Chapter 3

I own nothing. Both franchises belong to their respective companies/authors

Bowser stood in the courtyard of his fortress, his arms crossed and his expression a mix of determination and frustration. The best of his soldiers were gathered before him—elite Hammer Bros., a pair of Magikoopas, and a Chain Chomp handler—all outfitted for a mission far different from their usual conquests. Beside them stood Mario, adjusting his hat and gloves as he prepared to set off with the unlikely group.

"Alright, listen up!" Bowser bellowed, his voice echoing off the fortress walls. "This isn't some raid or castle defense, got it? We're heading back to the ravine to figure out where that warp pipe leads. I want eyes on everything—no slacking!"

His soldiers saluted in unison, their armor clinking as they shouted, "Yes, Your Majesty!"

Mario glanced up at Bowser, his expression skeptical. "You really think the pipe's gonna give us any clues? It looked like it was falling apart when you found the kid."

Bowser growled, the tips of his claws curling into his palms. "We don't leave any stone unturned, Mustache. If there's even the smallest chance of figuring out where that kid came from, we're taking it."

"Alright, alright," Mario said, holding up his hands. "Let's get moving."

The group moved quickly, the journey back to the ravine filled with an unusual quiet. Bowser's soldiers were disciplined, keeping to their positions as they marched. Mario walked alongside Bowser, the two of them exchanging only occasional glances. Neither would admit it, but their temporary alliance felt less strange by the minute.

When they reached the edge of the ravine, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the jagged cliffs. The faint remnants of the ancient green warp pipe jutted out from the rock, its green surface cracked and weathered.

"There it is," Bowser said, motioning for his troops to spread out. "Fan out and secure the area. Don't touch the pipe until Kamek's had a look."

The soldiers saluted again and moved to their positions, keeping a careful distance from the unstable rock even as the Chain chomp was alert and looking for any danger indicated from its handler. Kamek hovered toward the pipe on his broom, his wand glowing as he began to examine the ancient structure. Mario knelt nearby, running a gloved hand along the exposed section of the pipe.

"This thing's older than any pipe I've seen in the Mushroom Kingdom," Mario muttered. "Where do you think it leads?"

"Beats me," Bowser grumbled. "But it's not like these things just show up out of nowhere. Someone had to connect it to something."

Before Mario could respond, a sharp crack echoed through the ravine. Both he and Bowser looked up in alarm as the ground around the pipe began to shift, loose stones tumbling down the cliffside.

"Kamek!" Bowser barked. "Get back—now!"

The Magikoopa didn't need to be told twice. He quickly teleported away from the pipe as another loud crack split the air. The pipe groaned under the weight of the shifting rock, its structure buckling visibly.

"Everyone, clear out!" Mario shouted, grabbing Bowser by the arm and pulling him back. Bowser let out a low growl but followed, his soldiers retreating quickly from the unstable cliff.

The ground shuddered violently as the warp pipe collapsed inward with a deafening crash, the sound echoing through the ravine. Massive boulders tumbled down, burying the remnants of the pipe under a cascade of rubble. Dust and debris filled the air, making it hard to see or breathe.

When the rumbling finally stopped, Bowser stood staring at the pile of rock and stone, his fiery gaze fixed on where the pipe had been. Kamek floated closer, his face unusually grim.

"Your Majesty," Kamek said softly, brushing dust from his robes. "The pipe… it's completely destroyed. And even before it collapsed, the magic within it was already fading. There's nothing left to trace."

Bowser's claws flexed, and his fiery tail snapped against the ground in frustration. "So that's it?" he growled. "No clues, no answers—just a pile of useless rubble?"

"I'm afraid so," Kamek said with a solemn nod. "The pipe was ancient. Whatever connection it once had to another place is gone."

Mario stepped forward, brushing the dust off his overalls. "Look, Bowser, I get it—you're mad. But maybe this isn't all bad. At least nothing else can come through that pipe. The kid's safe now."

Bowser's sharp glare softened slightly, though his fists remained clenched. He let out a long exhale, his shoulders sagging. "Yeah… I guess you're right. No one else is getting through." He paused, his voice quieter. "But it doesn't change what happened to him. Someone hurt that kid, and they thought they could just dump him like trash."

Mario nodded. "And whoever did it, they're not getting away with it. But right now, we need to focus on helping him recover."

Bowser grunted, his fiery eyes flicking back to the rubble. "Yeah. You're right. The kid comes first." He turned to his soldiers, his booming voice returning. "Alright, pack it up! We're heading back."

As the group began their retreat, Bowser cast one last glance at the collapsed pipe. Frustration still burned in his chest, but he couldn't deny the relief that came with knowing nothing else could come through. Whatever had put the boy in danger was on the other side of that rubble, far from his reach—and far from Harry's.

With a final growl, Bowser turned and marched after his troops. The kid's past might have been lost, but his future was now Bowser's to protect—and he wouldn't let anyone take that away.

Harry stirred, his small body aching as he drifted back to consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, the brightness of the room making him wince. His surroundings were nothing like the dark cupboard he was used to waking up in—or the suffocating cold from his last memory. Instead, he was in a large, warm room lit by glowing orbs of soft green light.

He blinked a few times, his vision sharpening. He could make out robed figures moving around him, their wands emitting sparks of light that felt warm against his skin. He stiffened slightly, unsure whether to be afraid or comforted by the strange sensation.

"You're awake," a kind voice said, drawing his attention. A beautiful blonde woman in a pink dress and a crown was kneeling beside him, her soft smile somehow easing the nervous flutter in his chest.

"You've had quite the journey," she said gently, brushing his messy hair back. "But you're safe now."

Harry's lips parted, his voice coming out hoarse and quiet. "Where... where am I?"

"You're in the Koopa Kingdom," the woman replied. "My name is Princess Peach. What's your name?"

"Harry," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"Hello, Harry," Peach said warmly. "You've been through a lot, but we're taking care of you now."

Harry's gaze flicked around the room. The strange, robed figures with seemingly turtle-like features moved efficiently, casting spells that bathed him in a soothing warmth. His brow furrowed slightly as he asked, "What... what are they?"

"They're Magikoopas," Peach explained. "They might look a little different, but they're very good at healing. You're in good hands."

Harry nodded slightly, though his heart raced with uncertainty. He wanted to trust her kindness, but years of harsh treatment had made him wary of everyone.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the room, followed by a deep, gruff voice. "How's the kid?"

Harry's head turned toward the source, and his eyes widened. A massive, scaly figure with red hair and sharp horns entered the room, his fiery eyes scanning the scene. Harry shrank back instinctively, his small hands clutching the blanket draped over him.

"It's alright, Harry," Peach said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "That's Bowser. He's the one who found you and brought you here."

Bowser paused mid-step, his gaze softening as he saw Harry's reaction. "Hey, kid," he said, his tone gruff but quieter than before. "You're awake. That's good."

Harry's voice trembled as he whispered, "You're not... going to hurt me?"

Bowser's expression flickered with a rare tenderness. "Hurt you? No way, kid. I'm the one who pulled you outta that mess. Nobody's hurting you while I'm around. Got it?"

Peach gave him an approving smile before Mario stepped into view, adjusting his hat. "He's telling the truth," Mario added, his voice kind but firm. " My name's Mario. We're all here to help you. You're safe now."

Harry's gaze shifted to Mario, then back to Bowser. "Why?" he asked, his voice a little stronger now. "Why would you... save me? I'm a freak."

The room went quiet, and Bowser's tail snapped behind him, his fiery temper briefly flaring—not at Harry, but at the idea of someone making the boy think that about himself.

"Who told you that?" Bowser asked, his voice a low growl.

Harry hesitated, shrinking slightly under the weight of his own words. "My... my aunt and uncle," he said finally.

Bowser crouched down, bringing himself closer to eye level with Harry. His voice softened, though the underlying anger hadn't disappeared. "Listen, kid. I don't know what kind of trash those people told you, but they're wrong. You're not a freak. Got it?"

Harry stared at him, unsure what to say.

Kamek floated forward, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. "Your Majesty is right," the Magikoopa said in a calm, reassuring tone. "You're not a freak, Harry. You've been through something terrible, but you're safe now. And we're going to make sure you get better."

Peach smiled gently. "They're all telling the truth, Harry. You're here because you deserve to be cared for, just like anyone else."

Harry's lips trembled as he whispered, "Thank you."

Bowser stood, his fiery gaze still locked on the boy. "You don't need to thank me, kid. You're part of my kingdom now, and I take care of what's mine."

Peach placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, while Mario gave him a reassuring nod. For the first time in his life, Harry felt something unfamiliar but warm: safety. As he lay back against the cushions, his eyes grew heavy, and for the first time in a long time, he drifted to sleep knowing he wasn't alone.

The throne room had grown quiet as the Magikoopas completed their latest round of healing spells on Harry. The boy had fallen back into a deep sleep, his breathing now steady, though his small frame looked impossibly fragile against the cushions he rested on. Bowser stood nearby, arms crossed, his gaze lingering on the boy. His usual fiery bravado was replaced by a rare and unguarded solemnity.

"This isn't just about fixing the physical stuff," Bowser said, breaking the silence. His voice was quieter than usual, but it carried an unmistakable weight. "I've seen enough to know that scars like his—inside scars—don't just go away. It's gonna take time. A lot of time."

Peach, still kneeling by Harry's side, looked up at him with a mix of admiration and curiosity. "You're right," she said softly. "Healing isn't just about the body. But the fact that you understand that, Bowser... it says a lot about you."

Bowser huffed, his tail swishing absently. "Yeah, well, it's not the first time I've seen someone broken like this. My kingdom? It's full of folks who were tossed aside, treated like they didn't matter. I didn't just wake up one day and decide to be king—I built this place for them. The outcasts, the ones nobody wanted. That's why they're loyal. Because I care."

Peach tilted her head, her expression softening. "I never knew. All this time, I thought it was just about power and try to marry me."

"It's not," Bowser said firmly, his fiery gaze locking with hers. "Power doesn't mean anything if you don't use it to protect what's yours. That's why they follow me, why they fight for me—because they know I'll do the same for them. And as for marriage, my kids need a mother figure in their lives. But they have me. And now…" He glanced at Harry. "That kid's got me too..."

Mario, who had been quietly listening, stepped closer. "That's why they're so loyal to you. They know you've got their backs."

"Damn right," Bowser said with a grunt. "And now, that kid's gonna know it too. He's not just some freak or whatever garbage those people told him. He's got a place here, if he wants it."

Peach smiled warmly. "You're doing something incredible for him, Bowser. But he's going to need more than just the Koopa Kingdom. When he's ready, he'll need to see the world, meet others, and decide what he wants for himself."

Bowser nodded slowly. "Yeah, I get that. And when that time comes, I'm counting on Mustache here to show him around."

Mario blinked, surprised. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," Bowser said, smirking faintly. "You're good with people, and you know the Mushroom Kingdom better than anyone. If the kid wants to see it, you're the guide."

Mario adjusted his hat, giving a small nod. "Alright. If he wants to explore, I'll show him around. But only if you promise not to use it as an excuse to invade."

Bowser let out a low chuckle. "Deal. For now."

As the evening wore on, Peach glanced toward the darkening sky through one of the tall windows. "It's getting late," she said, rising to her feet. "I don't think Mario and I should make the trek back tonight."

Bowser shrugged, gesturing to one of the Koopa Troopas nearby. "Stay here, then. You can use the guest rooms." He paused, smirking slightly. "Or, as you like to call them, the kidnapping rooms."

Peach chuckled lightly. "I should've guessed."

The Koopa Troopa saluted and called over a few others to escort them. One of them, a winged female Koopa with bright green wings, approached Peach with a delighted expression. "Princess! It's been ages since we've seen each other!"

Peach smiled warmly, recognizing her instantly. "Parra! You were my guard the last time Bowser 'reclaimed' me. How have you been?"

"Busy!" Parra said cheerfully, falling into step beside Peach as they made their way down the corridor. "But not too busy to keep an eye on His Majesty's schemes. He's been trying to get me to take a vacation the last few weeks. But I always tell him no." she giggles, glancing at her. "You should see how aggravated he gets."

Peach laughed lightly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "You'll have to tell me more."

As Peach and the Koopa Troopas continued toward the guest rooms, Mario lingered behind with Bowser. The two stood in the throne room, the atmosphere calmer but still charged with the weight of their earlier conversation.

"You really care about that kid," Mario said, breaking the silence.

Bowser grunted, leaning against his throne. "Yeah, I do. And if anyone out there still thinks they can come after him, they're in for a bad time."

Mario gave a faint smile. "He's lucky you found him. You're giving him a chance he probably never thought he'd have."

Bowser huffed. "Yeah, well, it's not just about me. You're in on this now too, Mustache. He'll need to learn how to handle people like you—heroes, adventurers. The kind of folks he'll meet in your kingdom."

Mario nodded. "When he's ready, we'll help him. Together."

For a moment, the rivalry between the two seemed a distant memory. They stood in a rare moment of camaraderie, united by their shared determination to help Harry heal and thrive.

Bowser pushed off the throne, his usual smirk returning. "Alright, enough mushy talk. You're here for the night, so try not to break anything. My guards might actually like you, but my furniture doesn't."

Mario chuckled. "Fair enough. Goodnight, Bowser."

"Yeah, yeah. See you in the morning, Mustache."

As Mario left to join Peach, Bowser glanced back at the sleeping boy. His expression softened again, and he let out a quiet sigh. "You're safe now, kid," he muttered. "And I'm gonna make sure it stays that way."

In the quiet of his quarters in Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, meticulously reviewing the reports submitted by the professors for the current school year. Each parchment bore detailed accounts of students' progress, challenges, and achievements. It was a ritual he performed with care, a way to keep a finger on the pulse of Hogwarts and ensure every student received the attention they deserved.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he read about a young Hufflepuff who had excelled in Herbology, and he chuckled softly at a Gryffindor's clever but slightly dangerous mischief in Charms. The delicate balance of nurturing brilliance while tempering recklessness was one of the many joys of guiding the school.

But the peaceful hum of his evening was suddenly shattered.

A sharp whine erupted from a nearby table, pulling Dumbledore's attention instantly. His sharp blue eyes darted to the array of enchanted instruments, each one calibrated to monitor Harry Potter's well-being and the protections around him in Little Whinging. The crystalline orb glowed dangerously bright before cracking with a loud pop, releasing a pulse of magic that rippled through the room.

Dumbledore rose quickly, his wand already in hand as more instruments began to malfunction. The silver compass, which always pointed steadily toward Harry's location, spun wildly before its needle snapped and the face shattered. A small enchanted clock, its hands attuned to Harry's safety, froze for a moment before its glass face fractured, spilling cogs and springs across the table.

The mirror was the last to go. It showed a hazy, rippling image of Privet Drive, but the view began to distort, twisting violently before the entire frame exploded in a burst of light. Shards of glass flew across the room, and Dumbledore shielded himself with a quick wave of his wand.

When the chaos subsided, the air was heavy with the acrid scent of magic gone awry. Smoke curled from the remains of the artifacts, their once-steady hum replaced by eerie silence. Dumbledore's heart raced as he stepped closer to the shattered remains, his face etched with concern.

"This is no ordinary disturbance," he murmured, his voice barely audible. With a wave of his wand, he attempted to detect the lingering magic. "Revelare."

A faint trail of magic shimmered in the air, but it was unlike anything he had encountered before—foreign, unfamiliar, and utterly alien to the enchantments he had woven around Harry's home. It wasn't dark magic, at least not in the way he understood it, but it was powerful enough to obliterate the protective wards he had put in place.

Dumbledore's mind raced as he tried to piece together what could have caused such devastation. Had Voldemort somehow circumvented his protections? Had an entirely new threat emerged? The reports on his desk lay forgotten as he stared at the remnants of his instruments.

"This cannot be ignored," he said to himself, his tone resolute. "Harry is no longer safe."

He turned toward Fawkes, who watched him intently from his perch. The phoenix let out a low, mournful trill, as if sensing the gravity of the moment. Dumbledore straightened, his expression grim.

"I must act quickly," he said, summoning a quill and parchment with a flick of his wand. "If Harry is in danger, I must find him."

He began writing letters, one to Minerva McGonagall and another to Severus Snape, requesting their immediate presence. He would need their insight—and perhaps their magic—to uncover what had gone so terribly wrong. The fact that the magical disturbances were untraceable left him with more questions than answers, and time was of the essence.

As he worked, his thoughts lingered on Harry. The boy had already endured more than most could imagine, and now, wherever he was, something had gone terribly wrong. Dumbledore's chest tightened at the thought of failing him. Whatever it took, he would find Harry and ensure his safety once more.

The air around Privet Drive was unnaturally still as Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape appeared with three sharp cracks. The tidy street with its uniform houses betrayed no sign of the horrors that had taken place here. Yet the shattered remains of Dumbledore's instruments and the furious magical reaction they had caused told them something terrible had happened to Harry Potter.

Dumbledore's face was unusually grim as he led the way to Number Four. Minerva followed closely, her lips pressed into a thin line, her hand clutching her wand tightly. Snape brought up the rear, his black robes billowing as he strode forward, his eyes cold and calculating.

They reached the pristine door of Number Four, and Dumbledore raised his hand to knock. The moment his knuckles rapped against the wood, it swung open to reveal Petunia Dursley, her face pale and strained. She froze at the sight of them, her eyes widening with fear.

"Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore said, his voice low and steady. "We need to speak with you about Harry."

Petunia's lips thinned, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the door. "H-Harry isn't here," she stammered. "He's run off. Always causing trouble, that boy."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And where exactly has he 'run off' to, Petunia? Be truthful, or so help me—"

"Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted gently, though his own eyes were sharp. He turned back to Petunia. "Please, Mrs. Dursley. This is a matter of utmost importance. Where is Harry?"

Petunia hesitated, her gaze darting toward the stairs. "He's not here," she said again, her voice thin. "He left. That's all I know."

Before anyone could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway, and Vernon Dursley appeared, his face red and furious. "What's the meaning of this?" he bellowed, glaring at the three of them. "Coming into my house uninvited, asking about that freak? He's gone. We don't know where, and we don't care."

Snape's dark eyes glittered dangerously as he stepped forward. "Your lies are painfully transparent, Dursley," he said, his voice soft but venomous. "You're hiding something. And I will find out what it is."

"Mind your tone!" Vernon shouted, his chest puffing out. "That boy was nothing but trouble. Always making messes, always—"

But Vernon never finished his sentence. Snape's wand flicked, and suddenly, a soft golden mist enveloped Vernon's head. He froze, his eyes wide and unseeing as Snape's expression turned icy.

"Legilimens," Snape hissed.

For a moment, Vernon remained stiff, his eyes glazed over. Then Snape staggered back, his face twisted with fury and disgust. He looked at Dumbledore and McGonagall, his voice tight with suppressed rage. "He beat the boy. Nearly to death."

Minerva let out a sharp gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. "What?" she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Snape's lip curled as he continued. "When the boy lost consciousness, he stuffed him in a bag. And then..." He paused, his fists clenching. "He dumped him. Into the sewers."

Dumbledore's face drained of color, his hand tightening on his wand. "Severus, are you certain?"

"I saw it," Snape snarled. "Everything. He left the boy to die."

There was a beat of silence before McGonagall erupted. "You vile, wretched monsters!" she shouted, her voice shaking with fury as she rounded on the Dursleys. "How could you? He was a child! Your nephew! Albus, I told you—I warned you!"

Dumbledore's head bowed slightly, the weight of her words crashing over him. "You did," he said softly, his voice filled with regret. "And I did not listen."

McGonagall turned on him, her eyes blazing. "You left him with them! After I told you they were the worst kind of Muggles. You thought you knew best, and now look what's happened!"

Snape, though quieter, was no less cutting. "Your blind faith in this arrangement has failed spectacularly, Headmaster. The boy is gone, and it's on your hands."

Dumbledore's shoulders sagged, his eyes shining with regret. "I thought... I thought he would be safe. I thought it was the only way to protect him."

McGonagall shook her head, tears of anger in her eyes. "And now? He's gone, Albus. Harry's gone."

The trio wasted no time ensuring the Dursleys would face justice for their crimes. Petunia and Vernon were handed over to the local authorities, charged with child abuse and neglect. For Dudley, Minerva insisted on contacting child services to ensure he would not suffer under his parents' influence any longer.

But there was no comfort in their actions. The priority was finding Harry, and the trail led them to the sewers where Vernon had dumped him.

When they arrived at the sewer entrance, the stench was overpowering, but none of them flinched. Snape led the way, his wand glowing faintly as he scanned for traces of Harry's magic. "There's... nothing," he said finally, his voice tight. "No trace of him."

McGonagall knelt near the edge, her eyes scanning the dark, stagnant waters below. "Surely there must be something. He couldn't have just vanished."

Dumbledore, standing a few steps away, raised his wand. "The wards would have remained tied to him unless..." He paused, a terrible thought taking hold. "Unless someone or something transported him away."

As they searched further, their worst fears were confirmed. They followed Harry's trail went dead at a seemingly blank brick wall. Though they knew not, the Warp Pipe that had whisked away the boy had vanished with the destruction of its brother pipe in the mushroom kingdom. But for them, Harry was gone.

McGonagall sat heavily on the edge of the walkway, ignoring the filth ash he put her face in her hands. "We've lost him," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Snape's jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the murky depths of the sewer. "This... this is unacceptable."

Dumbledore stood motionless, his hands trembling slightly. The guilt and regret that had been gnawing at him since they left Hogwarts now consumed him. Tears welled in his eyes, and for the first time in many years, he let them fall freely.

"I have failed him," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I failed the boy I swore to protect."

The weight of his failure bore down on him, and as the others looked on, they saw not the great and powerful headmaster, but a man consumed by remorse for a boy who had been entrusted him, only to be abandoned to a fate unknown.