Hello. You have reached Colliding of Two Forces. Drop a review and I'll get back to you when I can. Leave your email if you want even! I'm not here right now, so enjoy! BEEEEEEP!
How'd you like it? Please, do it. I won't update until I get 5 reviews with CRITIQUE IN IT. Flame me, I'll count it as a review. I check my hits, I'm not stupid and I know I've gotten 62 hits on the original but only 14 reviews. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now, I think you'll like this one better because I'll be screwing with this one. Not only is this one going to be redone much better with less plothole-ness, but also…. It takes place now in the time of Half-Blood Prince!
SPOILERS GALORE!
Now….I unfortunately don't own HP or DP but I've kidnapped Butch and Mackenzie (I pity you if you don't know who she is. If you don't though, it's JK's newborn baby. COME ON, the sixth book was dedicated to her!) and I am holding ransom. Hopefully I will get the both of them. Heh. No, none of this really happened. Sorry.
SUMMARY: Now that Voldemort has risen, this is a dangerous time for anything, especially enrolling a new student. Danny Fenton has been enrolled in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and no one trusts him. At the same time, some horrible twisted thing is messing with Harry's and Danny's bodies. The worst thing is, no one knows that everyone is playing right into Voldemort's trap, and Harry and Danny are in the middle of it. HBP SPOILERS.
I know, it's long, but it covers the summary. Bold because half of this is excluded in the real summary. Heh. Everything has changed here, but some things have stayed from the original. Not many. Hope you like this LaBOBuren, it's for you!
Have fun! And don't forget: Hello. You have reached Colliding of Two Forces. Drop a review and I'll get back to you when I can. Leave your email if you want even! I'm not here right now, so enjoy! BEEEEEEP!
Chapter 1
"Safety Long Gone"
Harry Potter sat in a chair by the frost-covered window. His mouth open, his eyes closed, and his glasses askew, his face slid down a considerable margin of an inch. His room was a mess; with his dresser drawers out and his wardrobe doors wide open; clothes all over the floor; and books, ink bottles, quills, and parchment lay all over the broken floor and the unmade bed. The only area that seemed neat was a cage perched between his bed and window holding a sleeping snowy owl. His desk was considerably neat, but it was covered with a piece of parchment and a long wooden stick and several newspapers.
The long wooden stick seemed too straight and too shiny to be taken from the ground. No, it was an official stick for something, anything at all. At eleven inches, it shone in the light given off by the streetlights. Right next to it, a piece of parchment with practically nothing on it lay flat on his desk. Harry had read through it so many times that the same letter, which had been taken from a tawny owl's leg, rolled up into something thinner than a pen, that the once curled paper now was as flat as printer paper. The newspapers were strewn everywhere on the desk, covered by the parchment and stick. One had the heading Harry Potter: The Chosen One? Another, overlapping with the first, said Scrimgeour Succeeds Fudge. Yet another bore the title Ministry Guarantees Students' Safety.
All of a sudden, a streetlight went out. Harry sat upright in his desk chair, correcting his glasses, staring outside the cloudy glass wide-eyed. The fog was thick and the weather was scarily cold for July, since frost had been long since forming on his window.
Another light went out, and then another. Harry gave a quick gulp and then began gathering all his things. He didn't forget, but he wasn't too sure of it.
Harry scrambled to his desk to look at the letter. In thin, slanted writing was a letter:
Dear Harry,
If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday, July 23rd, at eleven P.M. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays.
If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.
Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,
I am yours most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
He grabbed a packet out of his trunk and began dumping all his unfolded, inside-out articles of clothing and uniforms. He took a quick glance at the packet:
— Issued on behalf of —
The Ministry of MagicProtecting you home and family against
Dark forces
The wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.
You are advised not to leave the house alone.
Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Whenever possible, arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen.
Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms and, in the case of underage family members, Side-Along-Apparition.
Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion (see page 2).
Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend, or neighbor is acting in a strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4).
Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately.
Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sightings of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.
One minute to midnight. Harry dumped all his spellbooks, ink bottles, parchment, and quills along with newspapers, wand into his trunk and closed it, attaching the owl cage to it. He sighed, tripping over his desk chair and landing on the floor.
At that precise moment, the doorbell rang, shortly followed by his Uncle Vernon yelling, "Who the blazes is calling at this time of night?"
Oh, no. He had completely forgotten to warn the Dursley's about Dumbledore's possible arrival. Two words floated in his head: Dead meat. Feeling both fear and suppressing an urge to burst in laughter, he pulled open his door and stared into the living room.
"Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?" said Dumbledore calmly.
Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt several steps from the bottom, as long experience had taught him to remain out of arm's reach of his uncle whenever possible. There in the doorway stood a tall, thin man with waist-length silver hair and beard. Half-moon spectacles were perched on his crooked nose, and he was wearing a long black traveling cloak and a pointed hat. Vernon Dursley, whose mustache was quite as bushy as Dumbledore's, though black, and who was wearing a puce dressing gown, was staring at the visitor as though he could not believe his tiny eyes.
"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times."
He stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him.
"It is a long time since my last visit," said Dumbledore, peering down his crooked nose at Uncle Vernon. "I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing."
Vernon Dursley said nothing at all. Harry did not doubt that speech would return to him and soon—the vein pulsing in his uncle's temple was reaching danger point—but something about Dumbledore seemed to have robbed him temporarily of breath. It might have been the blatant wizardishness of his appearance, but it might, too, have been that even Uncle Vernon could sense that here was a man whom it would be very difficult to bully.
"Ah, good evening, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up at him through his half-moon spectacles with a most satisfied expression. "Excellent, excellent."
These words seemed to rouse Uncle Vernon. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, any man who could look at Harry and say "excellent" was a man with whom he could never see eye to eye.
"I don't mean to be rude—" he began, in a tone that threatened rudeness in every syllable.
"—yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often," Dumbledore finished the sentence gravely, "Best to say nothing at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia."
The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her nightdress, clearly halfway through her usual pre-bedtime wipe-down of all the kitchen surfaces. Her rather horsey face registered with nothing but shock.
"Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, when Uncle Vernon failed to effect an introduction. "We have corresponded, of course." Harry thought this an odd way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had once sent her an exploding letter, but Aunt Petunia did not challenge the term. "And this must be your son, Dudley?"
Dudley had that moment peered round the living room door. His large, blond head rising out of the stripy collar of his pajamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment and fear. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on he smiled.
"Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?"
Dudley scrambled out of the way as Dumbledore passed him. Harry jumped the last few stairs and followed Dumbledore, who had settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire and was taking in the surrounding with an expression of benign interest. He looked quite extraordinarily out of place.
"Aren't—aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked anxiously.
"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first," said Dumbledore. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."
"You will, will you?"
Vernon Dursley had entered the room, Petunia at his shoulder, and Dudley skulking behind them both.
"Yes," said Dumbledore simply, "I shall."
He drew his wand so rapidly that Harry barely saw it; with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position.
"We may as well be comfortable," said Dumbledore pleasantly. As he replaced his wand in his pocket, Harry saw that his hand was blackened and shriveled; it looked as though his flesh had been burned away.
"Sir—what happened to your—?"
"Later, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Please sit down."
Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursleys, who seemed stunned into silence.
"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshments," Dumbledore said to Uncle Vernon, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."
A third twitch of the wand, and a dusty bottle and five glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-colored liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room.
"Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead," said Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it immensely. The Dursleys, after quick, scared looks at one another, tried to ignore their glasses completely, a difficult feat, as they were nudging then gently on the sides of their heads. Harry could not suppress a suspicion that Dumbledore was rather enjoying himself.
"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning toward him, "a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned."
Over on the sofa, Uncle Vernon's head turned, but Harry did not look at him, nor could he think of anything to say except, "Oh. Right."
"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Dumbledore went on. "You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy—"
"His godfather's dead?" said Uncle Vernon loudly from the sofa. Dumbledore and Harry both turned to look at him. The glass of mead was now knocking quite insistently on the side of Vernon's head; he attempted to beat it away. "He's dead? His godfather?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore. He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys. "Our problem," he continued to Harry, as if there had been no interruption, "is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."
"He's been left a house?" said Uncle Vernon greedily, his small eyes narrowing, but nobody answered him.
"You can keep using it as headquarters," said Harry. "I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it." Harry never wanted to set foot in number twelve, Grimmauld Place again if he could help it. He thought he would be haunted forever by the memory of Sirius prowling its dark musty rooms alone, imprisoned within the place he had wanted so desperately to leave.
"That is generous," said Dumbledore. "We have, however, vacated the building temporarily."
"Why?"
"Well, said Dumbledore, ignoring the mutterings of Uncle Vernon, who was now being rapped smartly over the head by the persisten glass of mead. "Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."
A vivid image of the shrieking, spitting portrait of Sirius's mother that hung in the hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place flashed into Harry's mind. "I bet there has," he said.
"Quite," said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."
Without realizing what he was doing, Harry sprang to his feet. Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's killer, inherit his house?
"No," he said.
"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," said Dumbledore calmly. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."
"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to won it?"
"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, "there is a simple test."
He placed his empty glass on a small table beside his chair, but before he could do anything else, Uncle Vernon shouted, "Will you get these ruddy things off us?"
Harry looked around; all three Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their skulls, their contents flying everywhere.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Dumbledore politely, and he raised his wand again. All three glasses vanished. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know."
It looked as though Uncle Vernon was bursting with any number of unpleasant retorts, but he merely shrank back into the cushions with Aunt Petunia and Dudley and said nothing, keeping his small piggy eyes on Dumbledore's wand.
"You see," Dumbledore said, turning back to Harry and again speaking as though Uncle Vernon had not uttered, "if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited—"
He flicked his wand for a fifth time. There was a loud crack and a house-elf appeared, with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursleys' shag carpet and covered in grimy rags. Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek; nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley drew his large, bare, pink feet off the floor and sat with them raised almost above his head, as though he thought the creature might run up his pajama trousers, and Uncle Vernon bellowed, "What the hell is that?"
"Kreacher," finished Dumbledore.
"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't—"
"As you can see, Harry," said Dumbledore loudly, over Kreacher's continued croaks of "won't, won't, won't," "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."
"I don't care," said Harry again, looking with disgust at the writhing, stamping house-elf. "I don't want him."
"Won't, won't, won't, won't—"
"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"
"Won't, won't, won't, won't—"
Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.
"Give him an order," said Dumbledore, "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."
"Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"
Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!"
It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward on to the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his ands and feet, giving himself over to a violent but entirely silent, tantrum.
"Well, that simplifies matters," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."
"Do I—do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, as Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.
"Not if you don't want to," said Dumbledore. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."
"Yeah," said Harry in relief, "yeah, I'll do that. Er—Kreacher—I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."
Kreacher who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished.
"Good," said Dumbledore. "There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius died, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements—"
"No," Harry said at once, "he can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that."
"Hagrid will be delighted," said Dumbledore, smiling. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him 'Witherwings' for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff once sentenced to death. Now, Harry, is your trunk packed?"
"Pretty much…" said Harry quietly.
"Alright then, just one last thing, then." And Dumbledore turned to the Dursleys once more.
"As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time—"
"No," said Aunt Petunia, speaking for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival.
"I'm sorry?" said Dumbledore politely.
"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
"Ah," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "but in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."
Uncle Vernon muttered, "Preposterous," but Dumbledore ignored him.
"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently under a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."
Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.
"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."
Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.
"Us—mistreat Dudders? What d'you—?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.
"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return once more to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."
None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.
"Well, Harry…time for us to be off," said Dumbledore at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the room.
"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's truck, which had been carried down a few minutes ago, upon which Hedwig's cage was perch. The pair strode out the door, closing it behind them, leaving the Dursleys frozen with shock on the couch.
A young boy of age fifteen lay on his bed, messy black hair obscuring his vision. Ice blue eyes shut closed as he pressed the play button on his CD, playing songs like The Dark of the Matinee (Franz Ferdinand), Prosthetic Head (Green Day), Predictable (Good Charlotte), and Thank You For the Venom (My Chemical Romance). A special mix of all the bands he liked. Most people would say that these bands and songs would not soothe someone, but it depends on one's musical tastes. For instance, for this youth in particular, My Chemical Romance was the most soothing.
As the music blared through his headphones, he heard a faint crack of the door closing. His eyes snapped open. The boy, wearing black jeans, spiked black boots, a spiked bracelet, and a navy shirt, stopped the CD and scrambled downstairs, where his bright sister and parents stood, peering over at the mail held in his father's hand. The boy snatched the pile.
"Danny!" said his father warningly.
"What?" complained Danny. "I'm expecting a very important piece of mail. And I would prefer you didn't see it." Seeing the horrified expressions on his parents' faces, he hastily added, "But don't worry, I'm not planning to rape anybody or something like that. It's just a—just a letter from Tucker about something you really don't want to know about. Basically, you'll be questioning everything you know if you read it." The letter in point was a letter from Tucker about a huge team of ghosts planning on his annihilation. He scanned the mail, finding a large envelope addressed to him, and right underneath it, he found, was a yellowing letter, the envelope addressed to him in a scary way. It was sealed with a purple seal wax, carved in with a lion, a serpent, a badger, and an eagle all surrounding an H. In emerald green ink, it read:
Mr. D. Fenton
The Room to the Left, Second Floor
36 Park Avenue
Amity Park
Virginia
Eyes large, Danny's father grabbed the envelope back, hands trembling when he saw the wax.
"M-Maddie…" he said. "MADDIE!"
Danny's mother rushed forward and leaned against her father when she saw what it was.
"Oh…Jack…What do we do?" she whispered.
"Get rid of it," he replied, angrily tossing it over his shoulder.
"That's my mail, damn it!" said Danny furiously; he didn't care if it had anthrax or something. It was his mail, and apparently it was a big deal!
Danny's red-haired sister, Jazz caught the envelope as Danny stormed back up the stairs to his room.
How could they know Danny's room? Well, it's probably a stalker, best burn it. Jazz tossed the letter into the fire.
Danny, now in his room, playing You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison on his CD player set to make a plan to get that letter. First thing he'd do is check the mail in the morning, since the sender might be persistent; one doesn't find out where one sleeps and just gives up after one letter. If that didn't work, he decided, he would check the fire if the letter was in anyway still intact. Probably not, but Danny was praying for the former. However, he knew there was no such thing as an angel; he had experience with the afterlife.
The very next morning, Danny awoke at six o'clock sharp to the sound of his alarm clock, announcing the date from the radio:
"Well, that was a new song by Weezer, Beverly Hills. Today is July 16th and who is loving it?"
"My birthday's in two weeks!" murmured Danny, willing himself into his ghost form. Turning intangible, he flew out the door and checked the mailbox carefully. Yep, the mail was there.
Danny took it out and checked for his letter. Bills, Dad got fired, Mom got the Nobel Prize, blah, blah, blah, AH! There was the large, yellowing letter addressed to him in the same color ink, closed with the same exact seal. He clutched it and carefully dropped the rest back in the mailbox. He flew back up to his room and finally became visible again. Turning back to a human, he carefully opened the envelope.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Fenton,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
You have shown no signs of magic in your blood until age fourteen, and to be accepted at Hogwarts for your first year, you must show signs of magic before or on your eleventh birthday. But we have reason to believe you have wizarding blood. Because of your age and how well we know you can control your powers, we have placed you right in your sixth year.
Term begins on September first. We await your owl by no later than July thirty-first.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Danny didn't believe it; since when was he part WIZARD? He was part ghost! He flipped open the notice to a packet of supplies.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Uniform
Sixth-year students will require:
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for daywear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
Course Books
Books will be listed in a later owl.
Other Equipment
1 wand
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
The above supplies and supplies listed in a later owl can be bought in Diagon Alley, London.
Danny was in disbelief, but it didn't last long, as the loud alarm clock in his parents' room, the one next over, went off, sounding also in his room. Sighing, he went intangible once more, as he heard an argument about him start up. He flew through the wall and spied.
"Jack, how could this have happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, this letter was supposed to come when he was eleven. How did it come when he was fifteen?"
"Maddie, I really don't know. I've asked my second cousin about it before—"
"You mean that James Potter?"
"Yes, before he was brutally murdered."
"Ah."
"Well, he said that if a person gives off extreme abilities, even after eleven years old, that the school will admit them in the needed year anyway."
"Yes, but how did it get into him?"
"I don't know, maybe it was James, chances are it was, because no other blood relative of ours has it, other than Harry."
"His son?"
"Yes."
"Do we let him go?"
"Good question. Well, by seventeen, he'll be of age and out of school, so I'd say yes."
"Why?"
"Think about it! He can help us ghost hunting. I've seen James doing it before, he can freeze things!"
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"But doesn't he need supplies?"
"Yes."
"We don't have the money, Jack…"
"No, they have their own currency."
"But we don't have that kind of money either."
"No, but Harry was left a fortune. I'm sure he'll be allowed some of it since they're blood relatives."
"Alright. But isn't it a London school?"
"Yes."
"How will he get there?"
"We'll find a way, Maddie, we'll find a way."
Danny sighed, going back through the wall into his own room and changing back. Well, there's a pile of information. For the first time in years, Danny looked at his right wrist. He had received a scar in a car accident, but oddly enough, it was shaped like a raindrop.
"Interesting scar, isn't it?" said a deep voice. Danny wasn't startled; he was around things that go bump in the night too long to be scared of something like that.
"Hi," said Danny, slowly turning around. There was an old man in violet robes and a violet pointed hat, wearing half-moon spectacles on his crooked nose, covering his blue eyes. What was really strange about him, though, was his white beard, which fell below his waist, as did his matching white hair. "Who are you?"
"Albus Dumbledore, I trust you've read your letter," said the man, looking at the open envelope on Danny's bed.
"Yeah, why are you here, not to be rude? And isn't your school in London or something?"
"Yes, it is. I am taking you to Harry's friend's home, The Burrow, as requested. There you shall receive your second owl, your supplies, and reside for the rest of the summer."
"Okay…"
"We shall go now, then." With a flick of his wand, all of Danny's necessary stuff gathered itself and piled into his trunk, which drove itself to Danny. He clutched the handle tightly. "Grip my arm tightly, the left preferably." Danny did as he was told.
Another flick of the wand swept Danny's feet from under him and sent him into a mass of black. Then, his ears were being pushed in, his eyes in his sockets, and what seemed like bars of iron pressed heavily against his chest. He couldn't breathe. He was running out of oxygen!
Then, just as quickly as it came, it left. They were now outside a two-story home, now slightly lopsided, as several more floors had been added to it. A wooded sign in the yard said, "The Burrow."
Chapter 1
Chapter 2: when I get to it
Jesus, that took a long time! I nearly typed out all of Will and Won't in Book Six. It was stupid, but relevant. So…as the original, I will be quoting the book. Have fun! I probably won't get back to this until later. REAL later. Because the stories most often updated here will be M u r d e rer, Following Me To My Grave, Nail Polish, Warmth, and Carrot Top 1. I am really getting into M u r d e rer, Following Me To My Grave, and Warmth. You can tell I'm getting used to Angst. Oh well. Too bad for you, but this will be slightly angsty. Especially with all the tantrums from book six and stuff.
Definite record! 12 pages and approximately 5,782 words!