Potter Time Travels

By Christian Martin

Freak was running away from Dudley once again, trying to escape another beating. He dove in the park, sprinted across the highway, barely making it across before a big lorry hit him, dove in the ditch as the trucker slammed on the brakes hard, hitting the horn imperiously, before sliding into the embarkment Freak had come barreling down in pure panic. Freak climbed out of the ditch on the other side, darting in the woods like the devils were after his ass. He heard the truck’s brakes, the cry of twisted metal, the breaking of windows, and, beneath the whole thing, a tiny cry... But he was way too freaked out to care, and he ran ever deeper in the forest, ignoring anything, any noise, any crack, headlong ever further from the forest’s edge. On and on he ran, until he collapsed near a stream, rolling on its slippery banks and falling in the shallow, cold water, that stung his cuts and bruises enough to stop him from fainting from the pain of the punching he had received from Dudley.

‘What did I ever do to them to get treated as they do? I do all my chores, even Dudley’s and all I get is scrap food not fit for a dog!’ thought Freak.

Oh, he knew his name was not Freak, but that was what he had been called until he entered first year in grade school, and his uncle, Vernon, told him he had been forced to give the school a false name to satisfy the blubbering bureaucrats and that his real name was still Freak, and never to consider any other name in his presence. Freak had, at first, accepted this, especially after a severe belting that had left him sore for days, but he knew, from spying the paperwork submitted to the school, that included a birth certificate, that his given name was really Harry Potter.

‘Better stay as Freak, just in case!’ he thought to himself.

He trudged across the wide, but shallow stream, climbed on the other shore, and hid under a thick spiny bush. He noticed the bush was covered in raspberries, which he had never tasted, but knew must be good given his aunt Petunia and his uncle Vernon made it their duty to eat them in rich 35% cream in front of him when they were in season. He ate some of the small fruits, found a spring, drank water to wash them down, and then climbed up a tree to stay safe from roaming animals. He had been told there were dangerous animals in the forest, and, even if he did not trust Vernon to state the sun would rise the next morning, he was not going to disregard a warning.


Behind, the truck driver had been extracted from his torn cabin, and had managed to tell the bobbies why he had braked so suddenly. The trailer had slid violently on the bank, and turned on its side, its cargo of steel bars having broken their moorings and fallen on the side, piling up on the grass before sliding back and jamming tightly against the trailer. It took all night to remove the top of the cargo, using powerful cranes to lift them one by one and move them across the highway. Finally, around five AM, the crew reached the bottom of the pile.

“Holly shit! Get the Sergeant!” asked one of the supervisors that was guiding the cranes’ work.

Shortly, the Sergeant moved to the site, walking briskly around the nearest crane’s boom, and looked at the workman questioningly.

“Look at that ditch, sir. That is where the steel cross bar we just lifted was. I think someone is under that pile of steel, sir!” With that, the supervisor turned around and rendered his supper, heaving heavily. The police officer looked down and began sweating like a pig on a roast. This was no longer a small crash, not that the car pile-up had been small, but until then, there were only bumps and bruises along with foiled metal. Now, there was one death. He moved toward the dangling steel bar and, using his flashlight to examine the big rod in the dim pre-dawn light, spotted rusty colored material dripping from it, along with clothes, skin, and a crushed femur.

“Stop everything! We need forensics!” ordered the police Sergeant. “Call the commissioner at Scotland Yard! Get him on the radio!”

Shortly, a small police helicopter landed on the highway, slightly ahead of the accident’s location as the traffic was backed up for several miles and it was the only way to get there.

The forensic team quickly established it was human blood using luminol, as if that was necessary, and began extracting the bones, flesh and whatever else could be found on the steel bar. Two hours later, the crane moved the bar on a truck that had been backed up to the site. It then began moving the next bar off the ground, revealing more body parts. Forensics began immediately examining the bar and the deeply compressed ground for further indications. Finally, the last steel bar was lifted and examined. By then, the sun was up and the forensics had a good view of the site.

“From what I get, there are two tracks coming down the embarkment,” began the chief forensics expert while recording everything. One, rather narrow, fitting for a single person, and one wider, like two persons came down. From the way the footprints are arrayed, everyone was running. I think the one in front, that crossed in front of the truck, was running away from pursuers.”

“We are ready to lift the trailer, sir. For safety, please back off!”

The Officers did as asked and the two cranes teamed up to put the trailer back on its rather twisted wheels. After that, the boobies moved in to look at what had been uncovered.

“Oh, my God!” exclaimed the commissioner. “There are four crushed heads in there!”

“And they are kids, sir. That explains the small bones! Look at the teeth! No cavities, no dental treatment whatsoever! That will be a pain to identify! They never saw a dentist!”

As the forensics was explaining things to the commissioner, the radio came on. Shortly, a booby made his way to the commissioner.

“Sir, four kids are missing. They were supposed to sleep at a house but never showed up. It’s only when the parents called each other that the disappearances were noticed.”

“I’m not betting that the missing kids are the cold cuts we’re seeing here. How am I going to tell the parents their kids got into a highway accident and are dead?”

“And we still have no idea who the fifth one was. For running as he was, he was a kid as well. Who could he be? It is strange there is not a fifth missing child report.”


Freak woke up a bit sore, but strangely, all his scratches, bumps and other physical issues seemed to have been removed over the night. He climbed down, found the raspberries bush, ate as much as he could, and drank from the spring, before turning away, walking further in the woods. Around noon, he made his way into a small clearing, that had a strange arrangement of stones placed in a circle around a flat pedestal. On the pedestal was a strange apparatus that reminded him of an hourglass, but much more elaborate than what he had seen in a book on time he had found in the library while trying to hide from Dudley and his gang. He looked at it carefully, cleaning up the grime with a tiny hawthorn branch. Satisfied with his work, he sat down and took a sip of the spring water he had managed to carry with him from the spring by hollowing a piece of wood. It never occurred to him that being able to do that with his will alone was what made the others call him a Freak. He also found some nuts, wild strawberries, and other small fruits. Once filled, he returned to the pedestal and began examining the hourglass further. At first, he had difficulty moving it back and forth, but suddenly, it spun freely as he gave it a mighty push. He felt dizzy and fell on the pedestal. Barely able to keep his lunch down, Freak noticed that trees were shrinking, yet others were standing up after having fallen down. What the hell was happening? He saw seasons flow back: summer became spring, spring became winter, winter became fall, and fall became summer... Repeatedly! Yet it only occurred outside of the rock ring, as if everything inside the area it delimited was out of time! Finally, things slowed down and Freak found himself laying flat on his back on the pedestal. Strangely, he felt rejuvenated, without any pain. He stood up, and, walking to a flat block of rock that had lost its cover of fungus, asked for a basin of cold water, which he got immediately. As he looked into it, he did not recognize himself: His wild hair, while still wild, had taken a deep black glow, and descended to his bum. His clothes had been torn to shred as he had grown more muscular and a lot taller, and that pesky scar had vanished! He looked further: he was still almost eleven, hairless in the groin, and.... Hey! He was seeing the world clearly for the first time EVER! Apparently, he had lost his glasses during the run, and had not noticed.

‘Where am I?’ he thought, as he looked around for any indications. Freak was no dimwit, he understood that he had travelled back in time for some reason! Although he figured that the strange hourglass was somehow involved, he was not going to go forward any time soon! You do not look in the mouth of gifted horse (or something like that, but he could not remember exactly the saying), and he was going to do the best he could with what he had received! Freak decided to embrace his new-found freedom and threw away the tattered residues of his clothes, his badly rotten sneakers, and everything that reminded him of his uncle and that family. Finally satisfied with his decision, he memorized the emplacement of the ring, using an innate sense of direction and location that, had he known, was the homing pigeon’s magnetic compass, but much much finer, as he called on his inner animal, much more powerful than any pigeon would ever be: a Phoenix.


Scotland Yard quietly moved to four Privet Drive and rang at the door. Three other teams of the venerable institution were doing the same thing. Vernon opened the door, his beached walrus looks not intimidating the officers one bit.

“Yes?” he asked with a growl.

“You mentioned your son did not show up last night? There were three other disappearances reported at the same time. Can we talk to you, sir?”

“Come in. Hurry up, I do not like that neighbors see the police on my property! And move the cars!”

“Sorry sir, the cars stay where they are,” replied the detective, as he pushed beside the big man.

“Vernon? What is it?”

“Its the bobbies, Pet. I hope they found out where our son is.”

“I hope that freak had nothing to do with it!”

The detective frowned.

“Who is the «freak»?” he asked.

“It’s a troublemaker we shelter in our generosity, but he is so much trouble! I told Pet that we should have sent it to the orphanage rather than take the varmint in our honorable house!” replied Vernon. “The parents died in a car crash and we got stuck with him.”

‘So, the freak is a boy’ thought the detective. “How come you shelter him if he’s such a troublemaker?”

“We tried to get rid of him but they bring him back every time,” replied Vernon. “But I do not care about the Freak, what about my son? Where is he?”

“We’ll get to that, sir. Who are «they»?”

“Other freaks, unnatural and dangerous!” replied Vernon.

The detective had a bad feeling about this. His brother was a wizard, and he was beginning to feel the freak was a wizard child. Who was he, that was the question! But he could not come out without breaking the statute of secrecy and endanger his own brother, and that was out of the question. Stuck with this dilemma, he decided to bring the Dursleys to the forensic laboratory. Shock therapy might be a good way to break their conniving.

“Follow me, we’ll bring you to your son.” said the detective, as he turned around to leave the too clean house. He let the Dursleys move forward to the cruiser, and signaled one of the officers. “Search the house from top to bottom even in cupboards! I want to know how many spiders there are, where they are, and what variety, got it?”

“Got it, sir.”

The trip to Scotland Yard was long as it was a Saturday and people were traveling a lot to and from their home to shops and whatever not. An hour later they turned into an underground parking lot rather quickly, too fast for the two back-seat passengers to notice where they were. Once parked, the detective quickly had them walk through a steel door and along a white, fake hospital walkway. At some point, he turned briskly, pushing open a double door and hiding the sign: ‘Morgue’.

The cold atmosphere of the morgue made the Dursleys shiver.

“My poor Dudleykins will catch his death of cold if that’s how hospitals heat their rooms!” exclaimed Petunia.

The detective had all the trouble in the world keeping a straight face at that comment.

A staff member of the morgue walked in.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“You have four in there that came in early this morning... Can we see them? For identification purposes?”

The coroner blinked a couple of times but from the wink the detective gave, understood the need for shock.

“What’s the hair color?”

“Auburn!” replied Petunia, beginning to freak out!

“Come with me...”

The two parents moved along a short hallway, and followed the coroner into a rather cold room. They watched him walk toward a drawer and pull it open in a quick move. He pulled the white sheet away and signaled them to look inside.

“Do you recognize him?” he asked.

Petunia crashed on the tile floor and Vernon became whiter that an old ghost.

“So, do you recognize him?” the coroner asked again.

“It’s our son! Who did this to him? I will kill the freak! He had to be involved! It’s murder!” bellowed Vernon, going from chalk-white to aubergine in an instant.

“Why do you say he is involved?” asked the detective.

“He’s a freak, that’s why!” yelled Vernon.

“What makes him a freak, Mister Dursley?”

“He... he... he can do unnatural things!”

“More specifically?”

“M.... ma... Magic! I said it, magic, happy now?” With that, Vernon turned to the wall and began punching the tiles, so strongly they began cracking under the assault.

“If I were you, Sir, I would refrain from damaging public property,” said the detective.

“If you think I care! I’ll kill him, I tell you, I’ll kill him!”

“Who?”

“The freak! Harry Potter! My wife and I got burdened by the freak when the parents died, and we never wanted him. He dies the moment I see him, even if I have to kill him in court!”

The detective bleached. Now he had an identity on the runaway: THE Harry Potter! Of all the nine levels of Hell, it had to be HIM!

“Are you telling me Harry Potter was placed at your home?”

“Placed? Dumped you mean! That old geezer, with too many names, dumped him on our steps in the middle of the night, without even a by your leave! We should have left him freeze to death in the back yard or buried him alive! But the ground was already as hard as ice! I tried digging in it!”

The detective remembered that winter had hit early and hard that year, freezing water lines a foot below their normal levels. The coroner was awed at the level of hatred expressed by the beefy man.

“I wonder what kind of life the Potter kid had in this house...” he asked at the detective, “I would not put it beyond these two to have done a lot of physical damage.”

“Probably... But the truck driver said the kid that sprinted in front of him ran faster than a gazelle. From the accident site, he was running away from these four cold cuts.”

“My son is not a cold cut!”

“Currently? Probably getting a warm-up in hell, if you want my opinion!” replied the detective, not feeling too charitable.

Vernon charged, only to find himself flying over the drawer containing his son and landing on the floor on the other side, smashing his head on the tiled wall. The detective pulled out a couple of pairs of handcuffs, and closed them not too kindly oven Vernon’s thick wrists.

“Damn, these hurt!”

“Sorry, we do not have handcuffs designed for walruses.” With that, he turned to Petunia, sill unconscious on the floor and cuffed her too.

“What am I charged with?”

“Assault on a police officer. To start with. I am sure we will find a lot more after we are done searching your home.”

“All that for the freak! I’ll have you sacked!”

“The freak in question has a name; he saved the world from living through World War III, you moron!”

“How do you know? I’m sure it’s a carnival designed to hide their nefarious goals!”

“Nefarious? I have a brother that is a freak, as you call them, and he keeps me appraised of their world. The nefarious bastard was Voldemort, and that kid not only killed him, but survived a curse that is unstoppable and kills without trace or fail... except for him. He is considered more powerful than Merlin himself, you big tub of lard! Now, move! You are going to the cistern! And to the secret vault. I suspect old grey-beard would try to spring you and your wife out if he knew where you are. I’m going to record you and her under false names, and as two males. That should keep him off our backs while we do the enquiry into this highly irregular placement! Doctor, I need two trollies with sheets. We’re moving them incognito. If you move a hair, Dursley, I smash your head with a hammer, got it? Now lay down on that cold slab of stainless steel...”

“But...”

“No buts, or I start a butt autopsy while you are still kicking!” the detective growled coldly.

The doctor snickered, playing with a scalpel.

It took the two ten minutes to bring the Dursleys to the secret facility under Scotland Yard.

“To get food, press there, for water there, and the throne and shower are in the same cubicle. You can keep everything, thank God for small mercies, as the walls are stainless steel and the door will not be visible once closed. The cells are framed like Faraday boxes, so no energy can penetrate or leave. Grey-beard can look for you all he wants, magic won’t work. We tested with all those they threw on the streets after 7 years of an half-education. When your bitch wakes up, explain to her where she is and how to work things out. Good nightmares!”


Freak progressed with no specific destination in mind, using a sixth sense he did not know he had to find food and fresh water, shelter during the night and other necessities. The summer was warm, rather dry, with just enough rain to maintain streams running. Nude as a Jay bird, Freak felt free for the first time in his life. He lost track of time until... an owl, of all things, showed up to his tree branch and extended a leg to which was tied a package. Freak untied the string delicately, and accioed a rat for the owl as a thank you, not that he knew of the verb, but he knew what he wanted, and was not even flustered at magic responding to his nice request. The owl greedily accepted the rat and flew off.

The package seemed strange, notwithstanding its delivery method! Freak looked at it it and saw all sorts of strange things on it, but felt nothing bad from the package. Figuring he had nothing to lose he read the intended recipient:

Mr. Harry James Potter

Forest of Dean

White Oak

Third Branch

Freak knew his name was Harry Potter so he accepted it was really for him. He unwrapped the package and gently pulled out the scroll. He read the letter out loud, to make sure he did not skip anything:

“Mister Potter,

You have recently been registered to the scroll of enrolled students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you plan to follow up, please reply by owl no later than August 30. Enclosed are the lit of necessities for the upcoming session.

Sincerely yours,

Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

‘With that number of jobs, he must not even have time to run to the nearest tree to take a piss! And he probably botches all of them, like a hunter that tries to catch too many preys!’ though Freak. After taking a pee from his perch and dumping as well, much to the enraged reaction of a skunk that got bombed, he looked at the list of things he would need. Eww! So much stuff and he didn’t have a pound to himself! ‘Bah, who needs all that stuff, I do not need any of it... I’ll just go to King’s Cross on September first, and come what may!’ decided Freak. ‘Since my name’s Freak, I might as well use it and be one!’ With that Freak moved off, apparating from one forest to another, or in parks at night, getting ever closer to downtown London. He was totally unseen, not that he tried to hide, but his displacement were silent, as if he glided from one spot to another, without disturbing even the sleeping birds.


Meanwhile, in the future, things were getting hairy(!) for the magical world. Dumbledore noticed that the wards on four Privet Drive had crashed suddenly, and an emergency visit to the aforementioned address revealed that the Dursleys were no longer in residence. Where could they be? Furthermore, Harry’s life-signs were not to be found anywhere, worldwide! However hard he tried to scry for the boy, it always came back blank. He went to the police, but found nothing, not surprising as Scotland Yard itself was in the dark as to whom the two secretive new residents of the tank were. The name of Dudley’s friends never did register to Dumbledore, and their funeral, after an horrid accident on the highway, never associated with the Dursley name either in the press or the police reports. The detective had done his job well.

The Yard Detective visited his Wizard brother, surprising him considerably, given they had been passing through a rather long-lasting cold spell (!) after it came out Matthew was a wizard.

“What brings you to my humble abode?” asked Matthew after opening the door, wand drawn.

“I need to talk to you. It’s an emergency!”

“Are the parents sick?”

“Nothing of the sort. It concerns magic.”

“Oh? Do come in. I doubt the lady across the landing is actually listening to her soaps. She is more into gossiping and listening against walls, the old bitch!”

A loud “Harrumph!” was heard just across the wall, to which Matthew answered by sending a loud concussion charm against the wall separating the two flats.

“After that, she will be deaf for a month, that old witch!”

“Is she?”

“A witch? No. But she could pose as model for one, with that creepy broom, the wart on her nose, and a collection of rotten teeth that smell across the yard!”

After closing the door, Matthew took two butter-beers out of the cold box, and invited his brother to his living room.

“So, what’s this about Magic?” he asked, once sat on his favorite chair.

“Harry Potter. He was involved in a major car pileup.”

“Oh shit!”

“That’s an understatement. Let me explain the events as I know them.” The detective then told Matthew all he had figured out and that the police had been tracking the kid through the forest but lost track of him after he had crossed a stream. They had found torn rags near a stone ring that might or might not have been his, but since they had been severely weathered, it either meant the kid wore rags most of the time, or... something else.

“Or both?”

“Or both. Did you hear anything from your side of the divide? All I can tell you is that Potter lived in hell. We found traces of blood that do not match any of the Dursleys, either dead or alive. He lived in a cupboard under the stairs, and there is enough blood in there to charge the Dursleys with repeated attempted murder. We found impediments of torture laced with his skin, butt marks on the floor where crap were mixed, indicating rape. The entire process will be kept deep under the radar of the muggles and the wizards.”

“Why?”

“Dumbledore. He is likely to try and interfere. We have found traces of his meddling in over 60 investigations. He erased records (luckily, the idiot never figured the power of computers) and memories at will. Thing is, electroshock therapy restores memories quite nicely... One thing he is totally ignorant of, as are all pureblood of the wizard world. It serves us well to keep them in the dark as to the limits of their wizardry. And we have installed hidden cameras in most of his venues, which allows us to keep track of his displacements, even if he apparates. The old geezer is a man of habits. So much so we know where the ministry is, where that alley is, and where the International Confederation of Wizards meet and their timetable. We even have their agenda for the next year. Talk about Statute of Secrecy! We could piss on them if we wished!”

“I wonder if that therapy could be used to restore Frank and Alice... They were nice people, and it is sad they got tortured to insanity with the Cruciatus curse.”

“Who knows... We can look into it... after the Dursleys are sentenced.”

“What do you expect for them?”

“Given what was found, a very long stay in an isolation chamber, until death, for that matter. And if I had my way, they would be sent to one of the high-security prisons with a sticker on their back ‘Child molester’. They would not live a week as the prisoners do not forgive child rapists or molesters and have their own justice in place that is not tempered by goody-two-shoes.”

“I’ll help you get in and out... unseen.”

“Unseen in a prison rife with hidden cameras? Dream on. What I will do is write to one of the guards, telling him a short version, and asking him to clean the slate.”

“Then how is it the guards do not intervene when ‘justice’ is done?”

“Oh, they intervene... after the fact, to erase the tapes!”

“Wouldn’t that letter lead to you?”

“Not if I never actually write it myself. Computers are magical. They can write a letter on a printer several miles away. And I can get in the Yard’s server under a false identity. No one will ever know.”

“That’s another muggle progress, I gather?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll keep my ear to the ground for anything from the magical world, Matthew. Your phone is still the same?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”

The Detective finished the beer and left. Matthew walked to a secluded park and apparated near the Leaky Chauldron. He took a seat at the bar and ordered dinner. While eating, he kept an ear open on anything, any rumor about the Potter Boy. Nothing was said, so he moved to the Bank intent on taking out some galleons. As he waited, a powerful siren was heard and the doors closed violently. A loudspeaker explained the situation to the customers.

“Gringott’s is currently in lock-down. Someone robbed the assets of one of our most valued customers. The robber will be found and executed and the assets returned with a penalty of 100% of stolen value.”

Time passed, but the lock-down remained. Hour after hour, the Goblins searched, but found nothing. Finally, they had to admit defeat. Someone had managed to rob Gringott’s.

“I wonder who was robbed? I hope it’s Malfoy!” said a witch.

A growl came from the nearest Goblin. “No. It is the Potter vaults that were emptied. We may not be able to figure out how it was done, but Dumbledore has shown more than enough interest in its contents to warrant suspicions. We will find out if he is involved, and if so, we will ask his head be delivered to us within twenty-four hours of the proof being presented... or else all wizard assets will be seized to compensate the Potter heir. Leave. We are closing the bank until further notice.”

As soon as he reached the apparation point, Matthew ported to his brother’s home, directly in his back yard. Unfortunately, he had not been informed of the new arrangements in said back yard, and apparated directly over the deep end of the pool!

His arrival sprayed his brother and wife, and shocked the two young boys that had been playing in the shallow end.

“Matthew, if you want to keep the Statute of Secrecy, that is a failure!” exclaimed a drenched Detective.

Wadding in of pool, trying not to sink to the bottom as he got dragged down by his wizard robes, he pulled himself out, coughing mercilessly from swallowing over-chlorinated water, eyes burning.

“What are you swimming in? Sulfuric acid? I knew muggles had tough hides, but isn’t that pushing things?”

“Nothing of the sort. What’s the emergency?”

“Harry Potter’s vaults have been robbed bare, that’s what, and the Goblins are furious. Potter is one of the richest families of wizardry, if not the richest, as they date from before the establishment of the School, well before then in fact. Dumbledore better number his offal because they believe he is involved in the heist.”

“I’ll give the Goblins the knife, a gold one from my mother’s old cutlery!”

“Do not bother. If the assets are not returned, they plan on taking everything from every vault as compensation for mister Potter. And we all know that the sum of assets of wizardry, worldwide, barely equals the value of the Potter vault!”

“You guys are in boiling water...”

“You think? Did you know they take twice the amount robbed as compensation for the offended party? We are short, by about half of the value, if it is not returned...”

“Holly shit!”

“Nothing holly about it... If the assets are not returned, the wizards will find themselves fighting a global war with no money to pay for it. And...”

“And?”

“And if we don’t fight, we lose, and we die. Their way of doing war is NO QUARTERS. If Dumbledore did this, he succeeded in a single coup in destroying the Magical World, something Voldemort never succeeded in doing.”

The kids had grown silent, not really understanding the scope of the issue, but feeling the dread their parents were experiencing.

“Dumbledore?”

“I heard nothing from that quarter. He probably just now learned of the situation as wizard staff is leaving the bank under Goblin escort. I heard they strip search everyone, port them out, and keep anything found on them, from clothes to wand. I was lucky, I was on the Bank steps when they instituted the lockdown, so I came out of adventure with at least my wand and modesty. When they released the ward, I saw a very furious Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, walk out, bare as a newborn, not even holding his bowler hat... I could apparate, but he had to walk to the standard entrance to Diagon Alley before he could beg for some floo powder. If dick size is inversely proportional to ego, he is worse than Grindelwald.”

“Keep that comment to yourself, Matthew. We got boys, two for that matter...”

“So? They probably already realized the center of their universe is between their legs.”

“No need to point it out, brother!”

“They do the pointing... Look at their little wands! I am sure Ollivander would say something like ‘two inches, relatively rigid, good for mating’! And no need to turn fire-engine red, lady... You wash them every night!”


Freak appeared silently at King’s Cross on September first, wearing his usual garb, that is, nothing, and made his way to the train, that was still all dark. He moved to the last car, opened a compartment, walked in, and closed the door, locking it so tight a ghost would have been hard put entering. He lay down, and fell asleep.

It was the sudden lurch of the train car that woke him up and he watched the station’s quay pass by from his window. His nude body was clearly visible to those parents and children watching their progeny leaving for Hogwarts. That produced one heck of a scandal, that quickly reached the Auror office. It was decided to send out an Auror detachment to arrest the perverted miscreant as the train arrived in Hogsmeade. A total of ten members of that elite (!) police force were called upon to put an end to that public outrage. Most of the Aurors, including Alistor Moody, wanted to praise the kid for his brass balls. Freak had no inkling of the furor his little show and don’t tell had created. He was lured to sleep, only waking up to snitch some food as the train passed through fruit groves by calling them to him through the open window. Apples, melons, peaches, nuts, even a steak cooking on a barbecue found their way to him and his stomach. The muggle that saw her piece of raspberry pie fly off with her saucer later claimed it had to be ET complaining about the use of the dish for such earthly endeavors. Naturally, Freak called up utensils; living naturally had not (yet) erased the good manners his aunt and uncle had inscribed on his back with that dreaded belt and nine-tail whip.

The rest of the trip was without incident, as Freak slept on a full belly. It was the conductor calling out in the hallway to dress for school and the lurching of the train as it swiveled to change tracks that woke him up. It was night, and the quay was lighted by torches that gave a very parsimonious lighting. Freak looked outside and saw that the quay was occupied by people in red garb. He figured that was the school uniform so he ‘dressed’ that way by materializing the same on himself, not aware that these robes were the police uniforms of the wizards! Once fitted with the robe that covered him to the ankles, he realized the uniform also included a pair of shoes, which he added to his equipment. Feeling ready for the great adventure, he unlocked the door, and apparated silently in the dark behind the Aurors, well before the train came to a full halt.

The Aurors stormed the train the moment it came to a halt, forcing every student to stay inside, while a group charged the last car, intent on intercepting their miscreant nudist target. Freak, not understanding the commotion, stayed put in the dark. No use getting stepped on!

The fury of having missed their target met no bounds. The Aurors searched every compartment with magic, but found nothing on the train. Everyone who was supposed to be there was there... except Harry James Potter, but a check with Dumbledore’s deputy revealed he had never answered so it was considered a refusal to attend. Hagrid finally was allowed to call for the first years and bring them to Hogwarts, three hours after the train’s arrival. The children were, let’s say, grumpy, not to use stronger words unfit for young eyes!

Freak followed the first years, his dark red robe seemingly black in the darkness, and he boarded a boat alone: the number of boats automatically adjusted to need, and, that year, there were 157 new students at Hogwarts, and Hagrid occupied the first all by himself, his weight almost sinking it.

Things continued properly: the students followed Hagrid up the docking steps and waited as Minerva quickly opened the door leading them into a side room. Freak, still following in the back of the impressive pack, passed totally under the radar as nothing, except his dark red robe, distinguished him from the other first years. Hagrid had made his escape to the great hall well before Freak reached the castle door, and Minerva was overwhelmed by the rambunctious children, exited and tired as they were.

The situation was dire. The children were on the verge of rebellion, their stomach leading the charge. After a short debate, the sorting was put off to the next morning, and the students would be fed and the youngsters would sleep in the grand hall, on bunks. Again, Freak passed unnoticed, as he sat at the far end of the fifth table created by Dumbledore to accommodate the situation. Once everyone was fed, the prefects and head boy and girl arranged the children by sex, one on each side of a separating passageway, and created bunks for everyone. No one bothered doing a count. Freak was near the big door and tried to sleep, to no avail. First, he had eaten tons of fruits, and other goodies on the train by picking them up as the train travelled. Second, he had slept most of the way. Third, he had eaten only sparingly, looking disgustingly at the way too fatty food presented on the table. Only the house elves noticed his reticence at eating what they had prepared and his preferences for minimally prepared food. They took good note and decided to offer the young one a wide choice of exotic fruits, vegetables, and salads prepared artistically but devoid of sauces and other artifacts of English high cuisine.

Freak fidgeted uncontrollably in his camp bed, finally standing up. He walked silently across the wide door between the two sleeping head boy and girl. He began exploring the castle to pass the time, discovering portraits everywhere, even in the cabinets of the bathroom! ‘They must have a portrait fetish’ he thought, as he listened to some portraits... snore loudly! He made it to the grand staircase, that was silent at this time of the night, so as to not disturb the rest of the residents, be they living or dead!

Freak climbed up to the seventh floor, explored it for a bit, feeling attracted to the wall opposite of a freakish portrait. ‘Must be my freakishness calling me’ he thought. He moved back to the fifth floor, and noticed two gargoyles, not that he knew what they were.

The gargoyles eyed the tiny auror, wondering if aurors were now being recruited within the dwarves. As Freak moved toward them, they parted, letting him enter the Headmaster’s office without even signaling the thing to the castellan. They also recorded his magical signature for later reference. Freak was carried up by the spiraling staircase and entered the office of one Albus too many names and titles Dumbledore.

The arrival of Freak woke up Fawkes, who recognized in the tiny human a kindred spirit and a fledging Phoenix. The adult Phoenix began singing, calling out to the animagus form of Freak, who, overwhelmed, began singing back to the bird. All the singing finally woke up the Sorting Hat, who queried about all the racket, to which Fawkes sent a series of images in response.

“Put me on, young one, so we can talk silently between ourselves. It would not be wise to wake up the headmaster at this hour, as he has a bad temper lately.”

“Only lately?”

“You are more astute than your age foretells. Do as asked.”

Freak put the hat on his head. It sank almost to his shoulders.

“I see you have very powerful mental shields and probes. Would you mind dropping them so as to ease our exchange? By the way, these mental capabilities are called occlumency and ligilimency.”

“How do I do that?”

“Just relax and think of opening a door.”

Freak did as directed, and a few minutes later, he heard the hat in his head.

“Good, very good. Grey-beard will have one hell of a wake-up call come morning... That old geezer needs to be brought down a whole slew of pegs. Now... What do we have here? Hat? Do you see what I see?”

“Yes. His sorting will be problematic, if at all possible!”

“We will need the assistance of the founders.”

“I agree, Fawkes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, sorry, we were talking about you as if you were not involved! Bad habit that is hard to break since we spend the nights away talking to each other in our minds. The portraits are loudmouth gossips and exchange things about the students that should be left behind closed doors. Dumbledore listens to them gossip religiously as it gives him an ear on the castle and gives the students the impression he is omniscient.”

“Now, back to what Hat was talking about. First, we know you travelled back in time, using the only operational time portal of the Druids. Keep its location secret. It can allow you to go forward in time.”

“Not that I want to. That body is so much healthier than when I left!”

“We also realized you have been abused and that the fault rests entirely on the shoulder of Master Manipulator Dumbledore. Altho we can not change what has happened, the portal can bring you ahead in time, well ahead of your time in fact, all that without you aging or reliving all the pain you endured. That the portal removed all the crap you had been submitted to is fortuitous, as you did not practice the portal ritual before using it. It is a blood ritual, forbidden and forgotten because portals are considered destroyed. The one you used is the last one and only activated due to the amount of blood you infused it with. Listen carefully as I reveal the ritual to you. We may never have such an occasion ever again. Open your mind fully, and commit to memory every step!”

The Hat then dumped into Freak’s mind the ritual, along with the entire curriculum of Hogwarts at its glorious peak. All this in a flash.

“Wow, what a ritual!”

“I decided to add some stuff. You now know how to do partial animagus transformation, full transformation, and have a complete and deep knowledge of the dark arts and how to protect yourself from them. The old fool believes that only DADA should be thought, forgetting that the best defense is offense. Now, to bring you to the Heart of Hogwarts. Grab a tail feather from Fawkes, he will flame us there.”

Freak did as asked and found himself deep under the castle, looking at a greenish wall.

“That is the lake. It is kept out of here by magic. Should the castle fall, the lake will flood this place, barring anyone from destroying the Heart,” said the Sorting Hat. “Touch the Heart, please.”

Freak did as asked and suddenly found himself wrapped in a liquid crystal. He could hear a crystal voice speaking to him.

“Inheritance test in progress. Parents: Harry James Potter (self) and Lilly Evans. Potter line jumped back in time to recover lost inheritance. Ascent line, male: Potter, Black, Peverell, Gryffindor, Merlin; by conquest: Gaunt, Peverell, Slytherin, Pendragon. Female: Evans, Evan, Hufflepuff, Le Fey, Ravenclaw, Le Fey.”

The Hat almost fell off Freak’s head in shock.

“Well, young one, you own Hogwarts downright. Unfortunately, you can not kick the old geezer out until you reach your majority... Now, to get the oldest geezers out of their self-imposed belly button contemplation!”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The four Founders, who else? Merlin was against establishing a school, preferring to practice one-on-one tutoring... or so he said. We think he wanted to be able to select the most beautiful maidens to exercise the right of ‘cuissage’, a French word meaning the right to fuck a girl, whether she wanted it or not.”

“A legalized rape?”

“Exactly. Mind you, the Soldiers regularly extended that to young boys... even today, as I have heard.”

“I am aware of boy rapes, having been put through it by my uncle Vernon when his wife was ‘indisposed’ and he felt the need to empty himself. Taking a crap had always been difficult until I came back in time.”

“Fawkes, light the way to the crypt, please.”

Freak did not wait for Fawkes: he created a bright sphere in his hands.

“Well, well, you are full of surprises, young one. Wand-less, silent casting! That is one powerful dude we have here, Fawkes! I wonder too!”

“What’s a patronus?”

“A powerful projection of the heart and mind of a mage. Most wizards have a limited capability there, as their intentions and heart are not as pure as they themselves think. Try this ‘Expecto Patronum!’ and push your hand forward hard. A wand-less patronus has never been seen since...well... forever!”

Freak did as asked thinking the words... To his surprise and the other two’s astonishment, a beautiful humanoid patronus appeared, almost blinding Freak and illuminating the hall straight to the crypt’s entrance.

“Did you say it? I did not hear, and yet I’m on your head!”

“Err... no, I was practicing in my mind!”

“A silent, wand-less patronus! That is the cherry on the cake. Since we see far enough down the passageway due to your patronus, let’s walk quickly to the bronze door. It might not be good to find you in the dark, totally blind. Maintaining a patronus can be tiring.”

“It is? I do not feel anything!”

“Nonetheless, let’s move. It is getting near four in the morning. Now... To open the crypt, you must press the four blazons in a specific pattern, four times: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Gryffindor.”

“Must I repeat that four times?”

“Sorry, I misspoke. It is the blazons that need to be pressed four times... Try it. Unfortunately, only Fawkes has managed to enter the crypt since the secret was lost, and I certainly was not going to give it away to the collection of back-stabbers that degraded this fine school as they succeeded to each other on the seat of the Headmaster! When I think of all their vaulted qualities: Gryffindor and their glorified courage is more the result of an innate inability to think things out; Hufflepuff are only loyal to themselves; Ravenclaw house’s wits is more self-serving than anything else; and Slytherins put cunning on a pedestal, forgetting that there is a thin line between a quality an a fault.”

As the hat finished its rant, the crypt door slowly opened. Freak’s patronus lit the inside of the mausoleum in stark raw light, bringing into sharp focus the four tombs of the founders, set in a pentagram which had one place free.

“Why that disposition?”

“Le Fey was supposed to finish the pentagram, which would have completed the wards. She never showed up.”

“I will try to find out why...”

“Do not bother. You are the owner now, you completed the ward the moment we did that inheritance test. In fact, I’m surprised you are not down for the count. Taking the wards is a heavy burden.”

“Was it that pressure I felt while in that crystal?”

“Yes.”

“Oh... At first, I found it bothersome, but now, I am barely aware of it.”

“Dumbledore will feel the lightening of the load, and given his over-inflated ego, believe it is because one of his power rituals finally worked. If only the old fool realized each time he does one, Hogwarts grows stronger, not him!”

“What can I say? Old age makes for tunnel vision.”

“Fawkes, you never grow old...”

“Hey, I lose a lot just prior to a flaming day! And it has happened enough for me to be aware of the shortcomings of old age!”

“Now, call out the Founders, in their own language...”

“In their own language? But I only speak English...”

“So you think... Slytherin’s language is Parseltongue. Gryffindor roars like a big cat, Ravenclaw caws, and Hufflepuff hisses like a mad badger. Just picture the animal, and you will be able to speak their language. You are Hogwarts now.”

“Can I use the house blazon to help?”

“Sure!”

Freak focusses on the lion and roared. His sore throat required a bit of rest so he looked at the snake and hissed. Finding his throat felt a bit better, he turned to the badger and hissed ferociously, to finally begin cawing like the raven. Shortly, four ghostly shadows emerged from the rocky coffins and stood in front of Freak, slowly solidifying. Once they had take solid form, Gryffindor the brash spoke first, in gaelic, a language Freak was surprised to understand.

“Why have we been called?”

“To resolve a sorting!” answered the Hat. “Fawkes and I are at a loss as to how to resolve the issue of the sorting for this young one.”

The four Founders looked at the diminutive first year.

“Let us proceed.”

The four founders tried legitimacy on Freak to be met by an unbreakable barrier, shocking them to the core.

“Now we understand your issues, Hat. Lower your shields. We will do no harm.”

Freak focussed on his shields and gradually opened himself as Hat had taught him.

“Come inside.”

The four founders explored Freak’s life in detail, and what had transpired since he had come to Hogwarts.

“We see the issue, Hat. He can not be sorted as he is the castellan. And who is that Dumbledore he so abhors?”

“The current headmaster. He is a manipulative old goat more intent in promoting himself than doing one job right. We can not remove him.”

“Lock him out the next time he leaves the premises. I see the wards have been transferred to the young lord.”

“We wish, but the old codger damaged the wards enough he can bypass most of them... And he ignores my repeated request he use the wards to locate the curse placed on the DADA teaching position by a begrudged candidate for the position.”

“A curse?”

“We think it is a series of runes.”

“That is easily located, as the intent pervades the runes.” Ravenclaw told the Hat.

“There is more. That same individual introduced a very dark object. The wards almost blew in their reaction but suddenly it disappeared from them.”

“That leaves only one place. The Room of Requirements, which we designed as a last-ditch defense for staff and students and from which they could vacate the school without hindrance,” said Slytherin. “But why wasn’t my snake sent after the miscreant?”

“Because he claimed descent from you, Lord Slytherin, and from the inheritance test, it was exact. This youngster defeats him as a baby in the future, thus earning a title he has not heard yet, I would wager. Anyway, he turned the snake on a student in 1943, killing her and using her death in a vile magic. I told Armando Dippet, at the time headmaster, but he took the easy way out and punished a pigeon for Riddle’s misdeeds. Since then, Hagrid has been reduced to groundskeeper. By the way, that is why the youngster speaks fluent Parseltongue. He is, de facto, your heir, as you saw, not by blood, but by magic, and you know all this transcends time.”

“What and where is that special Room?” asked Freak, who was beginning to freak out.

“Seventh floor, there is a single portrait along the hallway. You walk back and forth three times, thinking hard about what you need, and the Room supplies it,” said, gently, Lady Hufflepuff.

“Oh! That is where I felt that strange pull!”

“You felt the room? But that is impossible! The wards should have kept it hidden!”

“Hey, kitty, do not panic, he is the owner of our castle so therefore, nothing is hidden from him. Absolutely nothing. By the way, young one, you should go to the ward stone and repair it. I am sure it is how that meddlesome headmaster damaged our wards.”

“I will do that as I leave. I feel the stone isn’t too far.”

“Hat, you never told us what you suspect is hidden in the Room of Requirements?” said Lady Ravenclaw.

“A horcrux. In the form of your diadem, Lady Ravenclaw. The wards were very clear on that: he superimposed his vile curse over your own, making it a trap for whomever comes near so he can possess the body and be reborn. I have been trying to explain this to Dumbledore, but he is so focussed on his belly button he won’t listen to God himself!”

“He probably looks a bit lower...”

Freak snickered at the image Gryffindor evoked. “If he can see it, that is...” he commented sententiously, remembering the rather ugly anatomy of his uncle.

“Anyway, young man, once you have fixed the stone by calling the auto-repair array into action, you will be able to take total control of your castle,” Gryffindor stated.

“Assuming he has not destroyed the runic array,” noted Lady Ravenclaw. “If so, well, you can recreate the array by inscribing them within the inner surface of a seashell. Alabaster is easily molded by magic for that purpose. That is how the repair array is supposed to be. Look for a seashell, a clam. You can summon them from the Scottish Sea right to your location. The fresher, the better. If it is destroyed, which I would not put Dumbledore above doing, look at the statues of us around the ward stone. We need to be intact for the wards to be sustained, and since they are still there, no harm has been done to our representations. I hold a shell. That is the shell type you must summon.”

“Nothing is impervious to harm.”

“Oh, we know that. We put in these statues all our knowledge and warded them to the point the only thing that could destroy them would be the Sun blowing up.”

“Which I would not put beyond Riddle. His motto is ‘I win or we all lose.’”

“Nevertheless, young castellan, to get a copy of our knowledge to your mind, touch our blazons,” Slytherin explained.

“Would it be the same contents as what Had downloaded?”

“No. Hat was an ignorant brat when we created him. He learned from successive student as he sorted them, and from headmasters or teachers that took the risk of opening themselves to him. At first, it focussed solely on the students’ personality, and acted as mouthpiece for Hogwarts, us.”

“Think you for the information, Gryffindor. Will I need an instrument to inscribe the runic array?”

“No, use your magic, which you have in cartloads,” replied Ravenclaw.

The Founders said goodbye to Hat, Fawkes and Freak before returning to their respective tombs.


After closing the Crypt, Freak took off on a quick jog, going further and further down, until he reached a ritual room. At the core of the room stood a gigantic red ruby, whose surface was covered with a myriad of runes. On a side table lay a hammer and a chisel. On the floor a shell lay in pieces.

“That bastard! He destroyed the repair array, and has been chipping away at the ward stone, removing runic arrays he could not either control or understand!” exclaimed the Hat.

“Well, my work’s cut out for me. Come to me, Queen Scallop!”

“Come to me???” exploded Hat. “Ever heard of accio?”

“Why bother with a foreign language? Magic is intention-based, from my experience. You know, I could have called out ‘Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!” and the result would have been the same!”

Just as he said that the scallop materialized on the table.

“See?”

“I don’t have eyes, you know, except when Fawkes lets me use his senses. I’ve heard enough about unwashed hair, and I’ve been told they smell bad, of which I have no doubts about since I have felt enough grease to be cooked in! It’s lucky I don’t give cooties.”

“Now then, let’s see these runes... a six by six array, to be inscribed on the two inner faces of the scallop... that thing is still alive, so first, section the muscle that keeps the valves closed, done!” as Freak pointed his little finger at the juncture of the valves.

“Now, removing the meat... I heard it’s edible, but I’ve never been much into shellfish, or fish in general, come to think of it. Give me an apple any day! Scrape the meat off? How? Oh! Am I dumb or what? Magic will do it... and leave a shiny alabaster inner surface, according to that shell to repair kit cookbook...” Freak gently took the muscle from the inner juncture and pulled it out, using magic to scrape the inner surface of the shell to separate the two elements. Once done, he sent back the meaty residue to the sea, to feed other animals.

“Aunt Petunia would have loved it, but if I had my way, she would get it directly in the throat and get strangled on it! Now, let’s look at the alabaster... It’s nice, almost mirror perfect... Let’s begin.”

Freak looked at the thirty-six runes and he heard a gentle voice out of nowhere reminding him of Ravenclaw, which guided his right hand in inscribing the runes. A fine ruby light emanated from his right index finger, no wider than a hair, and began cutting the alabaster into a fine grid. Shortly a complete grid was formed with thirty-six empty cells ready to receive the runes. Taking a breath, Freak then began inscribing the runes counterclockwise inside the furthest cells. Once the first layer was set, he inscribed the next series clockwise, and followed quickly with the third layer, the fourth and the fifth layer.

“Now, be careful, young one, the last rune is the power rune. It has to be inscribed without being powered up!” Lady Ravenclaw murmured to his ears.

Freak reduced the output of his ruby light by two-third, and inscribed the power rune. Satisfied, he repeated the procedure, following he same lines he had created in the first pass. Another inspection and and a last repeat of the power rune left him tired. Visual inspection told him the repair array was now complete.

“Well done, young one. You did it in half an hour! It took me months!”

“Thanks for the praise, Lady Ravenclaw. Next?”

“Next, you put the shell on the huge ruby’s top, where it will slide in place and be moved by magic to the ruby’s core, its geometric centre. Ready?”

“Sure, for once, it’s not me doing the work!”

“True... You are almost done!”

Freak placed the Scallop and watched, fascinated, as it literally swam through the ruby to its centre.

“Done... What next?”

“Now, press your finger where the scallop entered and feel the prick. The ruby is tasting your magic.”

“The only prick I ever felt is between my legs... Are you asking me to play with someone else’s?”

“No, no!” replied an embarrassed - sounding Lady Ravenclaw. “I was talking able the feeling of a needle entering your skin, that meaning of prick!”

“Oh!” Freak had never, ever, visited a doctor, so he had no idea of needles and their numerous uses. He quickly moved to the ruby and touched where he had placed the scallop shell a mere minute ago. He felt a sharp sting and yelped, dripping seven drops of blood on the surface. He tried to pull his hand away but could not move. He looked at the crystal furious at its treachery.

“It’s glowing ever more so...”

“So it has accepted your magic. Shortly, it will draw from your magical core to bind you to it and begin the repairs.

“Is that the feeling of getting sucked in by a vacuum cleaner I feel, as if I was dust being sucked up?”

“I know not of ‘vacuum cleaner’ but I do know of vacuum and that matches quite well the feeling,” Lad Ravenclaw replied.

Suddenly, powerful flashes of light came forth from Hogwarts’ ward stone and its surface liquified, to finally re-solidify a shiny red. All marks of work on its surface, all dents done to it by successive ill-intentioned headmaster had disappeared. In its place was a perfect three-dimensional runic array.

“Wow!”

“Feed it with your energy and order the re-establishment of all wards.”

Freak did as asked and his hand was finally released.

“You are now in total control of the wards, young castellan.” completed Ravenclaw.

“Okay. What next?”

“Next, you apparate to near the Great Hall. Grey-beard is moving out of his office, light-footed and light-headed, and it would not be good for anyone to notice you are not in your cot. As castellan the anti - apparation wards do not affect you. Now, go!” said Slytherin in his head.

Freak understood the need for quick movement. He therefore popped into the headmaster’s Office to return Fawkes and the Hat to their location, and then down to the Great Hall’s entrance, sliding in and sitting on his couch silently, so as to not awake the two head students acting as Cerberus for the Great Hall door.


Thirty years in the future, as this is how far Freak travelled back in time (1961, from 1991!), Dumbledore was in shock... Everything he had painfully swindled from the Potter vaults had vanished! Everything! And his spies in Diagon Alley told him Gringott’s was closed and warded tighter than a gnat’s ass. He, personally, did not dare show his beard there as there were rumors some wanted to hang him off an oak using his beard as rope! He had given up hope of keeping Potter’s disappearance secret, as the God-forsaken Goblins had made a show of calling on the Wizengamot to return the stolen assets or face stiff penalties. As if returning anything would prevent the magical world from collapsing in recession!

For some reason, he felt he should not leave the castle under any circumstances, so he called the Wizengamot to meet in Hogwarts’ Great Hall. September first had come and passed, with no student showing up at the venerable institution’s doors. This, in turn, closed the Wards completely. It was as if the School decided on its own to return to its primary function of bastion, and did not allow public access anymore. Preposterous!

The arrival of the members of the Wizengamot did not go as smoothly as Albus unending name wished. The first sign of trouble was when the Minister for Magic pompously walked in his office through the fireplace: He lost all clothes and got burned between the legs as the green fire of the floo turned an ugly yellow-red and rose to roast his nuts, singling his butt hair and leaving behind a first or second-degree burn on his family jewels. An aquamenti later, along with several packs of ice, had Minister Fudge resting on a soft chaise-lounge. His three accompanying Aurors fared... a bit better as they preserved their dignity while proving their incompetence at putting out a fire.

Other incidents followed: Augustus Rockwood, an Unspeakable, was found skinned alive his meat exposed to air while his skin, still intact and whole, was dangling from a tree, clearly showing Voldemort’s Dark mark. In fact, a third of the Wizengamot never made it to the emergency assembly, being found laying around near Hogwarts entrance, dead in the most horrendous manner possible, from Rockwood getting a skinning to Lucius Malfoy being found empaled on a wood log shaped like a 24 inch dick. One strange event was the discovery of a fly swat stuck across the butt of one Rita Skater, as if she had been swiped while in an animagus form and changed back to human form due to the shock.

Once everyone that could make it finally made it to the ostentatious Great Hall, Dumbledore called the assembly to order.

“Where is the Minister?” asked Lady Longbottom, before anything could begin.

“He had a floo accident, Augusta. He is resting in my office.”

“He got splinched? That’s unheard of in the floo network!”

“No... He got his ass roasted...” replied Dumbledore, sheepishly.

“I did not come to a pork roast resting on two peanuts!” said Lord Greengrass. “Anyway, what the hell happened to the Dark faction? I am sure they did not try to port directly into the school grounds. I may think them fools, but not to the point of suicidal actions!”

“I wish I knew, Lord Greengrass. They ported normally within the circle marking the apparating area for Hogwarts, but the moment they left the protection of the circle, they flashed and reappeared in the state we now find them, all in shock, bared of all assets, and dying very quickly. Hogwarts seem to have taken upon itself to judge and execute parties according to the nature of their crimes. I tried to stop it, but the action unfolded so fast that between the first and last event, less than 5 minutes elapsed. They seem to have synchronized their apparation in an attempt to make a statement of strength and unity, for what good it served them. When I made it to the gates, all was played. I asked Fawkes to explain, and I was told to go play with my boy toy... The nerve of that flaming chicken!”

“You still can find it?” asked madam Bones, “With that beard dangling between your legs, it must be an expedition into a hairy jungle!”

A rather red-faced Dumbledore decided that retreat was the best side of valor.

“I did not know you spoke Fawkes’ language? That must be useful at times,” Lady Longbottom asked.

“Oh, I do not speak Phoenix. He sends images of what he wants me to understand. The images he sent me were more than explicit, quite unfit even for old men to see.”

Snickers could be heard across the hall.

“Now, if we could begin, please?” asked Dumbledore, wanting an out from the increasingly embarrassing situation.

“You called us, you have the agenda,” Madam Bones said.

“Well, yes... I would like to know why no student showed up at the train station in Hogsmeade? There was no trace of even a single soul.”

Those present looked at each other, trying to figure out who would tackle the bull by the horns. Finally, Augusta stood.

“Simply, I received, on the morning of September first, an emergency missive informing me that the school was closed for ward repairs after a catastrophic failure of the anti – portkey, anti – apparation, and muggle repulsion wards and that the students would be called back as soon as the situation was resolved. As these three are the most important wards for the safety of my grandson Neville, I did not enquire further. It has only been a day since that letter. I figured, when I received your next letter, this morning, that the wards had been fixed and that you had decided to invite the Wizengamot to Hogwarts to reassure everyone. I must say that the magistral clean-up of the members of Voldemort’s army by the wards encourage me to send Neville here for his first year. I will actually believe in all the hype about Hogwarts being the safest place on the British Isles.”

“That was also my reasoning,” Lord Greengrass added. “I was getting ready to shower you in praise for your prompt action in first, preventing our children from being exposed to unnecessary risks, and second, the appropriate and very rapid response to the crisis, a response fit for a Grand Sorcerer. However, from your face, I suspect you had nothing to do with either the warning or the repairs. Am I correct?”

The low mumbling of Dumbledore, so atypical of his flamboyant style, showed to all that Lord Greengrass’ assessment was on the dot.

“Anything else to cover in this assembly, Dumbledore?” asked Madam Bones.

“Err... Yes... Snape disappeared from his quarters overnight. It was neither floo or simply walking out of the wards to apparate. He simply vanished. Everything he usually leaves here in his quarters is still there, but no trace of the man can be found. I would like the DMLE to search for him. Start at Spinner’s End, where he has his summer residence.”

“Okay. I will have my Aurors on the lookout for him,” replied Madam Bones.

“Isn’t he an ex death-eater?” asked Lord Greengrass.

“Yes... but I do not see what this has to do with his disappearance. After all, he was found not guilty.”

“Maybe by the Wizengamot, but not by magic. And from what we have seen so far, magic is much less forgiving than the Wizengamot!”

“Lord Greengrass, it may be so, but there is more to this,” complained Dumbledore, looking defeated.

“There is?” asked an irate Madam Bones.

“Yes. This year’s DADA teacher also disappeared on the same night Professor Snape did, under similarly mysterious conditions. And Binns seems to have decided to take the plunge and moved to the other side for good. I find myself short three teachers with no notice!”

The shock was widespread.

Lord Greengrass stood and called for silence.

“Okay, we need three teachers. As an alumni of Slytherin House I will take over Snape position and duties. Since I own the biggest apothecary chain in the Magical world, I also will take over teaching potions. Who volunteers to replace Binns?”

“I will do it,” said Augusta Longbottom. “I can assure you I will talk of more than Goblin wars!”

“Good, Thank you, Augusta. Next, DADA...”

“I will send in one of our freshly graduated Aurors, that has not yet taken bad habits, one Nymphadora Tonks. Dumbledore, you better fix that curse on the DADA position before she walks in here, you hear? I will not put up with losing her because you do not move your ass and do your job properly!”

An approving nod from Lord Greengrass and a sheepish look from Dumbledore solved the teacher issue.

“Are we done? Nothing else on the agenda?”

Receiving a nod from Dumbledore, whose silence was taken as agreement that the session’s work was done, Lord Greengrass turned to the chief Warlock. “What are you waiting for to call the assembly closed?”

“But what about Cornelius?” Dumbledore whispered in the silence.

“What about the roasted pig? Are you asking us to butcher him? I’m a vegetarian, Albus, and I always felt sick at the diet practiced at Hogwarts. Now?”

“Okay, okay, Lord Greengrass... This session of the Wizengamot is now closed. I suggest you walk to Hogsmeade to use the floo there as I have yet to investigate what went wrong with the wards on arrival.”

“We will do as you suggest Albus, even if I think the wards did their job properly.” With that Lady Longbottom walked majestically out of the Great Hall, followed by Madam Bones and the other members of the Wizengamot.

Dumbledore slowly made his way to his office, as the moving stairs did all they could to block his progress, infuriating him. The Hat, in his office, had been laughing hysterically at the proceedings of th Wizengamot, and finally fell off his shelf at the trouble Dumbledore was having to simply reach the fifth floor.


As the Wizengamot made their way past the wards and walked down the road to Hogsmeade, its members talked about the last meeting and the developments that had occurred prior to the session being called.

“Well, we are rid of a good portion of the death-eaters it seems. Hogwarts does not mince meat,” said Madam Bones.

“Yes. However, I was hoping Albus would raise the situation with the Goblins. It is not like him to push something that big under the carpet!” Madam Longbottom said.

“He did look preoccupied, didn’t he?” Lord Greengrass said. “I wonder if it has anything to do with the rumor that the Potter Heir has disappeared.”

“It’s an averred fact, no longer a rumor,” said Madam Bones. “Even if Albus did not ask us to search, the reaction of the Goblins was so extreme my department decided to take things in its own hands, ignoring Cornelius’ obstruction. If we can not find Potter, I will call on Cornelius’ impeachment for obstruction of justice. Be advised.”

The other members of the Wizengamot whistled in shock and took notice of the DMLE chief’ unofficial warning.

“I called upon the muggles to help locate Potter. So far, no luck.”

“Why ask muggles?” one of the back-benchers wondered.

“Because their police force, the equivalent of our aurors, number 10,000 to one compared to our own forces. And they have ways of exchanging information world-wide that put us to shame, such as Interpol.”

“Interpol?”

“It stands for International Police, and allows instant exchange of information between their forces, in any language and anywhere. No political red tape. We need that badly. The Yard has assured me they have aged the photo of Potter and distributed it to everyone. He will be found, but when and where remains to be seen. I asked for a copy of the photograph, and they sent me a box of 100,000 copies! We could distribute it to all the Aurors everywhere, and carpet our offices with them from floor to ceiling, and have spares. In fact, I plan to do just that, as soon as I get the authorization to use an international portkey to go to the different ministries... That is another thing they can do: they distribute the picture without even leaving their offices, instantly. It is magic, I tell you, magic!”

“Muggles practicing magic more powerful than ours... that is a scary prospect, Madam Bones.” said Lady Longbottom.

“It is our fault that the courses on muggle world are so out of date we believe they use the pony express to deliver the mail! Muggle studies need a serious revamping but the pureblood faction has kept it down because they were too scared to face the facts. I just hope that Albus takes the occasion to frehsen up the muggle studies syllabus.”

“Do not count on it. He is too scared of them, due to his experience during world war II and his confrontation with Grindelwald,” Lord Greengrass said. “I am lucky the Wizengamot never wizened to the fact that I use muggle methods to purify my ingredients to make potions or they would devalue their quality even in the face of contradictory facts.”

“A bit late to keep that under cover, Lord Greengrass, as we are just within hearing range and listening to your exchange with growing interest.”

“Ooops.”

The snickers were generalized as they made their way into the Three Broomsticks to floo home.


Thirty minutes later, an infuriated Fudge left the headmaster’s office and waddled down the moving stairs, holding on the ramps for dear life. Finally reaching the bottom, barely decent with his tattered bed sheet that competed with a house elf tea towel for raggedness because it kept getting caught in the stairs landings and being torn, he exited the main entrance with all the dignity he had left... until he slipped on a sudden ice patch that appeared on the steps leading down to the gravel road out of Hogwarts grounds. He slid down the five steps on his ass, grating his plum bums as if they were rounds of cheese. He stood up with difficulty and looked at the stairs accusingly. Who could blame him as it was a particularly steamy day in Scotland, with temperatures verging of 30 Celsius! His ass raw with pain, he made his way to the Hogwarts gates, intent on leaving that antechamber of hell as quickly as possible. His auror escorts were in agreement and pushed him forward, even if the minister was cringing at every step, his bare feet seemingly finding the sharpest gravel on the walk to the exit. Things did not improve much once they exited the grounds proper, after a couple of stubbed toes. The minister wanted to apparate, but his escort refused, reminding him of the unfortunate events earlier in the day... Force was for Fudge to walk down to Hogsmeade and enter the Three Broomsticks, to tear what was left of his modesty as the sheet caught inexplicably in the door jamb and tore in half, falling uselessly on the side. Shrieks of horror (justified, for once) and cat calls announced the minister’s arrival. He was pushed unceremoniously toward the floo, and thrown in after one of the aurors called ‘Ministry of Magic’.

His ejection on the floor of the atrium did not go unnoticed, and a dozen staff members rushed to help him stand, while customers replayed the Three Broomsticks scene to a T. He made it to his office and escaped to his home to nurse his bruised ego and his abraded ass.


Thirty years earlier, on September second, the breakfast was called. Dumbledore made his way into the Great Hall through a side-door that took him directly on the stage overlooking the students. He called for the house elves to deliver breakfast, not really paying attention to the unsorted youngsters. The staff joined him and sat in their respective places. Freak kept looking around, and the newly minted students also looked at him with ever growing wide eyes. His auror red robes, even if they did not really stand out, were beginning to be the talk of the end of the tables, and the information gradually made its way toward the nearest seats to the staff table. They, in their superior attitude, ignored the changing tone of the students and the gradual focus on one red-clad student in particular, not that they could see him clearly as he sat at the last available seat of the Slytherin table. On the other hand, the house elves worked diligently in supplying said red-clad student with a wide variety of fruits, nuts, even some vegetables (to the horror of the nearest students!) and milk by the jug.

“Are you sure you are not a disguised veal?” asked one of the nearest student.

“No, I would be a kid since this is goat milk.”

“Eww! I can barely eat goat milk cheese, much less drink it. You are weird!”

“Since my name’s Freak, it seems to fit, does it not?”

The others laughed with Freak, thinking he had an even weirder sense of humor.

Once the breakfast was finished, the tables cleared, and the students settled on full stomachs, Dumbledore stood up and called for silence. A thunderclap inside the vast hall insured conformity with his request.

“We delayed the sorting until this morning because of unforeseen events beyond the staff’s control last night. Would the first years now move back near the entrance and line up?”

After a lot of noise, the 157 students were back near the door.

“Minerva McDonnagall will call you one by one and you will put on the hat that will then call out your house, where you will stay for the next seven years. Minerva?”

Minerva put on a stool in the middle of the row separating the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses, as it had been decided long before then that putting Gryffindor and Slytherin houses near each other was skirting with disaster.

“Abbott, Lucy!”

The hat barely touched her head before it called out “Ravenclaw!”

The sorting continued without much surprises until “Potter, James” was called and a dark messy haired boy trotted to the stool. After a few, way too long seconds, “Gryffindor!” was called out.

Now came the shock! Minerva read the name five or six times to make sure she read it right, and finally called out:

“Freak, Harry James, Potter!”

One would expect the entire student body to explode in laughter, but nothing of the sort occurred. The students were too in shock, and the staff almost fell out of their respective chairs. Another Potter? Where did that one come from? Freak made his way to the stool, his red auror robes clearly visible by everyone, surprising the staff and confirming, within the student body, the rumor that a student dressed as an auror roamed the halls!

“Hey Hat! So, have you decided as to how to sort me?”

“Actually, I can’t. You own the school, so I have no choice but put you in the Owners’ suite.”

“That will come as a shock, you know...”

“Especially for that meddling old geezer. I’m surprised he’s not realized yet he has lost control of the wards.”

“Senility due to old age, maybe? Or Alzheimer’s disease?”

“Aren’t they the same?”

“I do not know... All I remember is my uncle calling old people senile or making jokes about calling the bar for one Albert Zheimer, and the barkeep calling out for Al Zheimer before realizing he had been tricked. The walrus took his fun from small miseries, I would say, fit for his intellect as his brain mass to body mass ratio was closer to dimwitted dinosaurs than to mammals.”

“You have a poor view of the... jelly fish?”

Freak roared in laughter at the image the name evoked of his uncle.

“Now, back to you... I’m more than interested in hearing Dumbledore’s reaction. Brace!”

A few seconds later, Hat called out, loud and clear, “OWNERS’ SUITE!” shocking everyone to silence and awe.

“But, Hat, that is not a sorting!” exclaimed Minerva, getting over her shock a mite faster than Dumbledore.

“Be it as it may, Minerva, my decision stands!” clamored the Hat.

“If you can’t, I’ll force it, then!” said Dumbledore.

“You would be ill advised, Dumbledore. It is I, and only I, that can sort a student. Should you try to ignore my call, you would face the displeasure of the school, every stone of it! I am sure you do not wish to face the Founders’ collective fury, puny Grand Sorcerer! I still have to figure out who you bribed to get that title!”

The Hat’s accusations shocked the staff and the students alike.

“I did not bribe anybody, you old dirty felt cap!”

“If you didn’t, that can only mean wizardry had come down from its mighty tower to the basement! Now, Minerva, continue the sorting!”

Minerva was not going to oppose the Hat in any way, however bruised Dumbledore’s ego might be, so she continued the call. Meanwhile, Freak returned to his seat at the end of Slytherin table, were students pushed themselves away to create a gap between their ranks and Freak. Dumbledore, the manipulative bastard, was looking at Freak with narrowed eyes. Who was he and how did he dare come traipsed on HIS turf? He was going to bring that upstart down a few hundred pegs! As the sorting came to an end, the loud voice of Hat was heard calling over the noise:

“Dumbledore! Keep your machinations concerning Freak to the state of plans only, or the Founders will see to it that whatever you try will bite you in the ass with the jaws of a pit-bull! Got it?”

The chalk-white face of the headmaster told everyone he had been caught red-handed.

“Freak, please follow the fairy lights to the Owners Suite. We can discuss your arrangements for a table in this hall once I’m done drilling a new hole into Albus...”

“Do not worry. I plan to rotate table every day, if you do not mind?”

“Not at all, young one, not at all! Maybe, under your influence, this school will finally stop being the laughing stock of magical schools because of its inner divisions! But, somehow, I have my doubts. Stupidity is stickier than glue.”

Freak rose from his bench and followed the fairy lights out of the dining hall. He had barely crossed the doors that he heard an explosion of noises from said Great Hall, yelling of obscene names, and pandemonium breaking loose.

The fairy lights brought him to a central tower, called the redoubt, which had been closed since the death of the last Founder. As he walked in, Freak saw dust vanish by magic, carpets recover their pristine colors, walls begin to shine as they were cleared of dust and little beasts of all sorts. Hat made his way to the suite with the help of Fawkes and began explaining what was there.

“The room you are in is called the waiting room, where guests wait for an owner to invite them into his or her private suite. You see the four doors with animals on? These are the suites. On the left wall, you find three doors: a water room, the defense training room, the library of the Founders. The documents in there are self-updating, and comprise every known tome concerning magic and muggle technology. The successive headmasters destroyed books concerning dark magic by removing them from the library. Each time they did this, the book was taken from them and replaced by an empty worthless pile of paper. This is a school, and therefore knowledge can only be accrued not destroyed within its walls. You might think they only needed to take the books out of Hogwarts to achieve their goal. Not so. Take a book out, and what you get is a copy... you destroy the copy, and you can no longer find the original, but it still exists... here!”

“How far back in time?”

“Oh, the school was founded at the beginning of the millennium. But the library contains everything from the time of Akkadia, around 8,000 BC. Mages of the time realized that books collected in a single building were susceptible to pillage, fire, or systemic destruction, so they created hoards of books, that could be called upon by duplication spells, without their location being revealed to unscrupulous wizards or muggle governments. The Founders used these duplicating spells liberally and built this library. As magic grew in versatility, they added more protection. Upon the death of Ravenclaw, the tower closed, sealing the huge library from intrusion. Not even the ghosts can come in here, as they are not owners. The Gray Lady, daughter of Ravenclaw, never knew of this place as she left the castle and died in Romania before returning here in its ghost form. By then Ravenclaw was dead and the tower sealed. Even muggle books were collected automatically. You will find scrolls about King Arthur’s wedding of Guinevere, and their falling out due to Lancelot, to name a minor incident on the muggle side of the divide.”

“Interesting. I wonder how Dumbledore is taking things?”

“Badly. Very badly. He is using every scrying spell know to him in an effort to locate you. The castle is leading him on a wild goose chase, which is hilarious. Now, back to this room. On the other side of the Owners Suites is a dining Hall where you can entertain guests. On the side is a kitchen so service is easier. And on the other side of the kitchen is a garden contained in a glass house. Now, near the entrance is a hallway, that leads to a potions laboratory and a potion ingredients garden of vegetal nature. Animal parts are usually collected in the Forest, along with plants that require seasonal adjustments to their conditions to flourish.”

“Okay...”

“One last thing: before now, Owners suites were private spaces that could only be opened by the Owner in question. Since you are all of ‘us’ combined, all will open to you.”

“Cool.”

“There are private tomes in each room, all for you. Before Fawkes takes me back to the old meddler’s office, I recommend you listen to me carefully. The best way not to get Dumbledore on your ass is to port in or out of here using apparation. He will not be able to follow you in here. Port to a rather public area each time you leave, such as the entrance or the great hall, or directly to your classes. Then port back here. He will try to put traces on you, but rest assured the moment you port, the trace will stay where you were, giving him the impression you are where you last were rather than anywhere else. The portraits, as you know, report to the headmaster either directly or by the grapevine, so be weary of them. You might consider misleading them somehow, but that will be difficult.”

“I wonder if using varsol, a muggle paint thinner, on the loudmouths would earn me their discretion.”

“How would that work?”

“Using a thin paintbrush imbibed in the transparent but smelly product could probably remove the mouth?”

“Oh, my God! You are evil, young one, evil! But some really need a lesson on discretion. Could the painting be repaired after?”

“Maybe, by an artist that had a good sense of portraits. Varsol is very effective, dries very quickly, and impregnates the pigment in depth. I would think that it would do a good job.”

“Especially since the pigments of the wizard or witch travel from frame to frame, but not the background I can just imagine Horn the loudmouth going silent. The other portraits would probably sleep for a month from the sudden silence in the hallway!”

“I’ll pay a visit to Horn the loudmouth... one night, when he sleeps. He’ll wake up silent as a carp! Do portraits enter here?”

“No, unless called upon from this side and by name only.”

“Cool.”

“I better go. Dumbledore is having a temper tantrum worthy of a four-year old deprived of his favorite candy. Fawkes?”

Fawkes and Hat disappeared in a flash.


Nineteen-ninety-one went well (!) at Hogwarts. The school stayed closed, for lack of students. Not that security was at fault: it was the wizards themselves that were in the poorhouse. Nothing occurred marking the potential reappearance of Lord Voldemort. The magical world gradually forgot the sudden disappearance of Harry James Potter, too busy as they were trying to survive the economic crash brought about by their assets being seized by the Goblins. Talk of war was rampant but no one had the resource to deliver on the talk. The magical world regressed even further away from the fast-paced muggles. Death-eaters, the few that had escaped, were confined to a small area of northern Romania; they tried, regularly, to recruit new members within the student population of the three main wizardry schools of Europe, only to be rebuffed and delivered hog-tied to the aurors. More and more died in Azkaban or other wizard prisons, their numbers dwindling every day. Sirius Black had escaped early, and the search for the renegade was quickly abandoned, as people had more pressing matters such as surviving the upcoming winter. Those with animagus forms fared much better as they could feed on next to nothing, hibernate, migrate outside of the magical enclaves, or get adopted by muggle animal refuges. Pettigrew had to make a run for it as Ronald Weasley was considering cooking him for food. His fat rat ass lost considerable weight during the winter as he foraged under the snow cover. He boarded a ship leaving Dover for Australia, realizing he would be safer there, forgetting that ships regularly carried cats whose task was rat eradication. Several near-calls made him realize his mistake, so he became more weary. As the ship made port in Dakar, he bailed out... Only to be hunted down by a gang of kids intent on converting him to a delicacy! He made it out of the city by running the slums until he hit the seashore and climbed on board a shallow-water coaster moving south. The one he picked was carrying grain from America to help relieve the famine further south, his only luck so far! By the end of winter, he had hopped across 32 coasters and reached Cape Town, just as winter was setting in. Not willing to pass the cape on board any ship whatsoever, he apparated to the nearest town Port Elizabeth, by following highway #2 through short jumps. There, he boarded a natural gas tanker heading for Muscat, a two-month trip. It would have been easier and faster for Peter to apparate along the coast leisurely, as the ship was rather sterile and devoid of food. When he realized his new mistake, the coast was out of sight and he could no longer port. The next few months would leave him bones and skin. He did manage to rob food in the kitchen by changing to his human form while the cooks slept, but there were a number of close calls. Crews work on 8 hour shifts and there were three cooks, some of which were more stingy than others! His arrival in Muscat was on September 1, 1992, almost exactly a year after escaping Ronald Wesley's voracious appetite!

Dumbledore was at a loss. Not only his feelings that Voldemort would be back at some point kept persisting, but he could not find his weapon of choice. He considered calling on the Unspeakables and their department of Mysteries, but he refused to consider the idea as more than a passing thought. He was holding his cards to his chest like they represented the road to the ultimate poker game and his eternal glory.

Meanwhile, said Unspeakables had not waited on Dumbledore. They had figured out what had kept Voldemort alive after his explosive debacle of 1981. One or more horcruxes! The thing is, how do you find them without one to anchor a search spell on? They began searching through history for anything on Voldemort, but hit brick wall after brick wall. Voldemort’s identity and origin was a total mystery, and that is something to say for a department that specializes in mysteries! No one considered asking Dumbledore, whose debacle with the Goblins was now public domain.


Year 1961 had started with a bang, much to the displeasure of Dumbledore. He was caught in a mystery he could not get his head around: A mysterious Freak Harry James Potter had shown up on the enrollment scrolls of the school, along with the regular James Potter. Everyone agreed these two shared family traits, close family traits: a mop of black hair that caused the combs to run for the hills, a decisive chin, and bone structures that clearly indicated familial relations. If it was not for the regular parents of James clearly stating they had not had twins, one would have assumed as much! On the other hand, the mystery boy also had traits that reminded others of the Evans family, more particularly the almond Avada - green eyes, and the teeth structure of young Lilly. You could have sworn she was his twin sister! The school was rampant with rumors, talking about an infidelity between lord Potter and Lilly’s mother, but nothing could be proven... or disproved, and bad mouths had a field day. Freak knew the truth of things, but, under recommendations from the Founders, kept silent.

“Have a good laugh at their expense, young Castellan, and let the rumors fester. It is none of their business!” said Hufflepuff, to the approval of the others. “Anyway, the reality of things would be even worse.”

Dumbledore tried ligilimacy on James and found he was as lost as everyone else. On the other hand, he tried the same on Freak and almost lost his sanity in the labyrinth of mental defenses presented by the young wizard: Dragons torched his beard (he almost felt the heat and noticed, strangely, that his beard had been burned on one side when he exited from the young mind!); he got caught in an ever-changing labyrinth that broke all laws of physics; the moat was occupied by snakes that covered the whole gamut from garden to basilisk. Giant ants assaulted him as he tried to escape, and bees bigger than these horrors of the second world war invented by the muggles, B-29 bombers! He decided to forego ligilimacy for a softer approach: he called on the portraits to spy on the mystery boy. At first, reports came in freely, but suddenly everything dried up, and the portraits cleared their frames as he came near them!

All this occurred within the first week of school. Little did Dumbledore know that Lord Horn the loudmouth had met his match in the person of Freak. Late one night of that fatidic week, Freak left his quarters and apparated very silently in a rarely used passageway of the school. There, he quickly found a very loudly snoring Horn, and began applying varsol on its painted mouth, very delicately erasing it by smearing the edges and sealing it close. The snores of Mister Horn came to a final, definitive, close. Freak sat on the floor and waited for the early morning wake-up call, his head resting on the wall opposite of mister loudmouth.

The morning came and Mister Horn woke up. He tried to berate Freak for being up that early but nothing came out, much to his surprise. He changed frame to join a herd of horses right next to his usual frame, but the result was the same. Loudmouth had been silenced.

Freak stood up, smirking, and eyed his handiwork. He began speaking loudly in the echoing corridor, clearly heard by the 40 or so wizard portraits that hung pell-mell on its walls:

“Mister Horn, squeals displease me sovereignly. You, sir, have made it your duty to report everything to Dumbledore, even things that are none of his business. There is such a thing as the right to privacy. Which hand a boy uses to jack off in bed is not of his purview! Let it be known that I can, and will repeat, the treatment I inflicted on you to any portrait that continues serving as spy for the headmaster. That he be informed of physical, mental, psychological abuse performed by staff or student is acceptable, but other aspects of the students’ life are theirs alone! Good, silent, day, sir!” With that, Freak left the hall. From that day forth, no amount of threat could force a portrait to reveal what was not of school matter to the headmaster. No one informed the headmaster of Horn’s misfortune either and he hid in the darkest corner of Hogwarts, never to be seen again.

Lack of feedback from the portraits miffed Dumbledore, so he decided to call on the staff at the end of the week’ meeting.

“Does anyone have anything new on the mystery Potter kid?” he asked as the last arrival, Pomona Sprout, sat down.

“Magic obeys him like a lost puppy trying to please its master!” said Minerva. “He looked at the needle and simply said, and I quote, ‘Please transform into a silver needle.’ and the matchstick did! No wands, no movement other than the eyes focussing on said matchstick. Then he looked at the desks of his co-students, and all matchsticks changed in one go, without him saying a word, much to the surprise of everyone and my annoyance. His comment was: words are to focus your intent; if you really know what you want, magic does it, whatever the word you use or the movement you make. He has wordless and wand-less magic to a fine art.”

“I heard of that, and you forget to add he reversed the change after you explained to him it was not that people needed silver needles but that it allowed them to learn what he already knew: how to focus,” said Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House. “The students couldn’t talk of anything else during my class, which is held immediately after yours, Minerva. I tried teaching Wingardium Leviosa, and he had the feather doing complicated maneuvers in the air before I had even uttered the spell. What’s more, he had all the feathers fly in formation!”

“And that same afternoon, I had them in herbology. He petted the devil’s snare, and it flowered! It was not due for another year!” added a bemused Pomona Sprout.

“Bow-truckles flocked to him without the need for food. He got a crown of forest fairies, much to the astonishment of everyone present. I had no idea we had so many on the edge of the Forbidden Forest,” the care of magical creatures teacher reported.

“Horace? You have been silent. Tell me he is a disaster in your class!”

“Why?”

“Because, if not, there is nothing for him to learn here, damn it! And nothing to hold him here!” exclaimed Dumbledore.

“Sorry to deceive you, but he did the 25 potions perfectly, and I sent his batch, dully bottled, to the infirmary.”

“Twenty-five?!”

“Yes, all of first year products, Albus. I’m taking him up to second year next week. If that continues, by the end of November, he will have graduated his NEWTS in potions, and I will take him as apprentice for his first mastery. Minerva, did you know he can do partial animagus transformation? I was looking for a Phoenix feather to finish a rather complicated potion I have been asked by a colleague in Asia Minor, and he transformed his butt, released a feather, and retransformed to full human. And the feather worked as described, telling me it was not an ordinary animagus transformation, but the real thing.”

“You know I can not yet achieve partial animagus transformation, Horace?” said Minerva, “And yet I have a mastery in transfiguration! That is a second-order mastery feat!”

“And what is third-order, if there is one like in charms?” asked Flitwick.

“The capability to produce a body part without transforming. It is described, but has not been seen ever. There is a fourth level, multi - animagus transform, but it is only theorized, as even Merlin never succeeded.”

“Add to this he is a master occlumens. I almost lost my mind when I tried searching for his identity within his brain,” commented Dumbledore. “Actually, I’m scared, for the first time since Grindelwald, I am terrified.”

“Have you located his quarters?”

“No. Neither the wards, nor Hat, nor the portraits have been of help.”

“What about the house elves?” Horace said.

“They told me they serve and obey the castle master only. One little bugger made it very clear to me.”

“What did he or she say?”

“He said something to the effect of ‘you head school, school in castle, castle head is Freak, and we work for castle head. School head benefit from work but no longer order us around!’, and he popped out. We are tenants in the castle, not owners of it. That is now very clear. And ‘Freak’ does not want to be found and the house elves will keep his secret.”

“Things promise to be interesting next week. They have their first astronomy lesson Monday!” Professor Sinistra noted. “I have been cleaning up the main telescope, but it has issues. I think I’ll call on ‘Freak’ to help me this week-end. I want to see if he has any hidden talent in this direction as well.”

Madam Hootch, the flying instructor, nodded. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning, to see if he wants to look at the school brooms. Who knows, being a bird animagus, he might be a good flyer... Do not worry, Albus, we’ll keep that prodigy occupied!”

“We better as prodigies with time on their hands generally produce pranksters of first magnitude!” commented Minerva.

“On that front, any new trouble makers?” asked Dumbledore

“Oh yes! Four, in fact! They managed to stick the covers of the girls’ toilet on the seat, forcing their female counterpart to do their business standing, legs apart! All bathrooms got visited by the miscreants!”

“Even Myrtle's?” asked Sprout.

“Yes, even that one!”

“They like taking risks! Myrtle is not to be taken lightly.”

“I know!” grumbled Dumbledore. “I suppose magic resolved the problem?”

“No. I never got out of them the nature of the product they used, but magic had no effect on it. The bond was a fusing of molecules, as if the cover and the seat were soldered together. I had Filch unscrew the seat assembly and replace each with new ones.”

“A product that solders wood seamlessly would be a nice addition to wand-making. I am sure Ollivander would love to get his hand on it, if only to repair broken wands!” said Sinistra. “Give me their names, Minerva, and I’ll take them to London this weekend to meet Garrett.”

“And thank them for a well-done prank? Why not give house points with it?” fumed Minerva.

“Initiative must be encouraged and channelled properly. By doing that, they will try to be inventive, yes, but for the benefit of all.”

“Nothing else?” asked Dumbledore, releasing a breath he did not know he had been holding when nothing else popped up. “Minerva, before you leave, can I have a look at house points?”

“Yes...Gryffindor is in the red due to these four miscreants if you want to know. If I had removed a point per glued seat, we would stay in the red for the next decade!”

“Nevertheless, bring me the book of points.”

Minerva nodded and left after most of her colleagues.

“You know, Sinistra, your comment on channelling creativity interests me. However, I can not say so to the face of the prime and proper Minerva. I will get you their names, and it will to you to deal with them, discreetly.” With that, Dumbledore left for his office, leaving Sinistra to close the staff room behind him.


At the end of the first year, the Founders contacted Freak.

“Have you found the Room of Requirements yet?” Lady Hufflepuff asked.

“Yes, but not the right configuration.”

“Since my tiara is considered lost, maybe asking for a configuration related to this would do?” suggested Lady Ravenclaw.

“Okay. Let’s go. Most people are playing outside, so the seventh floor should be empty.”

Freak popped to the floor and asked for a place where lost objects might be stored. A door appeared, revealing a cathedral-like room full to the roof of a variety of stuff.

“Oh my. I am not out of the woods.”

“Try following your feeling for dark magic, Freak. You can feel it, I am sure, as you have been able to find many hidden passages, rooms, and even halls we ourselves had lost trace of while exploring this castle.”

Freak walked between the huge piles of stuff separated by narrow passages. He finally found what he thought was the tiara, throning on a plaster head, just beside a rather ransacked clothing cabinet.

“Hey, that is my vanishing cabinet!” exclaimed Gryffindor. “I used it to travel to the Royal court when I acted as Royal Wizard! I wonder what happened to the other part. I think it has to be moved in a more secure area; if you found it by strolling around, it constitutes a breach in this school’s security scheme.”

“Okay.” Freak looked at the cabinet and it vanished.

“Where did you send it?”

“Oh, in a bubble under the lake. The only thing that will do is collapse the bubble and drown the wizard that uses the other cabinet to bypass the wards.”

“Suits us fine. Now, back to the diadem. It is what you see. Levitate it and bring it to the ritual room under the school, you know, where you met that basilisk, my pet? Remember, to carry that thing, you must not touch it, or port it, or use a floo connection or apparate. Walk!”

The long trek down to the second floor and to the entrance went well, as he managed to hide behind armor, tapestries, and in hidden alcoves and passageways to reach, unseen, said bathroom, He then triggered the entrance to the slide and let the tiara go down, following shortly. The bottom had been cleared of its grime and accumulated bones so the walk to the nest of the basilisk was silent and easy.

“The ritual chamber is to the right. Say open to the green-eyed snake that stands guard.”

Freak did as asked, and walked into the reinforced ritual room, levitating the tiara behind him. He noticed the tribune and altar immediately, lifting the tiara to rest on top the altar.

“Now, get out and close and lock the door,” said Salazar.

“See the 48 runes? They are the alphabet of Sumer. What you need to do is spell out the spell you want to cast, in this case, a powerful horcrux extractor. It helps that the idiot placed the horcrux first, before all the protection layers, including the compulsion to wear the tiara. The extraction will pull out every layer above it, removing all his work. Right... To activate a specific rune, you need to push your magic to the finger touching it.”

“Like a muggle typewriter?”

“Muggles have runes??? Damn, they have progressed further than we thought! In our time, they did not even know how to write! Okay, start at the bottom left row. Move 3 up, right two, no the other right! Yes, that one! Push magic in. It lit up as you see. Next...”

In all 99 runes were activated, some more than once.

“Now, the last rune is the activation rune, found on the right side of the array.”

“That is so much like a typewriter! Even the return key is located in a similar place and has a similar form!”

“Ergonomic, or the adjustment of shape to the need, is probably what drives the similarity. After all, if muggles needed a rune machine, they needed to follow similar methods.”

As the activation rune gradually turned from black to white, passing through the entire range of visual colors, Freak fed it magic.

“That geezer must be strong for the chamber to require that much magical energy to remove its constructs from the object,” admitted, with a dose of admiration, Lady Ravenclaw. “Tired yet, young one?”

“Beginning to...”

“Ah, the light show is cascading down in reverse. Once every line is black, remove your finger from the activation rune. Things will get better.”

Shortly, the lines delimiting the runes turned deep red, then flashed, becoming black as coal.

“It is done, young Castellan. I am surprised my basilisk did not come to investigate. It must be in its hibernation period, as school is near the end and the children should be leaving within the day.”

“The school still has a week to run before the students take the train from Hogsmeade to London.”

“Train? What is a train? I know about training, but train as a means of magical transport, of that, I never heard.” Lord Gryffindor asked.

“It is a muggle means of transport. It carries all 3,000 students from London to Hogsmeade in a go. It takes seven hours, or it did when I took it. Most students do not know how to apparate until last year, I have been told.”

“The integration between magical and muggle worlds seem to have progressed considerably. In my time, we were hunted down!” exclaimed Lady Hufflepuff.

“Integration, integration... It’s a big word. Wizards are so scared they created the Statute of Secrecy and execute any wizard that breaches it in any way... so wizards, from being at the forefront of advancement, are now three hundred years behind the times; the gap is growing exponentially and, dumb as they are, they balk at any change. For instance, electricity is banned in this school, which still uses candles and torches to light up the hallways. Heating is supplied by fireplaces! And worst of all, heated bathing water is at a premium so most do not wash during winter months!”

“And muggles...” Gryffindor prompted.

“Have artificial light that does not smoke, does not require fireplaces, and hot water as much as they need, year around, so they have much better hygiene practice than pure-bloods. If it were not for magic keeping wizards healthy, they would die at 40, like muggles of old. Now, muggles live to 80, and are edging toward 100, matching wizards in life expectancy... without magic! The muggle-born are impressed by magic, all right, but the moment they start thinking, they begin to ask themselves if they have not been hijacked by a bunch of retards! Wizards have brooms and flying carpets, in Arabia, but muggles have planes that travel faster than the speed of sound and can carry 200 passengers in comfort, with hot air, proper atmospheric pressure, sheltered from the weather, and with food served to their plushy seats by staff. Try that on the best carpet! They have cars that carry up to 80 people, at speed faster than the fastest broom on the market! No, they have not mastered apparation or floo, but I do not give them twenty years and they will! In my time, they had walked on the moon several times, installed bases on its surface, and were talking of going to Mars! Try as you might, no mage can apparate to the moon as it is too far, and if they did, they would die by exploding due to the sudden decompression of the void of space! Muggles do not suffer these limits! But all I hear by the pure-blood idiots is how superior they are to muggles. Talk about wearing rosy glasses!”

The Founders listened to the passionate speech, realizing that the wizards were digging their own hole.

Taking a sip of his so loved apple juice he had materialized in his right hand, Freak continued his speech.

“You think wands weapons, because you believe they use clubs and axes to fight. Remember what happened to the club or sword when someone invented the bow or the long bow? If I remember my history, you died somewhere around the invention of the cross-bow, whose range more than doubled the long-bow’s. You know how hard it is to hit someone with a spell at the range of a long bow, or, god forbid, at the cross-bow range? Now if you imagine muggle weapons have stopped increasing range and capabilities, you are way off the mark. Their soldiers carry tiny weapons, called side-arms, that can hit someone with metal slugs at a distance of 500 yards! And they have long rifles that can do the same from two thousand yards. And snubbing them, you have wizards, whose spells travel so slowly you can follow their trajectory and move out of the way, while the muggle’s slugs move so fast when you see the flash of light, you’re dead! And I’m talking about hand-held weapons! Dumbledore saw what they did during world war two and grew so scared he vowed never to fight. Thing is, hiding behind wards will work for a time, but I am sure the muggles will figure out where you are. And if you are not ready, look like people living in the middle age, you will be the laughing stock of their society. I want the magical world to catch up, but the statute of secrecy is killing any chance of that by virtue of the fact it gives wizards a false sense of security! If the curriculum on muggle studies was updated, I am sure pure-bloods would piss their pants: They have weapons that can wipe entire cities that they can launch from across the Atlantic Ocean! They put an end to world war two by doing just that, twice within 3 days, to make their point across to a bunch of stubborn asses. And here I am, listening to pure-bloods deriding muggle-borns, throwing them out of their society after taking their money for an education they can not use because of the statute of secrecy, while their numbers dwindle because of in-breeding (a notion I learned about in primary grade muggle school, of all places) and they, in their arrogance encourage mating within the same family, under the false impression magic is weakening due to the infusion of muggle-borns in their midst! How could it? They wouldn’t fuck them with a ten yard perch! You think that the muggles are unaware of the wizards because of the Statute of Secrecy? They aren’t that dumb, I am sure! They probably play dumb, but have long plotted every castle, every manor, every magical house, and involved the muggle-born in the monitoring of the wizards. I am sure muggle governments notice the sudden disappearance of eleven-year olds that suddenly reappear at 18, as each muggle-born gets thrown on the street the moment he or she graduates from a magical school and stands out like the nose in the face due to lack of proper education and is out of date compared to muggle society. When I think the muggle study teacher does not even know how to say electricity properly! You might as well put a flag labelled ‘wizard for the picking!’ the moment they leave your enclaves! Since I’ve been aware of wizardry, I have been thinking of the interaction between the two worlds. Even the clothing is so outdated it gives the impression the wizard is out to go to a costumed party with an 18th century theme! Even the Hogwarts train smacks of early eighteen century! Steam engines have been retired at the beginning of the 20th century! I am sure the muggles watch it pass by thinking it is a reenactment of an epoch scene!”

The Founders were appalled at the situation of wizardry world.

“And you think all this is due to the Statute of Secrecy, of which we know nothing, since it was instituted well after our death?” asked Lady Ravenclaw.

“Yes. And to compound the problem, Voldemort, whose horcrux we disposed of, is beginning to wage war on muggles, the idiot, so sure of his superiority, and flirting with the extermination of wizards in the process. That is where things are headed, if nothing is done to terminate the jerk.”

“Thing is, nothing can be done until your parents die in 1981, young one, as it is what you lived that made you who you are now,” Lady Ravenclaw replied.

“I am aware of that, and it pisses me off, given the amount of pain I had to endure in the hands of the Dursleys. I just wish I could escape that...”

“You can not, but you need not relive it. After all, that time turner can bring you to the future, at the age you will be when you decide to take the trip, and without the side-effects of reinstating the abuse you suffered. You will only need to undertake the travel ritual of the old Druids, of which you are a clear descent, if only from your grass-green eyes.”

“Thank you, Lady Ravenclaw. Now, how about finding the other horcruxes?”

“We have been able to locate one in Little Hangleton... or something. One is found near the coast of Scotland... One travels constantly, and one is in London, where we established the first Goblin treaty.” We think the one near the sea just got created as it is currently fairly strong. A horcrux that is not properly anchored tends to fade with time, and those that create horcruxes are usually rushing through the process, afraid of being interrupted,” Salazar explained. “The degradation is a slow process, and can keep a soul anchored to this realm for thousands of years.”

“Is it how you stayed behind?”

“A derivative of it, yes. Contrary to a horcrux, our ritual does not require a murder, and it is our whole soul that got anchored in this location. As we died we infused the castle with our identity, the who we are. If you noticed, there is a fifth place in the pentagram for Lady Le Fey, but she never completed the ritual so moved on. It is now free for you to use when you see fit.”

“Will it haste my death?”

“No. Nor will it protect you from it; the only thing is, it anchors your soul to this plane, but you can not be reborn.”

“What are the benefits?”

“For you? None. For the castle, it completes the protection, insuring it will survive to the end of time. No event, wizard or muggle, will be able to harm the grounds on which the castle resides. And we will no longer need a meddlesome headmaster as five of us will be the headmaster.”

“What if the planet gets blown to bits?”

“We will be the biggest bit, encased in a self-sustaining bubble of life.”

“Tempting, but I will need to come back to you about this. Muggles have developed a theory on how life builds on life to change progressively under pressure, called evolution. We need more information on this model of nature and determine how it applies to magic. Wizards would throw out the idea as preposterous, but muggles have proven repeatedly that their approach gives results!”

“We agree. It would be short-sighted of you to embark in this endeavor without properly thinking things through,” replied Lady Ravenclaw.


Nineteen-ninety-two came and went as the previous year, with no student coming to Hogwarts, much to the despair of one Albus too many names Dumbledore. Magical enclaves began crashing due to lack of proper ward maintenance. First, it was small, but the ministries were well aware the effect would cascade, putting a term to the whole Statute of Secrecy act. Muggles seemed to ignore the wizards for the most part, as whole streets seem to pop out of nowhere. It is as if streets growing overnight were normal for them! Muggles visited the revealed enclaves, expounding on the detail of the re-enactment of the early 18th century life! The infusion of muggle trade gradually reduced the downward slump of the magical economy.

By the end of September, Pettigrew had reached the other side of the Strait of Ormuz, and began his trip along the coast toward India, his mind set to reach Australia as quickly as possible. The muggle police was still searching for Harry James Potter, but the magical world had given up any hope of ever finding their icon. Dumbledore ambled an empty Hogwarts with the elves, as all teachers had resigned due to lack of students. The grounds now supplied everything the few residents needed, including poultry, eggs, and butcher meat.

The different ministries of magic pooled their resources to reduce costs, rendering the need for an International Confederation of Wizards obsolete. Dumbledore had long lost the Supreme Mugwump title, but now, it was an honorary title only, and made the bearer responsible for an annual party, nothing more.

Sirius Black integrated himself within the muggle world, and was called upon by Scotland Yard to head their magical branch dealing with espionage, rogue wizards, and the occasional wild magical animal. His Grimm animagus form helped immensely as his advanced flair led him to his prey like a laser-guided missile. He invited Remus Lupin to join the task force, and the two became a force to be reckoned with. The number of IRA attacks fell dramatically, and the number of unsolved disappearances dropped to nearly nil. Their success was such they began pulling cold cases dating from the first Voldemort war.


In the year 1962 (theme music of ‘In the year 2525...’), Freak took his vacation hunting for more horcruxes. He found the one in the Gaunt Shack by asking the green snakes that proliferated around the small community if there had been events that had affected their population markedly in the past and where they had occurred. By tracking the information so collected, he ended up in a narrow gully between two grassy mounds that opened to a dilapidated shack, His flair for dark magic began ringing the moment he emerged from between the two small hills. Rather than walk, he took his animagus form and flew up rather high, to clear the trees that hid the hovel from the ground. He flew in concentric circles at a rather high altitude, until he had pinpointed the exact location of the most intense evilness. Well aware that Voldemort could visit the area at any time, he decided to make a fake horcrux by duplicating its magical signature. Now, to replace the object with a facsimile was more complicated. To do so, he imposed the horcrux on a piece of magnetite, then accioed the horcrux out of its hiding place from above. Remembering the warnings about horcruxes given by the Founders, he did not grab it but held it with a hover charm. He noticed it was a ring with a very black stone carrying a lighter triangular mark. Memorizing the form on all sides, he called up his fake horcrux to his current 40,000 feet altitude and molded the stone to match the original in form and color. He dropped the real horcrux, which began spinning like a lighthouse in the rising sun, pulled down by the gravity well of the planet. Focussing on the fake horcrux, Freak ported himself at 50,000 feet, before porting the facsimile in the original hiding place. He then took a dive to catch up with the falling real horcrux and began flying to Hogwarts from Little Hangleton, pulling the horcrux behind him.

“Almost done! That schizophrenic megalomaniac won’t be able to figure out it is a fake until he tries to recall the horcrux. By then, I hope I will have dealt with the others. Flying from that place to Hogwarts at a reasonable speed is a pain! Especially since I had to take a spiraling dive to get out of the way of that DC-8! Phoenix or not, getting chopped and roasted by a jet engine must not be fun! The old meddler is near the Forbidden Forest, talking to Hagrid, the best time ever to reach the ritual room of Salazar!”

The Phoenix made his way to an open window on the Owners tower, and flew in. Deciding to act as quickly as possible he landed, opened the door of Ravenclaw’s suite, where he had landed, and left it to quickly progress to the second floor, enter Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, open the slide, jump in, all that closely followed by the horcrux tied to him by an invisible magical sting. The basilisk was deep in sleep, as fit for his biological clock that had it awake only during school time. Ritual Room reached, the horcrux was magically lifted to the altar, after which Freak exited the room.

“A bit of magical boost is in order if that one is as difficult as the previous to destroy. Pepper-up potion, please?” Magic responded, giving him a 200-proof pepper up potion, which had hot steam exiting from the ears, the nostrils and the mouth, as if he had become a dragon.

“Wow! Talk about some kick! Now to business.” Remembering the sequence of runes to activate, Freak did it almost the eyes closed. “Activation!” The same show he had seen with the tiara occurred, but lasted much, much, longer! Finally, things returned to normal. “That one was a bigger piece than the tiara. From what Slytherin explained, that means it was created relatively near the beginning of the horcrux series. That is two done! Rest period is in order.” Freak ported to his suites, deciding to nap in Gryffindor’s bed.

“How did it go, young one?” asked Gryffindor as he appeared in the suite.

“A piece of cake. He will have a ton of problems finding out the signature he reads is not his real horcrux a I did not disturb any of the myriad of wards he placed around or in the house. Calling for something by magic, when used properly, is a breeze. Wizards could rob each other blind if they really trusted magic.”

“What will you do next?”

“That fucker used one of the three items listed as composing the Deathly Hollows. I read the Beedle the Bard stories and the description fits. Cadmus Peverell had that stone, the Resurrection Stone. Now, as if it actually resurrects anyone remains to be seen. Here is the ring. The stone is still tied to the ring. It took me quite a lot of magical energy to eradicate the enchantments and the underlying horcrux put in place by Voldemort. When I think Voldemort stands for robbing the dead, grave-robber, in French, it gives an indication of his character!”

The Founders had a laugh at Voldemort’s expense and left Freak to rest. Shortly, the tired wizard fell asleep.


September first 1962 came around, with the return of the students and a new batch of first years. James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin had reconnected on the train after spending the summer in different vacation venues. Fleamont Potter decided to accompany his son on the train to meet that mysterious Potter kid that seemed to match his son so closely.

“Hey, Freak! Wait for me!” called out James, flinching at the name, even if it was not to insult the bright-eyed boy. Fleamont growled at his son for the name, but the gentle response by Freak to the name abated his anger somewhat. “Dad, this one was introduced by Minerva as Freak, Harry James, Potter, during the sorting. He looks like my twin, except for the eyes!”

Fleamont was flabbergasted! Twin was an understatement! He shook the hand of the freshly introduced Potter, and held to him as if his life depended on it.

“I would like to know your story, young man. Can you spare a moment before the opening ceremony?”

“Sure. They will hold it until I come in. If Dumbledore tries to start without my presence, he will probably get treated to a shower of boiling water. Come with me. There is a quick way to my suite.”

“You have a suite?”

“Actually, four. I am the owner of the castle.”

“Dumbledore must be having kittens!”

“He is, and that is the best part! But what can he do as the entire castle recognizes me as the castellan. I didn’t ask for it, you know. It was the Hat and Fawkes that gave me the title, the suites, and the house elves that swore allegiance to me. Do you have more questions? I must tell you up front some I will not answer, mislead you, or flat out lie about. Each person has his secrets, and mine are rather heavy to bear.”

“I understand. Are you of my family?”

“Yes.”

“Close?”

“Yes.”

“How close?”

Freak kept silent.

“Why are you called Freak?”

“That is the only name I knew until I began first grade in muggle school. Forced to present a birth certificate or risk kidnapping charges, my uncle’s family took it out of the moth box. I still answer to Freak naturally.”

“Was your uncle a Potter?”

“No. Neither was my aunt.”

“So, you are a Potter from your mother’s side, by alliance. That is the only way you could call her aunt, and him uncle, while they neither being Potters. I also deduce that your aunt had a sister that married a Potter.”

Freak scratched his chin thoughtfully, imitating his dad and grand-dad’s gesture, thus adding behavior pattern to the list of converging elements in Fleamont’s mind.

“I must agree with your reasoning.”

“Do you know your aunt’s maiden name?”

“A flower... Petunia... Petunia Evans, but my uncle rarely called her that, except when he was mad. When he did, I made a run for the nearest exit and stayed hidden in the woods for days... Usually he called her Pet.”

James Potter bleached and fell on the floor in a dead faint.

“What’s wrong?” asked a troubled Fleamont.

“He fainted...” Pointing a finger, he produced a flow of water from his major finger.

The clear use of wand-less silent casting floored the Potter patriarch.

“What brought this, son?”

“Lilly’s sister is called Petunia and is, according to her, a first-class prick. They are named Lilly and Petunia … Evans!”

“That might be fortuitous, son!”

“Maybe, but if I had Lily here, and you watched her, you would see the other half of Freak! Same almond Avada - green eyes, the same hairline! It’s uncanny!”

“Maybe we should go to the Great Hall then. I will endeavor to watch Lilly.”

“Follow me then. We will be using a secret passage taking us directly behind the staff tribune. That way, you will not attract too much attention, sir.”

Less than ten minutes later, the three stood behind the staff, and James pointed Lilly in the Gryffindor table of students.

“I admit her eyes do look similar to this gentleman. However I need to see her and him standing side by side to judge clearly, son.”

“No problem. Follow me, sir. The last time Dumbledore tried reprimanding an action toward me, he ended up with a lightening bolt hitting his ass repeatedly. He will not undertake such an unwise action any time soon!”

The appearance of the three at the staff table brought a sudden lull in the noise.

“Bring the food out!” said Freak in a loud whisper. Suddenly, the tables were covered with food. While the students began eating, cutting short Dumbledore’s planned speech, Freak took James Potter’s hand, and led the two to Lilly.

“Hey Lilly. Meet James’ dad. James has been talking about you non-stop this summer so he decided to have a look at the nymph that caught his son’s heart in her net.”

James became tomato-red, stammering like an idiot. Meanwhile, Fleamont compared the two youngsters and had to admit his son was on the dot. Freak and Lilly had definitively common ancestry... like mother and son. The he looked at Freak and his son, and the same conclusion jumped at his face.

“He figured it out, young castellan!” said the Founders by ligilimacy. “You need to do some damage control. Tell the truth, but insist he keep it away from his son and his love!”

Looking at Fleamont, Freak said “I call on magic to do my bidding; let what must be hidden stay in hiding; so that in safety my family may be, and let no one understand what they see!”

Fleamont, James and Lilly looked at the young wizard, surprised he had bid them to a powerful oath without even using a wand.

“You casted a binding oath at us. Why?” asked Lilly.

“This is not the place to explain the why as too many are listening. Come with me after the feast, and I will explain. Your dad understands the need, and nothing will be able to take it out of his mind. Let the headmaster try ligilimacy; he will run with his tail between his legs...”

“Isn’t it where it should be all the time?” asked James, to a reddening Fleamont.

“James! There are ladies!”

None other noticed the bind as it was cast in the old ways of the Druids and only those targeted by the oath could detect its cast or its feel. It served Freak’s purpose much better than a light show of power so like wizards.

The end of the meal came, and Dumbledore gave his speech before releasing the students to their dorms.

“Freak!” he yelled out, aggravated by his bringing in a guest without asking permission.

“Oh, oh! The headmaster is pissed, Freak.”

“So am I, and he will learn his place in my castle or else!” Turning to the headmaster, Freak replied coldly “Yes, Headmaster?”

“Since when is it allowed to bring guests in school without my consent?”

“Since the school is itself a guest in my home, headmaster. If you are not happy with that, you can pick your ass and leave.”

“You can not throw me out! The ministry would not allow it, nor would the Board of Governors!”

“First: this castle is my castle, therefore the ministry has no say in who I allow to reside in it. Second, the school was created by my ancestors, therefore belongs to me. Third, the Board of Governors has only a consulting role into how to manage my asset, and no binding vote. Fourth, I can dissolve it with the snap of a finger. Fifth, I can hire anyone and replace anyone on a whim, including you, Dumbledore.”

“But the wards...”

“Test me, and we will see about the wards! Now go wipe your bum with your beard! If it’s not clear enough, get lost!”

Dumbledore left the Great Hall fuming. It took him two days to find his quarters. The castle had taken the parting shot of the Owner as an instruction to lose the headmaster.

“Follow me...”

Lilly, James and Fleamont trailed behind Freak, taking another way to reach the Owners’ tower. Once secreted in the tower, Freak had them sat in the boudoir and called for tea and cookies.

“Lilly, you asked why I cast a binding oath at you three. Because it will keep my family secret and safe. As we are here, no one can hear, not even ghosts. And the portraits are all bound to my family tree: The Founders, Merlin, Le Fey, Peverell, Gaunt, and, naturally, Evans, which were linked to founders and Le Fey lines as well. Yes, Lilly, your family lost its history after a long spell of squibs. I have been looking at my lineage and I am the heir of just about every ‘extinct’ magical line. I just have not yet called upon that power by claiming my heritage.”

“But...”

“Let me finish please, as there is more. Mister Fleamont Potter, from a few questions and honest answers came to the right conclusion. Lilly, James, I am your son... from 30 years in the future. Now, the inheritance test done by the castle under the insistence of the Founders revealed something that did not add up. According to the test, I am my own father. Talk about an incestuous relationship! But I figured out what could have happened. Does the word ‘cancer’ mean anything to you?”

“Mom is dying of it,” replied Lilly.

“Yes, that is a common effect of that disease. However, there is one type of cancer that affects males in particular. James, I am going to ask you to do something you probably are not yet ready to do.”

“What is it?”

“Strip. I need to examine your balls.”

“What? Why?” said James, almost setting the drapes on fire in shame.

“The cancer in question is called testicular cancer. It affects males, predominantly at adolescence, which you are beginning, and old men. There are two therapies known to muggles: radio therapy, which have them irradiate the balls to kill the cancer, and pure and simple castration, which is he removal of the balls. Either way, the young male loses his ability to reproduce and becomes sterile. Now, wizards have another option...”

Calling to himself an anatomic book for advanced healers, he turned it open to a specific text and began reading aloud.

“After the castration, a set of new testes can be re-grown using the Vitalis Regena potion, as long as a near family male member is available to supply native undifferentiated seed cells from the testes. The closer the family member is, the higher the probability of the graft taking. Warning: for all intents and purposes, the sperm produced will be that of the giver, so inheritance tests will show him as the father of the offspring.”

“What does that mean?” asked Fleamont.

“It means that James develops, in the near future, testicular cancer, gets castrated, and ‘I’ supply the seed for the re-growth of his balls. He then later mates with Lilly and she produces me, which leads to the current inheritance imbroglio.”

“Do we have time to think on it?” Fleamont asked.

“Some time. But muggle oncologists have done studies on that type of cancer, and it is particularly aggressive, usually killing within a year of its discovery. I doubt wizards fare better, Grandpa. We are lucky the inheritance test showed that strange quirk or it might have been too late for James when he started feeling pains and tried to get things fixed. Let me ask a simple question, James. Do you have lumps on your balls?”

“Err... Yes,” whispered the now scared young man. “I thought this was part of growing up!”

“It is not, son. James, please do as he asks and strip! I want my son safe, and the hell with modesty!”

James looked at his dad like a deer in the headlights, and began removing his robes, hiccuping his tears and fear. Once James was nude, Freak reached out and felt his balls.

“I can feel two lumps on the left ball, and one on the right ball, so both are compromised. They are no bigger than peas so the process has just started. It does not mean we have much time. That kind of cancer spreads really quickly and reaches the prostate like a race horse reaches for the finish line. By then metastases, or secondary cancer centers have developed in the lungs, liver, kidneys, and brain. The person is doomed.”

“What do you suggest?” asked the Potter patriarch.

“We operate now, nipping the problem in the bud, and I supply the seed so he re-grows a pair of balls. We can do it in two days, as it is a weekend, and there is no activity planned. His disappearance will go unnoticed.”

“And what about that potion?” asked Lilly, as she looked at James with crying eyes.

“Oh. As soon as I realized the issue this summer, I made it. It was a nasty potion to make, but it was successful. I tested it on a freshly castrated dog and it worked. He is the happy daddy of six pups!”

“Are you telling me my son will take on the breeding habits of the Weasleys?”

“As I am his only son, I can not be assured of that.”

“Son?”

“I want to live, dad. I want a son!”

“Then it is settled.”

“But doesn’t mom have a say?”

“No son. I am invoking patriarchal right of heir. Nothing, absolutely nothing can stand in my way.”

“Oh...”

“And by the way, son, I will use the same law to have you and Lilly married in secret by next monday. Lilly? Contact your parents and invite them to Hogwarts. I will personally pick them up at Kings Cross, and apparate them along with my wife to Hogsmeade. Can we have use of the castle for the wedding, Lord Hogwarts?”

“That’s a new title... The Founders call me Lord Potter as I am, in my time...”

“The only surviving Potter.”

“Dad!”

“The only known surviving Potter. As it serves me, I plan to keep that fiction going for as long as necessary. No need to worry. We will cross that bridge when we get to it. As for your request, granddad, granted. I will accompany you to pick up the Evans to starve off that old meddler. He might try something at Kings Cross. If he does...” An icy wind produced a snow fall in the room.

“You seen to have a tooth against the headmaster. And a touch of Elemental Magic. That was a Le Fey trait.”

“A tooth, Grandpa? The whole rake, you mean! I have kept my personal history to the bare minimum to bring the topic of regeneration on the carpet. I will reveal the rest in due time.”

After a sip of hot cider, Freak took some objects out of a box.

“These are portkeys that can break in or out of all types of wards, even Hogwarts, as, being the owner, I allowed them to. Please wear these under your shirts at all times. The chain will grow as your neck grows, and they will be invisible except to you. Grandpa, give that one to grandma. At some point Voldemort will attack you and break the wards. This is your escape route. Be advised that the Manor will blow up killing everyone inside. In my time, there was only a hole filled with runoff water left of the manor. Move everything of value and heirlooms to Gringott’s, only keeping there what you are willing to part with. Move your house elves to properties under false names. And only keep one personal house elf which you will grab to as you activate the portkey.”

“I agree with this. You seem to have thought out things very well,” the Potter Patriarch replied.

“That remains to be seen. Voldemort is everything but predictable.”

“What about my parents?”

“They are seen as muggles, Lilly, but you must realize they are squibs. Therefore they can activate a portkey, hence the portkeys for them and even Petunia. You know how she feels about magic, Lilly. I would not put it beyond her to throw away her salvation. Let her. She will make it out, but not unscratched, I think.”

“I see. I still love my sister...”

“Lucky you. I can not say the same.”

Lilly wondered what would happen between her son and her sister in the course of 30 years for this kind of reply.

“Time to go home.”

“Keep the conversation about this secret from Grand-ma, please. Anyway you would grow frustrated if you tried to communicate the contents of tonight’s exchanges. I will bring her in the fold shortly. Now. Port-keys... One for you, Grand-dad, and one for each of you the Evans grandparents. Say home aloud and they will bring you directly in your living room, totally silently. Be honest with Petunia... maybe seeing there are benefits to magic will mellow her, but I doubt it.”

Shortly, the adults said the activation code and disappeared from Hogwarts.

“Lilly, James, I will escort you to Gryffindor tower as it is past curfew.”

“Won’t the teachers or the Headmaster say anything?”

“The headmaster is skating on no ice, and only the water’s surface tension is keeping him afloat. And he knows it.”

Once his charges delivered to their dorm, Freak took a walk around the silent school. Filch had learned early to step out of his way; even the resident poltergeist had learned to fear retribution from Freak even more than from the Bloody Baron. Getting tired, he retired to his quarters, ready to start a new year.


The secret wedding between James and Lilly went without a hitch. The ministry’s automatic wedding recorder did not even ring a bell about it as this type of wedding was still allowed on the books, if frowned upon as muggle morality gradually infringed on pure-blood mores. The Evans were as astounded as the Potters at the similarity between Freak and their family. Explanations given in the Owners Suite, the secret wedding was approved by the Evans patriarch, and was pronounced a done deal by magic.


The 1962-1963 school year went on without further issues. New teachers were introduced, old hands retired, but all in all, nothing worthy of mention occurred. The marauders made their mark, and Hogwarts history by being the ones to lose the most points in a single year in the history of the school... up to that point. Freak became a hidden asset of the quartet of trouble-makers, not that his involvement was ever discovered or even suspected. For the teachers, exception made of an obsessed headmaster, whom never did learn to let sleeping dragons lay in peace, he was the example to follow. As if!

Fleamont invited Freak for the winter break, which he gladly accepted. He used this period to begin training them in animagus transformation.

“Remember, the animagus reveals the fundamental character of an individual. You will have little choice in the matter. Rarely, an individual has two equally important traits and gives rise to a chimera. But that requires exact balance between the two traits.”

The marauders, plus Lilly, listened religiously to the explanations.

The next step was finding their inner animal. Contrary to the usual method, which forced the animal out painfully, Freak took the time to teach them basic meditation and occlumency.

“You will not find your animal right away, but it will teach you proper control of your magic. Shortcuts offered by potions do not give your mind the proper training to manage your magic. If you do these exercises, silent, wand-less magic will come naturally as a side-benefit. Further, your mind being better organized, learning and recall will be easier.”

Grandpa Fleamont was astounded at the clarity of explanations and patience shown by his grandson, regretting he was too old to learn wand-less magic... or so he thought.

Petunia’s ill temper was growing by leaps and bounds. Jealousy was rampant, and her ugly character led her to be punished by privation of privileges which fueled her resentment and anchored her belief in the fundamental evilness of magic. Being the eldest, she regularly went physical on Lilly, which, due to underage magic ban, had no recourse. Freak paid his ‘to be’ mom a visit as well, to be called Freak by Petunia for the first time with intent to hurt his self-image. That earned her a punch in the face and a broken nose.

“The only freak I see here is a mare with two legs!” Freak said, loud enough to be heard from one end of the street to the other.

Petunia, very sensitive as to her appearance, left in a huff, calling him a truckload of ugly names.

“Truth hurts!” he called back.

“Mommy! That freak called me a horse! I want him out of here!” complained Petunia, in a voice that grated on her parents’ nerves even more than her constant berating of her sister and occasional visitors.

“We heard you, young lady, and you started it by calling him names first. He has shown remarkable self-control for one so young, and we will not begrudge him finally snapping back at you.”

“I want that freak out of here or I will run away!”

“And go where? With your temper, and your constant decrying of any tiny deviation from what you consider normal, you would be hard put to find a place to sleep in!”

“Vernon would take me in!”

“And if he does, I will have him locked up for statutory rape of a minor, Petunia! You are fifteen and he is nineteen! If I ever hear you did anything with that tub of lard, I will have him thinning out in jail!” thundered her mother. “He will get out when he can squeeze between the bars!”

Petunia huffed and ran to her room, slamming the door so hard the lighting fixture fell from the ceiling and smashed on the floor.

“PETUNIA! Get that temper under control or it is reform school for you!”

“I’ll run away if I get put there!” she yelled back down the hall.

“She hates magic, Mrs. Evans, so much if she could trigger a witch hunt while being seen as normal, she would. One has to wonder if the witch hunt that led to the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy were not the result of squibs being jealous of their magical siblings,” stated a disgruntled Freak.

“Whatever her reasoning, her behavior remains unacceptable,” stated rather forcefully Lilly’s mother. “She tried to drown Lilly a month after she was born and Petunia had just turned three! The sibling rivalry has been horrendous from the get go, and I will not put up with it much longer! Anyway, I will not have her frequent Vernon Dursley!”

“Good luck with that...” mumbled Freak.


The winter session came and went without any bad surprises. Freak had thought hard about what to do with the old tosser (not Voldemort, he knew that he had to leave at least one horcrux alone, and he had decided, after much thinking, to leave the diary alone.) Finally, he decided to let Double-Door, as he had nicknamed him because of his over-inflated view of his self-importance in the realm of things, have the impression he held the cards. It was hard for him, as he had grown to take action and tackle things as they came, rather than to let them coast on their own.

He visited the Founders’ Crypt regularly to learn more advanced magic and getting a feedback on the potential birth of another horcrux. The founders had told him the creation of these abominations resonated in the realm of magic like a gong, and that the proper use of locator spells would tell him where it was created and where it was at all times when he had detected the hum of a horcrux. It could even tell him how much of the soul was enclosed in the malevolent magic.

It was the middle of July 1963 before Voldemort created a new horcrux, which he kept with him as it moved around a lot. Freak had a self-updating map of Great Britain to track horcruxes, and the two lines were superimposed on each other from the moment the second horcrux was created. Meanwhile, Salazar’s Locket was not moving and near the coast.

It was Salazar that had identified the locket without the need for Freak to retrieve it. He had magically dog-marked his possessions while still alive, so as to be able to recover them should someone rob him. It had happened a couple of times before Hogwarts had been established, as being an errant wizard did have its bad sides, including sleeping in bug-infested straw beds. Apparently some ‘bugs’ had fingers and tried to take his meager possessions while he slept. Getting his rather thin purse robbed by a pickpocket had brought this action... after he had cursed said robber’s hands off his arms. Marking his gold, and everything with a locator spell had reduced his losses rather quickly, and also diminished the King’s requirements for jail space. Robing wizards became a high-risk expedition that was considered the mark of a master robber... if said person survived intact that is, which was becoming rarer at the time as Salazar taught the spell to any who could muster even the simplest Wingardium Leviosa. It also reduced the number of lost magical objects as wizards were notoriously distracted when they focussed on spell-casting to survive another pogrom.

“Freak, call the Locket before summer break. Something tells me a tragedy will be averted.”

“Okay Sal! Tonight. Do you think the accio in extenso spell will allow it to come across the wards without waking up everyone in the Castle, especially Grey-beard?”

“I hate it when you call me that diminutive, Freak. As to your question, yes. That spell is attuned to my objects, and the wards will open to allow it in as I am a Founder. The only issue is that it will take some time to reach us: it has to leave wherever it is by crossing through any obstacle, including wards, travel to here, cross through the rock that supports Hogwarts to reach the ritual room.”

“Will Voldemort feel it?”

“Not unless he is wearing it, which we know he does not as he is with his diary and that other horcrus.”

“Fine.”

So, late that night, Freak called out and waited, and waited, and waited.

“I wonder what’s the hold-out?” he mumbled, to which Salazar replied smartly “It is moving very slowly. Given the speed, it is moving through basalt. When it leaves the roof of the cave, it will accelerate.”

Around four AM, Salazar woke up Freak.

“Get ready, my heir. It will reach us in ten minutes. It is plunging through the chalk base of the castle now, at a much speedier pace than when it crossed the basalt.”

Freak watched the ceiling of the corridor leading to the ritual room carefully. The chalk reddened gradually, became white-hot and suddenly the locket fell out of the roof. Freak was ready with a powerful arresto momentum that brought the hot locket to a total halt. He then levitated it to the altar, to leave the Ritual room and close its door as quickly as possible.

“Salazar, do you think that the destruction can wait until later today? I’m feeling tired from that overpowered accio.”

“No problem. But, before you do anything, you need to collapse that cave. You think you can do that?”

“I’ll need to go there...”

“Yes, but do not get in the cave. Do an acid spell to dissolve the granite, and fill the cave to the roof with muriatic acid. That will dissolve anything found in the lake, including the Inferi bones in suspension in the lake’s water.”

“I doubt I will be able to sustain the spell long enough, not with how tired I feel!”

“You need not sustain it. Create a runic circle, and it will call on magic to create on a continuous basis, the required acid. Your work will consist of 1- create the runic circle, 2- inscribe it on a rock which is part of the cave structure, 3- link the array to the lay line that is under the cave, and open the gates so the lay line supplies the required energy. The rest will be self-sustaining magic, as the array gets fed energy to call in the acid as needed, and voilà. The cave will fill in quickly, the Inferi will be held in place by the magic of Voldemort, unable to escape their fate, and end up dissolved. Should Voldemort visit the cave, he will get an acid bath that he won’t forget!”

“How did you know about the Inferi?”

“The locket’s magic has one goal: to store the signature of spells cast near it, and detect any spells within its vicinity. I just read the report. It need not even be opened. I had a picture of my wife in it to give the change as to its real purpose. Voldemort got the wrong feeling about its role and fell for the trap.”

“Okay. Bed for me. I’ll be back tomorrow...”

Late the next day, Freak apparated above the cave’s roof, a rather massive hill that had a cliff face plunging in the sea with a very narrow cavern opening. Remembering his exchanges with the Founders, Freak did not bother trying to enter the cave. Inferi were not his favored playmates. Using some wand-less magic (as if there was any other he knew!), he cleared the hill crest of debris, throwing them over the cliff face right in front of the cavern’s entrance. That way, no naïve human would be able to walk in and inadvertently free whatever was in that cave while it got processed. Once the rock was clear, he drew a runic array in a rather large circle, covering around 250 feet in circumference. The task don, he inscribed the power-up rune at the center of the circle, and linked it to the array by dividing the circle in 60 segments, the number of runes contained in the array. This done, he checked that all runes wer fed with energy, and activated the power rune by linking it to the lay line that passed under the cave. He watched the power-up proceed and the sudden flash of light as it completed its loading. Bubbling began bursting along the lines and muriatic acid flowed over, attacking the granitic rock with unabated ferocity. After ten minutes, the acid had eaten 12 inches of rock, gradually progressing toward the power-up rune. An hour later, the power rune was encircled on all sides by an acid lake, except where the 60 connecting lines fed the array with power.

“That looks like an oversized acid etching done to build computer chips!” exclaimed Freak. “I better get out of here. If this thing collapses, I might be in trouble!”

Freak returned to Hogwarts and activated the destruction of the horcrux contained in Salazar’s locket. It

took two hours to clean the jewel of Voldemort’s taint, much shorter than the previous ones. According to the Founders, that meant its creation had occurred later.

Freak kept an eye on magical and mundane news to see if anything abnormal had occurred where the cave was located. By the end of July, nothing had been reported, so he paid the area a visit. Hovering above the site with a broom, he studied the configuration of the ground below. The acid lake had disappeared, and deep gouges seemed to have been dug into the rock by its contents. The runic array was now deeply engraved into the rock, and only a thin cloud of acid rose from the central powering rune. As he watched for any sign of activity below, he heard a crack, and saw the array begin to slide down, taking with it the power-up rune and the 60 narrow, hair-line thin bridges linking the array and power-up rune. Freak saw, for the first time, that the acid lake was now well below the floor of the cave, whose edges extended slightly beyond the circle delimited by the circular runic array. Everything else was eaten away by the muriatic acid. The collapse of the array terminated the production of acid, and the sea water, which had been kept at bay by the wards until the final collapse, flooded the cave to the sea level. Nothing could reveal what had been there, or what had occurred.


Back at Hogwarts, Freak spent the rest of the summer with Hagrid, whom took a shine to the young boy and kept him busy with trips around Hogwarts grounds, the Forbidden Forest, and Hogsmeade. Added to this Hagrid’s innate sense of story-telling, and Freak liked the big hairy man a lot.

He also spent a lot of time with the Founders, learning more about classical magic (wand magic), more so as to round his education than because he needed the knowledge. Ollivander had tried, time and again, to find a match for the boy, but failed miserably. Any wand he touched burned to ash the moment he took a swing with it.

Freak’s schooling years continued unperturbed. He spent the following five years monitoring the displacement of Voldemort through his two horcruxes. Voldemort was a bit miffed by the fact that, each time he planned something, the hit wizards were on his ass before he could even begin to terrorize, much less convince by brute force that he was the best. He had considerable problems recruiting, as, each time he convinced someone to embark on his campaign, that person ended up dead within twenty-four hours. Even his school friends ended up cold. The Averys, the Blacks, the Bulstrodes, The Burkes, the Carrows, the Crouches, the Flints, the Lestranges, the Malfoys, the Notts, the Parkinsons, the Rosiers, the Rowles, the Yaxleys, all lost their head of houses after he visited them and convinced them to embark on his campaign; thus he had to wait for their heirs to reach adulthood to recruit anew. He tried the Abbotts, the Bones, the Longbottoms, the Potters, the Prewetts, the Shacklebolts, the and the Weasleys all rebuffed his approach. The Fawlys, the Greengrasses, the Macmillans, the Ollivenders, the Selweyns, the Shaffiqs, the Slughorns and the Travers refused to be implicated on either side of the divide. As all those deaths were done by using a sword cutting their head off without anyone the wiser as to how the wards had been breached, no one associated it with Freak.

Voldemort restarted his recruitment campaign as the first of the new pureblood adults emerged from Hogwarts. His first visit was to the Prewetts, whom had insulted him considerably by calling him an hypocrite with his so-called pureblood agenda. His visit to the Prewett brothers was met with some disastrous results. As he made his breakthrough the wards to kill them and leave a message to the others, the building collapsed on him and he was forced to a hasty retreat. The Prewetts sent him a message through the sky: his mark in the sky was defaced by a glowing arrow passing through the snake’s head and exiting behind the skull. <Who pisses death off by robbing it of its due will end in hell!> Voldemort was furious. He tried to dissolve his symbol, but, for some reason, nothing worked. It was as if he had lost control of his trademark! The Prewetts themselves, no fools, decided to retire in a small country villa protected by an unplottable ward, and a Fidelius.

Voldemort turned to his old hunting grounds, deciding to regroup them under his own Fidelius, and marking them the moment they said yes. No more Mister nice guy. It was an enthusiastic yes or death.


In the future, the wizards were gradually pulling themselves out of the recession. Seven years of misery, pain, and thin to the bones years. Hogwarts was still under the thumb of one heck of a stubborn Dumbledore, but its status as school was long forgotten as no student came to its doors anymore. For some strange reasons that Dumbledore could not fathom, the wards were as strong as ever, and now comprised Hogsmeade and the farms around the school. Wizards began flocking to the village, whom prospered from the influx of new residents. On the other hand, London’s wizardry street gradually collapsed. The muggles had long taken notice of its presence, and as magic thinned, they took over, playing the roles of wizards in the 18th century in replacement of the real ones. The last to leave were the goblins, whom relocated their bank under the main place of Hogsmeade. They left a couple of goblins in their original branch to skim the muggles with their grouchy behavior, fake gold coins (and some real ones for those who could afford them) and the ride to the now very empty vaults. Muggles seemed to love the ride: the scarier the better, it seemed, especially for the adrenalin junky kids, so they obliged!

Dumbledore and the hard-nosed Wizengamot just could not fathom how the muggles seem to take magic like some type of fun experience. The Statute of Secrecy was still on the books, but just about impossible to apply. Apparation did not seem to make the muggles run in freight anymore, and the muggle kids asking for side-along apparation to experience teleportation shocked the wizards. That the kids wanted to experience ‘Star Trek’ was beyond the wizards’ comprehension. Even adults, calling themselves trekkies, asked for a trip! Some even wanted to visit the Enterprise, which the wizards were hard put to satisfy, so they simply invented an excuse along the line of safety issues.

Kids were the worst: ‘Can I pet the dragon?’ was the most common request, followed, a close second, by ‘Can I ride the dragon?’! The Goblins were not immune to profit-making, and rapidly developed a dragon petting zoo (!!) and a Fly a dragon package deal including hunting a pig by dragon, a dragon-roasted pig meal, a couple of loops and spins... Money talks, especially for the Goblins! The ministry tried to stop it, but was rebuffed rather roughly... by the muggle queen! The Goblins were not only smart bankers, but astute businessmen. They quickly expanded the petting zoo idea to include all sorts of magical animals. They negotiated with the London muggle zoo to breach their perimeter and add the magical zoo. It brought much needed money to the muggle zoo as, to enter the magical part, you had to enter the muggle part first. Wizards began working in both institutions, recreating ecosystems for all sorts of endangered species, muggle or magical. A year after the magical zoo was created, the first unicorn fawn was born in captivity, and its breaching was filmed live and projected world-wide on muggle television! The success was instantaneous, and visitors stormed the gates of the zoo to see the little fawn as it made its debut as a television star.

Voldemort had yet to make a come-back, much to Dumbledore’s despair as he had expected him to surface a good seven years earlier. He actually counted on this re re-polish his very tarnished image. He had given up on finding the Potter brat to do the dirty work for him years ago, but the stubborn refusal of the ultimate tarnished reputation polisher, aka Voldemort, to make an appearance severely began to cramp his style!


In 1968-1969, Freak’s parents finally graduated from Hogwarts and began working toward masteries. Also graduating that year were the pureblood faction heirs that had seen their parents murdered after they had accepted to become lieges of Voldemort. Their numbers were few, but they were dedicated. They got their marks spectacularly, by assaulting muggles in a spree of gratuitous murders to put the wizards and muggle on notice they would not put up with any more shit.

Little did they know that the mark also was a leech on their magic and a trace. Quite a few not so pure blood also aligned themselves with Voldemort, in an effort to ride his coattail and benefit from his rise to anticipated power.

Freak was pissed. He could not protect everybody, even through he wanted to, so he focussed on potential targets of the death-eaters, namely those that opposed him and defied him openly. It helped him a lot that these were few, as most wizards were too cowardly to stand up for their rights. Freak regrouped the targets and sheltered them as best he could. Some were turncoats from the hard-core supporters of Voldemort’s agenda, one being Sirius Orion Black, a close friend of his dad. Strangely, Regulus, his brother, had taken the mark but had asked, after a traumatic experience, to turn coat. Freak was stumped. By the end of the year, after numerous consultations, he accepted to hide Regulus. He also hid Peter Pettigrew, but felt something was off with that one. His animagus form, a rat, was trying to tell him something about his character, but Pettigrew did not bear the mark, so he had no real reason to refuse him.

His parents came out about their secret wedding in 1970, at the wedding of Frank and Alice. The two aurors in training graduated from the Auror academy two years later, and began hunting down death-eaters in earnest. The team of Frank, James, and Sirius began doing some serious damage to the troops of Voldemort, and he confronted them directly twice over the next 8 years. Their reputation as aurors grew and grew at each confrontation.

By late 1979, Alice Longbottom and Lily Potter were pregnant. It was time for Freak to bow out, so he called a family meeting.

“Mom, Dad, as you know, I come from the future. As you also know, I can not be present in this space-time without risk of spacio - temporal conflict. Now, I have created for you two very powerful portkeys. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can keep you from leaving where you are.”

“Why are you saying all that, son?”

“Because I do not trust whomever found me in Godric’s Hollow, and I had to pay a heavy price for his betrayal. However, it is that betrayal and price that forged me in fire and tempered me in tears that made me who I am. I must undergo that ordeal. I do not trust whom you do, dad. We discussed the Fidelius and the secret-keeper betrayed your trust. Follow your heart, but be aware that the one whom will be burdened with the secret will betray you. Give the other portkeys to whomever are not the secret-keepers.”

“You speak with plurals...” said Fleamont.

“Yes, grand-pa. I see three options for secret-keeper: Sirius, Peter, and Remus. By the way, grandpa, the portkey will bring them to your home, leaving behind a dummy... In your case, mom and dad, dead dummies that will look like they have been killed by Voldemort. And as for the other two, properly prepared substitutes that will act and live like whomever they take the place. It is advanced magic, long thought lost.”

“I see.”

“We’re getting the visit of the Longbottoms tonight. I like them and I want to protect them too, so I will prepare a pair of portkeys to your home, grand-pa. They too will leave behind properly acting simulacrums.”

“Why not at the Longbottoms’ manor?”

“The less spread-out the people are, the less chance of a leak before I call you back to light in the future.”

“Makes sense.”

“When that step is done, I will begin to retire from the world. I want things to go as they should go, with all the traitors coming out in the open in due course.”

“Okay, son.”

“Dad, Mom, we will talk again after Alice and Frank have left.”


Later that evening, Alice and Frank Longbottom came to visit the Potters.

“Alice, Frank, I invited you to talk about some things. They have been kept secret from anyone, but especially from Dumbledore. As this secret is his secret,” said James, “he is the one that can reveal it, not us.”

“Okay...” the two Longbottoms replied.

“I need one thing before you hear it. I need a vow on life an magic that whatever I say, you will keep to yourselves, and not talk anywhere of it, not even in your home. It is vital for the safety of wizardry that this be kept quiet.”

“Okay...”

“Before you swear...” the young man made a move and a beetle fell in a bottle. “Miss Skeeter, bug on the wall of way too many secrets, I intend to put you in hibernation!” With that, the young man swiped his hand over the bottle, freezing the air in it and the beetle by the same occasion.

“Why not kill her?” asked Alice.

“Because she might be of use at a later date. Now, swear!”

The swearing done, the Longbottoms took a seat.

“As you notice, I use wand-less magic. In fact, I never did otherwise. But that is not the real secret, as everyone in Hogwarts should know that by now. What is important is I come from the future. When I arrived, I was separated from my time by 30 years. Now, I am somewhere like 6 months from my birth. I must take action and this is what I am doing tonight. I have no idea what happened between my conception and the moment some jerk put me in Vernon and Petunia’s tender care, but I gather that some of you died, beginning with my parents, otherwise I would not have landed in that hell-hole... My parents and I discussed the potential paths that led to my living with these scums. Mom and dad showed me the will they plan to have registered in the Ministry. Sirius Black, as my godfather, is first in line, followed by you two, and the Weasley and finally Minerva McDonnagall. And it is clearly stated that under no circumstances am I to end up at the Dursleys. Yet, it is where I was taken. So someone interfered with the will... The only one with enough punch to pull this off is the Supreme Mugwump, Albus too many names Dumbledore. He is marked as witness to the will, albeit my parents have yet to ask him to sign.”

“So, do you plan to change the witness?”

“No, things must go as they did, since it is these events that made me who I am. Now, for you: again, I have no idea why you did not take me in, but something must have happened. Therefore, I am giving you three portkeys to grandpa’s home, like I gave mom and dad. When you use them, the portkeys will leave behind simulacrums that will act and be you. There is one for your future child as well. Put them on, now! And never remove them. You know what to do when your child is born.”

“Okay...” the two Longbottoms replied, putting on the thin gold chains around their neck.

“That covers your part in this. Be safe. Note that the portkeys will activate on command or if an unforgivable is sent your way. It does not mean you should walk into a death-eaters nest and taunt them!”

“Right...” noted the Longbottoms.

“Dad, grandpa, I’ll retire so you can talk with them without my interfering.”

Shortly, after a whispered conversation, the Longbottoms returned to their home.

“Come down, son, they’re gone.”

“Coming!”

“You said you wanted to talk to us about something else.”

“Yes... I discussed animagus forms with the Founders. As you know, mine is a Phoenix, the embodiment of pure magic; the form also shows the essence of a person. For instance, Sirius is a Grim, a type of dog; he is essentially a protector, and will put his life on the line in that capacity. Remus, if he let out his animal, would be a wolf, also a very protective animal with pack mentality. Too bad he never trusted himself enough to become an animagus as it would have eased the full moon and his furry little problem. Going from wolf to werewolf would be painless, and he would not lose his reason. But try as I might, he never listens to me. The moment I try talking about his furry little problem, he runs. Now, dad, you are a deer, very protective of your mate, but also a bit too proud to ask for help when you are too deep in the water. Now, the last of your gang... Peter. He is a rat. Rats are notoriously untrustworthy, and cowards by nature. They run from trouble, feed at all the handouts, and do not hesitate to bite the hand that feeds them if they believe they can gain something from it.”

“So, don’t trust Pettigrew as secret-keeper.” Fleamont said.

“Exactly. However, not trusting him does not mean not to give him the job. Just prepare for his betrayal. I suspect that is exactly what happened in the future. And I want it to happen that way, it must happen that way, for me to be me, grandpa.”

“We get it... But I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. But what must be will be.”

“What now?”

“We are expecting Sirius in ten minutes, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then, give him the portkey I made for him, the one with the dog hanging on the chain. Explain to him it is a portkey to use in dire circumstance, and that it will become invisible the moment it is around his neck. Do the same for Remus, and Peter. I do not want Peter to feel left-out.”

“A port-key for the rat?!”

“Oh, he will use it after his deed, to escape... to hell. It is programmed to bring him directly in the lava lake of the Etna. I do not take well to betrayal. The other two bring the individuals to grand-pa’s home, as yours do.”

“Should we tell the others about Peter?”

“No. His actions will reveal his character. Now, I have to prepare to return to the future.”

“Do you have a date in mind, son?”

“Yes. Tomorrow morning is my birthday. I plan to travel forward in time to exactly the same date, in the year 2000.”

“Do not forget to count it as a leap year...”

“Wrong, dad, 2000 is not a leap year since it can be divided by 400.”

“Ooops, my big mouth worked before my brain did.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to it, by now. Do not mix the amulets, for God’s sake!”


The next morning, Freak moved to the location of the last time-turner made by the Druids, and began the ritual that would allow him to jump time without being affected by crossing over his previous life and enduring the martyr it had been. The process done, he turned the hourglass in the opposite direction he had done in his first use and counted the number of turns carefully before releasing the time-turner. This time, he did not feel disoriented as the time-turner did its job. He saw seasons fly by in their proper sequence, and then the process slowed down, to finally come to a halt.

He looked around, and noticed the earth seemed to have slightly changed. He found residues of clothes, his clothes, that he had left behind during his first trip, eaten up by rodents and scavenged by birds for nest material. He took flight in his animagus form and rose above the forest cover. There, he surveyed the area and discovered that the highway was being widened by a lane, that new houses had been added on the other side, but that the forest, at large, was still relatively intact. Flying down, he noticed a sign at an exit leading to a rest area: In memory of Harry James Potter. This forest is left as a tribute to Harry James Potter, whose disappearance, ten years ago, triggered the merging of muggle and wizards into an integrated society. Wherever you are Harry, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your selfless sacrifice. Elizabeth the Second, Her Majesty the Queen, by the Grace of God.”

That panel had just been placed, as the rest area was inaugurated, and the freshness of the paint, the turf’s new looks, made it clear things had just been completed and opened. The bird dropped on the sign and looked at the visitors. Muggles, wizards, all mixing without even blinking. Suddenly a kid called out, a muggle boy no older than six:

“Dad! Dad! A Phoenix!” he said, pointing at Freak.

“Yes, son. These are rare. It is a good omen to see one so soon after the inauguration of the rest area. I wonder if I have the time to take a picture before it flames off?” The man took out his camera and took a dozen pictures. “That will be a nice addition to the pictures of the magical animals we took at the Goblin run magical zoo!”

The more he listened, the more astounded Freak grew. Finally, he decided he needed to go make his call... But first, the horcruxes. Focussing, he located one immediately, in Diagon Alley. He flamed to the place, found a finer point to the horcrux and ported directly in the vault. The only thing he found in it was a sickle hiding the horcrux, Lady Hufflepuff’s cup. He broke the enchantment linking the sickle and the cup and left the bank taking the cup with him. As the cup moved further away, the Goblins that still resided in the bank felt a pressure drop on them and their demeanor improved drastically.

Once at Hogwarts, Freak destroyed the horcrux in the ritual chamber, and apparated to his suites. Everything was clean as per his instructions to the elves before he moved forward in time.

‘One done...’

The next morning, he focussed and located the last horcrux, some distance in Sussex. Porting as Freak, he walked in, by-passing the wards and appearing in the main hall of the manor, right in the middle of a death-eater ‘good old days’ meeting. Freak did not mince his moves and the hall’s floor quickly became gorged in blood and guts. Included in this wave of utter destruction were the heirs of the pure-blood lines that had survived the first purge, and their own heirs. Needless to say, that terminated a good 20 of the 28 pure-blood lines. Feeling vindictive, Freak had the house-elves leave the manor, and said manor consumed by fiend-fire, destroying all traces of the lines and the last horcrux by the same occasion.

Feeling out for Voldemort, he found no trace of his soul anchored on this plane.

“Finally! Let the devil play with him.”

“I am, young one. His soul shards do nice bowling pins!”

He moved to Hogwarts’ headmaster’s office and found Dumbledore sitting down, looking disabused and not entirely there.

“Who are you?” Dumbledore asked in a grating voice.

“Harry James Potter, whom you left to the mercy of child molesters at one year of age, old man, in violation of your sworn oath on magic and life. I am calling you on that oath today. Let magic be your judge, sentencer, and executioner.”

Harry than changed into his Phoenix and left the office.

Dumbledore looked at the vacated spot, not understanding what it meant. “I did that for the greater good!” he said into the empty office. Suddenly, Fawkes appeared, took the wizard by the hair and flamed away, taking him to the Kiloa Volcano that was currently in eruption, he dropped him in the caldera from 5,000 feet, before returning to Hogwarts to undertake a purifying burning.

Meanwhile, Freak made his way to his granddad’s manor. He walked in and was met by everyone, who had been expecting him a day earlier.

“Welcome back son, but what held you back?”

“I had two horcruxes and two dark wizards to dispose of. You can now leave the protection of grandpa’s wards. I cleared up the air by disposing of the last death-eaters, of the two horcruxes, of Voldemort’s pesky little soul, and of Dumbledore. Justice has been done. By the way, grandpa, we own the entire wizard gold reserve. You might not have checked on your manor vaults, but they have taken an enlargement spell or two since you were confined to this manor. Also included are all the libraries of the pureblood that I defeated, their assets, and what not. Only missing is the Malfoy manor, as I burned it down using fiend-fire to remove the last horcrux. But I did remove their library before doing a F-451 on them, or more exactly a 5,000 F. As for their gold, it was gone. They were living on glamor, stings and straws...”

After a well-deserved ‘free to go home’ party, Freak sat with the visitors in the drawing room.

“So, who will explain what happened after I jumped forward?”

The group looked at each other and Fleamont, as host, began explaining the events.

“The headmaster came out with a prophesy done by a heir of a well-known prophetess... We all knew it was fake from the first word. He wanted everything to point to you, Freak, and arranged it so. We did as you asked and allowed things to go as if we did not smell the rot from the moment he opened his mouth. According to him, Voldemort had heard part of the prophecy from a spy of his, but we are quite sure said spy only had to listen from the next table as he talked about it with his brother, the barkeep! What a place to hold a meeting for a future teacher: a bar! If you want things to be known, hold it in the public room and post an arrow ‘secret meeting’ pointing at the persons involved. Anyway, we did as he asked and put on the Fidelius on our summer camp and your dad and mom moved in with you in it. We asked Sirius to be the secret keeper, but he thought he would outsmart Voldemort by having Pettigrew replace him at the last minute. We did not make a fuss, and Dumbledore cast the Fidelius, knowing quite well it was Pettigrew the secret keeper. That same night, october 31st, Voldemort attacked, and your parents used the portkeys to escape, leaving behind the simulacrums that fought valiantly but finally died. Voldemort turned his wand on you and tried to kill you, but failed, losing his body in the process. What we can’t figure out is how you survived. Anyway, we tried to locate Pettigrew, but try to find a specific rat in London! Sirius caught up with him at some point, but the rat blew a gas line and opened the sewers to make his escape. Sirius got arrested, and transported to Azkaban without a by your leave, where he used the portkey to escape the same night, leaving behind a simulacrum. The next night, Alice and Frank ported in, as their home was being attacked by Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, and the two simulacrums were tortured to insanity... That same night, you were transported by Hagrid to the residence of the Dursleys and let on the steps, without even them ringing a bell, them being Minerva and Albus. You could have been attacked by roaming dogs, or frozen to death! The rest of the events, you know.”

“So, the only survivor of this farce is Peter.”

“He probably wishes he died... He is currently being used, in his rat form, as a laboratory animal. He is such a coward he prefers this to facing death-eaters. It won’t last, as the surviving rats are fed to boa constrictors when they are done with them,” Alice said. “Talk about pressing matters to use a port key... if he still can!”

“Especially since it won’t work in his animagus form!” laughed Freak. “So he will end up eaten by a snake rather than the Weasley whale Ron. ”

“Ron is skin and bones now, you know. He got caught stealing food enough times by muggles to end up in jail, on a diet of water and dry bread.” explained James Potter.

“So, all is well that ends well: the good guys won, the bad guys lost, and life can return to normal, with that idiotic Statute of Secrecy gone.” concluded Freak. “But how did you learn of this? You were not supposed to leave grandpa’s grounds.”

“I didn’t, but you know we have a lot of friends,” began Frank Longbottom. “They sent us messages that could not be intercepted, using their patronus. It was a relay system, with Augusta as focus. These travel instantly, and are able to give short messages such as ‘Peter in France’, ‘Peter detected on ship to Abidjan’, ‘Peter attacked by snake in country X’, ‘Peter in Mumbai’, ‘Peter in Sydney, Australia’, ‘Peter captured and fed by staff of Cancer Institute Research Center’, ‘Peter sold to zoo as food for boa. What a crushing end to his career.”

“There were quite a few funny ones in the lot. Ship cats took a malicious pleasure attacking him, as if he attracted them like a lightening bolt is attracted to a steel rod. Kids in Africa hunted him down to eat him. He got several close calls with snakes and birds of prey. One of the ships he embarked on sank and he ended up on a log adrift at sea. Said log kept rolling and he couldn’t rest for a minute. I admit that Sojay, the wizard that was on the ship to keep watch over Peter, took a malicious pleasure in sending a spell to ensure the log was on a spin, even in flat as oil seas. He also saw to it that the log stayed within sight of the canoe as it drifted in the Indian ocean toward the coast of Ceylon. For some reason, sharks regularly visited the log and bumped it as well. His arrival in Australia did not happen without incidents. Magic must have taken a shine to its toy rat: A runaway Tasmanian Devil from a private zoo took to hunting him down. Who knew these pesky marsupials could be so opinionated! It tracked him for days. I suspect Magic had a say in the stubbornness of the 4-legged Devil.”

The description of Peter’s misadventures brought a well-needed roll of laughter from everyone present.

“Okay... if he dies in his animagus form, the portkey will bring the necklace back to me anyway. Apparently he is still alive.”

“The last patronus message was relayed by mom yesterday. They should be feeding the snakes today...” snickered Frank. “And he can’t bite himself out of this one as the staff wears thick gloves to handle rats.”

The snake being fed that morning was none other than Nagini, which would have been Voldemort’s last horcrux if he had been able to stay on this plane long enough. It was a sadistic snake: it could poison its prey, but preferred to eat them kicking and fighting. Peter felt the crushing pressure as it broke every single one of his bones, and felt himself slide in the extensible gullet of the ophidian before feeling the acid begin to eat him alive. Death was not merciful for a traitor to an oath sworn on magic.

Index