Disclaimer:I do not own Artemis Fowl or Harry Potter. I do, however, own the plot of this story and any OCs I may introduce at a later date.
#~#~#~#
Since the interview, all manner of owl post had been coming for Artemis. No few of them were what amounted to fawning, essentially asking him for money, all of which he summarily burnt. Some were offers from pureblood houses of 'alliance', by which they meant 'give us your money and you can use our name'. These were also disregarded, along with a myriad of other annoying trifles.
However, one of the letters was eagerly received, and he opened it with haste.
Artemis Fowl II
OWL Results
Ancient Runes – O (perfect score)
Arithmancy – O (perfect score)
Astronomy – O (perfect score)
Charms – O (perfect score)
Dark Arts – O (perfect score)
Defence Against the Dark Arts – O (perfect score)
Herbology – O (perfect score)
History of Magic – O (perfect score)
Potions – O (perfect score)
Technomancy – O (perfect score)
Transfiguration – O (perfect score)
NEWT Results
Ancient Runes – O (perfect score)
Arithmancy – O (perfect score)
Charms – O (perfect score)
Dark Arts – O (perfect score)
Defence Against the Dark Arts – O (perfect score)
Potions – O (perfect score)
Technomancy – O (perfect score)
Transfiguration – O (perfect score)
Wandless Magic – O (perfect score)
Mastery Results
Cursebreaking Mastery – granted first class with distinction (perfect score)
Potions Mastery – granted first class with distinction (perfect score)
Rune Mastery – granted first class with distinction (perfect score)
Spellcrafting Mastery – granted first class with distinction (perfect score)
Warding Mastery – granted first class with distinction (perfect score)
Smirking at the column of perfect results, Artemis took a moment to bask in his own intelligence. That should shut up the purebloods who thought they were better than him just for having been raised in the wizarding world. It had been a pain to get the foreign courses – Salem Academy had actually been generous with their Technomancy and Wandless Magic courses, but Durmstrang had taken a lot of pushing to allow him to sit a Dark Arts exam. It was more than worth it, however.
Now, to see about that teaching position…
#~#~#~#
Albus Dumbledore realized he had been incredibly stupid to think that it could not get any worse. The older-than-expected Fowl Heir… no, Lord Fowl… Cornelius' blunder and the interview in the newspaper were enough to be dealing with, but now Fowl wanted the DADA job. The old man sighed. With those qualifications, he could hardly turn him down, though with any luck, the curse would kill him off and there'd be one less variable to deal with.
#~#~#~#
Mr. Quirrell
Thank you for your application, but I am afraid that I have already found a suitable candidate for the DADA position. However, I still lack a Muggle Studies professor, so perhaps you could see your way to filling your old position? Please let me know by owl.
Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class
Headmaster of Hogwarts
Grand Sorcerer
Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot
Voldemort seethed.
#~September 1st~#
Artemis rolled his eyes at the sign reading 'Platform 9 ¾'. Really, it was ridiculous. As for the train… they hadn't even bothered to power it magically! It still ran on steam! Shaking his head, he resigned himself to ten months in a backwards culture, cut off from all but what he could bring with him.
Admittedly, bottomless bags made that quite a large amount, especially since his new satellite could send signals through magical barriers. That would allow him access to the Internet (and the fairy Undernet) for the duration of his stay at… oh yes, Hogwarts. Yet another ridiculous name. Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Quidditch… would they ever stop?
Surreptitiously checking behind him to ensure that the lost-looking boy with the white owl had made it (he had), he boarded the train in a flutter of Acromantula-silk robes, and noted the prefect's compartment at the front, taking the one immediately behind it. Raising an eyebrow at the sparse furnishings, he pulled out his wand and started to make changes. First, the door window became frosted-glass instead of transparent, just as he saw the same boy looking at him through it, and a silver plaque appeared below it, reading 'Professor Fowl, Defence Against the Dark Arts'. The door and wooden panelling became dark mahogany and the seats vanished, replaced by leather-upholstered armchairs that turned the compartment into something more akin to a lounge. The largest chair, the only one in black leather instead of brown, was set in a corner by the window, looking over the rest of the area. A drinks cabinet was removed from one of his bags and stuck to the floor next to it. A thought struck, and he turned back to the door, quickly setting a password (Aurum Potestas Est, obviously), before changing the carpet to a deep green and making it much thicker and softer. The window was altered to be one-way, and of substantially better quality.
As a final touch, he added shock-absorption charms that would turn the bumpy train ride into something smoother than Artemis' sweet-talking – and that was no mean feat.
Settling back into his chair and pouring himself a finger of fine brandy, he contemplated what he had gotten himself into. A couple of months ago, he'd been cut off from all supernatural contact for over a year, and yet now here he was in the middle of a secret wizarding society that had been right under his nose the whole time.
He really had a knack for stumbling across magic.
#~#~#~#
Harry Potter was nervous. His uncle had dumped him at King's Cross, between platforms 9 and 10, before immediately leaving, and he might not have made it onto the platform if he hadn't seen the tall, black-haired man look at him pointedly and then stride right into a pillar and disappear. Following hurriedly, he found himself on an entirely new platform, looking at a bright red train that hooted cheerfully. His jaw dropped as he took in the robes, the animals and the chattering families.
After a few moments, he shook himself out of his stunned daze and hurried onto the train. He saw the man he'd followed through a compartment window just before it suddenly frosted over, and then a plaque appeared under it – Professor Fowl. So that was his name. The door changed to dark mahogany, making Harry jump at the suddenness. Walking along the train, he found an empty compartment and sat down in it, wondering if he'd have Professor Fowl this year. He seemed nice, if having helped him onto the platform was anything to go by.
Five minutes passed, and there was a knock at the compartment door. A red-headed, freckled boy poked his head in. "Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full."
He indicated the seat opposite Harry. A shake of the head prompted the boy to sit down. He swallowed, and then, before he could lose his courage, blurted out "Are you really Harry Potter? Only, I thought it might by one of Fred and George's jokes…"
Wordlessly, Harry pulled back his fringe to reveal the lightning bolt scar.
"Whoa… so that's where You-Know-Who…?"
"Yeah, but I can't remember much. A lot of green light, but that's about it."
"Wow…"
Ron stared some more, then seemed to realize what he was doing and looked away, reddening. It didn't look good with his hair. Harry nearly laughed, but managed to refrain, and hurriedly changed the subject. "So, are all your family wizards?"
The conversation went on fairly well after that, although the two both shot a funny look at a bushy-haired girl who appeared to be towing a nervous, pudgy black-haired boy around after her, passing their compartment several times.
#~#~#~#
Hermione Granger was getting frustrated. Where on Earth was that toad? And why did everyone laugh when she asked about it? And how many places could a toad hide on a train, anyway? And why couldn't Neville just keep up? And –
Her train of thought derailed as she stared at the silver plaque. There was a teacher on board? Well, that solved everything! She knocked smartly on the door. Muffled sounds of movement came from inside, and then she was confronted by a tall, pale man with black hair, one raised eyebrow and the coldest, most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. She quailed under his gaze. "Um… Neville lost his toad… and I was wondering… if you could help… us… find it…?"
Her voice trailed off into a squeak at the end as she shrank back into her robes. Sighing, Artemis turned to the boy. "Its name?"
"Trevor."
Artemis pulled out his wand and flicked it sharply backwards towards him. After a few seconds, a toad shot through the air towards them, croaking plaintively. Disdaining to catch such a creature, he stopped it in midair, levitating it just above the tip of his wand, and offered it to the boy. "Try learning the Summoning Charm. Then you'll be able to do that whenever you need to find him."
Hermione frowned, shyness forgotten in the face of academia. "But that's a fourth-year spell! How are we supposed to learn-"
"Wrong. There is no such thing as a 'fourth-year spell'. Everyone is ready to cast different spells at different rates; the system is simply designed to progress at an average, if challenging, rate so that everyone can keep up. Both of you are already powerful enough to cast the charm; the only reason it is taught in fourth year is the difficulty in technique. You have to visualize it coming to you with complete focus, at least at first. If you are truly dedicated to learning it – and you should be, if you care for your familiar – then you won't have too much trouble. The incantation is Accio, and you saw the wand movement. I will expect you to know it for your Friday Defence lesson. That should give you more than enough time."
"But sir-"
The door closed. Scowling, Hermione resolved to show Professor Fowl exactly what she could do. She would learn that charm if it killed her!
#~#~#~#
Artemis smiled in amusement as he stood motionless on the other side of the door, hearing the girl's whispered promise to herself that she'd learn the spell. He'd judged her right – a great passion for learning and new challenges.
Returning his wand to its invisible wrist holster (custom built, undetectable, unsummonable, removable only by the wearer and an emergency portkey function), he wondered what to do next. He'd already finalised his lesson plans, and all the books had been finished weeks ago. He couldn't practise Legilimency alone, and his mindscape was already practically inviolable. That left a train patrol in his capacity as a professor.
It would give him a chance to observe his new students, at least.
Opening the door with a wave of his hand – as always, he cast wandlessly when alone – he strode out into the corridor, compartment closing itself behind him, and headed slowly down the train, looking into each compartment as he went. Everything seemed to be going well. Near the end of the train, in one of the seventh-year compartment, he saw a girl whose hair seemed to be constantly changing colour and her face was shifting. He stopped dead, watching with a raised eyebrow. After a few seconds, he was noticed, and the girl opened the door. "What?"
"Simply admiring the rare talent you have. It is not often a Metamorphmagus is born. I've read of them, of course, but I doubted I would actually meet one."
She snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Talent, sure. Everyone just wants me to go on dates with them looking like someone else… bastards. Who the hell are you, anyway? I don't remember seeing you around Hogwarts before. What year are you in?"
Artemis' eyebrow lifted even higher. "Professor Fowl, Defence Against the Dark Arts."
The girl's hair, as well as her cheeks, instantly went red. Laughter emanated from the compartment as she stammered out apologies, but Artemis waved her off with a smirk. "Don't worry about it. Frankly, I'm flattered you think I look young enough to be a student."
If possible, she went redder, and the laughter intensified. Artemis started walking back down the train. What he wasn't telling her, of course, was that technically he actually was that young, given the time-travel debacle. Thank goodness for aging potions…
#~#~#~#
Harry and Ron had started a conversation about Quidditch – the redhead being stunned that the Boy-Who-Lived had never heard of the world's greatest sport – when they had some unwanted guests, by the names of Crabble, Goyle and Malfoy. When Draco introduced himself, Ron couldn't hide a snigger. Malfoy sneered at him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford, since they're so poor. Not surprising really, given that you blood-traitors have no ambition or influence."
Ron went red in indignation, and was about to retort, when a shadow fell over Malfoy from behind.
#~#~#~#
As Artemis was returning to his compartment, he found the way blocked by three boys, and was just in time to hear a string of insults come flying from the blonde's mouth. Narrowing his eyes, he swept up behind them and the boy turned, looked up and suppressed a squeak. As a pureblood, he had kept up to date with the latest news, and knew exactly who this was. "Ah… Lord Fowl… what a surprise to see you here! My father-"
"Is not here and has no relevance to this conversation. And it's Professor Fowl. Now, the school year hasn't officially started yet, so I can't dock house points for what you just said, but I'm warning you now that if I hear something like that again, you'll be spending an evening in detention. Now, that might not be enough of a deterrent, but my personal policy is that every time someone earns a detention, a letter is sent to their parents detailing exactly why. I'm sure your father would be so pleased to hear about you blindly spewing insults instead of thinking before you speak. Now get back to your compartment; I'm sure you have more important things to do than make enemies before we even arrive."
Stepping back, he allowed the slightly stunned boy and his lackeys to hurry past, and then, with a nod to the two boys inside, followed his own advice and returned to his comfy leather seat.
The rest of the journey passed in a flurry of complex cogitation as he considered the implications of the lighting-bolt scar he had seen.