A silly 'What if' Drabble where Dumbledore is bringing Harry to meet potential kin to provide a Blood Ward to a Slytherin!Harry. (obviously AU)

"Who is it? Who's there?" Came a voice from behind a thick oak door.

"Sybill, hello," the headmaster greeted the live-in professor warmly as if he were not carrying the conversation through a door. "May we come in?"

Several locks could be heard grinding open and then there was a shriek of "No!" followed quickly by the sound of a teacup shattering. Harry looked worriedly up at the headmaster, but the old wizard looked completely unconcerned.

The door slowly opened and a woman with large glasses peeked her head out. "Headmaster, I just read your fortune. You're in terrible danger."

"Quite right. Remember what we talked about last week?" The tall woman with frizzy hair nodded vigorously. "Well, it is now time for you to meet Harry Potter."

"Er, hullo. I'm to live with you," Harry said as he stepped forward with his trunk behind him.

Suddenly the professor gasped, stumbling backwards. "You're wearing green! On Summer Solstice!!"

"Erm, yes... I'm a Slytherin so our school robes--"

There came a great shriek. and the door slammed shut on Harry, causing his ears to pop.

Nonplussed, Harry turned to the headmaster. "Who's next on the list, sir?"

 

The sun was shining and Peter honestly hoped that he would survive, that he wouldn't be as useless as his friends said.

They thought he was a coward.
-
"Padfoot, be our secret keeper-"

"Prongs," Things were always perfect for them, Sirius would accept and they would live happily until Sirius was caught and he died. "Make Wormtail do it-" An old line from when they had been school boys and he had tested the pranks beforehand, "He... no one would ever suspect him-I mean, I'm not strong enough."

Not man enough...

"I don't..." Peter had been pushed to the side as Moony spoke up over him.

"He won't get caught. Who would suspect him?" Lily, sweet and beautiful, walked out as Harry gave a cry.

"But..." Sirius didn't listen as he pushed on.

"I know that Wormtail would love the honor of protecting our youngest member... You-Know-Who won't know that the Secret Keeper is him. I'll even pretend to be the Secret Keeper!"

"I think..." Peter had plans. He wanted a wife, a healthy son, and a nice house to live in.

Just like Prongs has...

"He's not brave or anything, but I know he can do it!"
-
He gulped as Lucius Malfoy smirked at him, "Mister Pettigrew, what brings you into the vipers den?"

"I-I know you're a death eater!" Malfoy's lips twitched as he spoke as to him as though he were a child.

"Mister Pettigrew, such a thing-"

"I want to join." Lucius Malfoy smiled, amusement clear on his features.

"If you were capable of bringing anything to a cause as worthy as the Dark Lord's... what would it be?"

"I..." Here it goes...

"Do not waste my time."

"He's not brave or anything..."

"I know where the Potters are!"

I'm brave enough for this...
--
:fire

I feel dirty for some reason...

Anyways, this was something I thought of writing years ago as a three-shot, this was the first part.

The second part was in Sirius's point of view where Peter yells his accusation and he starts laughing while the same basic thought runs through his head.

Oh, he got me good!

It was supposed to involve some stuff about pranks or something... this was years ago and it has begun to bother me again.

The third was just Peter's thoughts as he watched his dead friend's son duel Voldemort and feels regret at that moment for not dying for him for the first time since he began his life on the run. The ending was something along the lines of him wondering as to how proud James would be before he starts crying while thinking:

I'll never know now...

But seriously, I think that was a dickish thing for Sirius to do before the series started-"Hey, I don't want to die a horrible and painful death for my best friend in the whole world. You do it, Wormtail!"

 

Harry looked with surprise as his rival stormed inside his office, red in the face and waving a letter around.

He walked closer to his desk and threw the piece of paper right at it.

"What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little mudblood?"

What the hell? What was this guy going on about? Harry was about to protest, but the visitor continued.

"I’ll have you know I graduated Hogwarts at the top of my class, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on blood traitors, and I have over 300 confirmed kills."

Now that was just untrue, Harry doubted this guy ever killed anyone, let alone three hundred people.

"I am trained in magical warfare and I’m the top duelist in the entire Death Eater force. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Owl Post? Think again, muggle."

Okay, it was clear now. He was either hallucinating or this was a prank.

"As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the Diagon Alley and your location is being divined right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my wand."

Harry sincerely doubted any of this was true, but yet again he was denied the right to respond.

"Not only am I extensively trained in wandless magic, but I have access to the entire potion brewery of the Ministry of Magic and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the magical world, you little shit."

Harry's fist hit the desk, he had enough of this bullshit. He rose and slowly went for his wand, but this idiot either didn't seem to notice or care, as he started laughing.

"If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little 'clever' comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot."

Wait, comment? This couldn't have been about that.

"Malfoy, this entire rant is because I called you a bouncy ferret? Really?"

Draco stopped laughing and pointed his wand at Harry.

"I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo."

 

I read Malfoy's lines in the voice of Terl from Battlefield Earth.

 

Looks like /k/ had a leak.

 

Harry Potter/DC crossover. The original intention was to write two or three reasonably sized one-shots but it never got beyond this and some notes.

The Knight of Olympus

<>

Part I

Origins

<>​

Lily blew the door off its hinges.

Her sensible flats slapped against the scarred floorboards. Her calves and thighs burned with exertion and her lower back ached terribly. Stray curses hammered the dark shop’s exterior wall, ripping through the brick-and-mortar façade. Warm summer sunlight poured through the holes, lessening the dimness in the second-hand clothing store. The roar of the battle – the desperate screams of the dying, the steady tramp of a thousand dead feet, the roars of the commanders and the cacophony of sounds created by a hundred different spells – made it impossible to hear anything properly.

It was confusion and madness and noise. It was war.

And the massively pregnant Lily Potter was caught in the middle of it.

Heavy and awkward, Lily ducked behind a rack of garish robes near the back of the store as a Death Eater stepped through the door, wreathed in smoke from the burning café across the street. Lily twisted her wand in a tight circle and stabbed it at her right ear. “Le cloisteáil!”

Her ears tingled pleasantly and the din of the sprawling fight outside became quieter while the sounds inside the store were amplified. The clothes hanging on the racks rustled as the building was buffeted by shockwaves from the spellfire outside and the Death Eater’s heavy footfalls rang in Lily’s ears as he stalked through the store, searching for her.

He gave a low, mocking laugh. It was half-familiar, like an ugly blouse that had been hidden in the back of the closet for years and recently rediscovered – familiar but unpleasant. “I know you’re here, mudblood!” There was a singsong quality to the voice that couldn’t disguise its malice. “I can smell you.”

Lily heard the swish of a wand cutting through the air and cast a shield charm. There was a whoosh and her world caught fire.

Blue fire washed over her shield charm, flowing around the flat disc to lick at her hungrily at her sweat-slick skin. With a twist of her wrist the shield changed. It grew, enveloping her in a seamless cocoon of protective magic that kept the fire at bay. It did nothing for the heat, which beat at her through the magic, making it scorching hot and uncomfortable inside the shield.

Lily brandished her wand and there was a great sucking noise as the oxygen was sucked from the fire, suffocating it. The flames died in seconds, leaving nothing but burnt robes, charred floorboards and residual heat. Her shield disappeared and she stood with some difficulty, cradling her stomach with her free hand, while the Death Eater flung the clothes rack across the room with a casual swipe of his wand, leaving nothing but empty space between them.

He was tall and thickly built. The drape of his robes revealed that the thickness was fat rather than muscle. The ring and middle fingers on his left hand were badly scarred and he constantly flexed them as though trying to banish some stiffness that had settled in them. Lily recognised the scars. She had given them to him when she had fused his fingers together during her last year at Hogwarts.

“Mulciber.” Her voice was full of disgust.

He used his ruined hand to remove his mask, letting it drop to the ground. He had a still, dead face, with sunken cheeks and a corpse-white pallor. There was slyness and cruel hatred in his eyes though.

“How does Potter do it?” Mulciber asked, staring at her stomach. “The very thought of sullying myself with you turns my stomach.” For genuine purists like Mulciber having sex with a muggle-born was like having sex with a dog.

Lily said nothing, though a number of crude replies sprung to mind. Seven years at Hogwarts had taught her the futility of trading barbs with Death Eaters. Instead, she conjured a shining lance that smashed through Mulciber’s hasty, barely formed shield charm and slammed into chest. He was lifted off of his feet and hurled into the wall. Silvery lines of magic flared to life over his robes as the protective enchantments activated to save him from the worst of the damage.

The red-faced witch slashed her wand through the air, trailing black-tinged red motes from the tip. “Vivisectus Inflammare!” The motes struck the crumpled, dazed Death Eater in the chest. His robes’ protective enchantments failed in a burst of light. Lines of fire crisscrossed his chest, carving through cloth and skin. The cloth smouldered and red embers glowed brightly within the dark, heavy folds while the flesh at the edge of the cuts was burnt black. Dark red blood welled up, out of the dozen crosshatch cuts.

Lily raised her wand, murderous intent written over her face.

Too late she heard a wand swishing through the air behind her, the creak of the floorboards. She had been so focused on Mulciber that she didn’t notice the sounds until it was too late. The hex hit her in the back. She doubled over with a gasp, a sharp spike of pain burning through her stomach. She tried to turn but the pain robbed her of the little swiftness the pregnancy hadn’t taken.

A whisper of power snatched Lily from her feet and flung her against the wall, pinning her there. Her willow wand was yanked from her hand and went skittering across the floor, disappearing under a rack of second-hand robes. Adrian Wilkes stood next to the counter. He didn’t wear a mask. At nineteen he was already a wanted man, with eight kills and a reputation as a torturer. His face provoked more fear than a Death Eater’s white mask.

For all his reputation he was a gawky youth and when he moved towards Lily it was with an awkward shuffle, like he wasn’t quite sure that his feet were going to do what he wanted. Wilkes had always been awkwardly proportioned, even in school. No one teased him about it though, not after the first time.

The pain in her belly grew worse, becoming a constant throb of agony, and the part of her not consumed by her pain realised that she was bleeding. Lily sobbed uncontrollably, feeling a wild, primitive, hunted-animal terror.

Wilkes smiled; his face lighting up like a little boy’s. “I made that spell just for you. Do you like it?” His voice was young and earnest. He really wanted to know if she liked it.

“Please …” Lily begged in a thin, scared voice.

Wilkes’ smile disappeared and his expression became dull and lifeless. “That …” His face twisted with confusion and he let out a kind of hacking gasp, like he had something caught in his throat. His mouth opened and closed like a fish’s, revealing a swollen black tongue that was blocking his airway. Wilkes folded, falling to the ground. He spasmed once and then he was still.

A young man barely older than Wilkes stood over his body. He was tall and tan with smooth cheeks and blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He stepped over Wilkes’, moving with the kind of casual grace and economy of movement that intensely physical people tend to display.

The spell holding her failed and Lily dropped to the floor. Her legs collapsed under her but before she could fall the stranger caught her and gently lowered her down. He pressed a hand against her stomach and Lily gasped in relief as the pain subsided. The relief was short lived.

“My son … Harry. He’s coming,” Lily said, grasping at her belly. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Her eyes were wide and darted about frantically, looking for help.

“Be calm,” the man said. His voice was deeper than Lily had expected, older. “My sister will help you.”

There was a slender young woman kneeling next to him, hovering over Lily though the redhead had no idea where she had come from. She smelt of wood and earth and when the woman took Lily’s hand in her own the witch could feel calluses.

“I need a Healer!”

“Peace,” the woman urged and a wave of bliss washed over Lily, smothering her pain and her perception. She felt like she was floating, her senses a relaxed haze. “I have delivered more children than any of your Healers.”

If she lived to be a hundred Lily would never remember all the details her son’s birth. Instead, she remembered the young woman’s warm voice and her insistent instructions and the feeling of her son being placed in her arms. She was vaguely aware of her rescuer and midwife talking over her but the words escaped her as she fought a losing battle against exhaustion and unconsciousness.

<>​

“What game is this, Apollo?” Artemis stared at her brother, ignoring the unconscious woman and her son.

“Game? Why must I be playing a game?”

“You aren’t known for assisting mothers on the cusp of childbirth,” Artemis said flatly.

Apollo reached out and brushed a wisp of black hair from Harry’s forehead. “There is a whiff of fate about him.”

Artemis looked around the store, her face screwed up in disgust. “This isn’t our land, Apollo. You cannot just claim him.”

Apollo looked away from Harry to stare at his sister. “Our land is a tiny island, our supplicants few and our power waning. This is the new world, sister. We must take our opportunities where we can find them. Father agrees.”

Artemis’ disapproval didn’t waver.

“You are shaping your champion,” Apollo said. “Would you begrudge us our right to have one of our own?”

<>​

In the aftermath of the battle Lily was found by Aurors sweeping the area for any hiding Death Eaters. Her husband was notified and Healers examined both mother and son and declared them to be healthy, though tired. When making a statement for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Lily could only describe her rescuer and his sister in the vaguest of terms. James issued a request for them to come forward in half a dozen publications and ran daily broadcasts for a month on the Wizarding Wireless Network. He wanted to reward the people who had saved his family.

No one ever came forward who wasn’t a conman looking for a quick galleon. Eventually the Potters stopped looking. It was dangerous to know them and worse if you admitted having killed a Death Eater to protect them. They decided that the siblings had remained anonymous for their protection and weren’t going to begrudge them that.

They had their own problems to deal with.

 

I want more Alive.

 

I liked it, only noticed one thing that was a bit off:

Lilly says,

But it doesn't make too much sense, because it implies there were known Death Eaters at Hogwarts, which seems odd considering the otherwise serious tone of the narrative. I think changing Death Eaters to 'blood purists', 'their kind', or something else like that would make a bit more sense.

 

Very short drabble inspired by seeing a fem!Harry fic where fem!Harry is called Isis.

 

I ain't got no idea, why so in few or almost in no stories elves are used to deliver bombs. The go through all wards, can teleport and wizards pay them no attention. Perfect saboteurs!

 

The Power He Knows Not: House Elves with Erumphant Horns, promised seventy-two dirty rooms to clean in House Elf heaven.

 

HARRY HU AKBAR!!! KABOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!

 

Actually, I didn't find that funny at all.

Well written, sure, but not really all that funny.

 

A short scene of nothing, really. Just wrote what came to mind.

 

Just a stray idea inspired by #20 on Taure's list of cliches. Doesn't really go anywhere, but... yep.

The Green-Eyed Monster (or why Harry should be a noble gentleman)

Dean yawned as he plopped down on his four-poster bed.

'So - I bumped into Corner downstairs.'

'That yoke?' rang Seamus' voice from the bathroom.

Dean ignored him. 'Oi. Harry,' he called.

The bespectacled wizard glanced up from his copy of Seeker Weekly.

'Yeah?'

'I bumped into Corner downstairs,' Dean said again with a slow nod.

Harry stared at him. 'Okay,' he said, returning to his magazine.

Dean frowned for a moment. 'So... you don't wanna know... ' he said nonchalantly, making odd hand gestures as he regarded the ceiling, possibly waiting for some divine sign.

Harry sighed as he shut the magazine. 'What's the story, Dean?' he asked.

'You don't have to be like that, mate- '

'Like what?' asked Harry with a raised eyebrow. Dean groaned into his hands.

'Are you all righ- ' started Harry as the taller wizard launched himself from the four-poster.

'Look,' said Dean with a deep exhale. 'I know things are different with you and Ginny now, yeah? I get that, and I swear this has nothing to do with me- '

'Sounds like it does... '

'But it's a small world, mate,' continued Dean, 'and while you might think that your actions don't reflect on us- '

'Where are you going with this, Dean?'

Dean glowered. 'Corner says that Padma saw you and Ginny sucking face round the back of the Shrieking Shack, and you had your hands up her- '

'Oh yeah?' echoed another mirthful lilt from the bathroom.

Harry shrugged. 'Fair play,' he muttered. 'We thought it was pretty remote, you know – what with it being the Shack.'

Dean gave him an incredulous look. 'You what? Are you having a laugh, mate?'

'No, but I am!' Seamus shouted in-between sniggers.

'What's your issue anyway?' asked Harry, arms crossed.

'My issue?' blustered Dean, his eyes narrowed. 'What's your issue? Bloody Chosen One – doesn't that count for something? While you're gallivanting around Hogsmeade doing who knows what with... she's a good witch, mate, not some scarlet harlot!'

'You're sounding a lot like Ron right now,' Harry said under his breath.

'And why outside?' Dean pressed on. 'We have broom closets, Harry. Myrtle's bathroom!'

'What I want to know,' said Harry, standing up to squarely face the other wizard, 'is why our 'purity' matters to you. And what was Padma even doing there?'

'Cheeky bit of menage a trois?'

'Shut up, Seamus!' Harry and Dean snapped in chorus.​

 

Short bit I've been thinking about for a while. Could end up being part of an HP fic I wanna write someday.

/~/

He was in over his head and it had never been more apparent.

What had originally been a routine, if off-the-record investigation had rapidly devolved into something he had been far more accustomed to back in the war. The altercation near the Seine had revealed far more about the nature of this assignment than he was comfortable with.

Those hadn’t been run-of-the mill wizards he had dueled. They had been confident in their approach, coordinated in their assault, and disciplined in their forced retreat. The fact that he had been unable to apprehend even one of them without seriously injuring them was a testament to some serious magical military training on their part.

Even Voldemort’s most feared followers had never been that well-organized back during the war. And even if they had, the distinct lack of truly Dark magic used pointed to a group that certainly wasn’t made up of runaway Death Eaters. They had been trying to apprehend him – as he had been trying to do to them – not to kill him. Even if the group he was investigating knew it was he who was searching, they would’ve been aiming to kill, not to capture.

And there was no way they would know that he was the one searching; Kingsley had been adamant in his anonymity.

Not for the first time did Harry question his friend’s less than above-board assignments, but until proven otherwise he had to soldier on. Withdrawing now could prove disastrous if his information was to be believed. He was questioning it more by the minute.

Adjusting his glasses, he sat down on a park bench in the Quartier Latin, where he had ambled to in his thoughts. He had long ago determined he wasn’t being followed.

“Think, Harry,” he commanded himself, mind spinning. The wizards had worn unmarked robes with hoods charmed to obfuscate their faces. That level of enchantment was rarely available to anyone outside of authorized auror forces. Even he struggled to get his hands on battle robes of that caliber. Which means you’re dealing with the French Ministry or, worse… “The ICW,” he finished in a whisper.

The independent governing body had aurors that operated in every country across the globe. More often than not it was in advisory capacity. They would call on the resident government’s aurors for assistance or advice regarding the apprehension of international criminals that were all too willing to cross borders. Harry knew from personal experience that they were highly competent, often ruthless operators. Such was the nature of their business.

He had worked in conjunction with ICW aurors on more than one occasion – Kingsley was always eager to impress, sending his best to help whenever asked. The coordination of his attackers’ offensive had been vaguely familiar to him.

Don’t assume anything, a voice that sounded rather like the late Mad-eye Moody told him. Just because his first intuition was logical, it didn’t make it right. Harry ignored the other voice that told him that his first intuition was right far more often than not.

Regardless of who exactly he was dealing with, there was no doubt he had either stumbled or been led into a situation that was a cut above his pay-grade. An investigation of remaining Death Eater splinter cells certainly didn’t require the attention of the ICW; and even if it did, they weren’t likely to attempt quite so violent an apprehension just because he stuck his nose in. Whoever had attacked him, be it the French Ministry or others, had treated him as a criminal.

And that meant all was not well.

Sighing, pinching his nose in frustration at somehow ending up in yet another situation he had no business being in, Harry rose and made his way to a nearby café. Passing a group of university aged muggles at a table, he ignored the thought that he was, at most, four years older than any one of the students. Not for the first time did he wonder at his place in life; that he, at an age many were still struggling to find their niche in the world, was tangling with international criminals.

But that was a tangent he didn’t have the time of patience for at the moment.

“Avez-vous un téléphone?” Harry asked the attendant at the counter. The girl, again no more than a few years younger than he, distractedly pointed to the back of the small café.

He withdrew a few francs from his jacket pocket and inserted them before dialing internationally. He was in over his head and he knew it. That meant he needed backup. Unfortunately, the presence of his attackers meant that all the official, wizarding channels were probably being monitored for any unexpected activity. Even if he wanted to contact the Ministry, he would likely be found out before any backup could be sent his way.

And even if he managed to get in touch with his government, he wasn’t quite sure how much he trusted Kingsley at the moment.

There was only one man he could count on to help with no questions asked until he arrived. As the phone rang in his ear, Harry just hoped that he was home.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“WEASLEY RESIDENCE!” was all but screamed in his ear as the phone was answered. Harry withheld a wry smile as he pulled the receiver away from his likely damaged ear.

“Hasn’t Hermione taught you how to properly answer a phone by now, you berk?” he asked.

“That you, Harry?” his best friend answered in a far more manageable volume. “’Course she has, mate! I just do it to annoy her these days. Don’t tell her I said that,” the redhead whispered. Despite the gravity of his situation, Harry couldn’t help cracking a smile at the image of his friend glancing around furtively for his fiancée.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Listen, I need a bit of help, mate. Managed to get caught up in a bit of shit earlier and could do with another pair of eyes.”

Ron paused on the other end. When he spoke his voice was all business. “You’re on a case, then?”

“Something like that.”

“Off-the-record then?” Harry grinned as his friend put the pieces together quickly. The auror academy had done Ron some good before he had dropped out of the corps to help George run the joke shop. “Where should I meet you?”

“How quickly can you get a portkey to Paris?”

“Paris!? Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron exclaimed. Harry withheld his grimace as he heard his friend let out a long-suffering sigh. “It’ll take me a couple hours minimum. Can probably get there by midnight on the last portkey.”

“Perfect. Meet me at the Pont Neuf Bridge when you get here. I’ll cover the portkey cost when you show up.”

“’Course you will, mate. Those things are bloody expensive. I’m also leaving it up to you to explain to Hermione why I suddenly decided to take an unplanned trip to France,” Ron informed him in a voice that brooked no argument.

Harry couldn’t contain a wince at the thought of that particular conversation. “Yeah, alright then. Suppose I owe you that one.”

“Ha! You bet your arse you do! If I don’t make it in time it’s because she’s holding me hostage.” Harry barked a laugh at his friend’s words.

“Sounds about right. I’ll see you in a few hours, Ron.”

“Stay safe, Harry.” The conversation ended with the click of the receiver and Harry hung up on his end.

Turning to face the rapidly darkening sky outside the café, the green-eyed man grinned in anticipation. He may be in over his head, but at least he’d have some help by day’s end. Other than the man’s fiancée, there was no one he trusted with his back more than Ron Weasley.

They had a case to close. “It’ll be just like old times,” he mused.

/~/

 

Vigilantes?

 

Not really. Takes place post-canon, obviously. Six years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry is an auror at the Ministry. Using a combination of his natural aptitude for defense magic and the intuition that led to him solving mysteries back at Hogwarts, he's actually pretty fucking good at his job. Because of this, Kingsley, the minister, sends him on less-than-legal cases cleaning up messes that have been left over from the war with Voldemort.

Just an idea I'm thinking of fleshing out. Involves a competent, auror!Harry getting mixed up in some international shit, kicking some ass, taking some names, and struggling to define himself after he's fulfilled his destiny of killing Voldemort.