they succeeded. This dark wizard is dead and gone for good so don't worry about a thing. Though it cost their lives to do it."
"Wow," Harry said. "That's amazing."
"Yeah, it is."
"So I can become a –" Harry looked up. "What do you call people who do this?"
"Assassins, Harry. You are going to be a boy wonder, an assassin of the highest degree, and your greatest advantage will be your youth. Never forget that."
"I won't." Harry said.
"I bet, from just looking into your eyes, that you are really smart. They call boys like you a prodigy. That's what you are Harry, a magical prodigy."
"Really?"
"Yes. You pick things up faster than other boys your age. But there is a downside to this, to being an assassin."
"What is it?"
"You will be lonely. It's a one man job most of the time, there is no team in assassin."
"That's okay," Harry said. "If my parents did it, I can too."
"Good lad." He took a deep pull from his cigar. "One day, you are going to grow up to be a fine young man, and you will be a respectable member of society… one day. When that day comes, I'll be right there behind you. Never forget that. I'll always be with you," Mr. White said seriously.
"You are like a son to me," This time he wasn't lying.
"Or a grandson," Harry joked.
"Or a grandson." Mr. Whiten nodded, laughing along with him. He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "Come on, let's get you out of those ridiculous pajamas, and into something good. We'll go shopping first, get you some decent equipment from a magical town close by that I know well – wands, clothes, robes, potion ingredients, cauldrons, knives, stuff like that. Then I'll get started on making a course outline for you and then…"
And so Harry's training started. For three years he trained in furious intensity, getting less than five hours of sleep at night, going on determination and grit alone. He really wanted to be like his parents.
He discovered he was in a villa in the Northern part of France, somewhere in the mountains where it was very cold. But Mr. White brought people to him, and aside from his daily two hour jogs around the compound he never ventured outside.
He learnt from various instructors that Mr. White paid for from his own pocket – How to fight like one of those olden days ninjas in Japan, how to duel like a serious assassin, and his best arsenal, how to cast the unforgivables. Imperio was his favorite, because he was immune. He tried to cast it once on Mr. White, but grandpa just shrugged it off with ease and put Harry under the crucio for a four hours nonstop. Harry never tried the imperio or any other curse for that matter (outside of their daily spars and duels) on Mr. White again in his three year long training.
Truth be told, Mr. White frightened him, and awed him as well. He was everything Harry wanted to be and more. Smart, cold blooded, one of the best at dueling and dark rituals, and more… He was grandpa, the best retired assassin in the world, Harry thought.
Three years later, it was time for his first job. He was short and looked very young, but his muscles were small and taut, extremely strong, his green eyes had a hardened look that comes from dwelling in the dark arts for too long, and shadows and bags under his eyes. His hair was spiky, he wore long black coats, an opposite of grandpa's, a thing grey t-shirt under that, blue jeans, and black dragon hide boots. Around his neck there was a medallion that when grasped would let him communicate instantly with Mr. White. This was for his missions. He also were a dragon tooth wrist bracelet. The main purpose of this was to enhance his magical energy, which dragon teeth did extremely well.
Finally after three years of hard, hard, work, he was an assassin.
Albeit a seven year old one.
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AN: Hey guys. Thanks for the reviews, I love it. I was reading them this morning and I thought, I have to get this new chapter in asap. If you leave a review, you help motivate me. Really! Now since this is the fourth chapter, and I am right on track with my outline for this epic fic, I must tell you the good news. Yup, you probably guessed it, but there are only 76 more chapters to go. LOL, wish me luck! -Tridentwatch