I Am a Potter Like My Father Before Me
…
Minerva Mcgonagall is a woman who trusts her students, that is a known fact. She would gladly protect them from any enemy that would dare lay a finger on them. She is also the kind of teacher that believes in the potential of the children that she is teaching. She has done the job for many years and she has seen many of the students that pass under her wing do great and marvelous things. She is one of those born to teach and able to eye what talent one might have in themselves, sometimes even before they can even recognize it.
That is why she certainly has serious doubts when one Harry Potter appears at the front door of Hogwarts forcing her to kick out the current Headmaster, the traitor Severus Snape (may the gods curse his name after he murdered Dumbledore, his predecessor)after she deals with the Carrow Siblings else he might curse the Boy-Who-Lived who came traipsing in the middle of Hogwarts declaring quite loudly mind you how Snape murdered Dumbledore on that tower atop Hogwarts last year.
Harry Potter was an enigma as far as was is concerned. Like everyone else, she had expected great things from the Boy-Who-Lived. After all it would not just be anyone that would be able to batter off the dreaded Killing Curse, the epitome of Dark Magic when it came to killing someone. A spell to forcefully rip a soul off from its body and fueled by hate and darkness unable to kill a baby? Either that baby was not alive or because it was destined by fate to be someone.
To say that she was disappointed would be the understatement of the century. The boy that came to Hogwarts was underfed, scrawny wearing second handed clothes. Not exactly the recipient of tales of legends. Minerva however can handle that. This was not the first time rather sickly looking Hogwarts students walked on its halls and at the same time do great things. She had kept her hopes up…..
And had them dashed in the worst way possible.
The boy despite the spitting image of James Potter who turned a lot of her hairs grey inherited none of the talent. He sucked nearly at every subject and barely passed. She had to assign him almost a lot of the courses into a remedial lest he be kicked out by his abysmal grades. When Dumbledore vouched for him about saving the Philosopher's Stone and dealing with the Chamber of Secrets, she seriously doubted the Headmaster's words. The boy excelled only at Arithmancy and according to Fillus, Charming inanimate objects into moving, not exactly the hardest of fields. Arithmancy was mathematical work which was basic for almost all Muggleborns and some half-bloods who had been to the Muggle World so it was no wonder he was good on it.
Then come the debacle of the Goblet of Fire, the rather impromptu invasion of Umbridge and the untimely death of Dumbledore. All of it he had been there and Minerva was convinced that the boy was blessed by Lady Luck for not only surviving those ordeals alive, but also unscathed with all his limbs intact. Not everyone can go toe to toe with Voldemort and not come out with four limbs remaining.
She just hoped him appearing here at Hogwarts had better be a good reason. Especially with You-Know-Who appearing outside the wards already.
….
Harry James Potter had always known that he would never be one of the greats, in fact he had no wish to be. All he wanted was a normal life of a normal wizard. Fate however had taken that dream and desire, rolled it in the mud and then happily stomped it till it almost became recognizable. Thus he did the best he could in his circumstance.
He would never be bright or intelligent like Hermione, his relatives had beaten it into his subconscious about being good at academics to be probable as the sun not rising the next day anymore. Add the fact that it almost became second nature for him to please other people, that mean maintaining his grades to almost the same as that of Ron (who was not exactly an exemplar when it came to studying).
There was one thing however that made him stand out from the rest of his peers. He loves crafting. That is probably the only thing where he is really good at. He can transform a piece of stone to a marvelous creation with nothing more than a hammer and a nail. Back at Privet Drive when the Dursleys, did not deign to give him any toys to play, he used to pick up stones and with Vernon's hammer and nail, he would craft different objects of wonder. Hermione called it wonderful, Ron got bored on it but Harry, Harry loved it. Books from Gringgots told of great Potters' making their mark to the world with one heroic action or the other, Harry did not desire that, no. He would be a craftsman and true to his family name.
Thus all seven years of Hogwarts, he honed his talent of such knowing very well that he would never be good at the other fields of magic, he would focus on what he was good at. Every moment of relaxation of his, he made more of his art stashing them here and there, knick knacks for an ancient repository of magic as the Castle was.
Then came Voldemort gunning for his ass. Lo and behold, Harry more than anyone knew that there's just no way that he would be able to out-duel the dark tosser even if he trained for three years straight without resting or sleeping. There was also no way that snake-face would let him live even if he run to the farthest corner of the earth. He needed to get rid of the evil bastard but he had to bring it to his terms.
Thus after finishing Dumbledore's leftover assignment about Horucruxes, here Harry was watching the dark bastard's army charging recklessly as the magical dome of Hogwarts fell like rain all over. Unto the bridge, giants and dark wizards batter the suits of stone and armor that stand on their way.
Well no time like the present.
"HEAR ME OH CREATIONS OF MINE! FINITE! HEED MY CALL FOR THE LAST POTTER COMMANDS! IN THE NAME OF MY HOUSE AND MY FAMILY! KILL THEM ALL!
…
Voldemort, AKA Tom Riddle Jr, AKA Dark Tosser, watches with all the smugness his snakey face can form as his "grand army" decimates the ancient defenses of Hogwarts. This, this is his hour. It is almost worth it. For the first time in forever, his enemies can be found in one place where he can snuff them all and be done with it. It is almost to good to be true. Last war, he has to sniff them out like weeds, hiding among the populace and countryside giving him and his followers the headache of finding them all out. Now here they are, prima ala carte-.
"BOOOM!" a powerful explosion nearly makes him face plant as the Earth shakes without warning.
His "personal guard" commanded by Lucius, Bella and his inner circle does not fair as well as he does and eats dirt. For a second Tom wonders if one of his cannon fodders has accidentally causes a random tower to rupture (He is rather sentimental about the old castle damnit!) and crash. He does not need to trust on his imagination the next few moments however as two powerful figures stand up from the mountain side in a cascade of stone, dust and debris, emitting powerful shrieks that challenge even the screams of fully adult angry Mandrakes. His entire army stalled, especially the magical beasts containing highly developed senses. The entire werewolf army led by Fenrir Greyback coming from the South side of Hogwarts are literally knocked out by the shrieks alone.
As it is Tom simply stares in no small amount of wonder at the giant figures now marching towards his army with powerful strides. One is holding a giant longsword while the other, a giant poleaxe. (Heavily Inspired by the Kings at Kingsglaive). They seem to be made of metal and steel, powered by runes. Also at the lake like an army of the damned, more powerful figures, each a knight in looks, six feet in size and height, they charge at his incapacitated army with many clanking, their empty helmets roaring out their battle cries.
Whoever it is that animated these figures obviously did his homework. The walking figures of metal Knights are charmed with basic defensive charms and spells unlike the ancient statues of Hogwarts which the Giants decimated with ease. The few caught by the giant clubs and sticks of the giants are promptly bashed to the side in pieces. However unlike the stone guardians of Hogwarts, they reform again, the activated repair charms on them making them rise up and come back for a second round against their attackers.
It is not only metal knights that join the fray, animals formed from clay, stone automatons and even plastic miniature soldiers come in the hundreds swarming the field. Spells of all kind face them head on smashing many but the sheer amount of numbers they have made the difference and in the span of a few minutes, everyone at Voldemort's grand army find themselves fighting for their lives. Voldemort didn't exactly invest in making sure that his army has any kind of coordination and teamwork as Aurors would when training in dealing with numbers larger than their own. They usually simply just rely on their numbers and the shock and awe aura of the presence of their lord. News flash, mobile walking death machines are impervious to shock and awe tactics.
Even as his army fight for their lives to avoid being mauled, cut or dragged to death, Tom resists the urge to shout in rage. Gripping (the malfunctioning) Elder Wand, he raises it in the air summoning his trump card. With a humongous roar, a Swedish Short Snout appears, heavily manacled and enchanted to obey his will. A couple of Gryphon Automatons dive bomb it but one breath of Dragon-Fire and the Automatons turn to slag. Spell-Fire emerged from the castle by the hundreds but as usual, the dragon's tough scaly hide sends all spells ricocheting in all directions.
"BURN THEM ALL!" cackles Voldemort even as at t the back his faithful praise his name and power. With a swish and a flick, gaping maws of earth snatch ten stone leopards crushing them as one would with clay.
The dragon roars forward spewing its wrath ignorant of friend and foe, the piercing cries of unfortunate Death Eaters caught on the battle eerie in the night. Already the battle is becoming a stalemate as the dragon turns to molten slag or metal any of the larger walking charmed figures.
It's advantage of course only lasts until one of the two walking giant figurines take notice of it. With a powerful heave, it hurls the poleaxe it is holding at it. Dragon scale or not, the giant weapon the size of an electrical post and three times as long pierce through armor, skin, flesh and bone. The throw is so powerful that the dragon flies back by the sheer force of impact before disappearing somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.
Gobsmacked, Tom is only saved from the downward decapitating slash of the other giant statue by his honed reflexes. Jumping in an undignified way to the side, he is saved from being flattened like the rest of his inner circle from the giant sword slamming on the ground. While he did succeed on avoiding being turned to flattened turnip…..fully, he howls in agony as he looks down and see that his pelvis down has failed to avoid the giant sword.
Roaring in anger, Voldemort aimed the Elder Wand at the giant automaton, the non-verbal spell of fiendfyre roaring out making the Automaton scream in agony as a giant snake made from the fires of hell wrapped it.
"Expelliarmus!" Voldemort has been too engrossed in putting down the giant threat that he totally fails to see the red light smack into the Elder Wand making it fly off from his hand and straight to the fingers of one Harry Potter looking down at him with a revolver aimed at his bald head.
Frustrated and in agonizing pain, Voldemort only glares at the young wizard knowing very well that this is his last moment and the words of the prophecy coming true. "So, are you going to kill me, Harry Potter? You are a shame to all of wizard kind even using a muggle weapon to finish me off. Are you a wizard boy?! Use your wand!" he hisses at his adversary whose face is that of stone cold countenance.
"No, it matters not if I am a wizard or a muggle. I am a Potter, like my father before me and his father beforehand,"
"A Potter eh? What is the House of Potter but a bunch of mudblood loving fools who makes love to animals-,"
BANG!
The head of Voldemort explodes like a grapefruit exploding bits and brains everywhere.
"No one talks about my House that way, especially not you, Tom," the cold voice of the shooter only says before walking away.
Voldemort is dead and the war is over.
….
Author's Note:
Just a little something running on my mind. Hope you enjoyed the small story.