(cringes) OK. I know, I know, I shouldn't start a new story when I've got about 400 unfinished ones floating around, but – the plot bunny bit me, and the bite swelled up, and it ached, and wouldn't let me forget about it, so finally, I settled on the only antidote I could think of – writing the damn plot.
Remind me never to try an extended metaphor again. They suck.
So, anyway. Here, you have my Harry Potter/Alex Rider crossover. And, I want you to know that this is insane. I never did crossovers before. Never. Then I did the Doctor Who one, and suddenly the crossover bunny has taken up residence in my life. It's horrible, but they're way too cute to kill off… :D
And again with the extended metaphor.
Here it is, then. An HP/AR crossover. Hope you like, folks!
DISCLAIMER: Rich people own Harry Potter and Alex Rider. I'm poor.
Aged eleven, Alex Rider was an intensely practical little boy. His uncle, Ian – never, ever to be called Uncle, under any circumstances whatsoever – was an intensely practical man, and his approach in raising his nephew was simply practical. Other children got fairy stories, and other children grew up believing in magic and witches and wizards. If Alex read Greek myths, it was to further his knowledge of the classics; and the nearest he ever got to witchcraft was when his uncle gave him 'Macbeth' to read.
Alex was a bright boy – he was the top of his class at Brooklands School, partly because his uncle insisted that he worked hard, and partly because he was naturally intelligent. He had never found lessons difficult; particularly languages, which he seemed to have a natural aptitude for.
Anything strange that happened around Alex – and plenty of things did, he just couldn't seem to help it – had a practical reason, which Ian would readily supply. Sometimes, Alex thought that Ian just didn't want him to do anything out of the ordinary; and sometimes he thought that it was just because he never did. Things like shattering the glasses in the kitchen cupboard when he got angry; he must have been screaming loudly, or the frequency of his voice caused them to break.
They both ignored the fact that Alex never screamed.
Or, when Alex was set the task of weeding the garden, neither of them ever acknowledged that the reason he managed it so quickly was because of anything out of the ordinary; he was simply very fast.
Everything in the Rider household had a rational and logical explanation.
His uncle, despite rarely ever being there – his job meant that he travelled a lot, and, in any case, Alex knew that the man wasn't that fond of children, including Alex himself – insisted that Alex take part in various out of school activities: karate, swimming classes, a 'Young Adventurers' Club, and extra lessons for his "outside school" languages, such as Russian, Spanish and German. Technically, Alex was fluent in Spanish and German – he had lived in Spain and Germany for a year each when he was six – but Ian Rider felt that it was important that Alex 'keep up' with the languages. He even had piano lessons for a short while, but Ian eventually made him give them up.
Ian was not a bad guardian, he was simply an absent, rather grumpy, bad-tempered one. When he was home, he generally simply ignored Alex, treating him as one would a rather dangerous wild animal; something to be looked at from a distance, but handled with care, and subdued if necessary.
Alex knew what his uncle classed as 'subduing', and he tried never to induce it. Ian's punishments were never physical – he would never have dreamed of hitting his nephew – but they were arduous and boring, and time-consuming, and generally hammered the lesson home far better than a beating ever could.
Ian was, as usual, not there for Alex's eleventh birthday, on June 6th, but Jack, the housekeeper, was, and a couple of Alex's friends dropped by during the day, a Saturday. Ian's present somehow appeared that morning in the post, as it always did – a set of book tokens, about forty pounds worth, with the man's customary note, saying that he was 'sure Alex would spend it wisely'.
In fact, Alex's eleventh birthday passed much like any other normal Saturday. The really interesting thing happened about a fortnight later, two days after Ian had got back from another 'business trip'.
At breakfast, on the Saturday morning, an owl flew in, through the open back door, which Jack had propped open because it was so hot. Jack herself screamed, leaping up, as the owl perched on the back of the chair next to her; it ruffled her feathers at her, but stared, fixedly, at Alex.
"What's it doing?" she asked, tentatively, once she'd calmed down. Alex was staring at the bird, fascinated, and Ian was glaring at his cereal. The bird itself was sidling along the back of the chair – then it stuck it's leg out at Alex, who frowned, rather confused.
"I – think it wants me to take it." He said, slowly.
"Then do it, and get the damned thing out of the house." Ian said, sharply.
Obediently, but with a slight frown, Alex took the letter from the bird, with a rather shy 'thank you'. The owl blinked at him, but made no move to leave. Finally, Jack began, cautiously, to hustle the thing out; it squawked, indignantly, and flew out – but Alex noticed that it perched on the window ledge.
He looked down at the letter, which was written very thick, yellow paper.
Alex Rider, The Second Bedroom, Number 4, Pilmore Street, Chelsea, London, SW1 GN7.
He turned it over; on the back, there was a large wax seal, like he'd seen in his history textbook, with four animals on it, and some sort of motto at the bottom. Glancing up at Ian, he saw that his uncle was frowning darkly at the letter.
"Can I – open it?" he asked, carefully.
Ian looked away, turning back to the morning paper. "Of course you can." He said, frowning still.
Alex shrugged, and broke the seal.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)
Dear Mr Rider,
We have the pleasure to inform you that you have received a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will find attached the list of books and equipment you will need for the school year. As a Muggle-born student, you are invited to attend a series of lectures, which will take place in the Flamel Auditorium, the National Wizarding Theatre, Insident Alley; please see the enclosed list for the date and subject of these lectures, and directions to the Theatre. On August 15th, a teacher will meet you in the Leaky Cauldron, to escort you around Diagon Alley, and answer any further questions you may have.
The school year will start on September 1st, and we expect your own no later than July 31st
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall (Deputy Headmistress)
He bit his lip, to stifle his gasp, and looked up at his uncle. "It's a joke, right?" he said, rather worriedly. "I mean…" he laughed, awkwardly. "It is a joke, isn't it?"
Jack took the letter from him, read it through, and laughed, rather more sincerely than Alex. "Oh, come on, Alex, it's gotta be a joke. 'Supreme Mugwump'? I mean, what the hell is that? 'Mugwump'." She laughed again. "It sounds like some kind of illness…"
Ian cleared his throat, and they both turned to look at him. "No." he said, quietly. "It's not a joke."
Alex looked at him, and frowned. "How do you know?"
"Your mother…" his expression darkened somewhat. "Your mother was a – witch." He glared, darkly, at the strange letter. "I'd hoped you'd escaped all that nonsense, but, if you haven't, you haven't." When he looked at Alex, he looked strangely hopeful. "You know, Alex, you don't have to go, if you don't want to…?"
Alex thought, seriously, about it, then said, slowly. "No… I'd like to go. If that's alright."
Ian drooped a little at that, but when he next looked at Alex, his expression was rather steely. "Fine." He nodded. "Your mother took your father and me to this place, once. I'll look through her old things; there might be something there which would be useful." He shrugged. "I'll take you up there tomorrow."
Alex cheered up at that. "You've got some of mum's old things?" he asked, interestedly.
"Of course I have." Ian grunted, obviously uninterested. "You can have them if you want."
Alex nodded, eagerly. "Yes, please…"
Jack handed him the letter back, shaking her head, with a grin. "Sounds mad to me, Alex, but if Ian says it's true, I guess it must be." She stood to refill her cup with coffee, and ruffled Alex's hair on the way. "But, if you come back from this place and turn me into a toad, I'll never speak to you again…"
Ian, rather reluctantly, it had to be said, helped Alex draft his reply to Hogwarts, which Alex carefully wrote up on a piece of letter paper – and, at the bottom, his uncle wrote a small postscript, signifying that he gave his consent.
Then Alex gave the letter to the owl, which had waited patiently for it, and watched it fly off.
As of that moment, in his own mind, at least, he was a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was an amazing thought.
That afternoon, true to his word, but unenthusiastic in the extreme, Ian went up into the attack, and brought down two big trunks, which, he said, were Alex's mothers.
"That one's full of old junk." He said, kicking the one which had the same crest painted on the lid as had appeared on the letter Alex had received that morning. "Textbooks from that school of yours, photographs, weird clothes…" he shook his head. "You're welcome to it." He opened the other trunk, and rummaged around inside it for a couple of seconds, then appeared, with a deeds box of some sort.
Opening that, he rummaged through several sheaves of the strange heavy, yellow paper – when Alex asked why it looked like that, Ian had grunted rather irritably, and said that 'his kind' were 'a bit odd' and still used parchment – before grabbing something, and surfacing with a triumphant noise.
In his hand, he held a little golden key which, he told Alex, was the key to his mother's bank account with the wizard's bank.
"I'd been thinking about sending you away to public school at thirteen, anyway." Ian told him, rather gruffly. "Been setting aside money for it. I suppose this is a sort of public school; from what your mother said, you people have a different sort of currency… I'll see about changing some sterling into that, and putting it in this bank account of hers."
He helped Alex move the heavy trunks into his room, then paused before leaving, and said, very seriously, "Alex, if I let you go to this school, I want you to promise me one thing."
Alex looked at him, curiously, and said, slowly, "OK…?"
"I want you to keep up with your normal subjects, alright?" he said, talking quickly. "I want you to take your GCSEs like a normal person." He shook his head. "I remember your mother talking about it, saying how difficult it is for – for someone like her, like you, to live in the real world. You need to have options, you know, Alex?" he looked at his nephew, eyes grave. "You're a clever boy; I'll organise tutors for you in the holidays, explain that you're – I don't know, I'll think of something. I'll get them to send you homework. If you're going to go to this school, that's my one condition. You understand, Alex?"
Alex wrinkled his nose at the idea of working during the holidays, but nodded, slowly. "OK." He agreed, quietly. Ian nodded, rather awkwardly, and made to go – but just before he left, Alex said, quietly, "Ian."
"Yes?"
"All those things I did – breaking the glasses, the day my teacher lost his voice when he was telling me off, that day I thought I flew, instead of climbing the climbing frame… Was that magic?"
Ian's shoulders slumped a little, and he sighed. "I suppose so, Alex." And Alex didn't think to question the sad, defeated little catch in the man's voice.
When Alex woke the next morning, he was almost totally convinced that the events of the previous day had been a dream. There was no way he could have been accepted into a school of magic. No way.
With a sigh – it had been way more interesting than most of his dreams – he got up, rubbing his eyes, and headed to the bathroom.
On his way to the door, he tripped over something large and heavy. Looking down, he saw a trunk, with a crest painted on it, bearing the legend, 'Nunquam titillandus draco dormiens', and his mother's maiden name – 'Helen Mortimer' – painted in big black letters underneath.
Alex stared for a couple of seconds, then ran to the bathroom, and hurried through all of his morning preparations.
Finding his own Hogwarts letter, with a little curl of excitement in his stomach, he quickly read through it again, before flicking open the locks on his mothers trunk, and opening it.
Inside, he was met with a neatly organised set of belongings, which he began to go through.
In one side of the trunk were books, which Alex picked up and looked at with interest; some of them, he could tell, were far, far too advanced for someone who was only just beginning to learn about magic, but others were fascinating for him – and several of them were, he noticed, on the booklist which Hogwarts had sent him.
Knowing his uncle as he did, he was sure that he would give him an allowance to buy his school books, and if he could use some of his mother's old ones, he would be able to buy far more interesting ones than simply the required textbooks.
Though, it was entirely possibly that Ian would let him buy however many books he wanted, within reason. His uncle was like that; if it was books, he tended not to worry too much about the cost.
One of the things which fascinated Alex was a long wooden stick, which lay on top of a pile of voluminous black capes, which were also emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, and which Alex assumed were part of the school uniform. When he picked up the polished stick, his hand tingled, a slight – very slight, but noticeable none the less – warmth spread up to his wrist.
Alex was completely certain that this had been his mother's magic wand, and he grabbed one of the 'first year' spell books eagerly, and was about to say a spell of some sort, when his uncle opened the door, fully dressed, and looking rather grumpy.
"Put that thing down, you'll have your eye out." He said, sharply. "Come downstairs, eat your breakfast, and we'll go and get whatever it is you need for that bloody school."
Alex bounced down the stairs eagerly, and wolfed down his food, waiting impatiently for his uncle to finish his own.
The man shoved the gold key he'd found yesterday in his pocket, along with a scrap of parchment, and asked Alex whether he had his school supply list. Alex ran upstairs, fetched it – hurriedly ticking off the list the books which his mother already had – and they finally left the house.
Ian took a taxi for once, to Charing Cross Road, then got out. He stalked along the street, and said, to Alex, "Look out for a pub. From what your mother said, s'called the 'Leaky Cauldron', or something like that…"
Alex was the one who finally spotted it, though he had to point it out to Ian several times before the man could see it – his uncle muttered something about 'damned sneaky wizards', and they headed over to the pub.
On entering the pub, Ian headed over to the bar and, consulting the strip of paper, said, tersely, to the ancient barman,
"How do you get to…" he glanced down at the parchment again. "Di-ag-on Alley." He said the word slowly and carefully.
The barman smiled at him, and grinned then down at Alex. "Muggleborn, eh?" he asked Alex, kindly, giving Ian another quick, rather wary smile. "Tell ya what, sir, I'll letcha through this time, and tell ya the secret, and then your son can do 't for hisself when ye've got 'im 'is wand."
Ian nodded, impatiently, not bothering to correct him about Alex being his nephew, and the old man led them out behind the pub, into a little back yard, bare except for a couple of overflowing dustbins. There, he pulled out a stick exactly like Alex's mothers – his wand, Alex thought with an excited grin – and tapped one of the bricks.
It began to tremble – then to melt outwards, and outwards, and outwards, until an entire archway had appeared in the once-solid brick wall.
"And that's Diagon Alley." The old man said, proudly. "Now, young sir – when ye've got yer own wand, ye just tap th' third brick in on th' left, seventh row down, OK?" he grinned at Alex again, and nodded politely to Ian, then disappeared back into the pub.
Alex stepped through archway, and looked around, with wide eyes.
This street – Diagon Alley, or whatever it was called – was… Well. There was no other word for it. It was magical.
OK, yeah, lame ending... but I hope you liked it!
lol, ami xxx