The Founders Read Harry Potter Books

"What foul abomination is this?" Frowned Godric, upon seeing a stack of strange books. "Burn it."

 

A story that never got beyond half a prologue.


<<<>>>


The Long Arm of the Law

<<<>>>​

Harry was panicking.


It came on fast, consuming and paralysing him. His natural instincts – fight or flight, surrender or hide – went to war with each other, miring him in a swamp of indecision that froze him as surely as the panic did. His breath came in ragged gasps and his heart pounded against the inside of his ribcage. He clenched his fist, crumpling the pieces of parchment in his hand. Looking down he could see Arthur Weasley’s hurried script.


DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE’S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.


Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the contrariness of Arthur’s advice, didn’t know whether to thank the man for trying to help him or call him an idiot for writing such conflicting instructions the next time he saw him. The thought of Arthur’s letter brought the anger and frustration that had been building since the start of summer to the surface. He wanted to scream and break thing, he wanted to curse someone so badly that they think up is down, down is up and that they want to be goddamn eunuchs.


The anger and frustration fought the panic for dominance and through the haze of helpless rage and anxiety Harry realised that he’s got to do something. Anything. The realisation should have galvanised him into but it didn’t. He was too tired, worn down from being asked to do too much, too often, with too little support. He didn’t know what Arthur expected him to do. Didn’t know what anyone expected him to do.


He felt lost and vulnerable.


And he hated it.


<<<>>>


The anti-apparition ward bounced the fugitive apprehension team when they tried to apparate onto Privet Drive. It was a benign variation that only hurled them to the edge of the ward instead of tearing them limb from limb and scattering their remains. They stumbled as they rematerialised at the ward-line and Mitchell, the team’s rookie, fell to his knees before Patrol Leader Ferguson pulled him to his feet.


“What have you got Billings?” Ferguson asked.


“A full suite of anti-transportation wards. Anti-apparition, anti-portkey, the works. Solid shields, nothing tricky. It’s good warding,” Billings reported, professional admiration in his voice. He was cross-trained as a curse-breaker and knew his wards.


“That’s all?” Ferguson’s mind was full of defensive walls that threw up walls magic to stop them cold and offensive wards that would burn them to ash or turn their bodies to Swiss cheese despite the sturdy defensive magics that turned their patrolman-reds into veritable suits of armour. He had survived the war and knew the horrors of assaulting well warded positions.


“That’s all,” Billings confirmed. His expression was stoic but his tone was bemused. No one laid in permanent anti-transportation wards without some additional defences. No one. Except, apparently, whoever was defending Harry Potter.


“Are you sure?” Ferguson couldn’t help but ask. “Chances are Dumbledore created these wards. Maybe you missed something.” He wasn’t impugning his partner’s abilities, just voicing what Billings was thinking. The man’s mind might be going but Dumbledore was still Dumbledore.


“There’s nothing,” Billings said, more confidently then he felt. He exhaled sharply, gathered his courage and stepped forward, across the ward-line. Anyone could make assurances. It took a real man to match actions to words.


Nothing happened.


“Of course,” Billings said, his tone thoughtful, “there might have been a notification spell tied into the wards that was activated when we tried to apparate in. That would have been dispelled when we were bounced.”


“Too late to worry about it now,” Ferguson said. “Onwards lads, quickly and quietly.”


<<<>>>


“Ministry of Magic, open the door!” The voice filled the house, startling the occupants.


“What the ruddy hell do they want?” Vernon demanded of no one in particular. His piggy little eyes fell on the pieces of parchment in Harry’s hand and lit up with delight. “They’re here for you, aren’t they Potter?” He puffed out his chest with imagined self-importance. “Well, I’d best let them in then.”


He started for the front door to let the Ministry officials inside. Ministry officials who would snap Harry’s wand. The thought of losing his wand, the visible symbol of his wizardry, spurred Harry into action. It was panicked action though, which is to say that it was stupid action.


He stunned Vernon.


His heart soared as Vernon collapsed to the hallway floor. He’d wanted to do that for years. Despite the situation he couldn’t help but smile. That felt good.


Petunia started screaming and snatched up an ornamental tray from the side table, swinging it at Harry, so he stunned her too. Then he stunned the semi-conscious Dudley. Just in case.


The act of doing something helped to clear his mind. It didn’t wipe away the panic but he was able to think, to act where he was paralysed before.


His options flashed through his mind in an instant. He’d already disobeyed Arthur’s order not to use magic but he couldn’t fight Ministry officials, even if doing so wouldn’t see him arrested. The adult wizards would hand him his head.


He couldn’t fight but he couldn’t leave the house. Which meant that he needed to hide in the house.


“My cloak,” he realised aloud, an instant after the train of thought started.


He bolted up the stairs to his room and threw open his trunk. Thankfully the invisibility cloak was sitting on top of the jumble of magical tools that a student wizard required. He threw it around his shoulders and disappeared from view. He crept from his room, knowing that it would be one of the first places the officials checked, and that he’d be harder to find if he kept moving.


<<<>>>


They unlocked the door and let themselves in. It was a soft entry. Ferguson entered first with Swanson right behind him. Mitchell came in third and Billings brought up the rear.


His eyes fell on the muggles first and with a quick spell he made sure that they were just unconscious and not dead. He released a breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding when the spell confirmed that the muggles were still alive. They were still dealing with an underage wizard with a penchant for out-of-school magic, not a killer.


“Billings, Swanson, downstairs. Mitchell, we’ve got upstairs. Remember – stunners only!” Resisting the urge to look back and ensure that the rookie had heard his orders and was following Ferguson went up the stairs.


It didn’t take long to sweep the house. Checking Harry’s room Ferguson noted the open trunk and the presence of the top of the line Firebolt. He had a moment of satisfaction when he heard Mitchell note the broom’s presence aloud. The boy was learning. That was good. He talked to himself at the most inopportune moments. That was bad. Ferguson reminded himself to speak with Mitchell about the bad habit when Potter was in custody.


“There’s no one here,” Billings said into his short-range communicator. “Potter must have run before we got here.”


“Good as he is on a broom, he would have taken his Firebolt and it’s still in his room,” Mitchell said confidently before Ferguson could. “He wouldn’t have left on foot, would he?” he asked, his confidence wavering.


“He’s still here,” Ferguson said, “just hiding. Homenum Revelio,” he ordered.


<<<>>>


Harry’s estimation of Ministry workers was rising. Unfortunately for him not all of them were as incompetent as Fudge. From the corner of the living room he watched as one of the red robed officials, called Billings by his teammate, communicated with his colleagues via a plain looking stone that was stuck to the cuff of his robe. He had hoped that when they didn’t find him that they’d simply give up or at least search the surrounding area.


They weren’t doing that though.


Billings waved his wand. He didn’t incant the spell and Harry didn’t recognise the wand movements. He did feel the cold magic wash over him and saw Billings’s eyes snap towards him. His wand wasn’t even a second behind his eyes Harry already had his wand ready – just because he didn’t fancy his chances of taking on a fully trained wizard didn’t mean that he was going to go down without a fight.


He let the invisibility cloak fall and pool around his feet and conjured a shield charm in time to block Billings’s stunner. Twisting his wand, he angled the shield towards the living room door, stopping the stunner that Billings’s partner fired as he entered the room. Without so much as a glance passing between them the two men fired another stunner apiece. As the two spells raced towards him and his weakened shield Harry realised the mistake that he had made by standing in the corner. It was out of the way but it left him no room to dodge if he was discovered.


The shield took Billings’s stunner and Harry felt a moment of pride that he’d been able to stop three stunners from adult wizards before the partner’s stunner hammered through the shield and hit him in the chest. It had been weakened enough that it didn’t knock him out immediately, giving him time for one last thought as he sunk to the floor. It was a fleeting thought, a prayer, that Dumbledore would be able to help him.


The thought would be repeated an hour later when he was revived in a Ministry holding cell and officially charged.

 

When I first saw this fic's summary, I thought, "Huh. Creepy!Fleur? Mystery story about a (Harry's) hidden nature?"

I shouldn't have expected something that interesting. [...] "Instead, we got some 14-year old fan-fic writer's clumsy attempts at 'romance'."

<Jorm`Pharaoh> Again, I expected a creepy!Fleur.

--

"I know your secret, Harry Potter." Her eyes were playful, amused, but there was something else there that made him feel very uncomfortable. "You can hide what you are from the ignorant and the blind, but you cannot fool me." She turned away, a coy smile on her lips. "Afterall, it is in our nature."

 

I'm more interested in a reporter Harry. I distantly remember one story where he was writing some pieces under a pen name, but I'd prefer him to undercover the Ministry's secrets, Death Eater's connections and maybe even his own Prophecy in style of Bernstein and Woodward.

 

I vaguely recall that, too.

 

I think it's called Poison Quill or something.

link

 

In the summer before his fifth year, Harry and Dudley are attacked by Dementors ... and werewolves.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
​

He ran for what seemed like hours, without thought, without rest. The air rushed forward to greet him, biting his eyes and any other opening it could find. But he didn’t mind. All that mattered was the heavy thump of his feet hitting the concrete, the frantic beat of his heart, the sharp intake of breath. He took a quick glance behind and his reverie was broken. They were gaining on him. His rhythm was gone, and he staggered between strides, forgetting his breath; gasping. There were three of them, each as large as a small car. Salivating maws filled with rows of serrated teeth, incisors as long as the claws on their feet. He could almost feel their warm panting breath on the back of his neck, inviting a horrible, savage death. The streetlights in the neighbourhood flickered and died as a wave of freezing air crept over the horizon, casting the suburban landscape before him in the pale eerie light of the full moon. Hoping to gain some distance, he made a sharp turn into a side street and realised his mistake as soon as he saw the sign ‘NO THROUGH ROAD’.

“Harry!” He heard a female voice shout in the distance. Whoever they were, he knew they couldn’t help him. Not now. The beasts slowed to a light trot behind him, sensing that the hunt was almost over. There was no sign of the dementors, but he could hear screams in the distance. He figured they must’ve gone in search of better prospects.

The street ended with a tall brick wall on all sides, bare except for a small heavy looking door and some lewd graffiti. Some of it was familiar to Harry, having seen it scribbled on walls all over Little Whinging. ‘Big D woz here’ said one and just underneath it was another one that said ‘Killa Piers Polkiss’. There were two more, but they were illegible. All of them were written in the same thick black permanent marker. Big D was Harry’s cousin Dudley: Dudley the teenage gang leader; Dudley the petty criminal; Dudley the apple of his mothers’ eye. Dudley the most likely dead.

Harry gripped his wand and turned to face his pursuers. They had stopped ten or so metres away, spreading out to cover any possible avenue of escape. Harry felt a peculiar tugging in his gut as the world slowed with each heartbeat. His vision sharpened, and his senses extended within and without to capture the entire scene in brilliant detail. The cold sweat running down his back, the way Dudley’s too big hand-me-down shirt hung on his shoulders, the tight wet grip of his wand in his clammy fist.

The werewolves slowly closed in, one of them gnashing its teeth. The middle one, the largest of the three, crouched slightly and tensed its powerful hind leg muscles, its bloodshot eyes narrowing to slits. He’d seen one clear a two metre tall fence in one leap earlier and Harry instinctively knew he had time for just one spell before they were upon him.

Harry wracked his mind. He knew direct spells wouldn’t hurt them, at least any direct spells he knew. They could shrug off Reductor curse like it was nothing. He knew because that was the first spell he’d casted that night. He’d have to try something more indirect. Then it came to him. It was a crazy idea; one that he wasn’t even sure would work. Five syllables, two wand movements, and a hell lot of luck.

There was a movement at the mouth of the alley, and a long shadow briefly danced across the moonlit asphalt. The middle wolf growled and turned its head slightly, its gaze leaving Harry for a split second. It was all the time he needed. Moving as quickly as his Quidditch honed reflexes would allow, Harry pointed his wand at his lower abdomen and spat out a feather light charm, almost garbling the words in his haste. Luckily, the spell caught, and Harry instantly felt an odd sensation in his body as his weight was drawn down his legs out of his body like water down a drain. At the sound of his voice all three werewolves’ heads snapped to him and with a growl, the middle one leapt, its wicked claws extended. In the same movement, Harry pointed his wand at the ground.

“Depulso!” he shouted, shooting into the air just as the werewolf’s claws slashed the empty space his face was a moment ago. Up he went; ten, twenty metres into the air. Below him he saw the silver light of spell fire shooting down the length of the alley as an unknown wizard joined the fray. The feather light charm failed as Harry neared the apex of his jump and he felt his momentum slow. In that alarming moment he realised that he hadn’t planned ahead enough to deal with gravity’s inevitable pull. Thinking frantically, Harry aimed for a spot as far away from the werewolves as possible.

“Accio ground,” he said, followed closely by “Oh shit,” as he hurtled towards the ground at a tremendous speed. The ground was quickly growing larger as Harry twisted his body so he didn’t land head first. He flicked his wand at the spot on the ground he was aiming for, cast a cushioning charm, and braced himself for impact.

Harry hit the ground side first with a dull thump, rolling over painfully on his back. For a few moments, he couldn’t move at all and lay there on his back staring at the stars. He slowly took inventory of his limbs – no broken bones, a hell of a lot of bruises, but nothing broken. He couldn’t believe his luck. His plan had not only worked, it had worked fantastically. Harry felt giddy at the thought. A cascade of joy mingled with relief gripped him; he felt euphoria he hadn’t felt since he’d faced the Hungarian Horntail in the first task.

And then the dementors returned.

​

 

With great care, her hands caressed the side of the fastened chrysalis, her fingertips unobtrusively probing for even the minutest cracks or flaws in the milky-white flesh. Satisfied that there were none, and that her proverbial Adam's transcendence was going off without a hitch, she turned to check on the cocoon in the corner with a smile.


The girl was still alive, though she wouldn't be for long – the cocoon's flesh was -literally- the only thing keeping her in one piece.


[...]



Rendered mute, Hermione could only stare down with a wide-eyed look of horror; her robes and bra were gone, the fibres having been dissolved alongside her skin and body fat, and her innards were clearly visible, the muscle tissue now tissue-paper thin; her heart was pumping a mile a minute, her lungs rapidly contracting and expanding as she began to hyperventilate, and her bowels throbbed.


Daphne merely smiled. “My venom will be breaking down your internal organs, soon – you haven't got much time left.” She vaguely gestured to the chrysalis opposite. “When Harry awakens, he'll be hungry – energy needed to catalyse the final moult, you understand, and having soup handy is a heck of a lot better than the crap I was given.


“You should be proud – your name will go down in history, forever remembered! You will bear witness to, and become a part of, the beginning of a new species – a superior species! One that will dominate this world, and bring around eternal utopia!”


--


Didn't put too much thought/editing into this, and there's a bit missing - lazy.


Just needed to kickstart the brain a bit.

 

Truth in Thousand Lies​

“And then, Harry Potter changed into his phoenix animagus form, and descended upon the Dark Lord in a torrent of flames and fury, his magical song healing everyone in the battlefield.” Fred made a fwooshing noise. “Then...”

“Telling stories again, Fred?” There was a voice from the other end of the room.

“Lord Potter-Gryffindor-Black!” Fred bowed so low that his head almost touched the ground.

“Fred,” Harry groaned. “What did I tell you?”

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Fred tried to look apologetic. “I shouldn’t have bowed - I know that you don’t like us mortal men bootlicking your immortal person.” Then, he leaned forward, and whispered conspiratorially. “He’s angry because I skipped Slytherin and Hufflepuff.”

Harry slapped his hand on the face, almost knocking his own glasses off.

“Hufflepuff?” The boy asked from his place on the warm couch. “Lord Hufflepuff?”

“Yeah,” Fred laughed. “He inherited that title from Cedric Diggory, when he won the international Triwizard Tournament using one hand without the wand. With his legs tied.”

“You can do wandless magic?” The boy turned to Harry in awe. “Why didn’t you tell me? Could you teach me?”

“He can’t,” Fred sighed. “He would have taught us, but we don’t have a magical core big enough for it to work for us. Well, maybe you could learn, but you’d have to go and participate in a ritual in Gringotts...”

“Fred.” Harry was grinding his teeth now.

“He actually uses a simple wooden stick instead of a wand, to trick everyone.” Fred winked at the child. “We have witnesses who saw his wand breaking, but he’s still carrying the same looking one after all these years - a transfigured stick.”

“Whoa,” the child was beaming at Fred.

“That’s it.” Harry crossed his hands. “I’m going to give you back to your brother.”

“Come on,” Fred was the one groaning now. “When did I say something that wasn’t true?”

Harry walked closer and after a wave of his wand, Fred soared up into the air, while laughing merrily. “Harry, can’t a painting have some fun sometimes?”

“I will kill George,” Harry muttered. “It’s only for a week, he said. Fred needs to see more people. Why can’t you hang in the shop, then?”

“Because you love me?” Fred offered, hanging on the frame.

“Harry?” The child spoke up. “Please, don’t make Fred go.”

Harry thought for a second. Then for another two. “Fine.” He floated Fred back to his place on the wall. “But no more lies.” He turned on his heel and was off, only stopping at the doors. “Oh, and dinner is in five minutes.”

The child nodded. “Yes, Dad.” When the door closed, he turned back to his favorite painting. “Was any of that true?”

“What do you think?” Fred was grinning like a cat who ate a canary. “You did notice that your father didn’t use any incantation to move me from my place?”

The boy blinked a few times.

“And this,” Fred tapped on the frame allowing his words to sink in. “Was spelled with a permanent sticking charm by my dear brother.”

 

As soon as Dumbledore's proclamation of doom reached his ears, Harry involuntarily swallowed and choked a little on his own saliva.


“What do you mean I have to marry Katie Bell in three days!”


Dumbledore shifted uneasily in his seat – Harry assumed that he was quaking under his piercing green glare. Fawkes, on the other hand, was was giving him a look of concern and pity; would he have to once again cry on his dear companion's haemorrhoids, later on?


“I'm sorry, my boy,” Dumbledore said gently, while inwardly cursing his wooden chair and his lack of foresight regarding cushioning charms, “but it seems that your mother got rather inebriated one night and, against James' wishes, foolishly bet that she could drink young Katherine's father under the table.”


Harry merely blinked, surprised at hearing this new side of his supposedly angelic mother; in the meanwhile, Dumbledore continued his image-breaking revelation.


“Suffice to say that Katherine's father outweighed your mother considerably, and she lost rather spectacularly. Remus avoids ember-mead, still.”


Harry stared at his headmaster for nearly a minute in shocked silence, his mouth opening and closing like a carp out of water. When he finally managed to bring himself out of his stupor, he said, “Why didn't dad stop her?”


“Your mother was...” And here Dumbledore hesitated a little. “She could be rather passionate, under the right conditions.”


Harry mentally translated that into, “Your mother was a mean drunk, and she would kick your father's ass if he ever disagreed with her.”


“The ceremony will be held in three days, on the eve of the Summer Solstice -”


“Wait!”


Dumbledore peered curiously over his glasses at Harry.


“It was done in a pub, right? Not somewhere like Gringotts? That means it can't be binding!”


The hopeful and relieved look on Harry's face died a sudden and inglorious death at Dumbledore's sad look.


“Unfortunately, the wager was overheard by a goblin called 'Heinikan', and as the goblin saying goes, 'a goblin is never off-duty.'


“Now, I understand your confusion, Harry; why would a Gringotts goblin officiate a witch's wager? Well, after your mother broke his nose in a spectacular display of muggle street-fighting, the act earning his respect, Heinikan was all but too happy to legalise it on the underside of a coaster.”


Well, that all but confirms that mum was a mean drunk, Harry thought to himself.


–



<Jorm`D3> Harry choked a little on his own spit. "What do you mean I have to marry Katie Bell in three days!" Dumbledore shifted uneasily in his seat; Fawkes gave him a concerned look - would he have to cry on his dear companion's piles, yet again? "I'm sorry, my boy. It seems that your mother got quite inebriated one night and, against James' wishes, bet that she could drink young Katherine's father under the table. To make it interesting, an...unfortunate bet was made, which just happened to be overheard by an equally inebriated goblin called 'Heinikan'." Harry's mouth open and closed a few times. Finally, he managed a weak, "Not my father?" Dumbledore smiled, his eyes distant. "Oh yes, contrary to popular belief, you mother was quite the mean drunk."

 

This is one of my many started but never finished ideas. You can easily tell what inspired it.

The Boy Who Killed​

Sirius looked at the boy standing before him. His innocent six years old Godson who he planed to make a living weapon of his revenge. Not for the first time he felt terrible guilt, but he quickly killed it in himself.

Today was a very important day. Today everything that to this moment was nothing more than simple games for children will become a serious training regime with one purpose – to make Harry capable of killing the Dark Lord and his men.

“In duels there are two ways of dealing with enemy's curses – dodging or making a shield,” said Sirius to his Godson. “The second one, while not a bad option, has one big disadvantage compared to the first one. Can you guess what is it?”

“Umm...” Harry started to think very hard.

“Do you want a hint?”

“Yes.”

“Think what you can't do while making a shield.”

“What I can't do?” Harry thought about it. “What I can't do. What I can't do. I know!”

“What is it?”

“If I'm making a shield, I can't be cursing the bad guys.”

“Exactly.” Sirius smiled, pleased with his Godson's answer. “That's why making a shield when you can dodge and curse at the same time is simply wasting an opportunity to attack. Unfortunately, wizards tend to do that more often than not, even if they are aware of this simple fact.”

“Why is that?”

“Bad teaching mostly,” explained Sirius. “By the time you can get serious about dueling, your head is full of bad habits taught you on DADA lessons.”

“Why not change it?” Wondered Harry.

“Good question. Mostly because nobody see a reason to teach children how to duel in real life.”

“But you will teach me, right?”

“Of course, Harry. By the time you are old enough to go to the Hogwarts you will be on your way to become the best dueler in the world.”

“Like Albus Dumbledore!” Shouted excited boy.

“Yes, like him.”

*

Five years later.

“You don't need to worry, Malfoy,” said Hans Uber. “My men and me will keep you safe.”

Lucius resisted urge to correct the man.

“I do hope so. Especially with all the money I'm paying you,” he said and went back to his Mansion.

“Are you sure we can trust them?” Asked Narcissa when he entered their bedroom. She was sitting before the mirror preparing to sleep.

“They are mercenaries. As long as I'm paying more than the other guy they will not betray us,” he said. “There are not many wizards and witches that can afford that. None of them want us dead at the moment.”

“And yet someone else wants.”

“We can't be sure.”

“Don't lie to me, Lucius!” Shouted Narcissa. “Goyles, Crabbes, Notts. All attacked and killed. You perfectly know why!”

“We can't be sure!”

“I will leave you to your delusions then,” his wife said standing up. “I'm sleeping in Draco's room tonight. Someone needs to protect our child from mistakes of his father.”

*

Hans Uber was a professional. When he saw that their attacker was a ten years old kid, he didn't hesitate for a moment. Even if that was not a trick and he was really fighting against a child, any mercy was out of table when he killed first of his men.

One thing was sure though, child or not, their enemy knew how to fight. He was amazingly quick and agile, not to mention rather small as a target and more importantly didn't even bother with defending himself using magical shields, choosing dodging and running between his opponents instead. As much as they were trained, it wasn't tactic that they fought against before, making them hesitate before sending another curse, not wanting to hit one of their own.

The kid on the other hand didn't have such a problems and methodically killed them one by one. It was over before it started.

*

Lucius couldn't believe what he just saw. He went outside to once again check if everything was alright, only to witness how a young boy, not older than his own son, killed dozen of full trained Hit-Wizards.

Using the element of surprise he wanted to kill the boy, but the last one of the mercenaries was quicker. Before he had a chance to finish his curse, a green spell hit him in the back and an adult man appeared from under the Invisible Cloak.

Seeing enough, Lucius quickly got back into his Manor. He didn't believe that its walls will give him more than few moments before attackers enter it. They already disabled most of the wards to even show up on the courtyard and managed to make their own anti-Apparation ward stopping him from escaping. But he hoped that he will at least have enough time to alert the Aurors.

He made it to his study room and was taking the Floo Powder when he heard the child's voice behind his back.

“Don't even think about it you Death Eater scum.”

“Harry, language,” said the older man.

“Sorry, uncle.”

“Hello, Lucius. Long time no see.”

“Black,” he finally recognized the attacker. “I though you are dead.”

“Not only you,” said Black. “Now drop the wand.”

He did as asked.

“Harry, from what I remember Malfoys have quite a library. Go there and look for something to read. It will take a while.”

“OK, uncle.”

“He's brilliant kid, you know?” Said Black after the boy went. ”Very much loving books like his mother, but James too would be so proud of him.”

“What do you want?”

“To kill you and every Death Eater along with you. But not today. Today I have a different plans for you. You will spy for me.”

“You're mad if you think that I will betray the Dark Lord. Whatever you can do to me, he will do hundreds worse if I'd do anything against him.”

“I know. That's why I don't expect you to do it on your free will.”

*

Narcissa knew that they were under attack. She thought about trying to escape and even predicted that she had a good chance of success if she was alone, but that wasn't a case.

She looked at her sleeping son. He was put under a spell, so no matter what happened he will not feel any pain.

Then she heard knocking on the door.

“Come in,” she said. It's not like she had any choice, but at least whoever it was, they were cultured.

“Good evening, dear cousin.”

“Sirius,” said Narcissa. “I'm guessing that means my husband is dead.”

“No, he is alive. You could say that we have come to an agreement.”

“I see. Then did you come here to kill me?”

“Also no. You may married Death Eater, but you aren't one. I'm here to worn you that you are safe as long as you don't stand between me and my targets.”

“What targets? If you want to harm Draco...”

“Not your son,” said Sirius. “Bellatrix. Sooner or later that bitch will escape from the Azkaban. I have no doubts about it. And then I will kill her. You stay out of it and we are good. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

*

“Harry, we are going,” said Sirius entering the library. As he expected his Godson was surrounded by the pile of books.

“Awww, but I didn't have a chance to look through half of them.”

“Just take them with you. I'm sure no one will mind.”

“Really? Cool,” said Harry and with spell made books smaller, so he could take them all.

“What now?” Asked once they were outside of the Malfoys Manor.

“The rest of living Death Eaters are in the Azkaban and I see no reason to go there and merciful kill them. We will wait till Voldemort helps them escape and then finish them off. That's why I left Malfoy alive. Chances are they will use his home as a base of operation or at least he will take us to wherever they will hide,” said Sirius. “In meanwhile it's time for you to go to the Hogwarts.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“That's fucking awesome.”

“Harry, language.”

“Sorry, uncle.”

 

Harry Potter meets Kick-Ass?

I'd so read that ;D.
Still, a longer story would probably fall flat.

 

I posted this in the WBA section and got ever-so-gently told off and redirected here. Upon reflection, I can see why.


Summary: Sixteen and already they were plotting murder. Dumbledore thinks back on Tom Riddle and Sirius Black, their times at Hogwarts and the similarities and differences between the two.

Albus Dumbledore would always count Tom Riddle and Sirius Black as the two greatest mistakes he had made with his students.

Tom Riddle set off alarm bells in Dumbledore’s head the first time he met him. Tom could have been saved, had someone shown him the way. But as he charmed all the teachers other than Dumbledore, and Dumbledore did nothing but distrust him, Tom Riddle learnt that he could do anything as long as he didn’t get caught. Dumbledore was sure there were many time’s he didn’t get caught.

Tom Riddle committed his first murder at sixteen.

He charmed his way through life, gathering his resources and learning all he could.

They were all fooled by him for years, and laughed with him as he secretly plotted his rise as Voldemort.

They were all shocked when he revealed his true self.

Dumbledore bowed his head in sorrow at the news.

Sirius Black set off alarm bells in Dumbledore’s head the first time he met him. So he did what he did not with Tom, and acted as a kindly teacher that could be approached, and yet he fell to the charm of a smile and a wink like all the other teachers. Sirius Black learnt that he could get away with anything and that he could charm his way out of any trouble if caught. Dumbledore was sure there were many times he didn’t get caught.

Sirius Black first tried to murder someone at sixteen. It would have succeeded had James Potter not figured out what was happening and rescued Mr Snape in time. And Dumbledore realised that he had fallen into the same trap, and viewed Sirius as not dangerous beyond petty pranks. And he couldn’t expel the boy, because that would send him back to the Black family.

He charmed his way through the world, gathering information.

They seemed to have been fooled by him for years, laughed as he apparently plotted betrayal.

They were all shocked that fateful Halloween.

Dumbledore bowed his head in sorrow at the news.

He bowed his head one more time in that manner. It was a full moon night in young Harry’s third school year, when he did so, but this time it was accompanied by words.
“I have failed you.”

And Sirius Black met his gaze. His eyes burned with the pain of Azkaban and betrayal as he replied.

"Yes, you have."

For Sirius was innocent.​

 

Emma was not as surprised as she could have been when she found out her daughter was a witch. She had always been a strange child, and finding out that there was a reason, that it wasn’t all Dan’s fault, had re-assured her, made her feel like she was less responsible for what had happened to her daughter.

She had always been aware of his... proclivities... towards the younger girls. She had, after all, only just turned sixteen herself when she gave birth to their child. And even then, she had always been small for her age, and rather undeveloped when compared to her once-classmates.

But she had been in love with him, all the same. She had believed that he would be able to constrain himself to thoughts, to keep his perversions to himself, or to sate them on her. She had never considered that he might try their daughter. So when she had returned home, arms weighted down with shopping, she had felt more than disgust, seeing her daughter, naked and covered in her now ex-husbands blood.

She had felt guilty.

Oh, the courts never said she was. Neither did the neighbours. They helped her get her life back on track, they helped babysit, looking after Emma’s young daughter. And they all came to Emma’s second wedding, and said “wasn’t it nice, that she could find such a good man. Wasn’t it about time something went right for the poor dearie”.

But Emma kept her first husband’s name. Because she still felt guilty, even though nobody else believed it to be. She needed to feel marked.

He was a nice man. And, unlike Dan, his kindness was not just a veneer. He pulled long hours in the constabulary, more than enough to provide for Emma and her daughter. His long hours kept him away from home, and away from his family. But whenever they had the slightest problem, they knew they could rely on him. Detective Harry Morgan was a good man.

And so, years later, when he found his step-daughter killing the neighbours’ dog, he didn’t shout at her, or lay her over his knee and beat her. He sat her down, and tried to talk through with her why she had done such a thing. And when he failed to get through to her, when he could not impart the slightest hint of morality to her, he walked away.

He was a good person, and a good police officer. But he knew that sometimes the bad guys got free. And that good people suffered, because of this. So he tried to make his daughter, for he did think of her that way, a good person too. And if all he could do was a twisted mirror image of a good person, it was still the best he could do.

“You must follow the rules, Hermione. You must always follow the rules, and these rules are the most important ones you will ever hear...

-----​

Nothing truly new, just a simple Dexter fusion that's been buzzing around in my head for a few weeks. I saw a post somewhere asking why Hermione was so anal about the rules. And then I talked to my dad about Dexter and his rules, and I though 'why not, I don't remember seeing it before'.

Not edited, and not likely to ever go anywhere, so run with it if you want.

 

I never intended to finish it and I understand that it is not that good, but hey, I was bored which is a fine excuse for anything these days.

---

The cave was well lit, though the source of the light was nowhere to be found.
Inside, thirteen beings stood in a circle. Nobody in their right mind would say that those were humans.
Some resembled birds, other big lizards, one even looked like a giant, green serpent.
Suddenly, one of them, clearly the leader, spoke loudly, even though you wouldn't find a mouth on his body.

"My brothers. It is time for us to depart. We must leave this world."
This caused an uproar. There was screaming, pointing fingers and pure disbelief.

"Why, Arceus? Why must we leave?" Asked a big, blue being.

"Kyogre, you form wise questions. You see, the humans have changed. Mewtwo helped me understand that.
They make us fight each other to amuse them, to them we are simple animals that can be exploited."

Kyogre looked like he disagreed, but spoke no more.

"But why only thirteen of us? Why not the rest?" Asked a big, colorful bird.
Arceus simply looked at him, as if it was the stupidest question to ask.

"Because their minds have been corrupted by the humans. They happily subject themselves to their rule.
They are beyond our help. I have chosen you all, because of your clear mind and your abilities."
Before anyone could say something else, Arceus continued, this time louder.

"Now, we will go. I had doubts about taking Mewtwo, but after several conversations, I decided to take him us.
Mew, a failure of a Pokemon will not come. He chose to represent humans, so he will stay with them."

Mewtwo simply walked closer to his master.

"Then tell us brother, where will we go?"

There was silence. It looked as if their leader was contemplating something.

"To a world where Pokemon never existed, but humans have. Let us hope, that without us to abuse, they grew wiser."

With that, there was a flash of white light and the cave was empty.

*

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it.
A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.
Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment.
He held it out and stared at the name written upon it.
There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore.
And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out—”Harry Potter.”

Usually, such clear breaking of the rules would be followed by an outrage of many.
That, however, was not the case this time.

For before anyone could even speak after that information was revealed, a blinding, white light erupted above the tables.
It vanished as soon as it appeared, but in its place was something else.

Thirteen very unusual creatures, even by wizarding standards, floated in the air, as if suspended by a levitation charm.
"Greetings, humans."

 

as if they had once been holding hands.
It's a nice touch.

 

Cheddar, make a full one-shot out of that.