That was really well done. I definitely want to read more. I'm kind of interested in where this will go. I've already started imagining all sorts of potential scenes in my head. Will they hear the rumors about Harry Potter if so how would they react? These are the sort of things floating through my head right now. I could definitely see Harry coming up in conversation at the Ravenclaw table.

Laetitia seems like a fun character as well. I normally dislike the way fangirls are generally written but you've made her kind of endearing in a very short period of time. Maybe it's her insecurity that does it.

 

I'd be down to read more of that. It's a new take on Fleur, which is always good, and I've always liked seeing a main character from the eyes of others when done well.

 

A/n: Figured I'd post this MTG/Hp crossover since I doubt it'll ever turn into a story of its own. The basic premise was that Harry ends up in Innistrad and I never got any further.



Dumbledore had always said that death wasn’t the end, that it was just the first step to the next great adventure. Harry almost wished that he hadn’t been absolutely right.

One second, he’d been on ground in the forbidden forest, dead. Or so he’d thought, in any case. Then he’d seen a light in front of him and he’d headed for it. If he was dead, then heading for the light seemed like a good idea. Unless Aunt Marge was right and he was heading to the fires of Hell.

At this point, what else was there to do but to take that final step?

His outstretched hand touched the light and… It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t cold either. It was just there… Was this really death?

Gradually, Harry began to realize that something had changed. It was still cold, but not
in the same way. The forest had been a little misty, but now it was raining. The ground under his fingers had been naked earth and now it was grass.

The light was still there, but further ahead, and closing quickly. No, wait. There were several lights… And they were different from before. It took Harry a moment to realize they were torches.

The blurry human outlines resolved them into soldiers, four of them, who spread out around him. The way they kept their distance reminded Harry of the way he and his fellow students had initially approached Buckbeak. They thought he was dangerous.

Why, though?

And what kind of crap afterlife was this anyway?

“Keep still,” growled a man’s deep voice.

Harry had managed his way to his knees and froze like that, his hands resting on his knees. The light of one of the torches was almost blindingly bright in darkness when one of the soldiers shoved it within a foot of his face.

“Look at his eyes,” said another man in a hushed tone. “Vampire, you reckon?”

There was a gleam of silver and then Harry felt something cold press up against his chin.

Harry’s gaze trailed the blade of a spear up along its shaft, to the wielder’s slender hands and in turn up. The soldier in front of him was a woman. Hell, barely that. She couldn’t be more than a few years older than he was. Or that he had been. Whichever.

Her flaxen hair was long and looked tousled, but that didn’t seem to concern her. She was kind of cute, Harry thought. In a girl next door kind of way, but wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Then again, with the spear pressing against his rapidly beating pulse, she sure had his attention.

“Open your mouth,” she said.

The authority in her voice reminded him disconcertingly of Professor McGonagall and left him pretty sure she was in charge.

“Listen, I don’t know where-“

“Quiet!” She hissed. “Open- your- mouth. Before I decide to stop taking risks and end you right here.”

Harry did as he was told.

“Show me your teeth.”

Harry bit his teeth together and some of the tension seemed to leave the girl. She stuck the tip of the spear into the wet soil with a squelching sound and drew a sword from her hip, taking a step closer.

“If you move toward me,” she cautioned in a low voice.

“You’ll end me,” Harry finished for her with dramatic emphasis. “You’re pretty enough to be an angel, I suppose, but I thought they were supposed to be nicer.”

The girl froze for a second and blinked. There were chuckles from behind Harry, but a glare from their leader shut them up.

Using her sword as incentive, she made Harry turn his head this way and that, then finally she approached and put two fingers to his carotid artery.

A wolf howled in the distance and the soldier in front of him tensed, pale blue eyes searching the darkness.

“On your feet. We need to move.”

Harry accepted a hand-up and was surprised to find that not only did he manage to stay upright under his own power, but that he felt fine. He’d been exhausted when he walked into the clearing to meet up with Voldemort and then, well, dead.

“I’m Harry,” he said, lengthening his stride to match the girls’. “Uh- Where am I?”

“My name is Thalia,” she said and pointed in the direction of the top of the hill, where a fortress was barely visible. “And that is Thraben.”

Harry blinked.

“Uh - What?"

 

Just an unfinished drabble about metamoprh!Harry. The half dozen ideas I had for it were: 1) James or Lily are killed, 2) Harry has a wizarding childhood and limited interaction with muggles because of his limited control over his morphing, 3) Wormtail's jailed and Harry goes into Hufflepuff - his surviving parent being fanatic about the value of loyalty, 4) Harry's a great wizard but his real skill is being a metamorph and his ability to imitate people, 5) Neville's the BWL and his school years parallel canon, 6) there was a sixth but I can't remember it at the moment.

~*~*~​

The first time Harry morphed James nearly dropped him. His dark red fuzz and baby blue eyes changed without warning, becoming black and hazel – a mirror image of his own. Then they changed again, his hair becoming a lurid purple – the same colour as the dragon teddy that James was holding in his other hand – and his eyes turned flesh-pink.

“Lily! Lily!”

Lily didn’t stir. The labour had been long and difficult and after holding Harry and being assured of his health Lily had been lulled to sleep by a weak sleeping potion and exhaustion.

“Healer Shafiq!” James’ shout echoed through the maternity ward. When the Healer didn’t immediately appear he shouted again.

Healer Amir Shafiq was a short man with a growing paunch, short salt-and-pepper hair and large, soft hands. The skin around his eyes was crinkled from smiling and laughing and he had an air of competence that put all but the most highly strung expectant mothers at ease.

“Look!” James remembered at the last minute not to thrust his newborn son at the Healer like a quaffle but it was a close thing. He wasn’t panicking. He knew what a metamorphmagus was. He felt that he had to do something, though. Deep breaths, James, he told himself.

Shafiq laughed delightedly. “A metamorphmagus, how astonishing.” He leaned over Harry so he could see him better. When he came into Harry’s line of sight the baby’s skin darkened to mimic his, his hair still purple. “You’re very lucky to have such a gifted son, Mr Potter.”

“Yeah,” James said softly. Harry’s hair cycled through a dozen colours, imitating his, Shafiq’s and the sterile white of the walls, before settling on purple once more. James’ eyes were riveted on his son. “He’s amazing.”

~*~*~​

Harry laughed with his parents, though he didn’t understand why they were laughing. Sirius swept his black-eyed, grey-haired godson into the air, making him laugh harder.

“He’s gone, little man. The bastard’s gone!” he exclaimed. His voice was bubbly with excitement.

“Sirius, language,” Lily said but her voice wasn’t in the scolding. James was pulling her around the lounge in a stumbling dance that showed more enthusiasm than skill and had them bouncing off of furniture. The jaunty music that the Wizarding Wireless Network had been playing since it announced Voldemort’s demise filled the cottage with noise, adding to the group’s good cheer.

The news that the Longbottoms – good friends and valued allies – had died fighting the Dark Lord could do nothing to dampen their cheer. There had been hundreds of deaths over the last five years, muting the impact of two more dead when the reward was so great.

Sirius settled Harry on his hip. “The Death Eaters must be going mad without him.”

James’ eyebrows climbed high. “They weren’t already?” he asked half-heartedly. No one who had survived as long as they had could dismiss all of the Death Eaters as being insane, not even a majority of them. They were depressingly, horrifyingly sane. That just made their crimes so much worse.

“And the Ministry’s rounding them up like sheep,” Sirius cooed to Harry. “Like docile little lambs,” he added.

They explosion rocked the cottage, shattering windows and blowing the front door to pieces.

The trio froze, smiles slipping away. The happy music continued, almost mockingly. The cat, previously lying contentedly next to the fire, bolted upright, hissing. The tableau held for a moment then shattered.

Sirius thrust Harry at Lily, almost tossing him. The toddler laughed, his joy at the sudden movement overriding the sense of anxiety he could feel coming from the adults. His had been a strange childhood, one where loud explosions meant that fun and laughter were to follow.

“Upstairs, now!” James barked at his wife, drawing his wand.

Sirius was already moving, darting from the lounge and towards the door. He was still smiling, his blood fired by the prospect of a fight. James followed him, feeling, for a fleeting moment, like they back at school, running headlong into trouble without a care for their safety.

The first Death Eater met Sirius in the hallway. A short, slender man he slashed his wand across his body and a thrumming purple light exploded from his wand. Sirius thrust his wand forward, turning it into an explosion of purple sparks. James darted around him, stepping through the sparks. He thrust his wand at the Death Eater’s chest but the man parried it with a swipe of his own wand, almost like they were fighting with swords though the wands never touched. James’ curse blew a hole through the wall and then there was another Death Eater in the doorway, taller and broader than the first one.

Tall conjured a silver shield that made a gonglike noise when Sirius’ bludgeoner slammed into it. A ghostly hand holding a curved knife leapt from James’ wand, slipping through the shield as though it wasn’t there. The knife drove deep into Shorty’s stomach and sliced through his belly. The Death Eater screamed, a young, high pitched sound. Blood and viscera spilled from the wound. Tall shoved him aside and he hit the wall, crumpling to the floor.

Sirius set his feet and met Tall’s advance, curses counter-curses flashing from his wand. He felt James turn, responding to the tramp of feet in the lounge. Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into the hallway, having entered through the lounge’s shattered windows, another Death Eater following her.

“Where is he?” Bellatrix demanded. “Where is the Dark Lord?” There was a mad gleam in her eyes and her voice had a sharp, frantic edge.

 

Well, it might have potential, though it's too early to tell, it all depends on what Harry could do with his powers. Is there any particular reason that Harry has to be in Hufflepuff? (beyond the values that his parents instilled in him)

Also, the premise is similar to a story I'm writing right now, check it out.

 

What's the point of killing James or Lily if Harry isn't the BWL? I'm just curious.

As for the story, the only problem you are going to run into is how to make it interesting. What will Harry be doing every year? He needs something and you've said his real talent is going to be morphing so it isn't going to come from pushing the boundaries of magic or mastering spells. Neville will be covering the ridiculous monsters/mysteries, and the odds of two sets of crazy things on that level happening at Hogwarts at the same time are roughly zero. It might be easier to just send him to a different school entirely and create new mysteries for him there.

 

I was trying to parallel the attack on the Longbottoms but didn't want to kill them both. I thought about sending him to Beauxbatons (it was my sixth point) but I was leaning more towards a mentor fic with either Dumbledore or Flitwick as the mentor.

To avoid boring early years I was going to start it in 4th year and insert Harry into events.

 

Great stuff. I'd read a full story where Harry gets into a local academy and works his way up the football pyramid. Maybe doesn't bother going to hogwarts at all.

 

This won't ever be continued, as it's a crossover with something that I would never be able to do justice. But, the idea came to me, and it wouldn't shut up until I wrote it. The crossover should be readily apparent about halfway in, but if you don't know, it'll be at the bottom after the text.



The wizard awoke on the ground, amidst the cold fog, and the countless signs of the dead.

He placed a hand on his forehead, groaning, as he tried to stand. His last memory was vague impressions of a great hall, flickering beams of light, and an overwhelming sense of grief and victory. He remembered standing triumphant amidst the rubble of a great castle that felt like home, and he remembered his grief at seeing how low she had been brought.

This was not his home. He knew that much.

He looked around, taking in everything he could while his hand twitched at his side, reaching for something that was no longer there. This was a city. Desolate, broken, and thoroughly disgusting now, but a city none the less. Debris lined the concrete sidewalks, gaping holes threatened the stability of the buildings, and all around him, he heard the screams and moans of the cities inhabitants. There was an odd lantern hanging from a stick, but it had long since gone out.

The name came to him as if it was a dream. This was London. He knew this place. He lived here once, or close enough to it at least. Surrey. He lived in Surrey, once. He had a – a relative? An aunt, or an uncle who worked in London.

He didn't think they worked here anymore.

He reached absentmindedly towards his side, before jerking as his hand came up empty. His mind took a couple more seconds before he realized what he was looking for. He didn't have his wand. Holly, with a phoenix core. He didn't know how he knew that, but he knew he was supposed to have it. Knew it was a part of him in a way that few other things could match. He panicked, flailing about in his mind, before a part of him ruthlessly clamped down on that.

Enough. I have to find a wand. I'm useless without it.

He had no idea where he would find one though. With that in mind, he decided that down the street was as good a place as any. He passed by the ruined scenery of the city in silence, not even sure what he was supposed to be feeling. He knew he should be afraid, unsettled at the very least, but he just couldn't bring himself to feel that. He felt- restless. A prowling sort of energy coursed through him. He wanted to pace the sidewalks until he found... something. He didn't know what. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what.

He came across a street sign that seemed to strike a chord in him, and on a whim he turned down the street to see where it led.

The Leaky Cauldron. He knew this place. He knew he could get a wand through here. He pulled on the door, trying to open it but it wouldn't budge. Sighing, he walked around, to see if there was an alley or something he could use to gain entrance.

There. A hole in the edge of the roof. He could jump from the window in the adjacent building.

There was a crash from behind him. He spun, cloak whirling around him as he dodged to the side, away from the doglike creature. He scrambled to his feet as the dog came in again, impossibly fast, before throwing himself into the building next to the Leaky Cauldron. He slammed the door shut, locking it as the dog rammed into it, and distantly, he heard the scraping of metal against concrete and voices raised in alarm.

He turned, and saw a barrel pointed at his torso. Eyes wide, he threw his hand up in a panic as the shotgun discharged, and a barrier inches from his fingers sparkled as buckshot slammed into it, the force of it slamming him against the door he just shut.

An old man, in a wheelchair no less, fumbled with the shotgun, trying to reload. “Busybody! Why won't you leave us alone!”

The wizard scrambled to his feet as the man finally got the gun loaded. He reached out on instinct, and a pulse of force left his hand, throwing the wheelchair gunner backwards into a wall. He moaned, and the wizard, blood pulsing in his veins, ran up the stairs as fast as he could. He ran into the room he thought held the window he would need to jump from, and as a dark shape burst from the closet swinging an axe at his head, he threw himself through the glass and into the Leaky Cauldron.

He rose, painfully, slowly, from the table he landed on. He had never been so confused in his life, and it started to scare him how alive he was starting to feel. His pulse was so strong, he would swear it was starting to echo in his ears.

He managed to find his feet, and walked out the back door of the pub.

A cobblestone street laid in front of him. He could hear moaning in the distance, and a deep voice talking. But he knew, in a corner or two, he would find what he needed.

He started to walk, quickly, down the street, eyes and ears alert for anything that would threaten him.

“So cold... dear sister, so cold...”

He rounded the corner, and his head tilted to the side as he considered his impending mortality. The troll's eyes seemed to lock onto the wizards forehead. The man's hand rose, and he traced the outline of a lightning bolt scar.

His first thought as the troll barreled into him was that he hadn't even realized he didn't know who he was until now.

His last thought as the troll's brick crushed his head was an incredible sense of relief as he remembered his name.

The wizard died on the street, in front of an old wand shop.

-----

Harry Potter awoke on the ground, amidst the cold fog, and the markers of the countless dead.

He heard a voice, and for some reason he couldn't explain, it brought him comfort in this terrifying world.

“Welcome home, good hunter. What is it you desire?”



Harry Potter, welcome to the world of Bloodborne.

 

What's Bloodborne? Never heard of it.

 

It's a game that's kind of like those Dark Souls games you may have heard of. I'll let my opinion on the game stay unknown, as this isn't the proper thread for it.

 

This is the first part of a oneshot that may or may not ever be finished. HP/Dredd/DieHard. Yeah, you read that right.



X







In the esteemed opinion of Auror Harry James Potter, the bureaucrats of the Ministry of Magic deserved to the drowned in flaming barrels of sphincter puss. The strokes of his quill became harsher as he filled out the report he had been ordered to write; on Halloween no less. He could be at home, enjoying dinner with his daughter on one of the rare nights that she wasn't 'busy' with 'friends', and trying to patch things up with Ginny. Instead, he was stuck in a shitty little 'sensitive documents' office, filling out a report on the disturbed wards of the French Embassy – a report any one of the other three attending Aurors could have filled out. But no, because he was Harry fucking Potter, the paper pushers had decided that he held valuable insight into the motivations and favourite colours of the completely unknown attackers. Fucking bureaucrats.


His quill tip broke, and he swore. What kind of Department didn't supply decently charmed quills to its employees? The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, apparently. Harry blamed the bureaucrats, as he often did. Nothing makes 'unnecessary expense' sound more like a dirty word than a bureaucrat.


“Uh, Potter?” A young male voice asked, the sounds of a bustling office washing in with it.


Harry glanced over his shoulder, towards the doorway of the small one person office. It was one of the Hitwizards under Ron's command. Their name escaped him at the moment.


“Yes?” Harry said.


“The Howler for the evacuation drill just did the rounds. We're due in the Atrium for a headcount.”


Harry shook his head. “No, everyone else unfortunate enough to still be at the Ministry on Samhain is due in the Atrium for a headcount. I am due to finish this report and go home to my family, and that is what I'm going to do.”


The Hitwizard looked uncertain, torn between a colleague ignoring orders and arguing with Harry Potter. “Peabody won't be happy,” he said at length.


“Peabody?” Harry said. He smirked. “You tell Peabody I'll participate in his little drill when he comes up here and drags me to the Atrium himself.” He turned back to the report, confident that the busybody of the Auror Corps wouldn't have the sack to confront him personally. The Hitwizard left without further comment, closing the door with a click and restoring silence to the sealed room.


Some time later, Harry stepped out of the secure office with the report scroll tucked under one arm. He paused, a frown crossing his face. The Auror offices were empty, the quietness unsettling given the constant hustle of Auror work. The drill should have been over by now. Not even Peabody could have drawn things out so long.


There was a gust of wind, and an envelope presented itself to Harry, hovering before him. On the envelope was a set of stern looking lips, corners slightly down turned as if their owner spent a lot of time frowning. The envelope had the trim of the Ministry wide announcement system. It harrumphed—clearing its throat?--and began to speak.


“British Witches and Wizards of the most prestigious Wizengamot. I am the Summoner of the Brotherhood of the Underscape, and as of twenty minutes ago, the only law that matters in your Ministry.”


The labouriously written report was dropped carelessly to the floor as Harry left the Auror offices, lead in his pencil and magic in his wand. The Brotherhood were daemon summoners, each of them deserving of a berth in the deepest recesses of Azkaban. The envelope followed him, continuing its speech.


“Along with my followers, I have taken your overworked employees hostage. They have nothing to fear, and will be released unharmed...so long as you comply with my demands.”


Harry passed through another empty office, cups of still warm tea sitting where their owners had left them. The drill must have been a set up. On a night that many workers had off, too—the enemy clearly had access to inside information, if their use of the messaging system wasn't proof enough.


“We do not ask for much – merely the release of our wrongfully accused brothers and sisters unlawfully imprisoned in Azkaban, and the immediate cease of your cooperation with the French Ministry in the persecution—nay, in the witch hunt of our peaceful order.”


Harry drew his wand, eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather, as he neared one of the offices that contributed to the communication network of the Ministry. The Summoner speaking was not likely within, but he would be able to break into the network from there. A strange expression broke across Harry's face. It was far too predatory to be called a smile, nor a grin or a smirk. It was pure anticipation. He didn't join the Aurors to investigate trespasses and he didn't become the wand dark wizards feared by filling out reports. It was time to do what he did best, and the best he did wasn't very nice.


“And finally, witches and wizards, to show the esteemed Wizengamot members that we are entirely serious...yes, you will do. Crucio!”


The envelope burst into flame as the screaming started, and Harry's blasting curse blew the office door clear off its hinges.


X


Kevin Entwhistle wiped nervous sweat from clammy hands as he tried to keep his head down. He sat on the floor of the Atrium amongst a crowd of his colleagues, all of them stripped of their wands and watched over by a ring of grey cloaked dark wizards. The few Aurors and Hitwizards on duty as part of the Halloween skeleton staff had been taken down hard; a drying pool of blood marked the spot where one Auror had put up a brief fight. Kevin risked a glance at the wizard that their captor's leader had cursed. The man was shaking uncontrollably, the Cruciatus having been held on him for several long moments even after the Ministry messaging system had given out.


The Summoner of the Brotherhood of the Underscape—and what sort of pretentious twat used a title like that, anyway—was conferring with his fellows, a look of smug satisfaction on his goateed face. Kevin had a sudden urge to hex it to bite the man's fingers every time he stroked it. Conversation between the dark wizards picked up, and they seemed to come to a decision. One of them pointed in his direction, and Kevin felt a thrill of fear. Three of them broke away from the leader and began to approach. He froze, hoping against hope that they were coming for another. They stopped in front of him, and his mouth went sandpaper dry. There was a wand in his face, and – an envelope fluttered down between them.


“Occupants of the Ministry of Magic, this is Auror Potter.”


Gasps echoed throughout the Atrium and bowed heads were raised.


“Since you people seem to have forgotten, I will remind you. This Ministry operates under the same rules as the rest of the country. Your Summoner is not the law.


I am the Law.


The Summoner is a petty dark wizard, guilty of an Unforgivable, guilty of research into the Outer Gates, and as of this moment, under sentence of the Veil. All accessories to his crimes have a cell waiting for them in Azkaban. Resist, and I'll boot you through the Veil after your leader myself. You have been warned.”


Kevin watched their captors shift uneasily. He didn't blame them. Potter had a body count, and after the business at Gringotts with the Russian wizards a few years ago, it was a foolish wizard who broke one of the Dark Deterrence Laws while Harry Potter was anywhere nearby. Hopeful whispers began to spread amongst the captives.


The Summoner drew himself up, puffing out his chest and stroking his goatee. “Does this lone Auror expect us to fear him? Fear the empty words of a past his prime--”


“And as for you, Gaspard...sit tight. I'll be right with you.”


The Summoner, Gaspard, broke off his speech, paling rapidly. In the sudden silence of the Atrium, his next words were heard by all. “You five,” he said hoarsely, “find Potter and bring me his heart.”


A grim sort of satisfaction welled up within Kevin. Suddenly, he and his colleagues weren't the only ones feeling trapped.


X

 

I want someone to write a Judge!Potter story so bad I'm getting an ulcer, at this point.

 

You magnificent bastard. You utter, magnificent bastard. I want more. And your Auror Potter just wiped the floor with the one I'd been tinkering at in my spare time the past couple of months.

 

"You see, Tom, there is a difference between us, a rift, the yawning chasm marked out not by time, age, knowledge, or power. Can you tell me what the difference is, then?"

A gurgled hiss slid from the dry, cracked vault of Lord Voldemort's mouth, a gaping wound devoid of sheltering lips or wide walls of molars, bicuspids, canines. Venom filled the red-eyed gaze of the broken Dark Lord, now a figure of physical stature to match what shredded filaments remained of his soul.

"Parseltongue! How quaint!" He hissed back, lisping the motions, so that his message was more akin to baby talk than rasping.

Voldemort hissed again with greater anxiety.

"No, Tom, it is not halfblooded foolishness, though I commend you on this persistent appeal for a lower power to rise up and grant you a merciful end." Stolen yew wove calmly. Voldemort's face and head began to sink inward and the gurgle intensified momentarily as his skull was vanished, leaving a pulp of flesh, eyes, and brain settling into a soft crater like a sour fruit ready to burst.

"The difference, you see, is that while you are willing and capable of murder, it isn't a task that greatly thrills you, but a tool for which to foster an ends to a means. You preach the Killing Curse and Cruciatus with cold detachment. These weapons are just a facet of the façade of the inhuman master, nothing more and nothing less. But oh! The arts I have made of death, Tom, the murals I have painted from the inkwell of the still beating heart, and the canvas of skin lovingly pealed back from the gooey undercarriage, the brushes made of muscle and arterial channels..." He leaned forward and plucked a rolling eyeball from the depressed eyelid, pulling until the trail of attached mass beneath stretched taut to the quivering dura matter, and pressed his teeth into the cornea. His tongue swirled, teasing the pupil upward, sucking just hard enough to slip his slimy muscle underneath, and with an unheard 'pop' the iris in all its spurting glory came free. At once he drew it to the back of his throat and swallowed.

Then he bit through the bulbar conjunctiva like the white of a hard boiled egg and began devouring his breakfast with gusto.

When he reached the end he simply crunched off the dural fibers and let then swirl down into the empty lid. "Mm, I never tire of that sticky sweet taste. Time and time and time again, it fills my sweet tooth delightfully!" He watched the lone eye dilate in agony. Terror. Voldemort managed, despite all odds, to moan.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't save any for you, did I? Here, let me give you a taste!" He scooped up the lone right eye between two fingers, holding the cable beneath carefully, and reached forward to pinch at the outer edge of Voldemort's soft jelly. It resisted for several memorable moments and then - 'pop' again. He collected the oozing gore, bent those fingers down, and thrust the eyeball soup into Voldemort's open mouth, running it over the maimed tongue.

A neat flick of yew and the wound in the deflating bulb closed up. Another several flicks and it bulged upward, replenished. He smiled, in truth positively beamed, and withdrew to a comfortable distance again from the boneless heap of immortality.

"Now, Tom, I know you can still understand me. I'd like you to try, really, really try, and focus on my gaze. Come on, there, was that so hard?" He flashed his bloody teeth and the eye rolled erratically once more.

"I'm going to keep you alive forever, Tom. It's a promise I cannot bring myself to break!" He suddenly sat upright as if struck by a thought. "But wait, yes, of course, I should have realized it sooner! The Unbreakable Vow!"

He motioned to the shadows. A golem trembled forward, hazy pink gems staring outward evenly. "Molly, dearest, would you bind the contract for us?" The golem stopped, grasped Voldemort's nearest flabby hand, and held it tautly out to him though the skin tore half-way there. Blood oozed out.

"There's a good girl, I always knew I made you the best, my little slaughter-chick." Yew rose from clay and ash fingers as he gripped Voldemort's own slippery hold. A wisp of ethereal smoke turned to flame as he said, "I solemnly swear to never end the immortality that binds you to a living form, Tom. I swear to savor our time together until the day before I die, and on that day I swear I shall place your living remains in the cold, eternal dark of the deepest abyss known to man and wizardkind, that you may fulfill your latent dreams and ambitions though I may be beyond contact any longer!"

Three horrid flames entwined their wrists and settled. Molly lowered his rod, he took it back, and she retreated to the shadows again.

"I love this you, Tom. Don't stay up long, we have a nice winter trip to enjoy together in Norway tomorrow night! I've found Grendel's lair! And a brazen bull for the day after!" The thing that was once Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Vanished, stood up with a tired, lip-smacking yawn. "You know what to do, gentlemen and ladies. Made fit for travel and not once inch more!"

Plodding golems moved in to collect the living remains of Lord Voldemort, to tend to the day's ravages with Skele-Gro and other crude healer ailments, as the lone light source vanished with Harry Potter.

===

So, uh, yeah. I was in a grimdark mood last month when I wrote this. Something of an Outsider-in-Harry's-Skin idea. Or just a broken, madman Harry who delights in murder as Voldemort has hardly dreamed of. Either way, yay?

 

Don't ask me why this happened. I don't know.

Harry had been banished to his room while the Dursleys entertained Mr. and Mrs. Mason. With a bit of luck he could get some more of his homework done. He briefly contemplated writing another letter to his friends but so far the only mail he'd received from them had been covered in bird shit.

He'd asked Hedwig if she was having problems with her bowel movements and she'd just given him an imperious and very hacked off look that had lead to him dropping the matter. He put it down as a mystery.

He sidled into his room and made a puzzled noise as he was met by an unexpected sight.

There was a penguin sitting on his bed. There was a long moment of silence as Harry met the unsettlingly flat black and white eyes. Upon Harry's entrance the eyes had grown slightly and the penguin's flippers had quivered in excitement.

It immediately slipped off the bed and its little pink feet made quiet 'shlup shlup' noises as it landed on the ground.

The penguin appeared to be wearing a pillowcase. Harry had no idea how it stayed on, penguins weren't known for having especially broad shoulders but the creature before him looked fairly at ease in the frayed and stained fabric.

"Uh," he said in confusion. He looked at Hedwig in the hope that she might verify his sanity but she was unfortunately still asleep in her cage.

"AHHHAHHHAHHAH!" cried the penguin loudly enough that it would surely be heard downstairs. "AhhHHhahhHHAHHHhahhHHAHHhhAHhhHAah!"

It slapped its wings together enthusiastically and bowed low enough that its beak touched the floor.

"SShhh!" Harry said urgently as he rushed forward to secure the bird's beak. "How did you get in here?"

Though muffled by Harry's hand holding its beak shut the bird seemed to respond. "Mhmmhmhmmmhmhmh," it said.

It looked up at him with blank penguin eyes, turning its head periodically so that both eyes could get in on the action, and Harry felt completely lost.

"Can you understand me?" he asked tentatively as he released the bird.

"AHHah!" it said with a frantic nod of the head.

"Can you speak?" he tried.

"AHHah!" it said again with another similarly enthusiastic nod.

"English?"

It shook its head and Harry got the impression of a heart-felt sadness. "Oohhah!"

Harry thought for a moment. "Can you write?"

The penguin looked down at its flippers for a moment before looking back up at Harry blankly. "Oohhah!"

"Right," Harry said drily. "So it's charades then?"

"Aherk?" it said with a quizzical tilt of the head.

"Like, acting the words out," Harry explained.

"AHHHAHHHAHHHAHHAHHAH!" cried the bird as it bounced from one foot to the other, the 'shlup' sound returning.

"Shhh," Harry said again quickly. "The Dursleys have visitors and they don't want to be disturbed."

"AHHahAHH!" said the penguin with an avian nod.

"Look, why are you here?" Harry asked again.

"AHHhhHAH—" the bird began.

Harry quickly cut the bird off. "Act it, remember."

"AHHah!" The bird nodded and shlupped its way over to Harry's meagre desk before climbing up onto it slowly and with many false starts.

Then it shat on his homework.

"Bloody hell!" Harry hissed as he ran forward to try and rescue what he discovered was his transfiguration essay. "What are you doing?"

"AHHHAHHAHHAHHHHAHH!" said the penguin before shitting on another piece of his homework. Potions this time.

"Look, stop it!" said Harry as he desperately tried to gather up and save the remaining homework. "I'll get in trouble if I hand in my homework covered in shit."

"AHHah!" cried the penguin happily and it flapped its stubby wings together with a slap.

Harry was doused in bird shit. A literal heap of shit was dropped on him from above and began to slowly soak through his threadbare clothes. His homework was all ruined. At least it didn't smell too bad.

"Urgh, what was that for?" he said as he tried to find something not covered in shit to clean his face with. "Now I have to do it all over before I go back."

"Oohah!" said the bird with a frantic shake of the head.

Harry paused and looked at the bird's wide eyes. "I shouldn't do it?"

"Oohah!" said the bird just as energetically.

"You mean I shouldn't go back to Hogwarts?"

"AHHah!" said the bird loudly while happily flapping its wings together.

"But I have to!" Harry cried, the still-wet shit forced to the back of his mind. "All my friends are there."

"Oohah!" the penguin pointed at one of Harry's shit-encrusted letters. "AHhhAHHOoHHHHAHH!"

Belated realization suddenly dawned. "Wait, it was you that was shitting on my letters!"

The bird looked down bashfully and made a small 'AH' noise.

Harry nearly asked why on earth the stupid bird would do something like that but in a flash of foresight knew that any answer would certainly involve a lot of bird shit.

"Look," he said as reasonably as he could manage given the circumstances. "Whatever the reason is I have to go back."

The penguin narrowed its eyes. "AHAHHAHHAHAH!" it said loudly before disappearing from sight with a pop.

Suddenly there was a scream from downstairs and in a moment of terrible clarity Harry knew what had happened. Despite that he ran for the dining room as fast as his legs would carry him, near enough tumbling down the stairs in his haste.

The penguin was floating over the dinner table and being watched with now mute amazement by the assembled diners.

"AHHHAHHHHAHHAHHHHAHHAAAHAHHHAHHHAH!" it cried as it pointed at Harry.

It flapped its wings together with a soft slap and as before a huge mass of bird shit materialised over the heads of everyone in the room before descending in a stinking cloud of yellow and brown.

The penguin then flapped its wings together one last time and disappeared.

Harry and the rest of the room stared in mute astonishment and disgust before Mrs. Mason and Aunt Petunia started screaming incoherently. Uncle Vernon began turning an unpleasant shade of puce beneath the near centimeter thick layer of bird-shit.

To complete the scene an owl flew in through the open window and deposited a short letter in Harry's hands.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have recieved intelligence that a Penguin Shit Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine…

All in all it was a shit night.

 

I actually wrote this for SV, but what with Alexx going mental I thought this was worth posting here.
Summary: the archetypical shitty indie!Harry fanfic, but in dactylic hexameter. English isn't my first language, so some of the meter will be odd. Here's the pastebin with the syllables worked out.
Warning: I'm not a good writer, so odds are not just the meter will be very wonky. There are some bad attempts at humor, as well.

-------------------------​

Tell, muse, us of the legend, and do not forget a detail,
starting with Harry Potter, who angsted alone in his room;
hellish was Durzkaban, where he suffered unjustly,
left there by a sinister and evil plot of the old fool
Dumb-as-a-door, who'd unveiled the prophecy dooming our hero,
struggling forever against he who slew his family, known as
Moldyshorts, the dark lord, and his Inner Circle of cronies,
Blood purists, yet still fodder for wanton cruelty of their lord.

Lily's son slept, surrounded by his books, thrown astray, chaos,
day of his birth, with no feast, nor the love family shared;
dreaming of last year, when he saw Padfoot, loved dogfather
falling, the shadowed Veil taking cherished life for its own,
betrayal most grave, too, and by those he trusted in once,
amortentia and worse, a plan, so sly, making him their friend.

Suddenly, sharp ticking woke him: owls had now come to here,
with many letters; friends sent news, support and gifts, like cake.
Sirius, too, sent his will, which he'd prepared before his death,
saying to Harry he needed to get laid, no matter with who,
that he was heir to the Black title, riches and house, and more,
lastly that for everything he had done or not, he was sorry.

Drying his tears, he met Griphook at the bank, his goblin friend, then
met with his manager to talk of business, finance, savings,
and all the galleons stolen, trust vault half emptied by that damn
manipulative old jerk who dared call himself a Light Lord.
Harry was heir now to not only Black, but to Gryffindor, and to
Slytherin, too, even Merlin, the greatest of wizards and witches.

After this, Knocturne Alley was beckoning, inviting him in,
"Second-hand Wands", as proclaimed a shop's sign, he bought, and a holster,
trunks, both as clothing and home, with endless depths, books of dark magic,
as all know: dark is not evil, and Harry was grey; only power
mattered, light or not. Shackles, he found, snug around his grand Core,
removed with a thought, such amazeballs powers did He wield.

Only then Hadrian went home; now, he was finally indie.

 

Well, no matter what kind of language you use, indie!Harry is still shit But props for the effort.

 

I just had the idea and I don't know if I'll ever continue but the idea of James and Sirius road racing through Africa fighting nundus and tribal wizards kind of captured me. So we have them starting the second Dakar Rally in what is almost certainly an poorly conceived plan.

Prologue à Olivet (4 km) 1/1/1980

“How did you get me to agree to this again?” Lily had to shout to be heard over the revving motors. Her husband of eleven months looked across to her grinning madly as redlined the motor, she wouldn’t have put it past him to break his and Sirius’s no magical enhancements rule and put a sound amplifying charm on the engine.

“I had nothing to do with it! Sirius suggested it and you agreed. Besides, we can’t back out now!” Lily had in fact agreed, James had been despondent after the deaths of his parents and given their dangerous vigilante lifestyle she was worried that he’d be too distracted seeking vengeance to fight safely. Sure the Aurors hadn’t found any signs of foul play but in times like these even innocuous seeming deaths were attributed to the ‘Dark Lord’. Part of her mind, the part that still lived in Cokeworth before magic, before- no, still scoffed at the idea of a Dark Lord, that such a person existed strained her credulity. He was real though, and dangerous. Taking a break from the fight to get James back into a healthy state of mind had seemed like a good idea and when Sirius had suggested getting into a muggle road race she had jumped at it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden hammering on her door. Sirius Black was just outside, straddling his new motorcycle leaning through her window. “Alright in there? If you just want to give up now I promise I won’t hold it against you!”

James flipped him the bird but anything he was going to say was pre-empted by one of the race organizers who already seemed familiar with Sirius. “Monsieur Black, please you must return to your place, you’re up in three racers.” The fussy man hardly seemed to belong with the rest of the race, Sirius fit right in with his aviators and black leather jacket but the little man looked so stereotypically French that him standing amidst the thundering engines made Lily laugh unreservedly at him.

“Fine, fine.” He started to walk his bike back towards the front but he threw one last taunt back at them. “Just remember the bet Prongs!”

Lily having spent enough time with them to be worried looked to her husband.“What bet?”

Rather than answering James theatrically tightened the straps on his gloves. “So this is just a three mile little warmup right?”

“Four kilometers and what did you bet?”

“Nothing too important, anyways with you at my side and our valiant Prongsmobile-”

“That is not our car’s name.”

James continued not heeding the interruption, “We’re going to win anyways. So don’t worry about it.”

Recognizing that she wouldn’t get anything more immediately she just threw him a glare before he quickly leaned left and kissed her. “Cheer up! We’re about to make history for wizarding Britain!”

That at least was true. In the five months since they’d come up with the idea the three of them had received a crash course on off road racing from a friend of her father’s. James and Sirius had started barely able to keep the car on the the road, the reflexes from a lifetime of broom riding throwing them off as cars really didn’t respond to body weight shifts but as they spent much of their non militia related time working on their motorcycle and Range Rover they’d rapidly improved. Even past their new ability to drive Sirius and James could even spend time in completely muggle areas with only the occasional excuse of being Canadian needed to avert suspicion.

It had been fun, working with her dad on cars had been an occasional part of her childhood after he realized that a boy was not in the cards, and after spending more time with her parents they had even moved past seeing James as a wastrel. Sirius on the other hand was perceived accurately from the start and had become a favorite of the girls in town much to the dismay of their fathers.

Now though, waiting in the queue to start the first leg with only a few cars in front of them James’s excitement was becoming infectious. She tried to keep herself disciplined and remember what they’d practiced, pulling out her checklist even though it was far too late to fix anything. “Water?”

“Check. We also have gas, tools, spare tires, spare tools, food, three handles of whiskey and enough potions for two quidditch teams. We’re fine Lils. Besides this leg will take three minutes tops, if you get too hungry now we’ll never manage the later stages.”

“Oh alright, just don’t crash if my charms activate explaining everything to the obliviaters will be pretty awkward.”

“Not to worry, I scouted the route last night on my broom, it’s like three turns and a gentle bend along the river.”

“I was there too, I still think we should have made pacenotes.”

“You’re a little too obsessed with, what’s the phrase? Side seat driving. This leg is too short to matter.”

“Its backseat driving, and I am not!”

Luckily for their marriage the argument was broken up by the starter rapping on James’s door. “James Potter?” At his nod he handed him a clipboard. “Initial here, and your co driver, Lily Potter? If you could, there yes.” Taking itt back he flipped a few pages. “Your waivers are in and your car has passed the screening. Just roll up to the line and when the flag waves, well you know what to do. Good Luck!”

The engine gave out a throaty roar as James revved it one last time, giving Lily’s leg a squeeze before putting on his sunglasses. “Time to show them all what the Prongsmobile’s got!”

Lily’s indignant reply was lost as James mashed the accelerator launching the car forward past the cheering crowds. Despite her worries the bumps on the road didn’t flip them, the one sharp turn was ably navigated and almost before she knew it they blew past the finish line. As he parked the car she unbuckled her seat belt, she’d heard a few too many horror stories, and met James’s wild grin with one of her own. “We have a month of this to go? This was my best idea ever!”

“Your idea?” Sirius had reappeared holding a girl wearing his jacket in one arm and a bottle in the other. “I don’t think so Mrs. Potter. This is Madeline by the way; she likes Camus, leather jackets and alcohol and two for three is apparently good enough!” The girl smiled widely and said something in rapid French that both James and Sirius laughed at before she grabbed the bottle and took a long pull.

She looked to her spouse for a translation, she’d caught a few words but she wasn’t as fluent as the pre Hogwarts tutoring had made them.”She invited us to a party, and said that Sirius could benefit from having his frontiers pushed a little past the baser things.”

“Well that’s a lost cause then.” Looking at the girl who now seemed to be playing keep away with the drink she gave her school-girl French a try. “Nous aimerions assister à votre parti”

“We’ll be there as soon as we park at the hotel.” Turning to Sirius, James gave him a look fueled by all of the things Sirius had lost and forgotten in the pursuit of fairer company. “Have you got your bike stowed away?”

Sirius gave up on grabbing for the alcohol and patted his pocket. “First thing I did after putting in the fastest time so far. Face it Prongs, your firstborn is mine.”

 

Just a silly idea... bit of a New World of Darkness crossover (Mage, really) so some of it might be a left of field if you aren't familiar with it. I'm kinda surprised there aren't many out there, to be honest.

All Along The Watchtower
​

"So..." said his Dad with an unfettered yawn as he flipped through The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "What'll it be tonight, matey? Three Brothers again?"

Story time was Harry's third favourite time of the day. It would have been his second if his Dad chose a different book every now and again.

"Nope."

Dad shrugged. "Fair play. Hairy Heart, then?"

"No, Dad," groaned Harry, crossing his arms. "No more Beedle."

Dad's forehead creased a little, just like when his Grandma would tell them off for slouching at dinner.

"Well what, then?"

Harry pressed a finger to his lips, scrunching his face in thought. He only had a few minutes before bed... but it was worth it.

"How about... Dad? Where does magic from?"

Dad blinked twice, then laughed.

"Blimey Harry, you don't ask by halves, do you?" He shook his head. "That's a right hard question. No one really has a good answer, either."

"So what's yours?"

Dad frowned even more than before, rubbing his chin as he stared into space.

"Okay," he said after a while. "I'll tell you the story my Dad told me. About Atlantis."

"Atlantis?"

Dad gave him a firm nod. "That's the one. It all started thousands, maybe tens of thousands of years ago, you know. Back then, we were all Sleepers."

"Like Uncle Vernon?"

Dad made a weird noise. "Um... yeah, like your uncle. Anyway, quite a few monsters were still around back then, and the people lived day to day not knowing if they would be eaten next. Until this island just... well, appeared."

Harry gasped. "Out of nowhere?"

"Pretty much, yeah. But not everyone could see it. Those who did took long journeys by boat to get there. When they landed, they found a cave. And if they returned from that cave alive, they became the first Mages alive."

"Just like you and Mum," said Harry breathlessly.

"That's right, yeah... " His Dad scratched his head. "Well, not really. See, those Mages built a city on the island, and some of them got really greedy with their powers. One day, they decided to build a bridge to the source of magic itself."

"Did they get there?"

Dad pursed his lips. "Just about. There was a fight... a big one. The bridge collapsed, the island disappeared, and our world was cut off from the realm of magic like never before. No one Awoke for a very long time.

"But you see, half of the Mages on the other side of the bridge weren't greedy - they wanted to help the rest of us."

"Did they?"

"You bet they did. You know the Watchtowers?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Yeah, there's five, right? Aether, Pandemonion... "

"Pandemonium," said Dad. "Each one for two of the ten powers we can learn. But yeah, they built those for us, so that we could each Awaken to one of them, one day. I've had mine, and so has your Mum. It'll be your turn soon, Harry."

​

"But I'm just a Sleepwalker, aren't I?"

"Even Sleepers can get a chance to climb the Watchtowers, Harry. One day, everyone will carve their names on a tower, and everyone will be a Mage. But that's a long, long way away... "

*​

"Cor - is it hot in here, eh?" boomed Sirius Black, dabbing at his brow as he staggered through the Potters' back door. "Might wanna sort those enchantments out, Lils!"

Lily shot him a heavy-lidded glance from the far side of the conservatory, ensuring to take a liberal sip of frigid pumpkin juice to stay her tongue. She tensed at the clap on her shoulder, the tenor chuckles past her ear marking the presence of James: young Master of the House and - probably against her better judgement - her husband.

"James Junior wear you out already?"

Lily took a deep, nasal breath. "His name is Harry. You lost. Seven years of mourning does not a sportsman make, James."

"Typical Obrimos," said Sirius, flashing a smile which only managed to further incense her. "Your sort need to unwind. Chill... "

Lily imbibed the rest of her glass, maintaining eye contact with Sirius all the while.

"There," she said, beaming as she leapt off her high chair to peck James on the cheek. "That was the last of it. Tell your mum thanks, love."

Sirius' jaw dropped. "You- no. The nice jug? With the cinnamon?"

Lily nodded, shuffling off to the nearby sofa where her August edition of The Practical Potioneer lay in wait.

The mop-haired guest scrambled for the counter, clutching the glass with desperation as he pressed it to his face.

"Just a quick Refill... should do the trick..."

He tapped the base of the glass to no effect. James winced, wringing the back of his neck.

Sirius raised his head, eyes forlorn. "What?"

"She bewitched them, mate. Bacchus' Bane."

Sirius, for all intents and purposes, crumbled. Lily was sure she spotted a heavy layer of sheen hanging just so under his eyelashes.

"You," he rasped, levelling a quivering finger in her direction.

She tittered. "Right? I never thought I was much of an enchantress, you know."

"So," said James with a loud clap, "now that's settled - where's my boy, Black?"

Sirius threw his head back. "In the garden. Got bored of me. Like everyone."

Lily felt a sharp pang in her gut. Maybe she had pushed it too far.

"You know you can do much better," she said, sniffing as an image of the dread Gorgon herself crossed her mind.

"Pucey always was a bit shit," mumbled James. "I mean, her name's Pucey. Seriously Pads - get over it."

Sirius hung his head. "It's worse than that. My uncle and her old lady, they've had a bit of a cabal going on for a while, now... "

"Which shouldn't concern you," said James, shrugging. "It's all business and secrets about business- "

"Except they play Gobstones at the Cauldron after Consilium meetings. All I hear about is 'You didn't buy her this,' and 'You didn't tell her that', and 'What do you mean you haven't flown her Liondragon yet?' "

James squawked. "That is filth, mate." He stole a look at Lily, aghast.

The term was lost on her, yet for the umpteenth time since her Awakening, Lily considered that ignorance just might be bliss. Of course, that went against a Mage's natural inclinations.

She sighed. "Fuck it. I want to know, now."

James looked like he had swallowed a box of Acid Pops in one sitting.

"Earning your, erm... "

He coughed, mouthing a pair of words that were so simple, yet so coarse in context that Lily mentally kicked
herself for not being able to parse it into Sleeper slang.

Lily blinked, staring blankly at Sirius. "My son is out there."

Sirius barked a laugh. "Come on, his hearing isn't that brill- " He trailed off, turning to the window to check on said child. "Blimey. Who taught him how to climb like that?"

"No one," said Lily and James in unison. She was on her feet and out of the door in an instant.

Her blood ran cold.

As Sirius had said, so it was: Harry was scaling the twenty-foot holly tree in their back garden, and with inexplicable ease for a slight seven-year-old.

*​

Harry loved finding things.

Shiny things, old things, squishy things and even smelly things... sometimes... if only to break them open later.

He wasn't naughty. He ate all of his Gurdyroots and went to bed when his Mum said so (though he'd always nick his Dad's glow-in-the-dark copy of Quidditch Through the Ages first), and he hadn't said the M-word in front of his cousin for a whole month (though he did live far, far away, anyway).

But he loved breaking things open, mostly to find out what was inside. His Mum said it was expensive, but his Dad called it natural, so Harry settled for the middle and called it life.

So how could it be that Harry was surrounded by all of these things - pretty much heaven on Earth or wherever he was - and feel so sad at the same time?

Oh yeah. The Boogeyman.

Harry had never met the Boogeyman before, but everyone who mentioned him had a described him differently, so maybe this was just his Boogeyman. Either way, the black-cloaked flying man kept telling him to climb the scary column of bones he was clinging to, and he was getting more impatient by the minute.

"Higher, Sleepwalker! You squander your destiny with your lack of haste."

With nothing else to do, and not really in the mood to die just yet, Harry obliged. If he reached the top fast enough, the Boogeyman might give him a gold nugget.

*
​

"Calm down, Lils! You'll only fluster 'im- "

"I'll fluster you in a minute, you inbred mutt of a man!"

Sirius cleared his throat. "Paradox. I believe the term you're looking for is 'of pedigree'."

James tried to drown out the bickering pair as he watched his son, who hung fast to the top of the tree for ten minutes and counting. He was impressed that his wife had managed to restrain herself for so long.

Then again, Sleeper-born though she was, he reminded himself that Lily knew exactly what was at stake.

And surely enough, they had won: Harry's finger traced the bark, as if to carve his mark on its jagged surface.

"He's done it!" bellowed Sirius. "Go on, my son!"

Lily rounded on him. "You what?"

James cackled with pride. The Potter line of Awakened remained intact... not that he'd any doubt.

"Wait a sec," said Sirius, edging towards the tree with his head held high. "Who turned the lights off?"

Shite.

In all his reverie, James had been oblivious to the thick crest of sable clouds engulfing the sky over Godric's Hollow. The next breath he took was stale and thick, and as he stepped forward, his clothes seemed to crack at the creases.

Harry's first Nimbus.

"A Moros," said James, his voice hoarse. "Just like his Granddad."

The performance appeared to have tired Harry out, as he lost his grip as the words left his father's lips.

James sprung into action, clutching his mahogany wand for dear life as he aimed it under his earthbound son. With a flick and a cry, a bright red bouncy castle sans roof materialised long before Harry reached the ground.

The trio bounded towards Harry's prone form. Lily cradled him in her arms, rocking back and forth as she cried with what James hoped was joy.

He was sobbing twice as hard.

Soon enough, Harry's eyes flickered open, vibrant as ever.

"You did it, Harry," said Sirius, lightly jabbing the boy's ribs. "You left your name at the tower, didn't you?" He looked back at James, grinning madly.

Harry nodded. "Yeah... yes, I did. The Boogeyman said well done." Sirius' grin faltered.

"What Boogeyman, Harry-bear?" asked Lily, laughing through a sniffle.

Harry frowned. "The Boogey... no. I think he said his name, but I couldn't say it out loud."

Atlantean, maybe?

James knelt in front of him. "Did he say anything else, son?"

"Yeah... something about... kings... yeah! He was the king of the watchtower, and he said it was falling."

"Falling?"

"Yes. He said they were all falling."