If there was no prophecy then Voldemort would not have attacked the Potters as he had. The entire reason he did was because Snape overheard Trelawney giving the first couple of lines of her prophecy, which he then told to Voldemort.

So if there is no prophecy there is no impetus for Voldemort to attack the Potters, no Boy-Who-Lived and no canon.

 

True, and there not being a prophecy is an interesting divergence point, but Doctor Whooves was referring to the idea that Sybill faked the prophecy. As far as everyone who is not her is concerned, it's real.

 

I find this very interesting. Imagine if the Sorting Hat sorted them between separate schools rather than just houses. Four schools are spread across the islands and every fourth year there is the Four Wizard tournament, where one wizard or witch (of age) is selected from each school.

You could also make a case for Slytherin's school accepting only Purebloods, where people like Longbottom and Weasley might decline to go to a school like that. I picture the divide between Pureblood and so on to be even larger and more dangerous than in canon...

There's a lot you could do with such a fic. I'd start it in fourth year with the tournament, and explain from there.

 

On a related, massively AU note, here's a POD-inspired story idea I've been toying with writing.

POD: House elves are never enslaved or bound to Wizardkind.

Without, Wizarding society remains stuck in a Medieval model, comprising a small, empowered aristocracy and a broad underclass of serfs given just enough magical training to tend to their tasks, effectively filling the void left by the House Elves. Society organizes into Convocations/Covens (fiefdoms), each governed by a small number of powerful and knowledgeable wizards/witches. Formal schools like Hogwarts are never established, as there is no need for such a general-purpose education. Magical teaching follows the master-apprentice model as the sort of education offered by Hogwarts is a luxury that few need and fewer can afford. In fact, despite the prevalence of Unbreakable Vows, binding one's serfs to loyalty, teaching the underclass more magic than needed is strictly forbidden.

Magical society evolves in a manner that's far more insular than canon, owing to the demands of keeping power in the hands of the few: the serfs must remain unaware of the outside world into which they could escape. Unlike canon Harry Potter, where much of the basic staples come from the mundane world, in this world, they grow/raise/produce all the goods they need. To help with their numbers, Muggleborn children are taken from their families as soon as they express magic and are Obliviated and bound to local Convocations as serfs/broodmares.

An ethos arises that inverts the issue of blood status: over the centuries--and wizards/witches, living long lives and fixating long on optimizing their human capital--a sort of pidgin genetics becomes realized, the notion that if one does not mix the herds, then unhealthy offspring and Squibs result. "After all, it does not do to fuck one's chattel." It's common to offer up one's serfs as bedwarmers for visiting wizards (preferably with a fertility potion). Muggleborn have no genetic history and are thus prized; a Hermione would be made to conceive until her uterus falls out.

Society remains in this mode, stable and static (if morally desolate), for a millennium. And then one day it all changes...

 

Unless those people stop pledging unbreakable vows not to rebel I cant see a uprising.

 

A disgruntled serf could sacrifice himself or herself to poison the lot of them or smother their children in their beds, etc.

An Imperioused serf could be made to kill his or her master.

Give them access to more magic and the ways in which they could cause harm become more varied and difficult to protect against.

 

Why waste this on fanfiction? Just go the extra 1% and write a book.

 

I like your idea Perspicacity. It would make for an interesting, potential good guy Voldemort -- his Muggle heritage holds him back from learning the most powerful magic, and he disobeys Dumbledore (who proceeds to turn a blind eye to his advances, though he's aware of it to some extent) and eventually leaves the coven by circumventing the Unbreakable Vow in some way. He creates his own coven, recruiting heavily from Muggleborn women (like Lily Potter, who is loved by James, and they both leave with Voldemort when Harry's born). Grindelwald, who has one of the largest and most powerful covens, comes to kill Lily, James and Harry and SPADOOSH the Boy Who Lived.

An interesting flip on canon character roles, if nothing else.

 

Here's a fun little divergence point that I'm already using for a story WIP (there's a reason I haven't been updating in a while): the night Voldemort returns to ask for his job back, Dumbledore still says no. But the desire to teach and influence young minds to his cause is still rooted in Voldemort, and though he will always covet Hogwarts, he considers the bigger picture.

So he leaves the country and takes over the Dark Arts position at Durmstrang, either through force or coercion. The Headmaster of that school is deeply impressed by Voldemort's charisma, power, worldliness, and intellect - at least until Voldemort executes a coup and takes over Durmstrang for himself, installing a Death Eater behind him. Now from a position of power at one of the most highly respected schools in Europe, Voldemort subtly begins expanding his political power base throughout the eastern ministries while recruiting the leftovers of Grindelwald's army. And even as his power base grows, Voldemort chooses to play the longer game at Durmstrang and influence more towards the Dark Arts and his forces, perhaps even sending recruiters to England to draw away families who might be sympathetic to his cause.

Flash forward several years later, and the wizarding world is in the middle of a cold war that has outlasted the Muggle one by nearly a decade. On one side, Dumbledore and those he has taken a quiet role in training against the coming storm while attempting to stifle the rising paranoia of the Ministry. On the other, Voldemort's increasingly powerful force of controlled governments and his growing army of fiercely loyal young wizards, all skilled in the Dark Arts thanks to the Dark Lord's tutelage.

 

In the case Aberforth never confronts Albus, he and GG would go on with their plan and rule the muggles behind the curtains. It is not much of a stretch to make them rule the wizarding world, for the Greater Good.

Grindelwald is the Minister of Magic, with a lot more power, Dumbledore is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, where it is compulsory to go because it is the best school. Under their rule magical cities have been created, probably relocating muggles. (I am thinking in the cities of Taure's 'Lords of Magic')

Some types of magic, like the Dark Arts are forbidden, as is unregulated experimentation because it can lead to people having too much power and damaging the Greater Good. Tom Riddle. a naturally curious man, is against all of this; so he plans to overthrow AD & GG. Sided with him are dark arts practitioners and the Weasley twins. Harry Potter likes to play pranks and experiment with magic, so he is attracted to Riddle's cause, however his family is very close to Dumbledore.

The story follows Harry helping Riddle fight AD&GG, with the potential conflict with his family and friends. Also there is a potential conflict of interest between Riddle and Harry about what to do with the wizarding world afterwards.

 

Why the Weasley twins? What makes them so special as to be mentioned in the same breath as Dumbledore, Grindlewald, Riddle and Potter? If you're going to use them, I'd twist their personalities somewhat, focusing more on their capacity for out of the box thinking and invention than their inclination for jokes/pranks.

 

Their capacity for out of the box thinking and invention inclines them to magic experimentation which is not allowed there. Said capacity might be of great use to their side.

 

Their pranking is also a part of their creativity, and in that universe it might well be the least frowned-upon or only 'acceptable' form of magical experimentation, so long as it remained relatively harmless.

 

A possible POD: James does not hand over the invisibility cloak to Dumbledore and him and Lily use the cloak to hide and escape Voldemort the night he attacks. With his first target gone, Voldemort attacks the Longbottoms, possibly either being defeated by baby Neville or the Longbottoms are wiped out. Depending on what happens that night, Voldemort either stays in power or is destroyed with Neville as the Boy-Who-Lived.

 

Book One; The Philosopher's Stone
When the Mirror of Erised was shattered, Harry got hit with shrapnel. I'd like to read a book in which that gave him some sort of Gift. Specifically,

1) a limited pre- or post- cognition magickal equivalent to the psychic ability. Possibly only as it affects Harry, or that *doesn't* affect Harry, but only other people.
or
2) It lets him see what people really want - whether they admit it to themselves or not. He could use it to manipulate them, and make himself a Dark (or Light) Lord. That idea would be a long book, since he's only eleven and deeply ignorant. It would take a while to turn himself into Lex Luthor or Palpatine. Or another Dumbledore.


Another possibility is that he gets hit with a few splinters of the Stone. It's been a long time since I read the book, but I think the Stone was in his right front pants pocket. If a piece was correctly shaped (like a porcupine quill), it would burrow its way deep into his body cavity. He'd age slower (think about puberty that doesn't start until, say, fifteen and lasts 'til 20 [makes you want to cry, doesn't it?]). He'd also heal better since his DNA wouldn't make errors or undergo senile degradation. I think it would be reasonable for scars to fade over time and be replaced with healthy tissue.


edited to add: The Stone shard would limit long-term damage from poisons, drugs, or minor curses. I don't see it regrowing lost limbs, although an eye (being small and completely enclosed within the body) might come back eventually.

 

Harry being hit by a shattered stone or, mirror is pretty interesting, but its only as a plot device to get Harry a certain power really.


The idea of an Empathic Harry, whose capable of seeing peoples greatest desires is pretty cool though. Could make for a pretty interesting second element of his detective wrok in books 1-3, while in three you'd also get the mirror of his ability in the boggarts.

 

Huh. I hadn't even thought about boggarts. I *think* they'd just stare at each other, waiting for someone to do something. Or else his special ability doesn't kick in so the scene goes as canon.

I wonder how he'd see dementors - that idea is nauseating. He might well be *more* debilitated on the train. I can see him going into shock, vomiting all over himself, spending the next few weeks running to shower several times a day.

He could see Snape's true motivations - whether JKR's canon (in which he starts to pity Snape), or characterization based on his canon treatment of Harry, in which case he becomes an active enemy of Snape.

And contemptuous pity for Draco during sixth year, until people start having lethal accidents.

Harry might try making Ron a little more of an asset - since he'll understand what actually motivates the boy.

 

I looked at this one and liked it for a second. Then for a minute I thought about why the Founders coming together to do something might be a good thing. Then I thought about the possible towns. Then I wrote a little something for an hour or two. It soon turned into a 7000 word... thing. I've included at the bottom the worldbuilding notes I used, and some hints and shit for what I'd do if I did continue it. Which I may. Who knows.

Enjoy. Bit rough, not really bothering with super duper writing and grammar mode. I'm tired, it's been a while since I've done HP-related stuff, so. Either way.

..::..--.--..::..

To the sound of a roaring crowd and their thunderous applause, Harry Potter jumped off a cliff.

Chilly autumn air nipped and pinched at his skin as he fell, bringing enough feeling to his already numbed face for one moment just to make it feel somehow number the next. The wind whipped through his hair and plucked sweat droplets from the back of his neck, leaving a trail falling behind him, but never dropping back to where they were. His stomach was halfway through performing a backflip for the hundredth time when he remembered to move his arms, instinct taking over. He'd done this before, and he'd be happy to do it again.

At Griffin's Peak, if the home team won in an inter-school Quidditch match, they vaulted themselves off the peak and onto their brooms halfway done, a spectacle to make even the sourest of losing team look up in awe. And because it was Slytherin they'd trounced today, Harry felt even better. Over half of the cheering occupants in pitch's stands were flying gold and red banners with lions adorning them, only a few also displaying the crossed silver wands and blazing phoenix of the winning school. Green and silver - Slytherin's colours - were oppressed along with their banners, and any visitors from Hufflepuff Valley or Helena could be spotted by their drab brown workman's robes and rich, airy coloured cloaks, respectively.

I'm still falling, Harry thought idly, and swung his right arm downwards, preparing to drop his broom and land on it. Turning falling into flying was as easy as breathing for him, and he was on his broom and at the tail end of the team's line just as Katie Bell, the captain and lead Chaser, was dismounting on the pitch. The others followed, with Ron Weasley, Keeper, landing less-than gracefully just before Harry himself did. The crowd continued to rumble. Slytherin's team were already waiting on the pitch for the ceremonial handshake, and they all had their arms crossed and were looking as if they'd rather be anywhere else. If their team had lost on their home turf, the Archfens, Harry wouldn't doubt they would've simply told the DMO team to bugger off by this point.

He said as much to Ron when they started walking towards the approaching Slytherin team, and Ron huffed out a laugh. "They're cross they lost, sure, but you don't think they're not just a little secretly happy they don't have to go back to their swamp for a bit longer?" He ran a hand through his shock of orange hair. "I know I would, blimey."

Harry laughed too, as Katie got her hand crushed by Slytherin's captain Harper, and the line started moving. When it was Harry's turn to get to Harper, he realised both his hands were occupied; one by the broom, and one with the winning game Golden Snitch he caught and still hadn't released. It was good luck for the Seeker to hold onto the Snitch they won, Harry's father had always said, even though he'd been a Chaser himself. James Potter claimed stealing a Snitch one time in his seventh year had led to a series of coincidental events that led to him marrying the girl of his dreams, and Harry himself had had a lovely encounter with a Hufflepuff Valley girl because of keeping one the previous year.

So, eager to have a little good luck charm on hand for the celebration party later, Harry shuffled his broom to under his arm before shaking Harper's hand, and then doing the same with the rest of the team. His hand was numb from the weather and probably would continue to be numb afterwards thanks to the sheer annoyance leaking into forceful handshakes, but Harry didn't care.

Draco Malfoy was at the end of the line, and to Harry's eternal shock, he was looking victorious.

"Your lot got crushed," Harry taunted as they shook. "Never mind that the ref let eight fouls go by because they were on Vicky Frobisher because she's a naturalborn, but that's about the norm when the ref's from your swamp. Didn't even help you in the slightest. That's gotta sting."

"It's just a game," Malfoy said, in a tone that conveyed anything but. The victorious look returned as soon as the shake ended, though. That was Malfoy all over: as much as he could be angered by truthful reminders of his general existence, if he had something to feel arrogant about, that took precedence. "Hear the news, Potter?"

"Even if I had, you look like you're going to tell me anyway," Harry returned. The crowd's applause started to die out, with students preparing to return to their schools and others to their work or homes. The rest of Slytherin's team had started to trudge off, but Malfoy lingered. Ron did the same once he saw it, and the rest of the DMO team did too. Harry felt a rush of affection for them at that moment, though he doubted Malfoy was about to try and hex him or something. Though if he did, Harry had witnesses. Witnesses were essential for avoiding a diplomatic incident.

"Duke Riddle won the Emissary vote," Malfoy said simply, smirking. "It's being announced tomorrow."

"Good for him," said Harry with a shrug. "What's that, like seven consecutive terms in office? I think I'd start to go batty by the second. Maybe during the campaigning part. Politics are scary."

"My father knew all along he'd win this one, of course," Malfoy continued. "No real candidates in this race, of course. Who was the main contender? Dumbledore comes to mind. Oh wait, that was thirty years ago."

"Insulting Dumbledore isn't exactly a big deal, you know. He founded my school and died before I was born."

"That much is true, but…" Malfoy made a show of looking like he was thinking hard. Which was probably impossible for him, but it was still a good show. "None of the other candidates for the position really made a big impression since that time, did they? I keep forgetting who went up against Riddle this year."

Unfortunately, Harry remembered.

"Hey Weasley!" Malfoy called, dropping the charade, and Ron trotted over. "Wish your uncle Gideon all the best in regards to his recent loss."

The tips of Ron's ears went red, and Harry's fist clenched around the Snitch tightly.

"Didn't really put up a good fight. Typical Prewett. Not as pathetic as being a Weasley, but still a certain level below everything else." Malfoy's eyes tracked something in the distance. "Well, above one thing."

Harry followed his gaze. Hermione Granger, Justin Finch-Fletchety and Lisa Turpin were joining the small group of well-wishers congratulating the rest of the DMO team on their victory. Naturalborns, all of them, with non-magical parents and grandparents, and the apparent bane of every blood supremacist. Good people, thought Harry. Friends.

"Dumbledore did one thing right, the old coot," said Malfoy. "Built a magic school that accepts anyone. Spent his fortunes letting baseborns steal magic for free. Baseborns. Born of nothing but mud, the lot of them. If Dumbledore didn't already let the rest of us know where to go to find them by hosting them here, it's safe to say we could've found them by just looking for that mud."

Harry's family wasn't as involved with the politics of the wizarding elite as the Malfoys or the Prewetts. The Potters had done their part in keeping Griffin's Peak at as high a standard as the other three magical city-states in the United Kingdom, but becoming an Emissary for the Magical Unification Act wasn't ever on the agenda. The Magical Unification Act aimed to bring the four city-states together much like students of history thought their founders should've been. It sounded good on parchment, but it wasn't a perfect system that would replace the independent governments. Not with people like Riddle at the helm, and not with Malfoys and Selwyns and Blacks right behind him.

"We don't care that your father's boss got to keep his ivory desk for a few more years," Harry said firmly. Ron nodded beside him, ears still red with anger and his wand having appeared in his hand. He wouldn't hex Malfoy. Well, Harry hoped he wouldn't. To prevent himself from hexing him, Harry stuck both his hands in his pockets, even letting the Snitch stay in there instead of his hand; some good luck charm if Malfoy had to have kept talking. "Was there anything else, Malfoy? Or would you like to stick around and I could give you some Quidditch tips? My first would be to learn how to actually fly, for Godric's sake."

Malfoy lifted his broom above his shoulder and scoffed. "Riddle's making big changes," he said. It sounded like a threat.

But Harry wasn't fazed. "Riddle hasn't made any big changes this whole time. I don't imagine he'd start now. Tell your father to tell Riddle I said hi. I think we met once at some party when I was eight. I'm sure he'll remember."

"I will be sure to," said Malfoy, turning to leave. "Potter. Weasley. Until the next game, watch your back."

And then he was gone, a green and silver-robed sack of gutless white meat strolling off to his school filled with kin who worshipped at his family's feet for being one of Riddle's favourites.

"Can you imagine going to school with him?" Harry said, sighing out some of the tension filling his body. He wasn't an angry person, he didn't think, but something about Malfoy's sliminess made him want to hit something. "Bad enough seeing him twice a year on the pitch."

"Yeah," Ron grunted. He put his wand away. "Almost hexed him."

"I noticed. Sure that would've gone over well."

"The way he was talking about the naturals just… Hermione Granger is worth six of him."

"I know. My mother's one too, remember? I'd like to see Malfoy try and slag off to her; she'd deliver him to his father in pieces."

Ron snorted out a laugh, some of his cheer returning. "If only I can help…" Then the cheer disappeared again. "Mum's going to be crushed about Uncle Gideon."

Harry nodded. He liked Gideon Prewett; the man was as funny as he was smart, and he and his twin brother Fabian reminded Harry of Ron's brothers Fred and George, who were always good for a laugh or six. The Prewetts were also good friends with the Potters, and Harry had met Ron when they were five at a Prewett-Weasley-hosted function because of that.

Now, eleven years later, Harry and Ron trudged off to the locker rooms to shower, change, and just try to forget Malfoy's dickishness. As they always did, the older half the Quidditch team would fly into town to start hitting the pubs nice and early, while the younger would retire to their dormitories until the celebrations started after dinner. The pitch itself belonged to Griffin's Peak, so it was used by both Gryffindor's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Dumbledore, McKinnon and Ogden's Academy For All Magical Youths. Gryffindor's school lied on top of the very peak Harry and the team had jumped from after their victory, but it was a five minute broom ride to DMO.

Harry and Ron, two of the last to start heading back to school, did what any two friends with brooms and time to kill do, and decided to make a race of it. The pitch was located at the base of the cliffs next to the main township, a large collection of houses, various businesses and a Floo Station, all centred around an old stone building where all the governmental work went on. The township was on a hill and overlooked swathes of farmland and a few cottages dotting the land, smaller than Godric's Hollow in Wales but larger than Peverell Alley in London, the three making up the Griffin's Peak jurisdiction while being closer to more densely populated areas in order to help police magic users from terrorising the non-magicals going about their daily lives without knowledge of such a thing a magic.

The hill also overlooked an expanse of forest, filled with dark and twisted trees and stretching as far as an owl's eye could see. The forest was home to a number of magical creatures, and had been since Godric Gryffindor's time. He had planned to found his school by the Great Kraken Lake, it was said, where the land was more fertile. But the fertile land belonged to the trees, and Gryffindor was unable to clear them all, instead settling on Griffin's Peak. They called it the Forbidden Forest to keep youths from the town and students from either school from venturing inside, and there were sorts of horror stories about werewolves and giant spiders and even centaurs, who hadn't been seen in a thousand years, it was said.

Just flying over the hill overlooking that forest sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He wasn't sure what it was, but it made his head throb and his mouth dry. He'd always asked his parents to read him scary stories when he was younger, and it made things like Inferi or Manticores less scary. But there were never any stories about that forest, he thought.

Harry didn't even notice he'd stopped flying until Ron started to catch up. "You wanted to go tell Hagrid we won?" he asked. Hagrid was a farmer who lived on the outer edges of town with his wife and son, an old friend of the Potter family who also taught Care of Magical Creatures two days a week at DMO. He was a big man, Hagrid, but the nicest Harry had ever met, his tiny wife's rock cakes were amazing, and his son practically worshipped Harry's skills with a broom.

"I don't think he's home," said Harry, after looking down. He'd stopped flying right over Hagrid's farm, which Hagrid had built right next to the Forbidden Forest because, apparently, there was nothing in there that was harmful. Hagrid was good with deadly creatures, but Harry wouldn't have lived that close to the forest for a million galleons. "No smoke from the chimney," Harry added, before Ron could ask how he thought Hagrid wasn't home.

"Ah," said Ron. "Maybe next weekend. I need to stock up on some of those rock cakes. Starting to run out."

And with that, he flew off, but Harry lingered. He was forgetting something, but… he wasn't sure what. The forest was all he saw, until it looked like every leaf on every tree swaying in the breeze as one. He caught a glimpse of murky water of the Great Kraken Lake through some of the trees, but it was brief. A sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach, but he squashed it and instead felt the urge to simply get away. With one last look at Hagrid's farm, and leaving behind that feeling of having forgotten something, Harry kicked the air and felt the broomstick lurch underneath him.

In the end, Harry won the race. Dumbledore, McKinnon and Ogden's Academy sat on the edge of a river under the shadow of grey clouds blocking the afternoon sun. It had been a ruined abbey barely a hundred years ago, but Dumbledore's efforts had restored it to a patchwork cube of grey and white stone, not as large as Gryffindor's school but no small sight either. For nine months out of a year it was Harry's home, and some of his happiest memories could be found within those walls. Stepping into the entrance hall with Ron brought with it a rush of warm air, the chill from outside evaporating instantly. With it didn't go the headache from flying near the forest, but Harry was sure it'd go eventually. Hopefully.

"… Saw her looking at you before the match," Ron was saying when Harry tuned back in, as the two trudged up the spiral staircases leading to the dormitories and common areas.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Romilda Vane. Gryffindor girl."

Harry smiled to himself. "I saw her too. She was also at that party Fred and George had when they got their apprenticeships back in July. Cormac McLaggen kept telling me to go show her my broomstick. She seemed nice, though."

"Nice, he says," Ron said with a little eye roll. "I'm not much for words and I could list off a thousand better ones. Like… chesty."

"Fourteen," Harry returned.

"Fifteen now. I remember asking her at the party when her birthday was."

"You chatted up a girl? This was when you and Hermione were having a spat, right?"

Even Ron's freckles blushed. "It was a break."

"Break implies there was something to be broken. You know I saw her looking at you the whole match. Big party tonight, mate, after the professors go to bed and pretend we have too. Even Neville's got a girlfriend these days, and he still has those boils from that plant thing from first year."

Ron murmured something like, "Even Neville," with a bitter tone, and then added, "I'll need Firewhiskey, mate. Lots of Firewhiskey. Heard from Vicky that Smith was bringing in a crate from the Valley. The good stuff. And if Smith's coming that means half of Gryffindor's sneaking out." He grinned aside to Harry. "Romilda too, I bet you."

Harry didn't mind that idea. "I'll say hi." She really was rather nice, he thought. Maybe I'll give her the Snitch...

The sun was setting on the abbey by the time Harry and Ron go to the top floor, where the upper years were housed. There were four dorm rooms for each year, two for each gender, and the three floors holding the dorms all shared a common room at the end of the hall, linked with another staircase that held a small library of books underneath it. The room had a warm hearth, chairs comfortable enough to sleep in, and a row of tables for studying students. After depositing their brooms in their dorm, Harry and Ron headed to the ground floor of the common room, which was already bustling with activity. The Quidditch team members who hadn't hit the pubs were at the centre of attention to the crowd, while a few who were disinterested in Quidditch were pointedly ignoring them and doing their homework. One of them was Hermione, of course, and both Harry and Ron wandered over.

"This is supposed to be our night off," Ron reminded her. "You even came down to the match and everything."

"I have to get this done," Hermione murmured without looking up. "You did good, by the way."

Ron grinned to himself. "Yeah, well. There were other people and they helped."

"Is this our Charms essay?" Harry asked, peering at her work and the little diagrams of wand movement.

"Of course not," she said idly, still not even looking up. "It's my Charms essay, and it's the one we're getting before the Christmas hols." She dipped her quill in some more ink. "Flitwick told me ahead of time."

Ron laughed. "Blimey, Hermione. If I'd known we could get some work early to avoid doing some over the hols, I… still wouldn't have asked, I don't think."

But Harry wasn't so amused. "Hermione… If you wanted to do it, Flitwick would just give you next week's work and essay. And the three weeks after. Not the holiday work."

She said nothing.

"You've already done them, haven't you."

She nodded slightly. It wasn't a proud nod, and Harry knew why.

Ron, however, didn't pick up on it. "Hermione, you're smart, but you'll burn out. Pick up a hobby. I got a Gobstones set -"

"Gobstones won't get me a place at The University, Ron," Hermione said sharply, finally meeting his eyes. Harry noticed hers were red.

"No way Helena's smartest won't start worshipping you when you get there," said Ron. "You've been their type of person since the start."

Hermione frowned. "Their type of person," she said bitterly. "When I started here and learnt there was an institute for even more advanced learning of magic in a city-state that valued intelligence, I applied for it. If I went to Ravenclaw's Institute, I could move on to their University after, and I'd be among the elite. They sent me tests, you know. Work we were doing in third year here and I learnt it in first year for their tests. Then I found out I wasn't what they were looking for. My parents could've paid the fees, even after the loss we'd take converting pounds to Galleons, but I was denied for one reason and one reason only. That they had to convert pounds in the first place. That they had no magic. And the year I applied The Institute lost gold trying to repair damages made after the Hieropath incident The University caused, and to get that gold back, they appealed to several families of a mind about the issue of… baseborns."

Harry and Ron both had nothing to say to that. Hermione was on the verge of crying, and while it wasn't the first time Harry had seen her do so, the outburst was unexpected.

"It was just that year," Hermione whispered to herself. "They had to make an example and show the people they were getting gold from they could be trusted with it. So they denied me, and anyone else here who tried and had non-magical parents. Lisa Turpin was one, you know. If I had applied the next year they would've accepted me. They didn't discriminate, never have, as long as you're smart and have the gold. But… but… They went to Tom Riddle for help. And look what happened."

And then, Harry understood.

"I saw you two talking to Malfoy earlier," Hermione continued. "He was smirking, the ferret-faced vile little… Ugh. He was smirking and he just lost a Quidditch match. I knew why. The vote was today and tomorrow the news would hit, and he would know ahead of time that Riddle won. Again. Another term in the one office we have to incite some real change. And it's his." She turned to Ron, reached over with a hand, and grasped one of his. "I've always worked hard here because I knew I would have to prove myself out there. When Gideon Prewett announced he was going up against Riddle this year, I thought to myself that… Maybe I could be involved in something great when I graduate. A new regime, a new set of ideals. I could get into a position to help change things because of my merit, and not just because I was also a magicborn, like everyone else there."

"You still can," Ron said weakly. "You always could've -"

"Can I? Can I really? I'm finish schooling here next year and there'll be nothing for me if I don't get into The University. But what if it's not enough? What if Riddle pays for a new research wing, and they decide to make another example out of me? Am I to wait until Gideon Prewett tries to beat Riddle again? If he failed this time, next time seems even more impossible. There's no Dumbledore out there. I can't be him, because even if I did get into The University and made contacts and allies and became a threat with a thousand naturalborns at my back, the fact of the matter is that I was born wrong, to them. Dumbledore was a half-blood. That got him enough attention for even the slightest of opportune moments. When Riddle was running for his first few terms, he was accused of being a half-blood, too. And if that's true, it still goes to show. It's wrong. All of it. And…"

She had to stop herself. There came a point of realisation in every person's life that their prospects aren't as good as they were the day before. Every hope and every dream is dashed at once. For Hermione, it was the moment she saw Malfoy smirking even after losing. Because Malfoy and his ilk won a larger battle, a battle in a figurative - and sometimes literal - war that had been going on for a thousand years. Big changes, Malfoy had promised.

There also came a point of realisation in every teenager's life that they're heading into an adult life, an adult world, and having adult problems. It's like a switch that flicks on one day, and for Harry felt it there and then. Click. Tom Riddle hadn't done anything beyond keep the status quo as Emissary for decades, but if something really was changing, if Malfoy wasn't just taunting… What was coming to the magical world was going to be a world Harry, Ron and Hermione were leaving school to live in.

And then there was that damn forest, with the niggling feeling Harry was forgetting something. It was still there after talking about girls with Ron, being warmed up by the abbey's fires, and even hearing Hermione's plight. It. Still. Lingered.

"I have to…" Hermione said, voice broken and tear-filled. She removed her hand from Ron's, stood from her chair and packed up her forgotten essay and supplies into her bag. "Enjoy the party."

Ron stood too. "Hermione -"

But then she was up the stairs and gone, a few confused students staring at her as she left. Their gazes shifted to Harry and Ron next.

"Let's get some air," Harry murmured, feeling hot under the collar of his robe.

Ron nodded numbly and they followed Hermione. By the time they were out in the dorm hallway, she had already entered her own dorm; it was password protected by a moving portrait of Joan Of Arc, and there was no way she'd simply let Harry and Ron in to comfort her. Not that we know how to, Harry thought. They were magicborn, and Hermione was right about half-bloods being tolerated; Harry himself was one, and if he wanted to get into the politics game, he certainly had better chances than Hermione.

Harry's footsteps took him to his and Ron's dorm, guarded by the portrait of Archduke Mercer. "Hog's warts," said Harry, and the portrait door swung open. Ron followed him in, and the two just stood in the centre of the room for a moment, surrounded by four-poster beds, cabinets and trunks.

"I don't know what to do," Ron admitted glumly.

"Me either," Harry replied, and ventured over to his bed. For lack of anything better to do, he flicked his trunk open with his wand and closed it shut again. Over and over.

"Maybe Malfoy was wrong, and, and, he was just trying to mess with us."

"If only."

"Hermione doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve any of it."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Silence fell on the room, broken only by Harry's trunk lid opening and closing. A pile of letters from home sitting on top of his schoolbooks were ruffled by the movement, and one flew out and landed on the floor. Harry left the lid open, bent down to pick it up, and froze.

He suddenly remembered. The letters.

Moving so fast that Ron snapped into attention, Harry started shuffling through the letters. He usually threw the most recent on top of the pile, but keeping them with his clothes and books meant things got reshuffled. He found one from his mother dated a month earlier before finding another from the year before. Next he found one from Hannah from Hufflepuff Valley, and then a short stack from Fred and George Weasley concerning some product testing he did for them. His mother, his father, his godfather Sirius, his Uncle Peter… and Hagrid. Immediately noticeable by the scratchy and uncoordinated scrawl, and usually containing invites for tea and the like. The most recent one was from three days ago, and included a more legible postscript from Hagrid's nine-year-old son Albus, promising to cheer Harry on at the Quidditch match. The one that day. Hagrid had promised the same.

"Hagrid wasn't there today," Harry said aloud. "Ron, Hagrid wasn't there. Mrs Hagrid wasn't there. Albus wasn't there. They always come to DMO matches. Albus waves that phoenix flag he made when he was three."

"Yeah, he does," Ron said, with a frown. "You think they're sick or something? That's a shame. We have Care of Magical Creatures on Monday, and he promised to show us this Krup-Flobberworm hybrid -"

Harry cut him off with a hand. "It's not that. Sick. I don't think it's sick. It's… They would've been home if they weren't at the match, right? Nowhere else they'd be. Bu the chimney had no smoke, and they always a fire going. We always used to think they had a dragon living there, remember?"

"Something came up," Ron suggested. "Mrs Hagrid's got family, and they could've had an accident. Why are you thinking about this so hard? We'll send an owl."

"I'm going over there," Harry said instantly. "Dinner's in a few minutes, so nobody'll notice if I sneak out. Just get there and back."

"Hagrid could be at dinner."

"It's a weekend, he'll be with his family." His mind made up, Harry stuffed the letters back into his trunk and retrieved his broom. He shucked on a warmer cloak, and turned to Ron. "Cover for me?"

"You really think something's wrong?"

"Ron, you know how I feel about The Forbidden Forest. The Hagrids live right next door to it. I'm risking a trip."

That was enough to get Ron to fetch his own broomstick. Harry didn't try to argue; he needed Ron watching his back. That was what best friends were for. That, and saying, "I told you so" should the situation end with finding the Hagrids all bundled up with red noses and sore throats.

Sneaking out wasn't that much of an event either, though Harry's heart threatened to burst through his chest the entire time. Magical security for the abbey only covered as much as anti-Apparation charms, though there were always stories about some of Dumbledore's secret enchantments, and so flying out a dorm window on brooms didn't trip any alarms. The sky was burning orange being extinguished by a shroud of night, with enough light to guide Harry and Ron to Hagrid's farm. As they got closer they started descending, and the sound of rustling leaves from the forest echoed in Harry's ears, and his heart beat all the more.

"Still no smoke!" Ron called out, pushing his broom as hard as he could to keep up with Harry.

"No light in the windows," Harry said to himself. "In fact..."

The entire area was cast in shadow. The cottage, the pumpkin patches, the fenced off Thestral enclosures. There was enough afternoon sun to light up a portion of the cottage, russet brown bricks unmoved and untouched by everything around it. Except… the shadow. No, not shadows. Vines. Thick, ropey, tendrils twisting around and crossing over each other, each dark vine competing with another to cover more space. It looked like a second skin stretched over the back of the cottage, gnarled and distorted and yet alive. Harry's skull pounded on itself, and it sounded like a call, telling him to run, run run.

But he didn't leave. He landed and dismounted his broom, and Ron did the same. The ground underneath them was soft and dry, but with a chill to it. Was it shaking? Harry wasn't sure. He pulled his wand out and lit the tip of it.

"Hagrid!" he called out, shining his light at the area. "Hagrid, are you here?"

"Growth potion," Ron said, as confident as could be given the tremor in his voice. "He accidentally got some on some of the forest and it made those vines take over his place. Took his family and went somewhere else for a bit."

No, it wasn't that. Harry didn't know how, but something told him there was more here. He ignored the cottage and looked around. The Thestral enclosure by the edge of the forest had had its fence completely destroyed, and what looked like sharp thorns covered the ground. The pumpkin patch was in similar disarray; Only a few were intact, the rest an orange slush covering the fence, as if they'd been completely pulverised. From a distance it looked wet, and up close it looked a lot less just pumpkin-coloured, tinted with a dark, foreboding, red. On top of a pile of the mush was a round object, and Harry flicked his wand at it and murmured, "Wingardium Leviosa."

A squelching sound followed, and when the object left the slush, it looked a lot less circular, instead looking as if it had a… tail? A stalk of some kind, dripping red…

Harry flinched when he saw what it was. An eye. Round with a blue iris and covered in blood and pumpkin. He flicked his wand again and the eye sailed back into the pile. Bile rose in his throat as Harry ventured forward even further, looking down at the slush pile. Pumpkins mixed with blood, and little bits and pieces of skin and bone. Some sort of jelly substance - brains? Harry didn't know. But it was splattered all over the surviving pumpkins and the fence enclosing them.

"Harry," Ron said, voice quieter than a whisper. And broken. His wand was pointed at something to Harry's right, and Harry turned to look.

A tall oak tree stood there, one Harry had seen on the outskirts of Hagrid's farm before, but never there. It wasn't any bigger than it had been, but it was covered in far more blood and gore. And, draped over a thick branch was a one-legged torso, the large hole where the other leg was showing unidentifiable organs crushed in with the intestines. Both arms were still attached, but were a mess of twigs and bone. The torso was covered by as many scraps of clothing as there were scraps of skin, and there was enough of a shape for Harry to realise it was a woman.

Hagrid's wife had blue eyes, Harry remembered. Had.

The wind blew a welcome breeze to the appearance of nighttime, and the leaves on the bloodied oak tree started to fall. And while the oak stayed still, it felt like it was rumbling with movement, preparing to strike. Or… rumbling with laughter. Something.

His urge to throw up even higher than before, Harry turned to Ron, so pale-faced with shock at the corpse they found that he hadn't even vomited yet.

"How did this…" he croaked.

"I don't know," said Harry. "But the forest."

He should've told Ron to jump on his broom and go. He should've done the same. He should've pretended it never happened, that he was just seeing things or having a nightmare. But he didn't, he couldn't. Hagrid, his son Albus. They weren't in that tree. Then where were they? Harry turned from the pumpkin patch, and, with morbid curiosity ventured to the broken Thestral enclosure. He couldn't see Thestrals, but he knew they bled and died as much as any creature. The enclosure was empty but for the thorns, and the subtlest of impressions made visible shapes. Some with four legs, some with less. Some that were just indistinguishable, like heads or limbs, piled together above the thorny patch. They weren't like any other thorns Harry had seen, and it looked like only the tip of them was sticking out of the ground.

All that was left was… the cottage. Harry walked as if in a daze, not knowing what he'd find. Stray Thestral limbs blocked his path here and there, but there was nothing he could do about that. Mrs Hagrid's corpse was burned on his memory, and it had frozen Ron to where he still was. But not Harry. He needed to see the cottage. All those vines fighting and crossing over each other, and enough force could break those bricks like they were nothing.

"Harry! Don't!" Ron called out, suddenly moving.

Harry turned to him before tripping again, on yet another limb. Only this time… he could see it. He scrambled to his feet with a sharp noise of terror, shining his wand light on it. An arm, thick and meaty and covered in coarse black hair. And blood. The arm of the largest man Harry had ever met, lying in a pool of blood. Harry took a step back. And another. The light from his wand shone into side of the cottage, past the broken glass and stray vines of one of the windows. He caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, of pieces. Pieces wrapped in vines, pulled apart from a source having left a burst of blood behind.

A burst of blood covering a very familiar phoenix banner.

That was it. The final straw breaking through the dull shock and the forest's laughter. Harry retched his last meal on Hagrid's arm, his throat burning and eyes prickling. From the sound of it, Ron joined him briefly, before hopping on his broom. Harry did the same, dazed and head on fire. He hardly flew straight as he turned, stopping as a gale wind picked up and there was a great crashing sound somewhere in the trees, the crick and crack of movement, like a skeleton being broken and remade, shaking from the dry ground to the night air. Blood rushed to Harry's ears and eyes and throat and it burned.

But his foot moved, and he kicked it off the ground. The broomstick did the rest, pushing him up and away, blissfully away. His stomach felt like he'd jumped off Griffin's Peak all over again, but there was no feeling of security, no feeling of having done this a million times. He'd never seen mutilated bodies where friends had been, caused by a forest that was moving, growing, shifting, reacting, living. Killing.

And, worse still, as he and Ron shot off in the sky as far away from the forest as they could, Harry looked over his shoulder. Some of the tree trunks had risen taller than the rest, their branches visible like massive arms, and all reaching out. Towards them.

The forest was coming, and if the feeling Harry got in his very being, deep as if it'd always been there, was right, it wouldn't stop. It had been there far longer than Harry, Ron, Hermione, Malfoy, the Hagrids, Romilda Vane, Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore… and it would linger far beyond them, living on a floor of human bones and nourished by a lake of blood.

Harry slept that night, but it wasn't the respite from the waking horrors he had hoped for. No, it was a million nightmarish images and scenarios, all of them conveying one message:

Run. Run. Run.

..::..--.--..::..

To Be Continued

…?

..::..--.--..::..

-- Worldbuilding Notes:

- The four towns are pretty obvious named. Griffin's Peak started as a small castle on the peak overlooking an expanse of town, pretty similar to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade but in a different scale; the town exists to support the school as part of the city-state, and Godric's Hollow sits under the purview even if it's down in Wales. Hufflepuff Valley is exactly what it sounds like, and folk there probably live in basically, Hobbit holes, to match their rustic aesthetic and hard-working people. Somewhere it was said that Salazar Slytherin came from fens, so Archfens's name is just that plus Arch, because Arch makes everything better. Archfens is probably a big old castle surrounded by manors and castles of the other rich elite. Helena is Ravenclaw's daughter, and in my mind Rowena named the city-state after her because she needed to marry Helena off to some baron to acquire the land/resources to start it all. Helena was, much like in canon, pissy at her mother and almost destroyed the project after Rowena died, but then Ravenclaw's high-minded followers and appreciators of her magic stepped in. The town name stuck out of respect for Rowena's somewhat misguided wishes, though the first school is named after her.

- There are six magic schools. In Griffin's Peak, there's two. One is Godric Gryffindor's School For Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is steepled in tradition and old money. Not quite prejudicial, but still prefers any baseborns to have a bit of money to attend (The first Muggleborns that did attend were Lords's and Earls's sons and daughters, their parents paying their way to help found the school, and their descendants were made into big families and their magical lineage faked to help make the school's image shinier), and won't be that pleasant for them. It's like that exclusive and stuffy private school that has the biggest name to it for attending, even though it's rather small these days.

The other is Dumbledore, McKinnon and Ogden's Academy For All Wizards And Witches (or whatever), shortened to DMO, was founded by Dumbledore in the early 1900s as sort of an upstart alternative that openly accepted Muggleborns and went out of their way to find and take them in, using fortunes from old families in Griffin's Peak that didn't follow blood superiority like Slytherin. They use a scholarship system to allow students the basics of living and study, and families like the Potters donate regularly. Ogden, one of the founders, get most of their gold from Firewhiskey, and as times change and the people in charge of that gold get more and more swayed to sell to richer people instead, they might decide to pull their support from DMO and with it, a pro-baseborn agenda. McKinnon family are loyal bros, that is all. Also, DMO's teachers and courses are basically Hogwarts, because I think there's a bit of Dumbledore influence in keeping the old school stuff - Charms, Transfiguration, Divination et cetera - but mixing in the eclectic teachers and the like (Trelawney, Hagrid, Binns), as well as being the only school to study Muggle Studies as an actual study of their history and ways of life instead of a "here's how they burned wizards and deserve to die" propaganda thing.

Hufflepuff Valley has no school, but keeps an apprenticeship system and has kids learn practical magics through homeschooling or these apprenticeships; although they can be sent to the other schools if the family has the gold (Or take a scholarship for DMO. Thing is, however, DMO can't show preference for Hufflepuff Valley magicborn kids over baseborn, so it becomes an ongoing question of whether or not DMO's fortunes and donations can continue to sustain or whether or not they should accept a little extra gold from H Valley to let their kids in instead of baseborns).

Helena has two schools: Ravenclaw's Institute Of High Magical Learning, and the Advanced Magical University. Both are exclusive in the need to have both the gold and the brains, and start cultivating talent much younger. Ravenclaw's accepts kids as young as eight, and the course structure - research-based, always changing with the times, porn for people like Taure - could allow them to move on to the University as early as fourteen. The University takes on the stuff that the Unspeakables of canon would, and as such has a bit of a reputation of accidentally almost destroying Helena once or twice with some unholy invention.

Archfens has The Slytherin School For True Witches and Wizards (Or whatever name sounds mildly insulting to Godric's, as the school was founded in reply and made sure to point out how Godric accepted those Muggle Lord's magical children). It's basically Durmstrang in a swamp. Big ass Basilisk statue in the dining hall that may actually have the basilisk inside of it, just waiting to be released should enemies invade the castle. Muwhahaha.

- Not much in the way of other notes, really. James and Lily are still alive, obviously, so's the Longbottoms and the Prewetts and for some reason a whole bunch of folk are - name familiarity, not going for a Taure-level AU here, so who cares. In my mind the reason Dumbledore got killed wasn't because of Riddle, but Grindelwald. DMO used to be GDMO before a certain member of that foursome decided that his and Dumbledore's secret plan to accept anyone, train them up and build a power base to just kill off the Muggles for the greater good and a magical utopia wasn't going anywhere because Dumbledore had a heart, and that just made Grindelwald bitter and pursue other powers on his own. Grindelwald built himself an army of some kind or something. Dumbledore tried to put him down. He failed. Riddle didn't. Who knows. And so yeah. The Forbidden Forest creeping in and being alive is basically giving this an easy platform for an ASOIAF-style mix of politics and war, with a bigger threat coming. And because it's just plain cool.

So yeah. Hope y'all liked.

 

Another POD: Horcruxes are never invented and Tom Riddle thus is not able to use them, or has to himself create the theory, but obviously keeps it to himself. Not knowing if making more than one is possible, he only has one horcrux, and Dumbledore, not knowing that horcruxes exist, does not realize that Voldemort survived the night on Godric's Hollow.

By the way, MattSilver, excellent small story. I hope you can continue it and turn it into a full fledged fanfic. I'd definitely read it.