Andrés C. Herrera

So after reading Flames of Betrayal and Boy Who Hated, I had a ridiculous idea. This is an omake to the Boy Who Hated. I figured Snape could not be trusted by Harry to gather info on DE and their attacks because of a spell put on him by Voldemort that doesn’t allow him to tell everything that happens at DE meetings based on what info Voldie wants to give out. So I am thinking that Harry gets his info the old fashioned way and gets down and dirty for it, by seducing and sleeping with DE wives.

Harry arrived at #12 Grimmauld Place looking haggard and tired. All eyes turned onto him. As Harry was catching his breath, he smirked at a sneering Snape.

Harry my boy, what has happened? Is there an attack occurring right now? asked Dumbledore with his damnable twinkle in his eye.

It appears that you have yet to tell them, Harry said looking at Snape.

Tell us what. asked the whole Order.

Harry’s smirk deepened as he was about to reveal. Well apparently there is going to be an attack on a Muggle village in 2 hours. You mean the attack hasn’t started? Then how did you get so disarrayed? wondered Dumbledore.

You really need a hearing aide grandpa, so I guess I’ll just have to repeat myself. The attack will occur in 2 hours at a muggle village! I am pretty sure you could understand that. As for why I am like this right now, well I had to gather the info from my source.

Half the Order looked shocked while the other half looked like they were about to burst out laughing.

Severus hasn’t mentioned anything about an impending attack, so we do not know how accurate your source is. Maybe if you told us more as to how you obtained this info and from whom, we would be more inclined to believe you and take action Dumbledore replied.

Of course he wouldn’t say anything, he is under a spell similar to the Fidelius charm not to reveal anything unless Voldemort allows it. Haven’t you noticed that you only arrive at minor attacks well after the attack had begun. Voldemort knows he is a spy and tightly regulates the info you and your order receive from him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew all along that I was the Boy-who-lived but was unable to mentioned anything even under Veritaserum. As for from whom and how I got my info from, you will all need to be placed under the same spell as our dear potions master. I’ll just word it so it protects how I get the info and from whom.

After a bunch of grumbling and shooting Snape menacing glares, everyone eventually agreed. After casting the spell, Harry had to stop the smirk from appearing on his face.

My informant is Narcissa Malfoy and as to how I get the info, well lets just say loose lips tell stories. However, her lips were anything but loose, in fact, they tasted rather delicious.

At the gob smacked faces, his smirk appeared. A few in the order were trying speak but no words came out.

Yeah, Cissy was like that too. Her upper lips kept moving but as to how words came out of her mouth while she kept moaning and screaming, let alone reveal any useful info, I’ll never know. Hehe, let’s just say that Parseltongue has its uses other than speaking to snakes. Harry announced while wiggling his tongue out.

Lord of Bones

Harry bit his lip, holding back a yelp of pain as the well-dressed young man patiently bandaged his scrapes and bruises. The seven-year old watched the dark-haired man with a look of awe, recalling how the Dursleys’ new neighbour casually parted the Red Sea of Dudley’s gang with a friendly smile before whispering something in Dudley’s ear.

The boy turned pale and fled, not even aware of the man casually picking Harry up and walking away.

The man swabbed antiseptic over Harry’s final bruise, breaking the green-eyed boy’s concentration and reminiscing just as he attached the final plaster bandage to the boy’s arm, before standing up. Sitting in the suited man’s shadow, Harry kept his eyes on the ground, fidgeting slightly in his oversized cast-offs.

The man looked down, fathomless blue eyes glinting.

Harry froze as long fingers attached to a strong hand ruffled his hair playfully, the almost-paternal gesture a shock to his system. He started when the man dropped to one knee and looked him in the eye.

Harry didn’t look away.

True strength, Harry, is a very difficult thing to gain.

Harry stared at the man.

The trick, Harry, is to never lie, always show yourself to be better than them and make them believe it, have the power to backit up, and always keep your cool. From there, anything is open to you…  anything at all, Harry. said the man, his intense eyes burning into the boy’s own emerald orbs, and at the man’s words… a flame lit in the Potter scion’s eyes.

He nodded decisively.

The man smiled mischievously. Now that that’s settled, how about lunch? I’m starving!

Harry let a small grin show on his face as he turned around, the Dursleys temporarily forgotten as his neighbour escorted him out. Thanks, Mr. Cypher.

Louis Cypher smirked as he trailed behind Harry. Had anyone had been paying attention; they’d have noticed his eyes flash crimson-gold.

This vacation was already looking promising.

 

Privet Drive, at first glance, was a uniformly boring place. You could lift one of its houses and transplant it into another middle-class suburb on the far side of the continent, and the most you’d get for your trouble is Gee, I think that garden gnome looks a little lopsided.

Or, at least, that was what Christine Montgomery thought. Yawning, the mother of twins stretched in the doorway of Number Eight, Privet Drive; her tanned breasts molding tightly to the skimpy white T-shirt she wore. Blearily, the athletic blonde picked up the newspaper on the doorstep, scanning the front page for anything interesting.

 ‘Morning, Mrs. Montgomery, called out a familiar voice.

Christine looked up at the black-haired, green-eyed boy that walked by her gate. Good morning, Harry, she greeted, smiling at the eleven-year old who first greeted her when her family moved in three years ago. Harry gave her an impish smile as he walked on, a jaunty skip in his walk.

She watched him greet elderly Jonathan Crane, the lawyer (Number 7) and sweet old Mrs. Appleby (Number Six) with the same charming smile. The slim blonde sighed regretfully. If only he were a few years older…  she mused, with all the longing of a neglected wife. She closed the door and called down her girls for breakfast, missing the owl that flew past her window.

 

Care to explain, uncle? Harry asked mildly, tossing the heavy parchment at the obese man. He leaned back into the couch, steepling his fingers his fingers in front of him.

Vernon paled, but kept his mouth shut. The obese man’s eyes darted to and fro, as though waiting for someone to come to his aid. Sweat began to bead at his brow.

Harry’s lips quirked up as he crossed his legs, a slim black brow raised mockingly. Are you really going to be so petulant about this, uncle? he sighed, disappointment in his voice.

Now see here, boy—!

Moderate your voice, uncle. It wouldn’t do for the neighbours to hear about, oh, the night of August 18^th, 1989, now, would it? retorted the green-eyed young man coldly, a warning glint appearing in his eyes.

Vernon’s eyes widened before he suddenly sagged, a tremor of fear running through him. He licked his lips nervously. Wait till your aunt gets back, boy. Then, we’ll talk.

lugnut

Humor/Romance Teen rating.
Well this is my first real attempt at a Harry Potter fan fiction. Like so many other readers out there I’ve had ideas bounce around in my head for some time now. First they started off with illusions of grand, master epics that would take up hundreds of thousands of words… then I realized I don’t have the time, nor the talent to pull that off, at least not at this time. So I read some more, and I’ve fallen into a bit of a groove to want to read happy stories. I understand that stories with conflict, drama, and all that jazz is what makes a story interesting to read, I just figured my life is rough enough, I don’t need to read something with so much angst that it actually makes me upset. By no means am I putting those down that do enjoy that genre, it’s just not my cup of tea at the moment.
‘Firsts’ is just what the title implies, it’s a series of one shots of firsts in the lives of Harry and Hermione. Most will be upbeat and happy, with little to no real drama. Yes it’s fluff, and even guys every now and then want a little bit of fluff to read. Some of these stories are taken from real life examples that I have experienced and am using them as a base to work off of, others are not and are just idealized versions of what I think they are like, or what other stories (be it from friends/family or works of fiction) have led me to believe.
Lastly since this is an AU story of a fictional world, I will be manipulating the timeline somewhat? Why? Well because in this fake universe inside of someone else’s fake universe it will be easier for me to do so. Also because I want to so ::raspberry::.

 

Firsts

 

Wind

‘I could get use to this,’ Harry thought to himself. Hermione had herself draped over his torso, her left leg crossed over his right and her head was resting on his chest above his heart. It was, in his mind, the most comfortable he had ever been in a bed. The two of them had been dating for a little while now, shy of two months, but when you have known each other for several years already, much of the awkward getting to know each other phase, was well past them. So it was with a great amount of fear, as is always the case, but also a great amount of already in place affection that the two of them decided to consummate their relationship, five nights ago. Since then Hermione had spent every night at his place. They usually made love those nights, but tonight was different. Both were extremely tired from their day, so they just sat down to a simple dinner, talked for a while. Later they moved to the couch where Hermione was reading, curled up with her back resting on Harry’s chest, while he had the television on and was flipping stations, but that did not last long. When Harry noticed Hermione nodding off, he felt his eye lids grow heavy and he convinced her it was time for bed.

After changing and doing their nightly rituals, Hermione saw Harry holding up the covers for her. She quickly patted her way across the floor, in hopes of minimizing the time her bare feet had to suffer on the cold hard wood. She crawled into bed and this is how Harry came to be in his new favorite nocturnal position. Harry was running his hand across the skin that was left bare by the top Hermione was wearing to bed, and if they weren’t relaxed before, they were very quickly getting there now. This was something that not only seemed to make Hermione purr, but it also calmed and relaxed Harry almost as much. Both, while still awake, were in that in between state where sleep was only moments away, but if something moved just the right way, a flash of light happened, or a sound was heard it would pull you from your near slumber, back to the land of awake.

That’s when it happened.

Hermione tensed. Harry stopped running his hand across her back as his eyes shot open. Neither moved. They both heard the same noise pulling them from their near state of sleep.

Hermione…? Harry asked. He felt her head shift, her chin now resting on his chest. He moved his head to look down at her and in the dim moon lit room he saw her looking at him. Her eyes wide, and filled with horror, pure unadulterated horror, were staring back at him. There was no doubt in his mind she heard it too.

Hermione did you—

Oh my God. Hermione said in a horrified whisper, eyes still as wide as he’d ever seen them. Her lower lip trembled just a bit. That finally set Harry over the edge. He tried not to, he really did. But his chest was now shaking, which made her head bob up and down, which made everything all the much worse. He was trying to swallow it down, but he couldn’t, his lips were turning upward, he was fighting it with all that he could muster at that time, which wasn’t much. Then the first chuckle escaped, he managed to swallow a few more, but it grew to be too much. Loud booming laughter broke free from Harry, it was just too much. He knew this was going to upset Hermione, but the look on her face just made it too much to stand.

Hermione seeing Harry laughing like a mad man, felt her face go red, hands covering her face the burying it and her hands in his chest, and was shaking her head. This is awful! How could he find this so funny?! She was horrified. This was not supposed to happen, and there is Harry, the man that she loves, who supposedly loves her, is laughing like a hyena! ‘What a prat!’ She thought. Hermione moved to roll away from him, but he too fast and he wrapped his arms around her keeping her in place.

His peals of laughter were slowing down to the occasional chuckle. He knew he couldn’t look at her yet, because he knew it would start him back up again, but he also didn’t want her to leave his arms. He fought down the urge to laugh, hell he had to beat it down with a stick, but he eventually prevailed, but it took some work. Finally calmed down enough he looked down and saw that Hermione still had her head buried in his chest. He released his grip on her with one hand, managed to snake it to under her chin and lift it up to look him in the eye. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes did have a bit of shine to them, and her face was as red as he’d ever seen them.

I’m glad that you can find this so funny. Hermione told him in an angry tone. Harry knew he had to tread carefully, an angry Hermione, was a scary Hermione.

Hermione, love, I’m sorry. It’s just that you farted, a chuckle escaped his throat, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. He swallowed the rest of the laugh and continued after clearing his throat. I’ve never heard you do that before, in fact I’ve never heard any girl do that before. I wasn’t laughing at you, I was laughing at the look on your face—

She cut him off, That sounds like the definition of laughing at me Harry.

Harry stopped for a breath, and then started again, Okay maybe it does, and I am sorry for that. But the look on your face? It looked like you just accidentally cast a spell that would kill all puppies in a ten mile radius. He cast her one of his special Harry grins, hoping it would sooth her a bit… and it failed. She still looked at him through slits in her eyes. Harry sighed seeing it would take a little but more work that a grin to disarm this trap. He took a deep breath, a let it out in a low whistle. Okay Hermione, I’m sorry for laughing. That wasn’t right of me. It’s something that everyone does, just like going to the loo. It’s part of life so there should be nothing funny about it.

Hermione eyed him for a minute the tension left her body, almost as if in defeat. She closed her eyes, let out and explosive breath and looked Harry in the eyes again. I know Harry. I shouldn’t have gotten upset at you, it’s just… She trailed off at the end, shifting her eyes to away from him.

It’s just what? When she didn’t answer Harry cupped her cheek and got her to look at him again. Hermione?

It’s just that I want to be perfect for you. You deserve to have a woman who is flawless. You are such an amazing man that it makes me want to be a better me, just so I can make you happy. Hermione told him, and by the time she was finished she was speaking in just above a whisper.

Harry lay there, with his heart in his eyes. He started to stroke her back again. Hermione, love, I hate to tell you this but you aren’t perfect. She tensed a little at this, but he squeezed her tighter with his one arm while continuing to rub her back with his other. But those imperfections make you who you are. Who you are is why I am so madly, deeply, in love with you. I couldn’t imagine what my life would be without you in it. Maybe there is no such thing as perfect, but you are everything I could want and more.

Do you know why, in a strange way, this is a big deal to me? She gave him a dubious look, and slowly shook her head. It means you are comfortable around me. You are willing to let your hair down and be yourself. This, as strange as it may sound, is a big step. It’s like admitting to me that you are willing to let me see you at your best, and at your worst. I love you Hermione Granger. I know I’m not sounding very romantic, and this might be odd, but… I don’t know. Harry took in a breath and let it out slowly. You’ve been with me through everything so it’s not like you would run away…  I can’t find the words to say it, you know I’m not good at this sort of thing, but it means a lot to me that you aren’t afraid of anything with me around.

She smiled at him. She knew he meant it, she felt the same way about him. Yes they’ve known each other for years, but it’s still hard when you’re in a new relationship. You want to put your best face forward at all times, wanted to impress them. She sighed. Harry had seen her at her worst, just like she had seen him when he felt as though he had hit bottom. But it’s hard admitting that you aren’t perfect to that one person you care most about in the world.

I love you too, even if you are a strange man. She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. He smiled at her, and she smiled back at him.

That sounded really lame didn’t it? Harry asked her. She smiled again, gave a little giggle and rested her head on his chest again. I still can’t believe you farted. She rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see them, and shook her head with a slight chuckle.

Yes well, like yousaid it is natural everyone does it.

They lay there silent for a little while when Hermione heard Harry let a small laugh out. She picked her head up again and looked at him. The question was unasked but it was clearly written on her face. ‘Now what?’

Do you remember that day early on in our sixth year when Ron came downstairs with his arms all bruised and sore? Hermione nodded. She remembered that rather inconsequential event, but it isn’t everyday you see a friend come down the stairs in obvious pain, with black and blue marks forming on their arms. She also remembered it because Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus were laughing the entire way down to breakfast. It was one of those strange days that for some reason, sticks in one’s mind.

Well that summer Dean, and his family, went to visit his Uncle in The States for some time. While there he would hang around with his cousin and his friends quite a bit. Well he told me of a ‘game’ they played. Whenever someone would… well, break wind, one of two things would happen according to the rules. One is the person who was caught would have to say ‘safety’ and they were fine. However if someone said ‘knobs’ before the offending person said ‘safety’ they would be able to punch him in the arm until the culprit touched a door knob.

Hermione looked at him, a little disgusted, but obviously wanted to see where this was going so she gestured for him to continue.

In the dorm Ron was known for his flatulence, he flaunted it at times even. Being teenage boys we all thought it was funny when it first started by the time sixth year rolled around it got rather old. Well the night before when Ron came up for the night he did what he always did after dinner and let one go. This one was… let’s just say it had a very unique quality to it. Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust at him. Hey you’re the one that asked. Do you want me to stop?

She shook her head at him, No. Now I really want to see where this is going… even if it is rather gross.

Harry chuckled but went on. Ron went back down to the common room to pick up something, probably a quiddich magazine. While he was gone Dean quickly told us of the ‘game’ he played with his cousin. We all thought it would be funny to do this to Ron. Even Neville had an evil look in his eye that night, probably had something to do with his bed being right next to Ron’s. Harry shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, Anyway, Ron was okay the rest of that night. The next morning was a different story. When we woke up to get ready for breakfast we were all changing when Ron let one go. The four of us stopped while Ron continued to dress, we all smiled at each other and as a group yelled ‘KNOBS!’ and pounced on Ron. Harry let out a laugh. You should have seen it Hermione, Ron was freaking out, screaming, running around. It was too funny. He finally made his way to the door, with us still punching him. When he opened the door we all stopped, he looked at us like we’d gone mental and the four of us literally fell on the ground laughing. Ron looked like he wanted to hex us, but he was so confused by us laughing. The look on his face? It was priceless. Harry let out another small chuckle and shook his head.

Hermione looked at him with her brow crinkled, lips turned downward. Men always say they don’t understand women. Well I will say this right now, I don’t understand boys. Punching someone because they broke wind? How juvenile. If I’d have known this I might not have agreed to start dating you. Hermione finished her thought with an arrogant look, but her eyes betrayed her. Harry could see the mirth in them.

There are many advantages to knowing someone for so long; you know their quirks, and idiosyncrasies. You learn their dislikes and likes. Even before they started dating Harry knew that Hermione’s feet were ticklish, but as far as being ticklish went, that was all he knew about that subject as far as Hermione was concerned. But the physical part of a relationship allows you to fully explore your partner’s body, in a fun flirtatious sort of way. Harry took advantage of some of that newly acquired knowledge of her ticklish spots and proceeded to tickle her without mercy. This went on until she screamed, laughing the entire time, for mercy. When Harry finally stopped they resumed their original positions in bed. Harry on his back with his arm wrapped around her, stroking her back; Hermione with her head on his chest, her body draped over his, and her legs twisted with his, almost purring she was so content. Both content with just being there with one another. Both in love with the other.

They lay there for a few minutes, when Harry whispers, Hermione?

A very satisfied, Hmm? comes from the back of her throat.

Safety.

It takes Hermione a moment for it all to register. Her head rockets off of Harry’s chest ad she starts to playfully smack his arms and chest. You prat! she says, he voice full of humor and affection.

As they play wrestle in bed the thought crosses Harry’s mind, ‘Yes. I could definitely get used to this.’

 

Firsts

 

For those of you that are interested in the background to this story. This is based off of a real life event for me. Although it didn’t happen in bed, it happened on my couch while we were watching a movie. When this happened I was 21, and I laughed my butt off because of the look on her face when she did it. I really did like this girl, so I did what I could to comfort her, eventually it worked. But yeah, based on a real life story this one. If you liked this one look for my next story, ‘Changing.’

canoncansodoff

Let’s play a game, then, Harry stated, as Hermione squirmed on his lap with impatience. You can ask me ten questions with yes or no answers regarding this pizza delivery. If you still haven’t figured it out, then I get to give you five spankings as punishment.

Oh, you…  really! she chided. But the fact that she clenched her butt cheeks and ground down on his crotch when she made this protest caused Harry to doubt its sincerity.

He smiled and replied, On the bright side, if you do guess right, then you’ll get a reward.

Hermione’s eyes dilated slightly as she considered the possibilities. She then jumped a bit when she felt a hand snake up under her skirt and land on her thigh. Her mental jump was much higher when she realized that the hand wasn’t Harry’s.

What… what did you have in mind? she asked quietly, as she met the lust-filled gaze of the part-veela sitting next to them.

Harry smiled as Fleur leaned towards him, nibbled on his ear, and whispered something into his ear as she gave Hermione’s upper thigh a firm squeeze.

He nodded, then turned and whispered into Hermione’s ear.

You’ll still get the spanking you deserve, love… but get it right and after I’m done, Fleur will kiss the boo-boos all better.

Hermione gasped…  and immediately began to sequence out an optimal question set.

Seel’vor

I’ve had the Temporal Revelation scene written for quite awhile, but it’s not due to happen yet. Several people have commented that Hermione and the others would be angry with Harry, so this rather angry/angsty piece hit me earlier today. Tell me what you think. (PS: This will NOT be what happens in QL.)

Hermione, could I have a word with you in private? Harry asked, holding open the door for his girlfriend. She nodded, a slightly confused look on her face.

For almost a minute, there was silence in the conference room, until a shrill cry interrupted the quiet. You utter lying bastard! Hermione screamed, the sound of a fierce slap resounding through the room. Don’t you ever speak to me again, Potter!

The door opened, a fuming Hermione Granger stood there. We’re leaving. She snapped angrily. The group could hear the Box’s engines revving up, before a slight tremor in the deck plates informed them they were moving.

Hermione? Emma asked. What’s wrong?

Hermione fumed for a moment. That lying, two-faced…  did you know? She demanded, looking round the room. Did any of you know?

Know what? Dan asked softly, his voice cutting through Hermione’s fuming.

He’s a time-traveller. The reason he knows so much about me…  us, is because he came back in time. He’s lied to us for all this time!

He’s a time-traveller? Amelia repeated slowly. That’s…  that’s illegal.

Hermione didn’t bother with such trivial things as the illegality of her ex’s actions. All this time…  all this time, he’s been lying to me. Utter bastard.

Another voice sounded in the conference room, this one utterly emotionless. We have landed in Crawley. All personnel, please disembark. >From the far wall, a glowing barrier snapped into existence, slowly moving towards the crowd.

I guess we’re leaving. McGonagall said.

They trooped out, heading down the corridor into the console room, which appeared to be empty. Another glowing barrier of energy surrounded the console. As they watched, one of the levers slowly slid upwards, opening the doors. Hermione stormed out, closely followed by everyone else. They assembled in a group, watching the doors slam shut, before the characteristic ‘thud’ sounded, and the ship began to dematerialise.

Neville looked at Hermione intently. Would you please explain? Preferably more than ‘he’s a time-traveller’.

Hermione sighed, and plopped down onto the grass. Somehow, Harry had managed to drop them straight into the Grangers’ back garden. He said that he’s come from the year 2092, and that we were all dead. Killed in the war with Voldemort. He came back to save us all.

Right…  why did that make you angry? Neville asked.

He should have told me! Hermione hissed angrily. All this time…  he’s been lying to us since day one!

How? McGonagall asked. He’s never said that he wasn’t a time-traveller. When we’ve asked him in the past how he’s so accomplished, he said that he reads a lot. He never said when he did the reading.

Hermione nodded slowly. I…  I understand that. He should have told me, though!

He just did. Amelia said firmly. And you just slapped him, and told him that you never want to see him again.

Slowly, horror washed over her face, as she realised what she had just done in a fit of anger. Oh, god… 

One Month Later.

For a month, Hermione had been at Grimmauld Place with her parents and Sirius. No-one had seen or heard from Harry during that time. No reports about a mysterious silver coffin that appeared out of thin air, no reports of that famously messy hair. Nothing.

Since she had no way of contacting him, the communication mirrors all being suspiciously cracked and non-responsive, she was determined to tackle him on the first day of Hogwarts, and apologise. Profusely.

The small group of loyal Potterites had gathered, planning on heading to Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies.

Once in the Alley, things had gone to hell. At least thirty Death Eaters had attacked, killing as many as they could, destroying property, setting fires…  It was as close to hell on earth of could be imagined. Nothing was going to survive. Everyone was going to die…

A hauntingly familiar wind kicked up, a moment later, the sound of a wheezing/groaning object beginning to appear in Diagon Alley.

The Death Eaters froze as Harry’s Portkey Box materialised in the centre of the Alley.

At this point, the Potterites assumed that the doors would open, and Harry would come barreling out, wand blazing as he yet-again saved everyone. But you should never assume. The Portkey Box glowed for a moment, before a circular pulse of magic erupted, washing over everyone and everything. The Death Eaters dropped where they stood, instantly dead. The light side people watched the magic wash over them, feeling nothing.

When the pulse hit the wards, they glowed for a moment, before brightening.

Amelia Bones! A voice called into the silence. Amelia gritted her teeth and stood up, stepping in front of the Portkey Box.

Harry?

Suppose. The voice called back. I have a gift from you. The last gift I can give. The door opened, prompting Amelia to try and step inside the Box, only to stop as a glowing wall appeared. She stumbled backwards as a figure emerged; light green skin, no hair, battered black robes. Amelia recognised him instantly as Voldemort…  but a Voldemort like none had ever seen before. A beaten Voldemort.

Hermione shot out from her hiding place, running across the burning street. Harry! She screamed. Please! I’m sorry.

Voldemort has been defeated, and he no longer has his magic. Put him on trial for his crimes. The Death Eaters will be dead from the pulse. The door slammed shut.

No! Hermione shouted, hammering on the door. Don’t go, Harry! Please! I’m sorry!

There was silence for a moment, until Hermione heard the ‘thud’ that indicated pre-dematerialisation. Goodbye…  to all of you. The wheezing/groaning sound erupted once more, as the other-worldly energies at the heart of the Portkey Box shifted it away.

No! Hermione screamed as she dropped to her knees, crying into her hands.

116 years, 4 months, 12 days later…

Hermione Granger lay in her hospital bed, hating herself for succumbing to old-age. She hadn’t seen or heard from Harry for over a century, and hated herself again for letting her temper rule her all those years ago. She had never married, never found love…  since she pushed it away.

The last century had been peaceful and prosperous. With Voldemort defeated, but not killed, the Wizarding world had finally got off their collectives arses, and decreed ‘no more!’ There would never again be a Dark Lord. The prejudice, bigotry, cronyism, nepotism that had been running rampant throughout the Wizarding world was abolished.

They’d been dragged, kicking and screaming into the twentieth century, then the twenty-first, and now, the dawn of the twenty-second.

She felt herself becoming weaker, and knew that it would all end tonight. In a way, she was glad. She’d been suffering for so long…  the peace of oblivion would be welcome.

Or so she thought…  until a sound that had not been heard in a century began to wheeze/groan in her hospital room. Conveniently forgetting that she was over a hundred and thirty, she threw back her bed covers, trying to climb to her feet, only to curse when she flopped backwards onto her bed. She was too old, too weak…

The door opened, revealing the gorgeous face she’d rebuffed so long ago. Harry appeared to have aged about five years, making him a stunningly attractive twenty-year old.

Harry…  She said softly, instantly flooding with tears. Oh, god, I’m so sorry… 

Harry just nodded.

Can you forgive me?

He pointed at his mouth, then at her. It took a moment for her addled brain to remember one of the last things she’d said to him had been ‘Don’t ever speak to me again!’ She sobbed a little harder. Please, Harry…  speak tome.

Hello, Hermione. Harry’s voice was rough and gravelly, as though he’d not spoken in a very long time. You’re looking well.

She snorted tearfully. I look dreadful. But you…  you’re even more beautiful than I remember.

Thank you. And you look as beautiful as you ever could be, Hermione. Harry just stood in the doorway of the Portkey Box, not coming closer.

Can you ever forgive me, Harry? Hermione sobbed. I regret so much what I said…  what I did.

I forgive you. Harry replied softly. For your fear, for your anger…  I forgive you, Hermione.

A wave of joy and relief washed over her. She felt the darkness coming closer, and knew she had minutes, at best. Could I…  could I die in your arms, Harry?

Before she’d even finished the question, Harry was sitting on the bed, pulling her old and weary body into his lap. Using the last of her strength, she wrapped her arms around him. She lifted her head softly. I love you, Harry. I’m so sorry I didn’t get the chance to give you the family you wanted. So sorry… 

He began to rock backwards and forwards slowly. You’ve had my love for over two hundred years, Hermione. There was never anyone else. There never could be.

She cried in his arms. Cried for a life alone. Cried for a life wasted.

He cried with her in his arms. Cried for a life alone. Cried for a life wasted. Cried for a life over. He felt her slip away, passing quietly into her next great adventure. Sniffing back a tear, he picked up her now-lifeless body, carrying her into the machine that had become his home, his life. The door closed softly, and the Portkey Box vanished.

It was never seen again. The disappearance of Hermione Granger was big news for a long time. No-one ever discovered the truth.

Lord of Bones

Damn you, Seel’vor.
A/N: Let’s assume Sirius isn’t dead and that Tonks/Lupin and Bill/Fleur never happened or broke off.
Let’s also pretend Domino’s was available 14 years ago.

It all started with the doorbell ringing.

Hermione almost jumped out of her seat in shock, much to Harry’s delight (he’d been admiring the brunette’s bare legs); Ron choked on the chicken he was gorging himself on, Sirius looked up from his How to Rule the World with Pranks catalogue, while several other prominent members of the Order of the Phoenix stopped to stare at the offending doorway.

Another insistent ring echoed in Grimmauld Place.

To the shock of mostly everyone present, Harry calmly stood up, walked out of the room, down the hallway, and opened the door. A hushed conversation took place, before Harry pocketed something, muttered a Thanks, and walked into the kitchen carrying some plastic bags.

The rest followed him dumbly; the less muggle-savvy watching with some bewilderment as Harry casually brought out two flat boxes, three smaller packets and a large bottle of some sort of dark-coloured drink. He took a plate out, opened one box and began to pull out a triangular piece of bread.

Pizza? said Hermione in disbelief. How did—

She was interrupted when Ron’s hand lanced out to nab a slice, a look of curious hunger on his face.

Down came Harry’s hand, holding a spoon.

Oi! What was that for?! yelped the youngest male Weasley, holding his stinging hand.

Mine.

Then why can they have a slice? asked the outraged ginger, jabbing his thumb at the pink-haired metamorphmagus who’d just taken a slice with a cry of Finally! Real food! Next to her, a sultry part-Veela was delicately nibbling at a piece of garlic bread.

Harry turned to Tonks, an amused look coming over his face. Tonks, why am I letting you have my pizza?

Tonks grinned cheerfully. Because I’m a perky, cheerful and happy-go-lucky Auror, she said blithely, biting into the tip of the slice.

And?

The athletic woman’s grin widened as she struck a pose, her T-shirt stretching tightly over her perky breasts. Because I’m hot! she chirped.

Harry turned back to Ron, a satisfied look on his face as he clearly said, That’s why.

What about Fleur?!

Without a word, the beautiful Frenchwoman leaned over and caught Harry’s lips in a powerful kiss. The impromptu audience watched with some degree of shock (and lust and jealousy… you get the picture) as the silver-haired woman broke the kiss, her lips swollen and face flushed. Harry licked his lips and smirked.

That’s why.

Excuse me! snapped Hermione, tired of the author getting off tangent and feeling somewhat turned on; But how did you get someone to deliver pizza here?

Harry adopted a thoughtful posture as he opened one of the packets and pulled out a chicken wing. Well, Hermione, he said thoughtfully, there’s this device called the telephone, and—

Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry…  she growled, crossing her arms under her breasts and tapping the fingers of her right hand against her left arm. Harry, for his part, was busy enjoying the sight of Hermione’s shapely rack pressed against the fabric of her shirt. Quelling the urge to shake him, she slowly grated out, How did you get the delivery past the Fidelius Charm?

Harry stopped and stared at her. Hard.

Hermione began to fidget and blush under his intense gaze, her indignation replaced by concern with a healthy dose of embarrassment.

You mean, you don’t know? asked Harry incredulously. Sirius looked up from the chicken wing he’d stolen, a stunned look on his face. She doesn’t know?! he yelped. Tonks and Fleur looked up as well. She doesn’t/doezzn’t know? they chimed in.

Hermione’s face coloured. What is it?!

You mean… wow, I thought you knew all this time…  A mischievous look overtook Harry’s features.

Harry…  she gritted out, only to be cut off as the Boy-Who-Lived scooped her into his lap. Hermione squeaked, her arms automatically wrapping around Harry to keep her balance as her pert arse rested on his knee. Harry smirked at her playfully, watching her cheeks flush.

Try to figure it out, Hermione. It’s not difficult, but in the meantime…  he held a slice in his hand, … want a slice?

Because the idea of Hermione not figuring out that particular loophole amused me.

cloudtobias

This is extremely crack-tastic one shot. The idea just slammed into my head during lunch and I was wondering if it was worth fleshing out into a full fledged fanfic.

What new magic? Hermione asked, puzzled. Harry shot her and Ron a smug grin.

I learned it out of old book Sirius left me. Harry said. He was dressed all in white robs, and carried with him a tall, ornate staff with a green orb on the top. After I read it, it turned into these! He gestured to his new choice of clothing.

But what does it do, Harry? Does it make you fly or somethin? Ron asked, excited. Harry shot Ron a mischievous smirk.

I can in a way. You guys want to see? My strongest to date is Shiva but Bahamut is supposed to send me his challenge soon! Harry replied, already weaving his staff in a complex pattern.

Shiva? Harry what are you— Hermione was cut off as Harry’s staff gave off a sudden bright flash of blue light. She blinked her eyes rapidly to clear them and when her sight returned she was shocked at what she saw.

Whoa, Harry, where did this babe come from? Ron said, shocked. Draped over Harry from behind his was a beautiful woman with light blue skin. She was caressing Harry as she wrapped her arms around him from behind, nuzzling his cheek with her own.

This is Shiva, guardian summon of ice and the cold. Harry replied. Shiva giggled and winked at them.

Harry— Hermione tried but stopped. What could she honestly say?

Bloody hell, Harry! Does this mean you have one for fire too? Ron said excitedly. Harry and Shiva looked at each other, both smiling evilly.

Sure do, Ron! Want to see? Harry replied turning back to his friend. Ron nodded eagerly and Harry raised his staff in another complex pattern. Shiva, still clung to her young summoner, eager to see the look on the red-haired boy’s face.

Hermione’s eyes got wider.

Wait a minute—! she tried to stop them, but the area between Ron and Harry exploded in a large plume of hellfire. Bursting from the ground, emerged a large creature. He had large black horns, brown skin with flaming red fur. It growled and crossed it’s arms, snorting fire.

This is Ifrit, guardian summon of fire! Harry chirped. Said guardian growled at Ron, leaning down to eye the now cowering boy.

Eep! Ron replied, before fainting, as Hermione struggled for words. Turning to face Harry, she saw him and Shiva grinning at her.

A bit too much? He asked.

knihgtstriker

My first attempt at HP fanfic.

I could have eventually moved on. I am sure of it. I could have let go of the rage and helplessness I felt. If they had just left me alone. They being the women who had claimed to love me. I sat and listened silently thanking what ever god or quirk of fate that had protected my mind. Listened as they decided what my life would be from now on.

The graciously decided to set me up with a modest bank account and a house. The had left me my name and the false story of my parents death in a car accident. The rest they tried to take from with a story about being involved in a fire that left with amnesia. Hermione had scavenged the memories and knowledge from someone to leave me with an average pre-college/ university education.

For the first year they watched me. I could feel them. Always out of sight but just there on the edges of my awareness. Watching as I moved through this false existence. Watching as the others damned by them move through their new lives blissfully unable to remember what was stolen from them friend and foe alike.

In the second year they didn’t watch me as much. Stopping altogether about six months in…  Or so I thought at the time. For that six months I mourned all that had been lost to me as I had been unable to under their prying eyes. With my watchers gone and powerless claim what was once mine, I focused on my education. Anything I could get my hands on to fill the void left in me. Medicine and Nanotechnology sound interesting…

Three years in and I was moving on resigned to never see them again. Getting into my schooling was a blessing. I learned I liked learning about how the world worked without magic. I slowly put my losses be hind me and moved forward. Seeing what the world had to offer.

Four and a half years on I met Lara. Lara was kind, sweet, gentle and generous. She restored my faith in womankind. And then they took her from me. It was a supposed to be a good day, but some thing was off. I could feel it in the air and something scratching at the back of my mind. I couldn’t place it at the time. Lara and I had been dating casually for almost six months when it happened. I was going to spend the weekend with her when it happened. I felt the stunner hit just as Lara opened the door. I heard Lara scream as started to catch me falling form only to stop as she to fell to a silent stunner also. I felt the magic was over our enert forms as the levitated us in to her apartment. A few subtle compulsion charms and oblivates later. And Lara is leading me to her door apologising for leading me on. I humbly accept her words only put enough resistance to apease our invisible audiance.

I could have forgiven that one act of jealousy. I am sure of it. But that one act was only the begining.

Year Five saw the return of them watching me. One night I was convinced to clubbing with so new friends. I was at the bar nursing a beer. I felt the magic was over me before she sat down beside me. She being one my former lovers/betayers. I looked to see my new friends other was engaged with new friends of their own. She not knowing of my strange immunity to magic ordered me to take her back to my place. One quick trip later we are back at my place. After making out for a few moments she slips away to suppoesedy freshen up, I silently follow her and through the bathroom door hear her start to cast what I vaguely recall is a conception charm. I quietly slip away from the door. My mind races as to what to do but time is against me as I once again feel magic wash over me again. As I turn actng dazed I once again I sight I had thought I would never see again. My lover in all her glory. She commands to make love to her. I do.

I still loved them, God Help Me! Even after what they had done to me and the others. For a few glorius moments I let go of my anger and pain. But as with so many good things in my life it ended with a flash of a spell. OBLIVIATE!

One after another they come to vist their personal stud. The methods are different. The stuff of porn movie and trashy romance plots has become my hell. More children from me by these magical would-be amazons. After the last has had her way with me and gone. Leaving me once again supposedly unknowing. I know now what must be done.

Year Six sees them leaving me again alone again. I begin to research any thing that can give me back my power or at a way to level the playing field. Witches are jus as arrogant as wizards once were. They still for get about Squibs. I find my answers from the combined estates of some abandonded squibs. Lists of Magical deadzones and Magic resisant or proof building mateials. Plans for collars and cuffs that suppress magic. But that is only the begining. I have learned from my enemies and history. I don’t know if they are tracking me or not so I hire proxies to do work while stay close to home. I look into obscure foreign magic. Seals from Japan and China that drain magic that can be painted, drawn, tatooed or woven into fabrics. Technology from America Harden to work around magic or on magic. From Africa rare potions that undetectable by nomal means.

Year Seven is quietly spent finishing my education,I am no a fully licesened Doctor, starting constuction of my new home. I have copied and improved on several pieces of technology to suit my needs.

Year Eight quite as well sees creation of my joint project with several other nano-meds for internal injurys and nano-mist healing chambers for extenal . Nanites microscopic machine that can do just about anything. There is now no longer such thing as inoperable. My own persornal nano-slave system is up an running test subject are all totally under my control. The magical hardened nanites are ready for a test. Now all I have to do is wait.

Year Nine almost over. I have moved in to my new home. I expect a vist from some time soon. Everthing is as prepared as it can be. The Seals are in place as are the cuffs collars. The Magic Hardened nanites are ready. Unlike their normal counterparts they do not desolve in the bloodstream when not active. All I Have to do is wait.

Year Ten begins with a call from one Hermione Granger asking for a Meeting to discuss the instellation of few nano mist healing chambers a private school she runs.

She is more beautiful than I remember. The years have been kind to her. I offer a cup of heavely nano-slave laced tea as she steps into my office. My office is lined with every kind Anti-Magic seal I could get my hands on. Her magic doesn’t sense the nanites as she sips her tea. I watch descretly as the nanites map out her body on a computer screen on my desk as we talk. The screen beeps to lets me know that a press of a button she will be under my control.

I press the button. I have total control. I watch as she reaches for her teacup once more and freezes. I watch the panic rise in her eyes as she realizes she can’t move. Stand up I command and she does. Confusion plain in eyes. Remove any and all magical items you are carrying. She does so as understanding flashes in her eyes. I place everthing in th floor safe hidden by my desk. Sit down she complies. Hello, My love how have you been?

BSJinx

This is an experiment for me; my first 1^st-person story. If it fails, that’s what experimenting is for. If it succeeds, I may continue it or let someone else so do.

I’m standing on a flat empty plain. No buildings, no people, no idea where I am.

I hear a rumbling in the distance. It’s not a storm; the skies are blue and clear. What is it?

Ah. That tells me where I am- must be somewhere in the American Midwest. I can now see that those are re’em, giant golden oxen. Something is stampeding them toward me.

I’m not afraid of them, but I still think it’s a good idea to get out of their way. But when I try to run, my legs refuse to cooperate. I can’t move.

I hear them approaching, getting ever louder, and brace myself for their impact.

Rubmle, RUMBLE, RUMBLE…

****************************

And then I wake up.

I’m in my own bed, in my apartment. No sign of oxen anywhere. But I can still hear them rumbling for some reason, and my head hurts as if they did run me over.

Ah. That’s why. That sixth daiquiri was probably not a good idea. Nor were the ones after that.

I reach for the bedside table, where Hettie’s Hangover Helper awaits me. Evidently I planned ahead.

Use our special spells to channel the discomfort of your early-morning blues into energy for your busy day! God, what hack wrote their copy? But nothing else works as well against my headaches when I overindulge, and a few swallows quiet the rumbling to a dull roar.

I now feel well enough to look around. I see the calendar next to the window. Eleventh July.

Now I remember why I got drunk at the party.

Forty.

I’m fucking FORTY today.

I can’t be forty, I rage to myself. Old people are forty. My parents wereforty. My professors were forty- and up, some of them way up. I’m stillthe dashing young reporter who the Prophet had to hire because of her war stories, whose byline is feared by both Light and Dark…

Aren’t I?

I still have a bright future with the Prophet…

Don’t I?

Oh well, time to get dressed.

****************************

I finally make my way out of the apartment, after only three attempts at putting on a presentable face. Short walk into the City near Fleet Street, giving the password to the kiosk vendor who lets me through into the passageway when no one’s looking, and I’m on my way down to the Prophet’s offices.

I’m actually looking forward to work, for once. It gets my mind off that number and onto doing something produc—

OW! Who left that goddamn box blocking half the fucking door?!

Now that I’ve been stopped, I can see several other big boxes scattered around the newsroom, apparently at random. What the hell are all these boxes doing here?

I’m just about to inquire- loudly- when Paula Prish sidles up to me. She’s a friend and fellow writer. Sometimes. Not today, apparently. Glad you could finally grace us with an appearance, she smirks.

Paula, I’m not in the mood, I grumble.

Before I can continue, she says, The big Z told me that he wants to talk to you. I was just about to track you down. Great party last night wasn’t it?

For a while, anyway, I murmur. Did he tell you what it was about?

Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out. I do not like that grin. Not at all. I do like two paychecks a month, though, so I cross the floor to the editor-in-chief’s office.

****************************

Zenger Waldron. God, what a silly name. Someone told me he was named for some American newspaper writer way back when. He holds the door for me andshows me to the seat opposite his desk.

Good morning, Ms. Skeeter. Congratulations on your birthday, he says in that expansive, too-chummy voice I know only too well.

Thanks, I croak.

Now, I realize that birthdays only come once a year, Rita, but when they do, you really should remember to have the parties when you don’t need to work the next day.

’I don’t control the fucking calendar, Zenger!’ I want to yell, but instead I say, I’m sorry, sir, but my friends insisted that I stay and celebratewith them. Paula included, the bitch.

Have you got the story on Standards and Measures almost ready? This is something that our readers are looking forward to, you know? he continues.

I really despise those words, you know. He must have picked them up fromsome Yank, deciding to be hip and trendy. You’d have thought his first name would be warning enough. I’ve got all the interviews transcribed, sir, and I’ll have the copy finished in a couple of hours.

Why, I can’t imagine. Standards and Measures is the sub-department of the Ministry that manages the market for prepared potions and equipment. One of these quotes goes on and on about the thickness of cauldron bottoms, ferchrissake. The only person looking forward to this article is me, and that’s because once it’s written, I won’t have to write it ever again.

Mr. Waldron, I start.

Zenger, please. I like to think we’re all friends here, he smiles, showing all of his teeth. I know he wasn’t born with most of them.

Zenger, why are there all of these boxes around the newsroom? I inquire.

They’re the beginning of our material for the anniversary, he replies, grinning even wider, if possible.

Anniversary? A few seconds too late, I realize that I’ve given him an opportunity to slip into his other preferred mode: pedantic.

Yes, I’ll be making the anouncement later this week. This October will bethe tenth anniversary of the end of the War, and we at the Prophet will cover it like no one else, he grandly proclaims, as if there were thousands of people in the room, instead of just me.

’It’s not like there IS anyone else,’ I almost reply. The only other national newspaper in Wizarding Britain is the Quibbler, and Xeno Lovegood’s about the only person further out to lunch than Zenger.

We’ll be showing relics, interviewing survivors, running ‘Where Are They Now’ features. We will make sure that Britons know how lucky they are that peace rules the land, you know? he continues.

For the whole month? I ask, gritting my teeth.

Yes! There are so many stories to tell, you know. The battles lost and won, the measures taken by the Ministry to ensure public safety— half of which have never come off the books, I muse- the heroism of the Aurors whoprotected our government at such great cost. And your network of contactswill be invaluable to this effort, I’m sure, he says, finishing up with another sharklike grin.

Of course, Zenger. Is there anything else? I ask…  but I think of something else that came to mind during his talk. What about that Boy-Who-Lived…  Harry Potter? Whew. Just did remember his name.

For a second, I see Zenger go blank. What about him? he responds.

Are we going to interview him at some point? I inquire.

Zenger returns to his previous animated state. Not bloody likely. He’s ten, you know? His guardian, Professor Dumbledore, has been quite insistentthat he be allowed to live a normal life away from the spotlight, and we’ve been happy to comply. It really isn’t very decent of us to force a bunchof questions onto a little kid, you know?

I see, I reply. There’s something about that explanation that strikes meas not quite right, but I don’t know exactly what it is. Is there anything else you want from me right now, Zenger?

No, that will be all. Go ahead and write your story. I’ll let you know when the rest of the work needs to be done. And, Rita? he asks.

Yes? I hesitantly reply.

Happy birthday again. You don’t turn forty every day, you know?

Thank God for that, I think as I leave.

****************************

So all these boxes will be for the Ministry’s greater glory, I muse sourly as I dictate different paragraphs into my quill. Shouldn’t surprise me, but sometimes it does even after all this time.

When the Prophet hired me back in ‘79, it was part of an effort to bring all of the Light writers, insofar as they could be identified, under the Daily Prophet’s umbrella. The theory was that if we all worked together, we’d be a lot easier to protect from Death Eaters than if we worked freelance.

Of course, the flip side was that it’d be a lot easier to control us, and that arrangement never ended just because the War did. The Prophet’s shareholders wouldn’t allow it. If you want to scare yourself, just look at the list of shareholders of the Prophet and donors to the Ministry sometime, as I’ve done. Look at all those names that repeat at the top of both lists. I’m not quite a Ministry employee, but I don’t embarrass them unless I really have to.

After all, a girl’s gotta eat. And drink.

Still, I’m going to try to talk to some of my vaunted ‘contacts’ this evening. See if there’s anything to this reluctance to discuss Harry Port…  no, Potter. This way, maybe I can convince someone that I’m still a journalistic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe myself.

That’d make…  oh, one.

Lord of Bones

Just a thought, if the gods of magic were to involve themselves…

Beautiful Isis manifested first, the sleek white of her garment unblemished even as tears ran down her cheeks. Wicked Set, Lord of Serpents, came with her; forked tongue agitatedly splitting the air as his features shifted between human, animal and something in-between. Young Thoth the Scribe stood between them, his usually-smiling ibis features still as stone.

Weary Odin and sly Loki arrived next, accompanied by storm and flame. Gungnir blazed in One-Eye’s hand, and flame hotter than Mulspheim raged around the Wizard of Lies. To the far end, the darkness split open and Amatsu-Mikaboshi, Most August Star of Heaven, stood calmly, his features as composed as always even as the starry darkness of his robe writhed.

Wise Mathonwy and his nephews, as well as aged Ceridwen and Hecate of the Triple-Aspects appeared next, standing in the middle. Lusty Baron Samedi manifested next to Mikaboshi, his cheery features solemn; and a wheel of blazing screams given life heralded the coming of endless Abraxas of the Serpent-Limbs.

So it has come at last, sneered Abraxas, the many snake-heads laughing in mocking reproval.

It was always a risk, said Mathonwy calmly; But a catastrophe of this magnitude was not forseen.

Mikaboshi’s sibilant voice, neither a roar nor a whisper, spoke; The arrogance of the upstart and the temerity of those who would pass judgement on our children was never truly taken into account.

She always did like to meddle, chuckled Loki.

Vengeance! spat Set, venom scorching the air. They have taken our worshipers! Our children!

Still your fury, Jackal-Brother! warned Hecate. Punishment shall be meted out all the same!

What is your counsel, Ceridwen? spoke Samedi quietly.

The Cauldron-Goddess was silent for a long while, before she finally spoke. The magic — the true magic — is dying.

But there is an option.

The wisdom of Mimir shows this well, whispered Odin. Ceridwen nodded.

Take the best, the brightest, the most deserving. Teach them our ways… all of our ways. Let the magics of old — of true power, long before the decline — flourish through them.

And let us start with the mortal child called Harry Potter.

Abraxas laughed. A most fitting vengeance! It shall be done!

And the gods left, their plans slowly unfolding as the decline of the wand-witches began and the rise of the archmagi was set in stone.

Here’s an idea for a continuation — 10-15 years later, wizards and witches taught true magic (i.e. continent-raising, army destroying magic, etc)by the deities themselves show up and start teaching other ex-wizards and the witches who refused to abandon their partners; just as the population of magic-users is in serious decline. Harry bumps into his old harem.

Daenerys

The students watched in confusion as the hat appeared to do nothing.

Fidgeting started five minutes in, and even the teachers started to get concerned at the ten minute mark. Finally, at thirty two and one half minutes, Dumbledore stood up. He cast a silent spell, and threads of green, red, blue and yellow could be seen revolving through and around the student before returning to the hat and starting again.

The old wizard nodded, and commented loudly enough for everyone to hear The sorting is still continuing. As you can see, the hat is evaluating all the pathlines of thought and character. It is peculiar that it’s taking this long, since most children this young do not have the life experiences or beliefs of an adult.

He sat down again, and everyone watched the coloured lights as they continued. Slowly they starting dying out, and everyone noticed a sign of consternation from Dumbledore as in groups of four, the lights were reabsorbed by the hat. Finally one of each colour was left, and crept into the hat at the exact same time.

The student smirked as he lifted the hat off his head, and placed it gently onto the stool.

For a long moment there was silence before Dumbledore spoke again.

Well, hat. Which house does Harry Potter belong to.

The flap of the hat opened in a twisted grin. That …  is a secret.

Darkfiretiger

Harry, where did she come from?

The bestial Ifrit had been replaced with a red skinned woman whose lewd grinding against Harry would have made most strippers blush.

Hm, Took less time than I thought

yes master, it did

HARRY, what are you talking about?

Oh well this isn’t really Shiva, it’s her avatar in this world

Mmm what about me master

And this is Ifrit’s avatar, sort of their daughter

Why are they here?

To serve our master in any way he desires

The red woman begins to trail kisses along Harry’s collarbone

Because out Parents can’t travel to this world for enough time to be useful they combine some of their power with the local magic to aid worthy people, like Harry.

And how is she going to aid Harry

Well the form of the avatar is determined by what the receiver needs most, I suppose the universe is telling Harry to relax.

I’m not really sure what I wanted to do with this other than pervert someone else’s idea, I’ve done that so I’m going off to hopefully write some of my own work.

Seel’vor

Please bear in mind, this was random thoughts and scenes. It is definitely a half-arsed attempt, and hasn’t been worked on since Feb.

Monday, 18^th May, 1998

My name is Harry James Potter. I am a Weapon. I was conditioned by the Order of the Phoenix to destroy Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka ‘The Dark Lord Voldemort’. My mission has now been completed successfully. Tom Marvolo Riddle has been destroyed. My purpose for existence has now been fulfilled. Like any weapon with no purpose, I am ready to be decommissioned and dismantled, reduced to useful components or destroyed.

My entire existence has been this one goal, tempered through the fires of adversity, honed to a razor’s edge by the pain of neglect, aimed through the gun sight of guilt, and detonated with the trigger of compassion.

Hermione took a deep breath, coughing as she managed to clear some of the smoke from her lungs. The Final Battle had been bloody and brutal. There were casualties on both sides, gods, were there casualties. Fully one-third of Hogwarts students had been killed, with another forty percent seriously injured. The Order of the Phoenix had managed to survive relatively unscathed. Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge and Sturgis Podmore had all been killed, Hestia Jones was lying in a coma in St Mungo’s.

She picked her way through the fallen bodies of the Death Eaters, making her way over to Harry, hoping to see if he was all right.

The Weapon was sheathing the sword of Gryffindor, which it’d used to hack Voldemort’s head off, after obliterating him with a blast of pure white magic.

Harry! You’re okay! You did it! Hermione was about to rush him, and wrap him in the tightest hug she could.

Yes. The Weapon said. Its voice was cold and mechanical. Excuse me. Without waiting for an answer, the Weapon made its way over to Dumbledore, standing at attention in front of him. Sir.

Dumbledore, winded after a lengthy battle, noticed the Weapon stood in front of him. The Weapon’s face was cold and unemotional, not even bothering to blink. It was a little disconcerting. Ah, Harry, my boy! You did it!

Sir.

Is there something I can do for you? Dumbledore asked gently.

Orders, sir? The Weapon requested.

Dumbledore looked at him blankly. Orders, Harry? You’ve won! You’ve defeated Voldemort! He smiled in his patronising grandfatherly way. You can do whatever you want, now.

The Weapon just stood, staring at Dumbledore, making the old man squirm. What do you want to do, Harry?

The Weapon didn’t even blink. I do not want anything, sir. Weapon droned. What are you orders?

Dumbledore, for the first time, began to gain a glimmer of understanding at what they had done to the young Harry Potter. He wasn’t human any more. Now, he was just a blade, a weapon that had fulfilled its purpose.

Harry, Dumbledore said firmly. Go and rest. Sleep will do you the world of good right now.

Sir. Was the Weapon’s response, before turning and marching into the damaged castle.

Hermione rushed over to Dumbledore. Professor? Is he all right?

Dumbledore slumped against a convenient piece of rubble, before rubbing his hands over his face. I fear he is not, Miss Granger. He said wearily. I fear he will never be all right again.

What’s happened to him, sir? Hermione asked, biting her bottom lip in worry.

Dumbledore sighed. He has truly become what we forged him into, Miss Granger. He is a weapon, pure and simple.

Friday,July 12th, 1996

Harry was bored. Bored and angry. Bored, angry and frustrated. Lying on his bed, he cast his mind back to the last day of school.

Mr. Potter? The voice interrupted his busy reading of…  some book.

Harry looked up to see Professor McGonagall approaching him, cutting through the crowds of over-excited OWL students. Professor McGonagall! Harry cried out in mock-joy. How are you, this fine day? May I say that is a very flattering sleeve length on you.

McGonagall, completely fazed by Harry’s odd statement, looked down at her arms for a moment, before shaking her head slightly. Er…  thank you, Mr. Potter. She quickly brought her mind back to her task. The Headmaster would like to speak to you before you board the train, Mr. Potter. His password is ‘Skittles’.

Harry nodded, tossing the book into his already-packed trunk, before heaving himself off his bed.

Dumbledore. Even now, the name was enough to generate rage into Harry’s mind. He’d spent the last two weeks inventing different tortures he’d like to subject the old bastard to. He wouldn’t, of course, but he could fantasise. So far, his favourite involved a jar of strawberry jam, and a host of flesh-eating ants. It would take hours…

Ah, Harry. How are you feeling, my boy? Dumbledore asked, the damnable twinkle in his eye. Without giving Harry a chance to answer, he pressed on. Now, as you’re aware, you’ll be spending the next few weeks at your relatives house. The Order will come and collect you on August 2nd, where you’ll be taken to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore looked up at Harry, seeing the blank expression on his face, before he continued. Your owl will stay here at Hogwarts over the holiday. You won’t be able to contact anyone during the summer. We will send you an owl every three days. You will write a status report, and send it back to us. If you have any dreams or visions of Voldemort, make sure to include them in your report.

Harry stared incredulously at the man. This was going to be his worst summer ever!

Unaware of Harry’s thoughts, Dumbledore added more fuel to the fire. Because of the recent actions in the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort will be even more eager to capture you. You must stay in the house at all times, do you understand? No trips to the park, no shopping trips, and I’m afraid you won’t be able to go to Diagon Alley this year.

Dumbledore looked down at a piece of parchment on his desk, making sure he’d gone through all the salient points. It is imperative that you do not make contact with your Order guards this summer. They need to be hidden in order to make sure you are safe.

He made a mark against his parchment. Also, we will require your Invisibility cloak, and your broomstick, in order to make sure that you remain at Privet Drive.

Harry’s mind began to rebel. Excuse me, sir. The honorific was coated with a heavy sarcasm. Am I to understand that you, the Headmaster of my school, not my legal guardian, are putting me under house arrest for the summer, taking away a gift from my parents, taking another gift from my godfather, and making sure that I do not communicate with anybody you don’t approve of?

Dumbledore smiled winningly. I’m glad we understand each other, Harry. He said, the bloody twinkle bright enough to blind people. It’s for the best, you know. This will ensure that you remain safe during the summer. It will give you a chance to grieve for Sirius.

Oh, yes. Harry thought. It’ll also give me a chance to go out of my bloody mind.

Now, Professor Snape will be resuming your Occlumency lessons when you return to school in September. I hope you’ll be willing to put more effort into your lessons next time?

Harry fumed for a moment, before marshalling his face into a semblance of control. I understand your restrictions, sir.

Excellent, my boy! Dumbledore said, getting up from his chair. I’m glad you agreed to these necessary precautions. He opened the door, leaving Harry enough room to get out.

Harry had left the Headmaster’s office, fuming along the corridor. When he saw Mrs. Norris prowling ahead, he couldn’t help but take a short run and kick the vile little creature, sending her squealing up the hallway.

Now, fifteen days later, Harry had started to become just a tad annoyed.

He’d tried to explain it to Ron and Hermione when he got back to the dorm room. Their response had been…  disappointing.

Hermione! Thank god, I need your help! was the first thing Harry had said when he saw his bushy-haired friend in the common room.

Hermione looked up to see Harry approach. What’s wrong, Harry? She asked.

I’ve just been to see Dumbledore. Harry said, struggling to get his rampant temper under control. He just gave me a huge list of things that I have to do during the summer.

Hermione looked at him oddly. Well, that’s not so bad, is it? She asked carefully.

Harry huffed for a moment. Hermione…  he told me that he has to confiscate Hedwig, my Invisibility cloak and my broom, I have to stay indoors at Privet Drive until August 2nd, then I’m being moved to Grimmauld Place. I won’t be able to contact anyone while I’m there.

Hermione gave him a slightly patronising look. Harry, Professor Dumbledore’s the leader of the Order. I’m sure he knows what’s best. Just think; it’ll give you time to re-read all your textbooks. And you’ll be able to complete your summer homework.

Summer homework? What summer homework? We’ve just completed our OWLs. Won’t have any homework until next year. Hermione, I’m gonna be under house arrest for six weeks! Then I’m being moved to Sirius’ house. You don’t think that’s bad?

Hermione just shrugged. Professor Dumbledore knows what he’s doing, Harry. She said, completely missing Harry’s look of disbelief. I’m sure it’s not too bad. It’ll give you a chance to work on your Occlumency. If you practice that, maybe you won’t be fooled next time.

Harry’s jaw dropped. Again, Hermione missed it. Ooh, there’s Ron. Excuse me. Hermione got up and left Harry alone, going over to speak to the redhead. Harry, using Herculean effort, brought his face back under control, looking over at the two speaking in hushed whispers.

Ron looked up at Harry, shrugged, then went back to his conversation.

That had been fifteen days ago. Harry had entertained thoughts of rebelling against the foolish restrictions, but a telephone call to Hermione, two days after he’d got back to Privet Drive, had disabused him of that notion.

Hello?

Hermione? It’s Harry.

Harry? What are you doing? Professor Dumbledore said that you weren’t to have any contact with us during the holiday.

<Sigh> I know, Hermione. But…  I just needed to talk to someone. About Sirius. It’s been—

Harry, I can’t stay on the line. The Headmaster said that we weren’t to speak to you. I’ll see you when you get to Grimmauld Place. I’m sure whatever it is can wait until then.

She hung up. Harry had looked at the telephone with disbelief, before setting in gently back into it’s cradle. It’s gonna be one of those summers. He thought viciously. I can feel it.

Wednesday, 31^st July, 1996

Harry woke up on the morning of his birthday, wincing as he felt his ribs protest from the movement. Since his return to Privet Drive, Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had taken every opportunity to exercise on him. He received a beating from Vernon on a daily basis. Dudley had strapped him to his punching bag, and used him to practice his boxing, and Petunia used almost every household appliance to hit him with. Her favourite was a cast-iron skillet, hard and heavy, that she could swing with a baseball player’s skill.

Harry sat up slightly, waiting a moment to let the nausea pass. He hadn’t been fed in four days, and was only able to get water when he went to the bathroom. Of course, the Dursleys didn’t let a little thing like lack of food stop them from forcing him to do the chores, including the new rock garden they were having installed.

He cast his mind back to previous years; when waking up on this date, he’d find a small collection of presents from his friends, along with cards and other assorted goodies. This year, though…  this year, there was nothing.No owls waited to drop off presents, and he couldn’t even see his own owl, since she was being held at Hogwarts.

The thought that the Dursleys had gotten him a gift was optimism to the point of ludicrousness. The only thing Harry would receive when he went downstairs was another beating.

He’d given up on complaining to the Order. They sent him an owl every three days, asking him to write down a status report, and if he’d had any visions. The first few reports were less than stellar.

Harry,

This is the tri-daily check-in. Have you received any vision of You-Know-Who? Reply immediately.

Order of the Phoenix.

Harry had sent back a rather rude reply.

Dear Order of the Phoenix,

I have not received any visions of Voldemort. However, I have received a broken arm, fourteen contusions, three bruised ribs, and a concussion from my uncle and cousin. Please arrange for me to be removed from this location as soon as possible. Alternatively, please send Moody round to have a word with the Dursleys.

Harry

Seeing how he’d been treated by his ‘friends’ and school staff, Harry didn’t expect much from this, but held on to a glimmer of hope.

Three days had passed since he’d sent off the report. Moody had not yet made his way to Privet Drive, and he’d heard nothing. The next letter came as scheduled.

Harry,

This is the tri-daily check-in. Have you received any vision of You-Know-Who? We do not require a medical update. Moody is far too busy with important Order matters to come and speak with you. Reply immediately.

Order of the Phoenix.

Harry could have laughed, if the pain in his stomach wasn’t so bad.

Order,

No Visions. Still alive, although getting weaker

Harry

And so it went. Harry kept on replying to the useless letters from the Order, and kept doing his chores and enduring his beatings.

The thought of Hermione and Ron not sending him a present was probably the most painful experience of them all. Oh, he had enough money to buy whatever he wanted, but the acknowledgement from his friends would have been a balm to his injuries. There was nothing.

Friday, 2nd August, 1996

Harry had spent 36 agonising days at Privet Drive. When August 2nd finally rolled around, Harry could have jumped for joy. He didn’t, though. Instead, he had packed what few belongings hadn’t been confiscated by Dumbledore or destroyed by the Dursleys, and waited patiently for his Order guard to arrive.

When they did show up, Harry was expecting a ‘hello’, maybe a belated ‘Happy Birthday’. It wasn’t what he received, however. Instead, each of them treated him with the same cool apathy towards his feelings as Ron and Hermione had during the end of term. Harry ignored the painful pangs he felt, his face slipping into the cool mask he had come to develop.

How are we getting there? Harry asked Tonks politely.

We’ll be flying again. Tonks said briskly.

I haven’t got my broom. Harry said.

Tonks stopped from mounting her own broom, looking at Harry incredulously."Are you kidding me? She asked, exasperation filling her voice. Where is it?

It’s at Hogwarts. Harry replied calmly.

What use is it there? Tonks snapped. Merlin, Harry, don’t you think? Hours of planning have been wasted ‘cause you didn’t think about things.

Harry refrained from pointing out that Dumbledore had confiscated the broom. What was the point? It was fairly obvious at this point that no-one was prepared to listen to him, or to help him in any way.

Tonks, huffing and muttering something under her breath, sounded like ‘useless little arsehole’, pulled out a small medallion. This is the emergency Portkey to Headquarters. Tap it with your wand. We’ll have to fly there. She turned her back on him, but not quick enough for him to miss the scowl on her face.

Harry, still saying nothing, grabbed his trunk, took the medallion, and tapped it with his wand. With a nauseating ‘hook in the navel’ sensation, he vanished from Privet Drive.

Tonks watched Harry vanish, and her frown disappeared. She hated this plan. If it worked, great. But, what would be left of Harry?

I’m sorry, kid. Really, I am.

He rematerialised in the entry hall at Grimmauld Place with his customary Portkey grace. Which was to say, he slumped to the floor like a boneless mass of blood and organs. With a soft grunt, he hauled himself to his feet, pushing the trunk off his leg, and letting it clatter to the floor.

Mrs. Black started her usual diatribe about Blood Traitors, Mudbloods, lack of respect, et cetera. Harry filtered it out. Mrs. Weasley popped her head out of the kitchen, a small smile on her face, which vanished the instant she saw Harry.

Oh. You’re here. She said coldly.

What the bloody hell is going on? Have I insulted the gods or something? Harry thought, keeping his face as an icy mask. Do they all blame me for Sirius’ death? That was probably the most likely scenario. But, why is Mrs. Weasley bothered? She really didn’t like him…

Take your trunk up to your room, Harry. Molly said brusquely, turning her back on him, and heading into the kitchen.

With a grimace, his injuries were still sore, Harry hauled his trunk up the stairs. As soon as he passed the portrait of Mrs. Black, it stopped its ranting. So, the boy who got my son killed is finally here! It crowed. I should thank you, boy. You did the world a favour by removing Sirius from it.

Harry stopped for a moment, before walking resolutely on.

Tuesday, 19^th May, 1998

Hermione trotted into the Great Hall, stopping in her tracks when she saw that Harry wasn’t there. She jogged up to the Head Table, intent on speaking to Professor Dumbledore.

Sir, where’s Harry? She asked, slightly out of breath after her mad dash through the castle.

Dumbledore looked at Hermione with pity. Why are you looking for him, Miss Granger?

Hermione huffed slightly. Sir, for nearly two years, I have treated my best friend like crap. Now, it’s time to make it up to him.

He shook his head sadly. You, of all people, Miss Granger, are aware of what we did to him.

I know that, sir. That’s why I want to apologise.

Will it do any good? Dumbledore asked, staring at her intently down his nose. You’ve seen what we’ve made him. Do you think he will respond to an apology?

I have to try, sir.

Dumbledore reached into his robe pocket, pulling out the Marauder’s Map. He opened it quickly, finding Harry’s location. He’s in the broom closet outside Gryffindor tower, Miss Granger. When Dumbledore looked up, he could only see the back of Hermione’s head as she raced away.

Hermione jumped off the moving staircase on the seventh floor, panting slightly from exertion. She quickly headed to the Gryffindor portrait hole, then took a couple of paces further, opening the broom closet.

The Weapon was sat on the floor in the lotus position, it’s eyes closed as it allowed itself to rest.

Harry? Hermione asked in a small voice.

The Weapon’s eyes shot open, piercing through her like an AK. With an almost machine-like grace, it got to it’s feet. Miss Granger?

Hermione held out her hand, ignored by the Weapon. It’s ‘Hermione’, Harry, remember?

Yes, ma’am. Weapon droned. I remember.

Harry, I need to speak to you. Do you have a moment? She asked quietly.

The Weapon didn’t respond. The question was far beyond his current level of comprehension.

Harry…  I need to tell you…  I need to explain…  why we did what we did. Hermione’s eyes had tears in them, as she stared at the automaton that was formerly her best friend. Do you understand?

Yes, I understand. The Weapon replied, still not looking into her eyes.

Friday, 2nd August, 1996

Harry entered the bedroom he’d been sharing with Ron last summer, throwing his trunk onto the bed with an agonised squeak. He heard a soft moan, and turned to see Ron and Hermione, lying on his bed, their tongues wrestling with each other.

As soon as his trunk hit the mattress, Hermione broke away from her kiss, panting slightly, as she looked up at Harry, a dark look on her face. What? She snapped.

Harry looked at her curiously. Er…  nothing. How are you two? He asked tentatively.

Well, we were busy! Ron snapped, as he wrapped his arm around Hermione’s waist, pulling her closer.

Hermione just gave him another evil look. Harry, this is none of your business. Get out. I’ll tell you when you can return.

Ah, marvelous. More people who suddenly hate me. I guess the Daily Prophet’s been having another go at me. Sorry. He said contritely."I’ll…  uh…  I’ll just be going then. Without another word, he quickly left the bedroom, ignoring the sounds of lips smacking.

As soon as Harry had gone and shut the door, Hermione sprang off Ron, spitting onto the floor. She reached into her bag, bringing out a bottle of mouthwash. She took a quick swig, gargling, then spat into the empty glass she’d left on the bedside table for just this purpose.

Gah! She shuddered. Ron quickly took the mouthwash, actually swallowing the first two gulps, before he started gargling. Ron, no offence, you’re one of my best friends, but I really do not want to kiss you.

Ron nodded, spitting out his mouthwash. It’s just how I’d imagine kissing Ginny would be. He started trembling. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good looking girl, but you don’t do a bloody thing for me.

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the closed door. I hate doing this to him. She said softly. Ron nodded.

I do, too. But, remember? It’s Professor Dumbledore’s plan.

Doesn’t mean I have to like it. She muttered, leaning against Ron.

Harry entered the kitchen, noting that all conversations ended the instant he was seen. With a hastily concealed sigh, Harry stepped forward, going over to the cooker. He filled the kettle, and lit the burner with his wand.

What are you doing in here, Potter? Ginny asked harshly.

I was kicked out of my bedroom by Ron and Hermione. Harry said in a soft voice. I thought I’d come and get myself a drink.

You shouldn’t be in here. Molly said. Frankly, none of us want to be near you at the moment.

Harry’s brow arched, while he wrestled with the muscles in his face to conceal the hurt that statement generated. What the bloody hell is going on? I apologise if my presence causes offence, Mrs. Weasley. He said stiffly.

Then why don’t you get out? A man’s voice said roughly. Harry looked up, again having to wrestle his face into submission when he identified the speaker. Mr. Weasley? Your presence here is offensive to all of us. Your parents would hate you for what you’ve done.

Harry swallowed a sob, but couldn’t stop a single tear from dropping down his cheek. Without a word, he turned and left the kitchen.

Arthur collapsed into a chair, tears streaming down his face. I can’t believe I said that. He muttered, sniffing loudly.

Molly slumped next to him, her eyes glassy with shock. This is wrong…  we shouldn’t be doing this.

Dumbledore dropped the disillusionment charm on himself. Believe me, Molly. I hate this plan as much as you do. Possibly more…  but, it is the only way. We must harden Harry. Make him into the weapon he will need to be.

This isn’t right, though, Professor. Ginny sobbed. It’s not fair on him.

Believe me, Miss Weasley, I know this. Dumbledore said, slumping into a chair with a agonised grunt. I wish there was another way. Truly, I do. But we need Harry to be ready. This is the quickest way to get him ready.

By killing him? Ginny snapped.

My dear girl, we aren’t going to kill. Dumbledore explained softly. We’re just…  forging him.

When this is all over, Professor, Ginny said firmly. whatever’s driving that body around will not be Harry Potter.

Have Harry approach McGonagall in Grimmauld Place, and say to her Professor, could I—

Mr Potter, is this about 5^th or 6^th year Transfiguration?

Erm, no, Professor, but—

Then dismissed, Mr Potter.

Dismissed?

That’s teacher-speak for ‘get out’, Mr Potter! Now!

Tuesday, 19^th May, 1998

The Weapon followed Hermione through the school, its face an expressionless mask. Hermione led it to the Great Hall, before sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Are you hungry, Harry? She asked.

Weapon turned it’s head towards her. I do not currently require nourishment. It said politely.

Hermione looked at him, not quite sure why Harry was being so formal about it. Harry, I didn’t ask if you ‘required nourishment’, I asked if you were hungry.

I do not currently require nourishment. Weapon replied again.

Dumbledore approached the duo. Ah, good morning, Harry. How are you feeling today?

I am fine. Weapon droned.

Ah, good, good. Dumbledore replied. What are your plans for the day, Harry? Miss Granger?

Hermione glanced at Harry for a moment. Well…  I was thinking about maybe going to Diagon Alley, Headmaster. Maybe a bit of therapeutic shopping.

An excellent plan, Miss Granger. Dumbledore said jovially. What about you, Harry? Will you be joining Miss Granger?

Weapon looked up. Is that your order, Sir?

Dumbledore fought from sighing. It was going to take a long time to undo the damage they’d done to this young man. Yes, Harry. Your orders are to go to Diagon Alley and enjoy yourself with Miss Granger.

Weapon stood. Sir.

Weapon and Hermione made their way by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione was bouncing. This was the first time she’d been able to go out shopping on her own for ages. It had been far too dangerous with Voldemort’s Death Eaters on the loose recently, so she’d been forced to stay at Hogwarts. Now, she could enjoy herself.

I need to pop to Gringotts first, Harry. She said, practically skipping down the alley. The two made their way to the bank with no problems, Hermione heading down to her vault while the Weapon stood guard in the lobby. He had no need of money. His requirements were adequately met at Hogwarts.

Hermione made her way back upstairs. She made her way over to her companion. Let’s get some new clothes, Harry. Just the thing to cheer us all up!

Hermione was standing in Madam Malkin’s, looking at a soft plum-coloured cloth, deciding if it would make a nice dress robe. Putting the decision off until she’d had ice cream, she took Weapon’s hand, and pulled him to Fortescue’s.

What would you like, Harry? My treat.

I do not currently require nourishment.

Hermione was about to object when a small boy, dressed in dilapidated robes, bumped in to her.

Beg pardon, ma’am.

It’s no problem, young man. Hermione shook her head, watching the child walk off, before she reached in to her pocket, to find her money bag missing. Hey! You! The pick-pocket, realising he’d been spotted, started running. Harry, stop him!

The Weapon reached in to his pocket and pulled out his wand. Twin Reductos blasted into the thief’s knees, smashing the small boy’s joints in to ragged agony, pulverising bone and dislocating the kneecaps. The thief, as a small mercy, passed out, the pain too much for his conscious mind to tolerate.

Harry, what the hell are you doing?

Target is stopped. Weapon made his way forward, intent on finishing off the thief.

Hermione grabbed his arm. Stop. He’s down. You don’t need to do anything else.

The Weapon looked at her, before placing it’s wand back into it’s robe. Understood. With a baffled shake of her head, she pulled Weapon towards the seats at Fortescue’s.

Do you want an ice cream, Harry.

No, thank you.

Hermione huffed quietly. Wait here. Do not attack anyone. That is a direct order. I’m going to go and get some ice cream.

Understood.

Hermione vanished inside, intent on getting her ice cream, but her thoughts were racing. That was not Harry Potter. She knew that Dumbledore and Snape had worked on him with Legilimency, but as far as she knew, they’d taught him to suppress his emotions, making him more effective in combat.

But…  he’d attacked a child, dished out critical injuries to a small-time thief. This was not her best friend. She’d have to talk to him. See if she could find out what was left of the good, sweet boy he’d been before.

Harry, can we talk?

Weapon looked up, his eyes locked on hers. It was plain that Harry wasn’t in control of the body.

Hermione sighed. Harry, I order you to answer my questions. Do you understand?

Yes.

Will you comply with my order?

Yes.

Hermione took a spoonful of her ice cream, thinking about where to begin. Why didn’t you want an ice cream? She asked.

I do not currently require nourishment.

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was like he’d been programmed with certain responses. She’d seen cars with more personality than Harry was showing. Harry, ice cream isn’t for nourishment. It’s supposed to be a treat. You’ve defeated Voldemort. You deserve a treat.

Why?

Oh, god! It’s like dealing with a young child. Hermione did not do well with young children. You did the job, Harry. Besides, it’s fun.

Weapon didn’t miss a beat. Fun: the employment of time in a profitless and non-practical way. I have no need for fun.

Harry, everyone has a need for fun. Even Professor Dumbledore needs to take a break every now and then.

Weapon didn’t respond.

Hermione tried a different tactic. What have we done to you, Harry? She asked softly, not really expecting an answer. To her surprise, the Weapon responded.

My body has been honed to it’s maximum potential. Through the use of potions and charms, my strength, speed and stamina have been boosted to maximum efficiency. My physical needs were reduced to a minimum.

What about your mind, Harry? Hermione asked. Why aren’t you capable of having fun?

Again, to her astonishment, Weapon answered. My mind has been conditioned. Tactical scenarios have been implanted through the use of Legilimency, giving me access to a broad database of information for combat. My emotional responses have been permanently suppressed through an Occlumency barrier tied directly to my magical core. Harry James Potter, the boy, no longer exists.

You…  you know this? Hermione asked, tears in her eyes. He was describing the death of his personality in such a calm voice, it unnerved the hell out of her.

Yes. Weapon replied.

Doesn’t it bother you?

No. It was necessary for the greater good. A Weapon was needed to defeat Voldemort. A Weapon was created from the prophesied individual. Voldemort has now been defeated. The Weapon is redundant. Weapon didn’t even blink an eye at announcing his own obsolescence.

So…  that’s it? You’re just giving up on your life? Hermione near-shouted, tears streaking down her face.

Weapon turned it’s head towards her, the eyes boring into her own. It was never a life to live. It replied softly. Neither can live while the other survives.

Well, the other doesn’t survive now, does he? She shouted. Harry, you need to come back from this! You can’t just stay as a weapon. It’s…  it’s inhuman. The last word was whispered. Again, Weapon didn’t even blink.

I am not human, not anymore. Everything that was human was removed during the conditioning process. All that is left is a tactical weapon.

Hermione felt the urge to slap him, but knew that it would be pointless. So…  you don’t want to be Harry James Potter anymore. The boy I fell in love with.

Again, Weapon didn’t respond physically. Harry Potter is gone. He died during the training. Weapon’s head tilted slightly. You are with Ron.

Hermione gasped. You remember that?

I remember everything. Weapon replied, straightening out his head. My memory was also enhanced through Occlumency. You and Ron were engaged in heavy petting when Harry entered the room. You told him to get out, and carried on petting.

Crap…  Hermione muttered. Harry, me and Ron were never together. It was all part of Professor Dumbledore’s plan for your training.

Weapon tilted it’s head as it processed the new information. Tactically sound. Your plan was effective.

But, Harry, I care about you. It was necessary at the time. But, I was hoping that we could be together. I’ve cared about you for a long time.

Weapon cocked it’s head, the slightest hint of feeling there. An aberration. He’d get Professor Dumbledore to check it out and correct it later. Evidence does not support that conclusion.

Hermione snapped. Fine…  if that’s all you want, Harry, go and find out what happens to obsolete weapons.

The simplest things can often lead to the downfall of a civilisation. A single word can change the course of history. And saying the wrong thing to the most powerful weapon in the history of the world can have consequences more dire than imaginable.

So, it shocked the crap out of Hermione when the Weapon lurched to it’s feet, heading back down Diagon Alley, passing the blood splattered on the ground, making it’s way back to Gringotts.

I would like to see someone about making a will. The Weapon said quietly.

The Goblin teller recognised Harry on sight, and immediately called the Director over. Ragnok led Harry over to an office, and sat down.

It’s been a while since you been into the bank, Mr. Potter.

Yes.

Ragnok was surprised by the cold emotionlessness of the man. How is it Gringotts can serve you today?

I require the entire combined Potter/Black fortune combining into a single vault. I require a will to be made out, leaving all my wealth and possession to Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.

Ragnok stared at Harry for a moment, before pulling out a ledger from a concealed desk drawer. Mr. Potter…  are you aware of the current balance of the Potter/Black fortune?

No. Harry replied. However, there has not been a withdrawal made on the account in almost two years.

Mr. Potter…  the Potter/Black fortune is gone. Professor Dumbledore gave us a note, which he said was signed by yourself, giving him a Power of Attorney on the funds. It has all been moved or spent. The current balance of your vault is 53 Galleons and 6 sickles. There has to be a minimum of fifty Galleons left in the vault to keep it active. The 3 Galleons 6 sickles is two years interest on the funds.

Ragnok expected to see Harry blow his top, become emotional. He was sorely disappointed.

Understood. What about property?

Again, the only property left in your name is…  is…  appears to be unplottable, and under a Fidelius charm.

Split whatever funds are available and the property between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Are you able to witness the will?

Ragnok was baffled. The wizard in front of him had lost over three million galleons and four properties to other people, by the looks of it, fraudulently, and he didn’t seem to care. Y-yes, Mr. Potter. I can do this for you now.

Weapon left the bank fifteen minutes later, the copy of the will in hand. He stalked up the alley, ignoring everyone and everything around him. He made his way to the Apparition point to head back to Hogwarts. He could have simply apparated out, tearing through the wards like tissue paper, but had no desire to leave the Alley so unprotected.

As soon as he could, he apparated up to the school, landing neatly outside the gates. He was inside within minutes, intent on finding Dumbledore so that he could pass on the will, before heading off for his final mission, courtesy of Hermione Granger: Self-Termination.

As expected, Dumbledore was in his office, going through the Administrivia that came of running a school and a war. He read through another piece of parchment from the Ministry of Magic, asking how they should be doing their jobs with a sigh, before placing it onto a pile at the edge of the desk.

He looked up, jumping slightly in his seat when he noticed Harry stood not three feet in front of him. Good lord, Harry! You scared me!

Weapon cocked it’s head slightly. That was not my intention, sir.

Dumbledore tried to get his racing heartbeat to slow down. Is there…  is there something I can do for you, Harry?

Without answering verbally, Weapon held out a piece of parchment to Dumbledore. I need to give you this, sir. As soon as Dumbledore’s fingers touched the parchment, Weapon let go, turning on it’s heel and heading for the door.

Dumbledore opened the parchment, reading through absently, before he realised exactly what he was reading. Oh, shite…  He got to his feet, intent of finding Harry before he did something foolish. Before he got to the door, an owl was tapping on the window. With a grunt, he rushed over to the window, throwing it open and ripping the mail of the bird’s leg before it could even fly in.

He tore the envelope open, reading through the missive quickly.

This was a problem. Dumbledore needed to find Harry quickly to get the mess sorted out. Otherwise, the entire Order of the Phoenix would be facing the justice of the Goblins.

Weapon made his way through the school, looking for Hermione. First, though, he needed to head to his cupboard to retrieve the rest of his meager possessions.

His invisibility cloak was already being used by someone in the Order, so that could stay. Ron had taken possession of the Firebolt shortly after Harry’s conditioning began. Dumbledore had the Marauder’s Map, so that he could protect the school.

Weapon only had his arms, the Sword of Gryffindor and his wand, and the photo album left to him by his parents. Harry had added photos to it during his time at Hogwarts, but nothing had been added since the end of Harry’s fifth year. Those he would give to Hermione to take care of, as well as Hedwig. The familiar bond had been destroyed by Dumbledore; there was no need for a weapon to have a familiar.

He took the sword and wand from his belt, and wrapped them up in his battle cloak. As soon as he saw Hermione, he’d pass them to her.

Dumbledore found Harry stalking towards the doors. Mr. Potter, where are you going?

Carrying out my final orders, sir. Weapon replied, brushing past Dumbledore. He stopped, handing the bundled package to the old man. Please pass this to Miss Granger. He turned, and walked away.

As soon as Weapon passed the edge of the anti-apparition barriers, a rusty synapse fired a message into Weapon’s consciousness. With a new destination in mind, he apparated away.

Dumbledore raised his wand to this throat, casting a Sonorous charm. Miss Granger! Report to the Great Hall immediately! This is an emergency! Just in case she wasn’t in Hogwarts, he summoned his Patronus, a giant silvery phoenix, and sent it off, and called for Fawkes.

Darkfiretiger

I thought this would be a good place to post this, if not I apologize, it’s an idea I had while at work today fused with a summoner harry idea I’ve had for a while (not shown yet)

Marcus Potter watched the great hall as the 7^th year students let out all there pent up frustrations over the now finished NEWTS exams. Marcus had successfully bluffed his way through the exams spending most of the theory sections writing about how the subject affected his father’s life and he successfully got his practical examiners blabbering about his father so well that they simply forgot to test him. Marcus Potter, only child of Harry, had defiantly taken advantage of his father’s fame.

Marcus’s plans for that night were to again attempt to get into his girlfriend ,Alyssa Weasley daughter of Bill and Fleur, pants as well as attempt to convince her to enter into a three-way relationship with her twin sister Chloe. Marcus had heard rumours that twin Veela were more amenable to that sort of thing. Perverted little ideas flowing through his head Marcus spent most of the meal watching the Weasley sisters (One of 3 pairs of Weasley twins, but the only female pair)

Suddenly the doors of the great hall opened and a single figure walked in, draped in a dirty cloak and hunched over slightly giving the appearance of age walked towards the head table. Strangers entering the school was a familiar occurrence as after the true death of Voldemort and the return of peace to the magical world Hogwarts had opened it’s doors to travellers allowing free use of the library, quidditch pitch and even the kitchens, former students received free meals at Hogwarts (Limited to 5 a month) while strangers paid a small fee.

Welcome, Welcome Please come in all our welcome. Are you new friend or old friend? Please students welcome our guest Albus Dumbledore had been overjoyed to open the doors of Hogwarts once more and greeted every guest as on old friend. Wel~come to Hog~war~ts Most of the student chanted, not quite as excited as their headmaster, the puffs almost in unison while the snakes were rather lacking in enthusiasm preferring to attempt to gauge the guest in terms of wealth and power made difficult because he was covered from head to foot.

My thanks headmaster, but I am not here to partake of your hospitality but here to make a delivery

Of course, but wouldn’t it have been easier to send the item by owl?

The item is a rather powerful magical artifact, I would not trust it to anyone but myself At this the entire school perked there ears, someone was going to get a powerful item?

… and the recipient The headmaster was slightly apprehensive about letting a stranger bring something possibly dangerous into his school…

Harry Potter

Ah well unfortunately, Harry Potter hasn’t been here in nearly 20 years

But his son, Marcus, is attending the school correct?

Yes but Mr. Potter, the younger, isn’t in contact with his father

Really? … Excuse me The stranger pulled a yellowed envelope from his cloak, pulling a letter from the envelope he began muttering to himself.

My instructions are quite clear, this item must be delivered… perhaps it would be better to leave the item with the younger Mr. Potter as he would probably have a better chance of meeting his father… of course he would have full use of the item until it was delivered.

Perhaps, Headmaster, you, our guest and Mr. Potter can continue this in the other room the meal isn’t over yet and you’re distracting the students. The deputy headmistress had noticed that the first and second years were watching the stranger with awe their little heads filled with visions of gaining some awesome item and becoming greater then Harry Potter, Dumbledore or even Merlin.

Well if it’s just a delivery I can just take the item now and any instructions and out guest can be gone Marcus Potter was not quite as humble as his illustrious father and he wanted the entire school to see him be handed this artifact.

Unfortunately I will have to ask that you verify your identity Mr. Potter The stranger looked Marcus over. He had Auburn hair and green eyes but showed no strong physical resemblance to Harry Potter he appeared well feed and happy. If you were to compare the two Marcus was the dog to Harry’s wolf, same relative size but their entire build was different.

Well you could ask say…half the school, I’m sure they will tell you who I am there was a smattering of laughter for the poor joke

I’m afraid Mr. Potter I shall need something a little more official then the word of a group of school children, or your own teachers

What about my Gringotts key? It’s connected to my Fathers vault?

So is the Gringotts key of every magical orphan in the UK

Well what about this! With that Marcus disappeared under an invisibility cloak. The strangers reply was to mutter a few words and point in Marcus’s general direction. Suddenly he was crouched under nothing. The stranger flicked his wand at the now transparent cloak and it flew to him.

Demiguise fur, this is a lesser invisibility cloak, it is said that Harry Potter owns a greater cloak…

This is true, the invisibility cloak owned by Harry Potter has been in his family for generations, a Demiguise fur cloak will become ineffective after thirty years Dumbledore had begun to doubt the so called son of the saviour, why had none asked these questions 7 years ago?

Well Mister Potter, how about you tell us something about your father that wasn’t public knowledge? There are enough of his friends here to verify your information Hermione Granger was the assistant Charms professor (1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd years), Neville Longbottom was assistant Herbology professor, Hannah Longbottom was the assistant Matron while in a rather surprising turn of events Seamus Finnegan had become the History of Magic Professor.

The truth is sir that, my father left after my mother was killed in a car accident, I was raised by my great aunt and uncle. Many people had heard the tragic tale of the son of the boy who lived, most wondered how their saviour could abandon a child.

Does anyone who knew Harry Potter believe he would abandon his son? There was no reply and all of the staff suddenly realised that they had never verified the story. The stranger had stopped hunching over and was now standing straight at just over 6 foot tall, a few inches taller than Marcus, he had brushed the dirt and grime from his clothing, since the floor was not dirty many assumed that it had been an illusion.

My Father says… A white haired 7^th year started to speak

Mr. Malfoy, I wasn’t aware that you were in contact with your father… In fact your mother, aunt and grandmothers all swore to me that you hadn’t, which is why you were allowed to attend even with your father’s status as a wanted criminal are they lying and thus forfeiting their magic? Minerva McGonagall’s voice cut through the silence.

No Ma’m, just stories I heard Scorpius Malfoy had much of his fathers look about him, but without the semi-permanent scowl he was more attractive and if his family were willing to risk there magic for him he might just be a better man then his father… possibly, if he could hold his tongue then he was better than his grandfather certainly.

Well it would do you well not to repeat your father’s rhetoric, I apologise but you are correct, sir, I cannot believe that Harry Potter would leave his son to be raised by anyone other than himself or one of his friends, What the hell is going on boy? Now that the veil had been lifted people now saw that the similarity between Marcus Potter and Harry Potter could very well have been imagined and they wanted answers.

I don’t know Professor I was always told that I was Harry Potters child the young man looked close to tears, and was looking around at the accusatory stares like a trapped animal, looking for a way out.

Now, now Mr. Dursley didn’t your father ever tell you lying isn’t right? Or did he tell you that it was ok to lie to Freaks to get their money?

Who the hell are you old man? Marcus Dursley had given up his mask, the Dursley temper had gotten the better of him and his face had begun to darken with rage.

Old Man how appropriate, considering that you have been playing my son for nearly 7 years you would think that my dear cousin would have shown you a picture of your Mark. I Mr. Dursley am Harry Potter The stranger had by now completely shed his illusions and removed the hood of his now grey cloak, pushing the cloak back showed a simple brown robe over a black shirt and brown slacks. Even with unshaven face and a few more scars that perpetually wind blown hair the deep green eyes and that famous scar showed that Harry Potter had finally returned to Hogwarts.

Lord of Bones

[continuation] Hope you don’t mind, Seel.
Guess who Harry is, people.

I give you a choice as to the path you may take… 

They froze at that cold, commanding voice. It was a voice that summoned nightmares, drove men insane and promised oblivion.

H-Harry? whimpered Hermione.

… in gratitude to you whose foolishness and idiocy shattered this seal’s soul and allowed me life once again.

Harry stood up, turning around slowly. Hermione whimpered as she saw his face, where hints of red darkness were showing.

Slowly, his once-closed eyes opened.

They recoiled.

Harry’s eyes spilled unholy crimson light. There was no iris, no retina… only malignant crimson.

Pledge undying loyalty to me and I shall allow you to live out the rest of your natural lives.

Dumbledore interrupted. That’s quite enough, Mr. Potter—

Refuse my mercy and forever reap the whirlwind; ere I awaken my servants and release the other four parts of me still sealed on this plane.

That’s enough, Potter! You will cease your foolishness and return with us! snarled Snape.

Harry said nothing.

Now, Harry dear— attempted Mrs. Weasley.

You deny my generosity?

Harry?! What’s wrong with you?! Why are you like this?! sobbed Hermione. Please, come back!

Truly, this is the summit of stupidity… you, who bleat like lambs before the wolf, pleading for one whom you have betrayed. The sorcerer Riddle and the men who died with him were fools; but compared to you, they were paragons of intellect. Cry as much as you please, little bitch. You have none but yourselves to thank for it.

Fiendfyre! spat Snape, the foul flames raging towards Harry. Hermione screamed as the infernal magic wrapped around Harry; the Order running to intercede.

Then they stopped.

Crimson eyes peered at them from the flaming curtain. An unblemished hand, palm open, reached out from the crackling flame.

A blast of pure destruction obliterated Snape, reaching out to consume every living thing three hundred feet behind his position.

Dumbledore stared in horror as his old friend was annihilated. H-How… ? he whispered.

Fool. You would turn black magic against me?

With naught but a twitch of his fingers, Harry opened two rifts; one to Hogwarts, the other to a freezing wasteland where a frozen titan stood imprisoned in ice.

Harry raised his hand, summoning power darker than twilight and as crimson as flowing blood, before releasing it in a cataclysmic wave negligently.

Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest, the Great Lake…  they were gone. Destroyed in the blink of an eye.

Hermione whimpered as Ron evacuated the contents of his bowels. Dumbledore and his cronies stood white-faced.

Gaze upon what you have wrought and understand the depths of your betrayal’s consequences.

With that, Harry turned and entered the freezing wasteland, closing the gate behind him as he prepared to merge with the fragment that had once been Rei Magnus.

And all around the world, the Mazoku woke.

BSJinx

Be vewwy, vewwy quiet. I’m kiwwing a pwot bunny with a cwacky dwabble. Heh heh heh heh heh…
With apologies to UdderPD and Norse lovers in general.

Harry Potter awoke to find himself in familiar surroundings. A quick look told him that he was in the hospital wing.

It figures, I suppose…  I should have known that I wouldn’t get out of here without one more hospital visit, he thought.

After he had gone to his room after the final battle, Harry had awakened briefly, but he simply had no energy. He didn’t remember when or where he had fallen asleep again.

Madam Pomfrey? Harry croaked.

This Madam Pomfrey isn’t here, young valiant. Welcome to the Hall of the Blessed. The unfamiliar, singsong voice inspired Harry to open his eyes fully. He then blinked and blinked again, not believing what he was seeing.

Standing beside the bed, just in front of Harry’s eyes, was the second-tallest woman that Harry had ever seen. If he had to guess, he’d say she was closer to seven feet tall than six, with long flowing blonde hair and a beaming smile on her stunning face. Her arms were the most muscular that Harry had ever seen on a woman, while the rest of her body was covered in a full suit of plate armour.

Who…  who are you? Harry finally gasped.

My name is Sigrun, young valiant. In your language, it means ‘knower of spells of victory.’ The other Valkyries believed that I was the most fitting among us to meet you. I must say that it is a great honour.

Valkyries? But you’re…  you’re…  Harry shook his head to try to clear it, with only partial success. With a musical laugh, Sigrun continued.

We’re not real? Oh, Harry, remember that all of those people out there, the Muggles you call them, don’t think you’re real, either. But they are, and I am. She tapped her breastplate with her finger, and a chime rang throughout the room.

But how did you get here? Harry asked.

I am found anywhere that there is a magical battle. It is my pleasant duty to reward the bravest and most honourable among the magical host, Sigrun laughed. She had turned sideways, allowing Harry to see the quite generous curve of her armour. When she caught Harry looking, she simply laughed again. I welcome you to Valhalla! It just happens to look like surroundings that you are familiar with.

Valhalla? By now, Harry was almost fully awake. But doesn’t that mean that I’m…  He simply couldn’t say it.

Oh, no! I am sometimes told this, but it was an error spread in the sagas so long ago. No, you do not have to be dead to visit Valhalla. You simply have to be invited, and we invite very few. They must be men and women of great virtue and moral strength, to whom battle was visited and who fought for the good of all, Sigrun recited. I invite one man and one woman from each battle, who may join us whenever they wish.

Who was the woman that you invited? Harry asked, growing interested despite himself.

Good morning, Harry! With that cheerful greeting, Hermione walked up toward Sigrun and himself. This Hermione looked very different from the young woman who had struggled beside him- she was taller (but still a head shorter than Sigrun), cleaned up, and wearing a brilliant white robe. Against his will, Harry’s eye locked on Hermione’s body, and he couldn’t see signs of any clothes beneath the robe.

This is amazing, Harry! We can visit just by asking Sigrun, and she said we’re welcome any time, to feast among the great wizards- I saw Paracelsus just a few minutes ago!- and learn their magic. Of course, that’s not all we can do…  With a giggle, she reached for Sigrun, who bent down and kissed Hermione on the lips.

I am always glad to give the valiant a hero’s or a heroine’s welcome, Harry. I’m told that I’m very good for the body and the soul. Would you care to find out? With that, Sigrun began to unfasten her armour as Harry stared, transfixed…

Lord of Bones

Just thought I’d add something:

Had he been able to, Xellos would’ve yawned. While the Lesser Beast would never consider questioning Zelas’ orders, the fact remained that repeating the humdrum of peering into the heads of eleven-year-olds was getting to him. A small part of him missed the old days; when dragons cringed at his name, when he still traveled with the ragtag group of mortals that had provided him with such entertainment…

But Lina and Gourry, and Amelia and Zelgadis, were long dead. The Beast Priest had long since lost track of their descendants. The Age of Magic, in the Trickster’s opinion, ended with Lina Inverse’s death at the ageof ninety-five, following that of her swordsman husband’s two years previous.

And with that, Xellos’ entertainment had ceased. But now, the boy whose mind he was supposed to sort through…  Xellos recognized the boy’s blood. It had been millenia since he’d crossed path with a descendant of his old companions.

He delved into the boy’s mind.

Then the darkness struck, consuming him and dragging him deeper and deeper despite his struggles…

You who fight for destruction, why do you struggle against the will of your Lord?

The Mazoku froze, the voice echoing around him. A man stood before him, clad in black robes reminiscient of the late Rezo and Lei Magnus. A mage’s staff was in his hand. His eyes, crimson and malevolent and seething withdarkness and flame, looked into the very essence of Xellos’s being.

Juoh-shiinkan.

For the first time since the Resurrection War, Xellos felt fear and awe and reverence and excitement.

Lord Ruby-Eye.