Edited May 4th 2020: It was kinda scuff.
Hogwarts Castle, Scotland June 1988
When Albus Dumbledore got up from his four poster bed today, he felt solemn. The term for Hogwarts this year was long over and the joyful atmosphere of the castle was quickly draining away. He could no longer play the whimsical headmaster, gone were his colorful polka-dotted robes, he was forced to his more serious blue moon and star patterned ones. Was he attending another funeral?
Even the castle reverted back to its drab and regal form. No moving staircases, no random doors to forgotten wings, not even some tasty gossip from the paintings. Just the sounds of professors, ambassadors and researchers, busing about. Couldn't they ever stop to smell the roses?
Albus sighed. He'd been Headmaster long enough to watch a majority of them grow from bright eyed children to bloodied calculating adults. Was this the fate of a wizard? To live long enough to watch joy escape you?
Albus Dumbledore was definitely old enough to find out. So he had learned after his reckless youth to enjoy the bits of happiness fought for. You never know when it would be too late.
Sitting down into his comfy office chair he was surprised by a letter from Fawkes, his phoenix companion.
"Ah Fawkes, you're looking lively today." Albus smiled at his oldest companion.
The old fire chicken was a few years off from a reincarnation or "burning day", and he definitely looked like it. Fawkes warbled an absolutely elderly sounding song while fire flashing back to his stoop perch, job completed.
Albus turned it over reading it was from an Arabella Figg, his muggle world informant. Was it time for the monthly correspondence all ready?
No.
Dread filled him, only one thought in his mind.
"Harry." he spoke aloud.
The letter felt heavier. He steeled himself, the fight was never over it seems. He read the letter twice over. Once to get over the shock, the second to pick it for information. Harry Potter was gone, drifted away somewhere in muggle London. Arabella, noted that her house and several others had burned down in a fire that was magically charged. Needing the collaboration of several magical and muggle organizations to finally put it out.
Obliviation squads and a few headlines about gas lines seemed to have cooled public relations. But Harry Potter and his cousin fled the scene, apparition trackings showed he was brought to the London Area, but nothing else. Albus could work with that, he would just have to owl his contacts and-.
The Floo rang with a lime green flame. Albus had a few precious moments to stash away his letter before the two figures burst through the flames.
One was an imposing figure, tall but not lanky, with a top hat that made him look even taller. He had a large pyramid nose, a sort of tilted black mustache and too big ears for his thin face. His eyes even this early in the morning were sharp and calculating. The second figure stumbled sheepishly out of the fire. A more stout man with a second chin, thin lips and thinning blond hair. His eyes were just as focused but with a weariness of someone afraid of attack.
"Ah Barty, Cornelius, you're both here early today. Lemon Drop?" Albus swiftly fixed the nicknacks on his desk motioning to the bowl of sweets in front. Crouch declined, Fudge took two.
"We're here on account of the Harry Potter incident." Crouch growled out. He didn't fancy the idea of crawling back to Dumbledore's knee, like he used to when he was a young Auror cadet. He was Head Auror and next in line to be Minister of Magic damn it!
"The Muggle Prime Minister is having a fit about the whole ordeal." Fudge squeaked out. The portly man didn't have much confidence in himself so he teamed up with Barty Crouch as a supporter. Poor man, he'd never be Minister of Magic with such low confidence.
"The demands of the muggle government are being used as a rallying cry for more influence in the Wizengamot from the Dark political sphere." Fudge said in between popping fistfuls of lemon drops into his mouth. Albus wanted to make a face but a century of discipline kept him neutral.
"It's becoming another Walpurgis uprising in the making." Crouch confirmed. Albus knew all too well, about what a group of rowdy wizards could do.
Thatcher and many others weren't too pleased about wizards only answering to the crown directly and since the end of WWII, which coincided with the rise of Gellert Grindelwald, decided to increasingly push for more government control over Magical Britain. Which only fueled the influence and rational of monsters like Voldemort.
"Harry Potter was supposed to be safely tucked away so that we wouldn't have to deal with these types of situations, Dumbledore!" Fudge huffed finding some courage in numbers. He was silenced by a glance from Albus, and recoiled back.
"S-so we're telling you the Ministry is issuing a warrant for the capture of Harry Potter." Fudge squawked out. "You are to notify us if you find any evidence of his whereabouts."
Crouch glanced at Fudge then continued. "We can't afford more pressure on Magical Britain, not during election season and not when we're still on the march." Crouch licked his lips in exasperation. "The Ministry must be seen strong." The air thinned.
"You would have me sacrifice a boy, one that has to endure the worst of our society and beyond as an infant!" Dumbledore's eyes glowed with a seemingly endless well of power, each word supported with a flare of magic fully sending Fudge to a fetal position. Crouch fared much better, he was pushed many feet back.
"We've all had to pay our pound of flesh Dumbledore." The force of Albus's magic barely allowed him to breath. "You've done far worse, what happened to your Greater Good?"
The magic surrounding him was dropped. An unfelt wind of magic letting the various knick knacks from the desk fall back to the ground with a defeated thud.
"Yes Barty I suppose you're right." Albus seemed to look all his 107 years of age.
Fawkes tried to lift his spirit with a warble, but the power of a phoenix couldn't remove years of guilt and bloodied hands, not now at least.
"I think it would be best if the both of you were to leave, Hogwarts is no place for politics." Dumbledore calmly spoke, moving his desk back in order a third time this morning.
Fudge quickly made his way to the fire place, Crouch chose a slower gait. With a snort he spoke.
"What happened in these walls is far worse than anything in the Wizengamot, simply going to Hogwarts is politics." The Floo took both men away. With Albus left only to his thoughts. He looked over to one of his many trinkets one with the name of a hopeful student. Harry Potter, Status: Unknown.
"I'm sorry my boy." Albus breathed out. "So sorry."
Pomona Sprout made it to the Faculty Meeting Room. She had been enjoying the summer vacation in the green house. She'd recently obtained a few samples of a foreign species of fungus from the portal regions. Hours of research to be had with that morsel. That slowed to a snail once this emergency meeting was sprung. Did Albus lose sight of his stash of muggle candy again?
Honestly that man. To think she used to fancy the old coot, offered to make a few heirs for House Dumbledore too. Albus only declined the first time. But Pomona knew his heart wasn't in it though. It still belonged to Grindelwald, years after their legendary duel. She wasn't upset though, losing to someone like Grindelwald wasn't the worst thing, for all his heinous acts the man was attractive in many ways.
She shook her head and looked over to her fellow colleagues; they all were in the same boat as her. Flitwick was preparing his summer dueling team for their circuit tour. He was also resting from his own scheduled bout against the up and coming dueling champion Mustar Al-Maji of Oman. Flitwick won but not nearly as spectacularly as he used to. The question of whether or not he still had it in him was spreading across the circuit. So the training of his dueling team was the utmost priority for him.
Minerva was looking as busy as she normally did. Pomona worried for her old friend she'd been burying herself in work since the last clan McGonagall had been slain. She did not seem to be very comfortable with the lack of distraction at the moment. With no Gryffindors to coddle and no paperwork to deal with, Minerva was looking like a sad cat rather than her normal Scottish lion persona.
And Severus was just being Severus.
"You've all been called here for urgent news." Albus called for their attention. "Harry Potter is missing."A gasp spread across the room.
"We know that his place of residence was attacked with a magical flame. The fire spread and in the chaos Mr. Potter disappeared. We aren't sure whether it was voluntary or not." Albus finished causing the room to grow in uproar. Albus silenced them with a wave of his hand.
"The Ministry of Magic, in its wisdom, has declared it their jurisdiction. I'm informing you all purely because of the relationships you've had with Mr. Potter's parents." Better he give them the news now then they learn randomly later.
"If the boy is anything like Lily he'll be fine, if he's like his bastard of a father nothing of value will be lost." Severus drawled out. Minerva sniffed. Pomona tried to motion for her to not let Severus get a rise out of her, but it was too late.
"Severus, do not speak ill of James Potter in my presence." Her words carried a magical heat with them, as only a Gryffindor could.
"Don't let your fondness for his wand allow you to ignore the fact that James Potter was an arrogant, insufferable jackass. He and the rest of his band of hooligans." Snape spat.
"James wis a mair than adequate wizard dinnae be mad ye cuid ne'er kip Lily." Minerva's Scottish accent flaring up to the accusation.
"Severus, Minerva, please. You're both professors, not squabbling students in the Great Hall." Albus spoke. Hoping to stop the argument before wands were pulled out. Both of them settled down back to their respective chairs. Albus sighed. Flillus and Pomona shook their heads.
"So Albus what's the plan?" Fillus finally spoke up. The death of his prized students hit him the hardest, the idea that the only connection to them had gone too, was too much to bare. He quietly mourned, as was the goblin way.
"We can't be seen openly subverting Ministry authority, but we can still search for Harry's whereabouts." Albus looked around expectantly at everyone. "I'll talk to my contacts in the London area, I advise you all to do the same, but this information is on a need to know basis. Remain discrete."
They all nodded. Pomona couldn't help but think of all the commotion Harry caused and he wasn't even enrolled yet. She feared to think on what kind of trouble he would get into as a student and if he was anything like his father they'd have to barricade the broom closets. Still she'd put feelers out for the boy. Merlin knows the unsavory characters prowling Magical Britain.
Unknown, Unknown
Harry woke up to find himself in a storage room of some sort. How did he know? Well as far as he could see dust covered boxes and crates covered his vision. He looked down to find he was currently laid on two large boxes with a blanket thrown over them. Effective? Yes. Comfortable? Not a chance.
Harry was starting to feel like his blacking out and waking in strange, unfamiliar places was starting to become a trend for him. Very concerning for an almost eight year old boy, but Harry guessed that it was a part of being not normal. As he slowly threw the blanket off, Harry's body protested his getting up. He was feeling the same way he did a day after he first started exercising.
"Magic is like a muscle." Harry thought. That made sense, he never used more than a tiny bit at one time. The Denever incident forced him to use far more than his self prescribed dose. You never knew where a bit of magic could get you out of a jam. Coupled with the fear that Harry would wake up and find himself in his cupboard under the stairs with his magic being all just a dream forced him to treat magic like everything else he had, with careful rationing.
He was starting to find himself relying on Magic more and more often. Harry frowned. He would have to wean himself off this habit, but now was not that time.
Harry tried to force more magic to sooth his aching bones, the resulting pain was unbearable. His body locked up, sending him to the ground. The dust of the storeroom flew up as he bounced on the concrete.
He groaned. This magic shite was starting to be more trouble than it was worth.
Harry lamented on how soft he'd gotten, the ease of magic spoiling his resolve. He'd dealt with Dursley abuse and ostracization before magic and, damn it, he would deal with future consequences without it.
A small part of his mind laughed, yes of course he would've survived something like Denever without magic's help. Harry's frown deepened. Magic apparently made him too proud in his skills as well.
Looking around for something to pry himself up with, Harry found a sort of makeshift night stand with a newspaper neatly folded on top. He grabbed it in hope it would give some clarity. The day's date was an eye opener. A week had passed since that fateful night. The headline however was more alarming.
Surrey Set Ablaze by Samuel Cooke.
Last week, on the 19th of June at 10pm, a fire erupted in the suburbs of Surrey. The smoke and flames could be seen from miles away. Several families have been displaced from the incident. The cause was determined to be from a gas leak, from a local home.
The house in reference was said to be owned by one Vernon Dursley, respectable member of the Grunting Drill Company. He and his wife Petunia were victims of the incident. Vernon Dursley's son and nephew were not found in the search and are presumed dead (more on pg.6). Vernon and Petunia are survived by Vernon's sister Marjorie Dursley, currently facing 10 years on several accounts of animal abuse, breeding without a license and assault (more on page 13)...
Harry went further into the newspaper, flipping through it with speed. This didn't bode well for Harry's or Dudley's immediate futures. The paper claimed they died in the fire, but he was more than sure several of their neighbors saw them run from the mind wipers.
The sound of boots stopping directly by his head was what brought him out of his thoughts.
Harry looked up to find a rather old man. From bottom to top he was dressed in a pair of frilly cream colored stockings that went into a maroon-purple frock coat. Next was his long gray mane of hair, a wide nose and wild silver eyes. An impressive man, but Harry figured that his current position had to do with most of that.
"Hello, I've noticed your floor is awfully dusty, and would it kill you to cut on the heater, my face is an ice cube."
The wild eyes of the man focused down on Harry. "I'm afraid to say that, "turning on the heater" as you put it just might kill us both Mr. Potter." The man finished with a genuine smile very concerning given his morbid information.
Harry looked up, eyebrow raised. "How do you know my name?" The first book Harry read on magic warned Harry that names held power and that he should never give his out. So he didn't. He was just Harry anyway, no more no less.
The older gentleman nodded then looked deep in thought. "I see your cousin was telling the truth then."
"You've talked to Dudley?" He found the strength to move his neck. "Wait, where's Dudley?" His suspicion replaced with concern and an emotion that confused Harry.
The old man's eyes focused again. "Oh don't worry about him he's almost off the clock soon." The old man helped Harry up back onto the boxes. Harry laid down even more confused.
"Okay that still doesn't answer either of my questions. Could you start by answering how you know my name?"
The old man pulled up another smaller box to sit on. "Okay then Mr. Potter, what do you know about your heritage?' It was a harmless question, but it was delivered with an air of mystery. "I take it you've noticed the unusual happenstances around you, hm?"
"Oh, you mean the magic."
The old man's jaw slightly dropped. "Oh, um yes actually." He coughed out.
"Yeah, I'm a wizard." Harry calmly spoke. The sky was blue, Vernon cheated on his taxes, Harry was a wizard. No big deal.
"So you already... know?" The old man looked disappointed.
"And what about your parents?" The old man started, Harry had no real response other than what the Dursleys told him.
"Uh, my parents died in a car crash?" Harry answered unsurely. The silver eyes grew sharp. Their madness temporarily forgotten.
"No, Mr. Potter, James and Lily Potter were two of the most accomplished, brave and talented wizards of their generation. For something as mundane as a simple car crash to end them would be an irony so cruel I refuse to think about it as a possibility." The old man took a calming breath.
"Your parents died protecting you from the greatest Dark Lord of the modern era. In an event that you are famous for.
"So I'm famous because my parents were murdered." Harry's voice was small and defeated. He had come to terms with his parents death long ago, but to hear it was too much.
"Again no, Mr. Potter you are famous because you survived." The old man sat up straighter. "You need to understand the Dark Lord and his followers were ruthless. Like boogeymen of old they attacked without notice. Entire linages gone in a night. All with complete anonymity, and the Dark Lord himself an unbeatable wizard wielding forbidden magics. They were invincible. Until you Mr. Potter. Through Merlin or might you freed us from the nightmare of Lord Voldemort." The lights flickered ominously for a moment. Harry's scar slightly twinged with pain.
"I don't know about that." Harry backed up. He was feeling very overwhelmed from the sudden information.
"This sounds like the part of the story where you tell me I'm the child of prophecy or something like that." He looked over to the old man. "Is it that part yet because I don't want to be in the story anymore." Those types often faced constant mortal danger or died heroically, and Harry was allergic to death.
"Mr. Potter." The old man started. Harry cut him off.
"No." Harry got off the bed with great effort. "I refuse." He simply replied as he got to his feet and made for the door, using the crates of the storage room to keep himself steady.
"Then what will you do when more of our world comes calling. Will you run again?"
Harry turned from his precarious position. "I'm thinking of it."
The old man's silver eyes grew soft. "Whether you like it or not, you are The-Boy-Who-Lived. A Beacon of Hope. A living legend within our culture. And there are and will be people and organizations who would wish to use you, or do you harm."
Harry looked the old man in the eyes. Shining jade versus wild silver. "And what about you, what's your lot in all of this?"
"Allow me to introduce myself." With a flourish the old man began. "My name is Garrick Geraint Ollivander. My runic name being Olive Moth, and I deal in death Mr. Potter."
Harry sniffed derisively. "So why help me?"
Ollivander swallowed thickly. "I come from a long family of wand makers. They came with the legions to the isles and set up shop. I followed in my family's steps and became one of the best" Ollivander gave a small smile but it faded as he continued. "And in my many years of work, I still remember every wand I've made."
He spread apart Harry's fringe of hair to show his lightning bolt shaped scar.
"Including the one that gave you this scar. A wand wielded by man that did great things. Terrible yes, yet great." Harry nodded with some understanding.
"So consider this Mr. Potter a small retribution for all the blood on my hands. The desires of a foolish old man."
Harry thought about it for a while, he couldn't completely trust the old man, but it was better than nothing. Harry took his hand.
"I accept." A faint trail of magic sealed the deal. He winced.
"Excellent, now come we and your cousin have a few things to discuss." Olivander passed a walking cane, well more of a crude length of dark wood, pulled from somewhere. Harry happily took it. Walking hurt a little less for the moment.
Harry didn't know what the future held, he just hoped that things would settle down.
"And when you're done with those, you'll have to categorize the wood by quality, before a final inventory check." An older boy, about 15, dressed in a supervisors vest called down from a workstation.
A strained "Yes sir." Was wheezed out.
Dudley didn't know what he was getting into when he agreed to this job, but manual labor wasn't high on the list. He stopped to catch his breath in the wood shop.
Several kids of all ages worked the saws and lathes. The older ones shared jokes with each other. Most of the younger workers were in the same boat as Dudley, forced to tarry along with various woods and materials. However, while they were all in groups, Dudley was the new odd man out. He didn't mind much though, it gave him more time to busy himself. He wasn't supposed to talk about magic to the others, Mr. Moth told him as much.
He was finding it a very hard rule to follow.
A hint about fanged teeth here, a snark about bloodsuckers there. Nothing too obvious but Dudley couldn't find any recognition in any of the kids that bothered to talk to him. Getting barely acknowledged by his peers was better than venting all his problems to his comatosed cousin. A cousin that chose now of all times to leave him with the heavy lifting, after transporting them clear across London.
He sort of resented Harry. But that was Dudley's pride talking. Harry and his brand of freakishness was what got them out alive that day, he was the powerless dead weight.
Dudley started to get up to his feet, the long planks of wood hoisted to his shoulders. He remembered the second reason he agreed to this job, work would take his mind off of things. He'd heard that some people bury problems in alcohol, but since he was too young he'd drown in work, as his Da used to say.
After delivering a few more shipments of wood to the shop storage, Dudley started the long task of counting the various types of wood, a torture reserved only for the lowest bowels hell.
"Hey new kid." Dudley's supervisor walked up behind him. "Sod off will ya, Mr. Moth wants you to head to his office."
Dudley looked confused. "What for?"
The older kid turned hostile. "The hell do you mean what for? If he wants you to do a flip off London bridge you'll bloody do it. Now get your arse up there, before we treat you the same way we do everyone that doesn't respect Mr. Moth's kindness."
Dudley didn't back down. And for a faint second, it seems like a fight was boiling up. Many of the kids stopped work to see the new kid learn the pecking order. Dudley read the room, took a deep breath and did what he does best.
"Well then you can keep this." He calmly passed his count sheet over to the older boy. "It may be a little hard for you, you'll have to count higher than 3 to actually do this job."
A murmur of laughter could be heard behind him as he made his way towards the office. A yell for people to get back to work ended them. Sometimes all you needed in life were the little things.
The door opened, cautiously.
"Yes, yes come in Dudley. We have quite a bit to discuss." He shuffled in.
The office was just as peculiar as it was the last few times he'd been in there. Various different schematics, an empty old style inkpot, complete with quill and half finished designs, splayed over a mahogany desk. One stained with multiple ink splotches. The walls were decorated with multiple certifications, maybe a diploma, and paintings, who's eyes seemed to follow your every movement. It all added up to an unnerving sight when walking in the first few times.
Dudley looked over to find three rather comfy looking chairs in the corner of the room, spotting Mr. Moth and a familiar looking face.
"Harry!" Dudley ran over to his cousin only to stop short, embarrassed and blushing. "I see you're doing alright."
Harry gave an unsure smile and waived his walking cane. "I've dealt with worse." Harry began but stopped once he realized where that train of thought was going. Vernon once broke his leg in a rage when Harry was 6. Dudley was going to say something but was stopped by the third person in the room.
"That's enough dallying, I've called you boys here today to talk about your futures." They both nodded.
"As you have told me Dudley and what I've confirmed via Harry and my sources, you boys are currently homeless minors, that may or may not have every member of the Black Court in the isles looking for you, not to mention Magical Britain's government and various other unsavory types."
"Wait, I get why they're after me but why Dudley?"
"Magic recognized both of you as the participants and victors for your...scuffle." Olivander struggled to find the word. "When you delivered the final blow to the vampire, you did so under conquest. As your right, a piece of Denever's essence is attached to yours. And naturally everyone knows it."
"So we've been marked." Harry piped up. "Just great, any side effects?"
"Just prestige mostly. Shame you couldn't get a trophy, that would at least have had some use." Olivander rattled on for a bit. "But I digress, the situation has added some peculiar news.
"Get to the point." Dudley was never very patient. Olivander frowned. Then coughed in his hand, the younger generations just got ruder with each iteration.
"Well Mr. Dursley it would seem that you are a Squib." Olivander finished with one of his dramatic flourishes.
"So I'm a freak now?" The concern was growing in his voice. Harry gave him a harsh look.
"Mr. Dursley you are not a freak, nor will you be able to practice magic like Harry or I could, you are, scientifically speaking no different than any other human, however you have the recessed magical gene. Which brings me to the real reason I've brought you here. I wish to take you both on as apprentices."
"No school!" Both boys shouted excitedly. Ollivander shook his head.
"No you will both be receiving tutoring alongside the other boys in the workshop. I just so happen to have the certification to teach you both legally in the muggle and magical ways, I expect you both to excel in all of your courses."
Both boys huffed. "You just gave us extra work." Dudley started. "This was a trap." Harry chimed in.
"Ah ah ah, none of the sass boys. You need more than guts and mindless strength to make it in life, and trust me when I say the knowledge of both worlds will support each other." Ollivander clapped his hands.
"Now, time for some light reading boys." Ollivander waved his hand and a blank wall in the office opened up to reveal a walk-in closet filled with shelves of tomes, a few desks, an old fashioned chalkboard, and what looked like a stairway to a basement.
Ollivander swished his finger in a corkscrew and two large stacks of books formed and gently laid down in the arms of both boys. Dudley grunted, Harry nearly fell over before supporting himself on the cane.
"I expect those to be finished before the end of the month, you'll both report here at 5:00pm every day except weekends. Saturday is from 7:00am to 2:00pm, Sunday you rest. And you'll both be working off your room and board for your stay. I'm charitable not a charity."
Ollivander left to go do what Ollivanders did. Talking to himself along the way. Dudley looked over to Harry from behind his stack. "Good goin' Potter."
"Fuck off Dudley."
August 1988 London Heathrow Airport
"Flight 338 from Berlin your baggage is at carousel three, Flight 338 from Berlin your baggage is at carousel three, thank you." A woman's voice blared off the intercom. A smartly dressed woman and her child were coming back from a holiday to the continent.
Her son wanted to wear his wizard's hat today and while Halloween was months away she felt there was no harm in indulging him. The people on the plane got a laugh out of it and it kept him quiet the whole ride so it was a child ran around his mother more than happy to stretch his legs after the flight. The woman smiled.
"Sweetheart be careful not to run into anyone." Her son was only focused on his toy plane making the "proper" noises as he bolted forward. Slamming into a firm black object, he never saw, falling over onto his rear with a grunt. His toy plane disappeared into the crowded terminal.
"Ouch." The boy looked up to find a blonde haired priest. "Oh, I'm sorry sir." The priest just looked him up and down and forced a perfectly charming smile, not that the kid would notice.
"Peace my child, where are your parents?" Said mother quickly ran over quickly picking up her child by the arm.
"I'm so sorry Father, he was supposed to watch where he was going." She said ending with a strong look towards the child in question.
"That is fine my child. We all know how hyperactive the young ones can be." At this time his deacon came back with the toy plane handing it to the priest.
"Please remember my child to temper his imagination in the future." She followed his eyes to her son's hat. "Just as the Good Book says, thou shall not suffer a witch to live." He passed back the toy plane. The woman nodded in embarrassment.
"Y-yes Father." The woman gathered her child and made a hasty retreat.
Father Cullen turned and walked off, deacon with luggage in tow.
"Father we've organized our groups for finding Harry Potter if you give the word we can-"
"No." Father Cullen interrupted. "Harry Potter is a bargaining chip at best, one that has yet to ripen. The Ash Lady wants him before he is in the clutches of the wand wavers and locked away in their school. We have plenty of time to plant our trap." Father Cullen thought for a moment before heading through the automatic doors.
"What can you tell me about those around him?"
December 1st 1988
"Again." The sounds of swords being pulled out and readied rang through the room. Ollivander pulled out his wand, swirling it across a vat of darkened oil.
"Ἔχω (ékhō)" He said sharply. The Greek charm rolling off his lips with a familiarity.
The oil spilled out with a dribbling sound, pooling, and congealing into a gelatinous form until it took the shape of a medium sized humanoid. Black as tar and no other facial features except glowing yellow eyes.
It looked over to its master, nodding with some understanding, then headed straight for the two boys in front of him. Harry and Dudley sprung into action. Both boys deciding that long-range was useless against this type of foe and charged it for a coordinated attack.
Harry having the dexterity set up a faint for Dudley to follow through. No fancy teleportation, just speed. The oil Golem split into two, the first charging Dudley. He made quick work of it. A fury of aggressive slashes ripping jagged jello blocks from the creature.
The second one hardened its body considerably in anticipation as Harry made a thrust to skewer it with his practice blade. The bladed struck true, as if piercing glass, parts of the golem shattered, then a scraping sound as if striking a match. The blades catching a spark on the Golem erupting it into flame, similar to how a vampire would.
Its body made of oil took to the burning rather well. Harry and Dudley weren't quite as fireproof.
Both boys backed off hoping the fire would at least make this fight a little bit easier but they were never that lucky. The creature used its flaming body to its advantage separating both boys from each other wildly flailing a flaming fist. Before finally trapping Harry in a corner.
The Golem smothered Harry and for a brief second of silence seemed as if he would drown and burn in the living oil spill.
Then the Golem rumbled his oil body bubbling as if in a pot and with a scream it popped like a bubble sputtering it's crude oil body all across the walls of the training room.
Harry huffed, looking around the room he groaned, but not with pain.
"I'm definitely going to have to clean that up." He turned to find Dudley covered head-to-toe in the black gunk, part of his hair was on fire and his poor wood shop uniform vest was practically dyed with splotches of black.
Ollivander looked much better, A hasty shielding charm caused none of the oil to even make it within a meter of him.
"Well done boys this was your fastest time yet, although I would hope that you would do something…" He paused for a second to look around at the damage. "A little cleaner, a sloppy kill will not do."
Dudley grumbled as he got the gunk out of his hair.
"Meet me in the potions cellar after you two clean up, don't be late." Ollivander walked away with a flourish.
Both boys headed to a custodial closet, pulling out cleaning supplies with habitual ease. Wet mops squelching on the grimy hardwood floors. Six months had passed since the boys started their tutelage under Ollivander. The results were definitely showing. Dudley had slimed down a bit while keeping his hulking frame and grew a few inches, passing for a rugby playing teen.
Harry's growth was much more spectacular: a steady diet, and plenty of exercise from carrying wood, he grew out of his malnourished state. Giving himself a wiry frame that fit him rather well. He was still a tad short, Dudley was always quick to remind him.
Both boys had been put through mental marathons to keep up with all their schooling and we're taught many things. Recently including how to defend themselves.
"About time the old fart told us something useful." Dudley wasn't much for book learning, the only thing he really cared to learn was how to kill vampires. It slowly peaked into an obsession. When Harry asked Ollivander about it, he simply told him to give Dudley time to find his peace. Harry responded that six months was far too long to be thinking about the Dursleys.
"Most of it is useful Dudley."
"I can get behind woodshop, maybe accounting and that potions stuff, but when are you gonna need to know freak world history Potter? Face it you're just as disappointed."
He hadn't taught Harry any spells yet either, something about it stunting his growth. "It's given me more free time to test out magic, can't complain." Just because he refused to teach Harry didn't mean he stopped practicing.
"It's amazing, you've even turned napping into something freakish!" Dudley never got used to the trances. Harry waved him off.
After the mess was cleared up both boys threw away the equipment making sure to lock up the closet after they were done. A short last minute check up before they quickly headed towards what Harry affectionately referred to as the magic panic room.
Down the stairs swirling deeper and deeper into the bowels of the workshop Ollivander had a sort of mix between chemistry lab and a microbrewery. Various metal cauldrons of copper, lead and brass fumed various colors of pungent smoke. Beakers and bottles and baubles filled with various ingredients. What they were, Ollivander never told but Harry did find what seemed to be the fuzzy end of a pony's asre boiling in one of the pots.
Making it down to the center of the room they took their seats. Ollivander was standing next one of the cauldrons tossing in strands of meat into it, at regular intervals.
"Ah boys, you'll have to excuse me. I've been given an order to have a shipment of wands for the aurors and I need to fill the backlog, We have a few things to discuss regarding your tutelage under me."
Dudley growled. "We're wasting time, when will you let us hunt actual vampires?"
Harry turned to Dudley incredulously. "Where would you even look genius?"
Dudley didn't have an answer. "I'd figure something out, better than sitting around with a thumb up my arse."
"That's why I've called you here. Harry, I believe you are ready to go to the next level. I'm afraid that's where the path that you two have shared together must part."
Harry was a tad surprised.
"And what about me!" Dudley roared.
"Truth be told I've taught you all I can Dudley." Ollivander stirred his pot twice counter-clockwise. "At least nothing that you as a squib would need to learn so fast, and nothing that could help you with your personal crusade."
Squibs while having recessed magic could still make potions, use portkeys and some enchanted items. Quite valuable, but much like regular non-magicals, because they were looked down upon by their wizard counterparts, many just go to the muggle world and find entry level jobs to slowly acclimate to muggle life.
"So that's it then, well thanks for nothing." Dudley turned to Harry. "And you, I'm happy you can learn parlour tricks while the rest of those freaks are roaming free. Dudley turned with an angry huff and stormed back up the stairs.
Harry made to go after him but Ollivander stopped him, shaking his head.
"Why didn't you stop him?" It was Harry's turn to get angry.
"I meant what I said about not being able to teach him anything else, he is just a boy, a squib yes but a boy nonetheless. I am not going to lose a student because I've filled him with false promises of revenge. Patience is the only thing I can give him at this point in time. Besides I only have enough magic to send one of you through the portal."
"I'm sorry. The what?" This was news to Harry.
Ollivander made three "X" like motions through the pot and wiped his hands on his vest. "I'll tell you as we get there." He swirled his wand and casted a stasis charm on his cauldron. Harry looked in awe as the boiling mixture froze in place a bubble on the top mid burst.
"Well don't stand about, with haste Mr. Potter." Harry shuffled quickly to follow, maybe the old man would teach him that first. Ollivander swished his wand horizontally revealing a spare room with runic decals along the walls with painfully intense care.
Harry didn't need to turn on his mage sight; he could feel the magic emanating from it.
"Consider yourself lucky, not many would be privy to one's personal ritual room." Harry looked at Ollivander with doubt. "I've been getting information from good sources. They've been telling me that more vampires have come crawling out of the woodwork since you and your cousin offed Denever. So I figured I'd jump start the magical portion of your tutelage."
Harry looked even more confused, " So what does this have to do with a portal." Ollivander stopped him with a finger.
His wand raised once more he breathed in deeply and started to chant his wand twirling like a conductor for the London Philharmonic. Swirling and weaving with a care Harry hadn't seen him use with anything else.
Five minutes in, it started. With a sound almost like a ripping piece of parchment, a crack formed in the center of the room hovering in the air. A low hum joining with it.
Ollivander just kept going. The tempo of his wand growing faster. The crack ripping further and an ethereal sea green glow spreading out further beyond the crack. Turning into an arch shape.
Faster Ollivander's wand went and wider the arch spread.
Enough that Harry shielded his eyes from the light. The beat of an ancient drum roaring with Ollivanders wand movements peeking into a crescendo.
And that's where Harry heard it.
A motherly voice, he recognized it in an instant. The call of Magic.
As the light dimmed down to a reasonable level, Ollivander dropped to one knee wheezing. Harry made to catch him, he knew that feeling of magical exhaustion quite well. Ollivander looked at him with a small nod of thanks and a smile.
"Well Harry, I give you the bread and butter of the Wizarding World. You may have noticed in your history books about various countries going to war for leylines, yes?"
"Wells of magical power used for massive enchantments and rituals." Harry added with confirmation.
"I'm glad you didn't consider my lessons a waste of time." Harry looked away sheepishly.
"In addition to the enchantments and rituals ley lines are the only effective way to keep portals like this open, pocket dimensions mostly used for resource extraction and some large scale farming. Some things can't be covered up with an expansion charm and an Obliviation Squad. Merlin knows the muggles get closer and closer to figuring out Nessie actually exists." Ollivander ended with a tangent.
Harry stepped forward towards the teal archway "What am I supposed to do in there?"
"This is the next step in cultivating your magic just as we talked about, I can't guarantee your safety so be careful, trust yourself and magic." Ollivander pat Harry on the back.
"When will I get out?" Harry asked one leg in.
"A wizard is never late. Nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to." Ollivander responded cheekily.
"Nice line. I'm sure you say it to all the eight year olds you send on magical journeys." He rolled his eyes at his mentor.
"Goodbye, I definitely won't miss you ruining my dramatic flair." Ollivander waved off. "Honestly young people, no respect."
Harry snorted and readied himself for his next great adventure. As he told his last step through the portal.
Outside with Dudley
He needed to get some fresh air. He only agreed to the tutoring from Ollivander to have the power to avenge his family. Stop anything like that from happening to anyone else. So that he wouldn't have to rely on Harry and his freakishness. So he could be the man his father molded him to be.
He turned towards Trafalgar Square, maybe the fountains would make him feel better? The pigeon shit couldn't be seen too well in the late afternoon light. It wasn't too far from Ollivander's woodshop and it was one of the few places in London that had a fond memory for Dudley.
He walked a ways in the heavy British rain, surprisingly not too many people were willing to catch a cold marching around in a wet winter. But nothing would stop him from seeing that blasted fountain. No one not a soul, he was completely determined to-
A solid thud could be heard on the semi-vacant street.
"Oi watch where ya goin'." Some bloke knocked into him. That was one reason why Dudley didn't care for much London. Everyone was either full of themself or just plain rude.
"Piss off." Dudley shook his head in confusion. "And you ran into me…" Turning around to face his rude fellow pedestrian Dudley found just a drenched London sidewalk.
"Ah to hell with him." Dudley turned back around and walked faster finally reaching his destination.
Looking around the square was mostly empty, only a few straggling tourists taking pictures of Nelson's Column. Taking a moment to admire it he remembered his dad going on about the greatness of a man like Horatio Nelson, a man that he wanted Dudley to imitate. Ingenuity, Drive, Discipline, Loyalty. All traits Vernon expected of his boy, his pride and joy. Big shoes to fill in Dudley's opinion. He found a nearby bench to sit and think.
"England expects that every man will do his duty, huh? So what's mine?" Dudley was still for a moment until an alarm vibrating broke the calm.
He fished in his coat pockets, and pulled out a very fancy looking pager, buzzing away. When did this get in there? Dudley had only seen a pager once, he'd heard of his dad's job giving one out for all the employee's for business but this didn't seem like the same one his dad had. It was sleek, with crimson outlines and black finish. No buttons either.
He was trying to find out how to turn the stupid thing off, when it lit up with a message that sent chills through his spine.
"Hello Dudley." He read aloud. "We've heard a lot about you." Dudley looked around frantically. Was this some sort of prank from Harry, because if it was…
"We've noticed your interest in protecting the innocent from the things of a supernatural persuasion. And we've noticed your frustration in your mentor barring you from your quest." Dudley swallowed how did it-. "We'd like to help you, meet here in a week, same time. Think it over, you have twenty-four hours."
It was a more than tempting offer, one that screamed trap. He made his way back to the workshop just as nightfall hit. He decided he would err on the side of caution and go with the Enfield tucked safely in his pocket. This was his only lead and he wasn't going to waste it. He'd do his duty and make Vernon proud.
Chapter 3 A Glorious Hunt or Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Wood.