PP092
patreon
The Son of Storms 16
🕑 Added 2023-11-18 01:09:04 +0000 UTC“Mr. Potter, this is literally your first day in the Castle…just how did you manage to earn a visit to me? Minerva is usually a lot more lenient with the First Years.”
“Because she said that she wasn’t going to grey her hair more than it already has been,” Harry answered, his tone confused as he remembered the way the Transfiguration professor had looked at him. Exasperated and yet reminded of something by his actions, like she had already had her fill of his actions…and yet, it was only his first morning here. “But in my defense, they totally had it coming.”
“I highly doubt that your dorm-mates could do anything to demand a banisher to the walls,” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking down to the parchment Minerva had sent to him. Evidently, Fred and George Weasley, third eldest of Arthur’s children—and reincarnations of the Prewitt twins by all accounts he had heard of them over the years—had tried something with the elusive Potter before him, only to get banished into the walls of the common room. Thankfully, the walls were already covered with cushioning and softening charms, and a couple of seniors had been quick enough to stop them from getting hurt. “You are quite lucky that they weren’t hurt, or that Minerva hasn’t decided to give you detention. It doesn’t look good on your academic records, if you get detention on your very first morning you know.”
“I understand Headmaster,” the boy nodded before his eyes flicked toward the miniature hourglasses set on the table. “Though I still don’t understand why you gave me those ten points.”
“A controlled banisher at your age is a fantastic achievement, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore answered, smiling as he pointed at the smattering of small rubies in the Gryffindor, “However, I would caution you against the usage of…any magic against your peers until those spells have been covered in class. Intent has a way of, pardon my language, mucking up even the most basic of spells terribly if gone wrong.”
“Understood,” the black-haired boy nodded, before he looked at the clock hanging behind him. “Can I go now, sir? It is time for my transfiguration class.”
“You may,” he nodded, before snapping his fingers to create a ball of light above their heads. “Follow it to reach the transfiguration classroom, after that, the prefects should be available to take you around the castle according to your timetable.”
“Thank you, Professor,” the boy nodded, standing up from the chair. He walked toward the doors as they opened up, revealing the spiraling staircase that led down from his office before he stopped at the threshold and looked back. There was a peculiar look about the boy’s eyes, and for a moment, Dumbledore could have sworn that he had seen that look before—and not in Lily’s eyes. However, before he could think anymore about it, Harry turned around and walked down the stairs, the doors swinging shut behind him silently.
The sound of crackling flame drew his attention away from the latest mystery in his life, and Dumbledore looked at the perch by his side as the flames faded away to reveal his most trusted and longtime companion. He rubbed the crest of crimson feathers upon the phoenix’s head softly, chuckling as the magical bird trilled and pushed its head against his palm, the warmth from its body soothing the everpresent ache in his heart and mind. “You are not shy around first years Fawkes,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow at his familiar as he tilted his head towards where Harry had just been. “Why did you leave when the lad came in? I could have used your help to put him at ease. Children are always so happy and intrigued by you.”
In answer, Fawkes just shook its head and stared at the door, the air around its beautiful plumage heating up as embers danced upon its feathers for a moment—and for the first time in years, Dumbledore was left speechless as he felt a wave of anger and disappointment flow through the bond that existed between him and Fawkes. It had been decades since Fawkes had been even remotely angry, and even then, it had taken Gellert’s actions to take a completely new level of darkness to do so. As his heart sped up, and he looked away from his familiar, Dumbledore felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple.
Just what had an eleven-year-old child done, to make a phoenix apprehensive and angry at him?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hey Harry!” a cheerful voice, and one familiar to him shouted by his ear, and the demigod sighed as he lowered his toast, looking to his right to find the ever-chipper Weasley twins. Of course, seeing the two ‘pranksters’ reminded him of their last meeting, and now that he was relatively…calmer, he could see that banishing them into the wall for dropping a water and feather-filled balloon upon him was…an extreme reaction.
“Hey, Fred, George,” he greeted back, raising an eyebrow as he saw the bow one of them was carrying around, “What are you guys doing with that box?”
“We were thinking of completing our candies,” the one holding the box answered, sitting down to his right and dropping the box noisily on the ground. The other one sat on his front and opened the lid, revealing the various jars and bowls within. “We want to create our own prank shop someday, like Zonko’s…but better and bigger!”
“Before that, I wanted to say sorry for today morning, and to clear the confusion, I am Fred,”
‘Fred’ spoke up, offering his hand for a handshake, and Harry nodded as he shook it before the ginger looked towards the other one, “and this is George, my less handsome version of course.”
“Keep dreaming your pimpled head oaf,” George scoffed, before he gave a small wavering grin to him, “and sorry bout those feathers Harry…we shouldn’t have thrown them at you the first thing in the morning, that too on your first day.”
“It's ok, I shouldn’t have banished you into the wall after that either,” Harry shook his head, before extending a hand towards George. “Say, you forget about the wall and I forget about the balloons and feathers?”
“Sure,” the orange-haired boy nodded easily, a bright smile on his face, before it was replaced by a thoughtful frown as he tilted his head slightly. “Your accent, it is weird. I haven’t heard anything like it before.”
“I lived in America for a while, about three or four years,” Harry answered, his eyes flicking down toward where Fred had extracted a jar of purple…stuff from the box. Looking back at George, he shrugged and took a bite of his toast, “So…I have a weird accent because of that. Since I came back here, I have once again begun speaking like a Brit, but the American accent isn’t gone yet.”
“That sounds awesome!” George whispered, before his eyes brightened and he took out a small red pill from the box. “Oh, I know what you need. Fred and I were creating these pills that can make you speak any language. We only managed to get the accent ones right now, because enchanting whole languages is kind of difficult until we have learned some runes and stuff—but you can try this one, it is for British accent actually!”
“How does this work?” Harry asked curiously, taking the small pill from the ginger, pinching it carefully between his thumb and forefinger as he brought it closer to his eyes. He had never seen such things back in the camp. The closest thing he could think of was the nectar and ambrosia-infused pills meant to keep the demigods going in long, drawn-out battles, without giving the burning of divine overdose. He had even brought some with him to Hogwarts, carrying them with him in case he needed them for a sudden monster attack or something.
“Well, we first brewed a potion that is meant to make tourists capable of speaking any language,” Fred began explaining as he took out a roll of parchment and a quill, scribbling down something upon it as he George began to open jars and boxes left and right, “and then we mixed it with sugar, and standard candy making ingredients to condense it down. To make it specifically attuned to the British accent, we had to make some changes to the potion first though, like making the number of wand movements lesser, and brew it for longer to make it more accurate. Bill and Charlie both helped a lot with that, to be honest, saved our faces from getting blown up a dozen times!”
“Bill and Charlie?” He asked, taking a bite of his toast as Fred and George both nodded, “I think I saw one of their names in the trophy room when that Ravenclaw Prefect took us for a tour this morning…Best Magizo-”
“That would be Charlie,” Fred interrupted with a bright, cocky grin, pointing over in the direction of the forest—and Harry really needed to explore just what was so forbidden about it, it practically called out to his demigod side, begging him to explore its dark depths and find some adventure lurking within. However, his eyes moved back to the Weasleys as he continued. “He helps us whenever he comes back from Romania, and he even gave us some dragon dung this year. Had to hide it really deep in the woods though, mom doesn’t like our pranks.”
“She’d rather giggle and fuss all over Roniiekins and Ginny,” George commented dryly, dropping a spoonful of some green powder in a small cup, and Harry backed away as a sprout of fire shot out from it…before the words registered with him.
“Wait!” He blinked, his eyes snapping towards George’s, “You have more siblings?!”
“Yep!” Came the cheery answer, as George popped the ‘p’, and Fred continued. “We are seven siblings. Bill is out of Hogwarts and working on his Mastery, Charlie is still a student, but he was off to Romania due to Kettleburn’s recommendation—though, he is supposed to come back this weekend, as this is his OWL year. Percy is next, and let me tell you, he has a big stick shoved up his arse. Honestly, I think all the good genes skipped him and came down to us, because he is such a bloody stickler for rules and books…ugh, no wonder he is going to die alone!”
“And then you have us, the best thing that ever happened to the Weasleys,” George proclaimed, puffing out his chest as Fred took the cup from him. “We sometimes think that we got exchanged at birth, but then I see our hair and I realize that it is just our mom and Percy who are boring. After us, it is ickle Ronniekins, who is a piece of work, and bloody scared of spiders! Can you believe it, spiders of all things?!”
Well, he could…after sharing the camp with Athena’s children, and seeing a couple of corpses left behind by those monstrous arachnids spawned by Arachne.
But the wizards didn’t have giant man-eating spiders…right?
However, his thoughts on the monsters and horrors of his other life were forgotten at that moment as Fred began to tell him about their youngest sibling, the only girl to have been born to their parents. A girl who went by Ginny, and apparently, she had a huge crush on the Boy Who Lived. It was through this conversation, that Harry was introduced to the series made on the adventures and the daring lifestyle of the heroic Neville Longbottom. Hearing about how the series depicted him as an evil vanquishing, maiden-saving, monster-slaying Hero like some Greek legend, Harry shuddered quietly and finished his toast.
He was so fucking glad that no one was going to be making books about him.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As they filed out into the grounds for the first flying lesson, Harry looked at the skies above him. While the weather was completely clear and the sun was out, he really wasn’t keen on flying for a couple of reasons. The first was that he didn’t really know if Taranis would take umbrage to his presence in the Celtic sky. They sure weren’t going to smite him out of existence if he stepped into the waters or walked in the forests, but flying in the sky, especially if was the son of another Skyfather….that had to cross some sort of line, right? He really didn’t want to test that thought out by flying on a broom, on the off chance that it might cause an inter-pantheon scene, or worse, his death by a divine bolt of anger.
The second reason, well it was more along the lines of…He was the fucking son of the Greek God-King, the Skyfather of the whole Greek Pantheon! He had flown in the air like it was naught but land to walk upon, he had felt it against his skin like the touch of silken sheets, and he had felt the power he commanded over the sky a dozen times at his fingertips. What appeal did flying on a piece of wood hold for him, when he had already done things a hundred times more beautiful and awesome?
Once again looking up at the sky, he muttered a prayer to Tyche and cleared his mind the best he could, before thinking about the old man who had welcomed him and Hestia into the British Isles. “Lord Taranis, I ask your permission to rise in your domain, as long as it is required by my schooling.’
‘Hmm, the hell happe-oh, you want to ride the brooms, how pleabian of a son of the Sky!’ Taranis’ amused voice echoed in his head as the Celtic deity laughed, and as if his day wasn’t irritating enough, Harry felt a minor disturbance in the air above him—far more muted than what he would have felt back in America, he noted—and he sidestepped ot the left, his eyes narrowing at the bird droppings that passed by his shoulder. Taranis’ laughter once again sounded in his head, and Harry stared up at the pigeon as it flew away, disappearing into the afternoon sun, ‘the regions under the wizards are their own boy, and you are a wizard, even though Greek blood might flow through your veins. You are permitted to do any activity the wizards perform, as long as it is not illegal according to their laws, or those of the non-magicals.’
‘Thank you, Lord Taranis’ he muttered back mentally, deciding to sacrifice some of that treacle tart and roasted chicken to the god tonight—and hadn’t Fred said that Charlie was bringing some cooked Dragon from Romania tonight, would he be able to send some to his Father?
His mind returned to the present as Madam Hooch, an ex-professional Quidditch player started to give out instructions. In front of him, the yellow-robed Hufflepuff students stood silently, raising their hands above the brooms as Hooch went to them first.
“So fucking easy,” he muttered, hearing her words and opening his fingers, “As if shouting ‘up’ will make a change.”
A flex of his will, and a burst of his power later, the broom floated up smoothly to his hands, tilting slightly to accommodate his own lax grip. He studied the thing in his hands, his slightly better vision than normal mortals—a farcry from what he had been capable of just a week ago—allowing him to see the chipped wood and splintered shaft in far more detail than they could. His eyes then moved over the bends and kinks in its shape, the way the bristles were twisted and turning at wrong angles.
‘A paper airplane is more aerodynamic than this thing’ he sighed, looking at the other brooms, only to wince as he caught sight of the one Fred had caught hold of…that thing looked like it was used ot actually mop the floors here. Eyes flicking down to the battered and half-broken thing in his hands, Harry sighed and stared at the sky above, ‘This is what I have been reduced to? Flying on a toy that is not even maintained? These kids would have been dead by now if this was the Camp and a monster attack happened.’
But maybe that was what had been bugging him in the back of his mind all along, he suddenly realized, still staring at the slight clouds above. Since that Satyr had taken him to the Camp, all he had been doing was fighting. Swinging his sword and throwing his powers around, he turned every monster he saw to dust, sending it back to Pit. At first, it was tough, with even small group of Hellhounds making it a life-and-death battle.
But then his powers had grown, and he had battled a Chimera, unlocking more of his strength. And yet, the fighting had never stopped. He roamed across the surrounding areas, carrying demigods to the camp and slaying everything he came across along the way, his xiphos nothing but a storm of silver that cut through hide and hair alike. He fought, he bled, he ate ambrosia, used his magic to heal and the cycle repeated itself. Sure, over time he had grown strong enough to kill entire packs of Hellhounds or Laestrygonians within an eyeblink, the monsters had grown in quality and quantity both. Sometimes, he had been forced to spend time in the medics’ care, especially after that Hydra attack, or when a group of stygian birds had literally pecked him out of the sky, their claws and beaks carving out his flesh to the bone in a few places.
But whatever the previous day had been like, the next day, he had been back on his feet. Training. Fighting. Learning. All to master his powers, all to be better than the next monster that came in front of him. All so that he would never have to see Abigail like he had to see Michael and Cynthia.
All so he could ram Poseidon’s trident through his chest, and laugh like the monster did while raping his mother.
And then suddenly, he was here, in Britain in a world of magic. Where people didn’t hide from monsters that could melt them, burn them, and tear them to pieces. Where you didn’t have to worry that every time you stepped out of your home, it could be your last. Where children didn’t learn the best and fastest way to kill at the age of eight so that they might live upto nine. It was weird, it was bright…it was peaceful.
And in that moment, as Hooch told them all to swing their legs over the brooms…Harry decided he liked peaceful things too.
