The Saga of James Stormcaller [Harry Potter AU]

.

[..\|/..]

.

.

.​

Owls

Much like with the division between Muggle and Magical, there is a similar division between normal and Magical owls. However, unlike the self-imposed schism that is the Statute, the boundary between the two types of owl in our world boils down to one defining trait: intelligence.

The average Magical owl is extremely intelligent, to the point where they can understand body language, spoken words – not necessarily commands – and have been known to implement basic tools, such as using twigs to accomplish tasks.

Why this has come about is, at present, unknown. The prevailing theory is put forth by the scholars of the Great Library; in their thesis, latent magic wafts off the planet's leyline network and…

-excerpt from
Magical Creatures and You: A Definitive Encyclopedia of Pets, Pests, and Monsters of the World
2nd Edition
by Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, 1958

.​

Counterpoint to prevailing theory about owls:
Examination of historic texts dating back to the Sumerian Middle Ages (c. 3000-2500 BCE) shows the perceived intelligence of assistant owls in clay artwork, particularly in one example depicting pre-City-State life in Mesopotamia (ref.: GN Dig 37-E). This puts the observed intelligence evolving in Magical owls long before the earliest Leyline Gate (Gate of Heaven, 1st Khmer Mage-Artisans, c. 800 BCE) and, therefore, this phenomenon cannot be a product of leyline mana leakage due to the construction of the Gates, as postulated by Arch-Curator M. Honda.
Research into root cause is ongoing.

As an aside, the idea that natural leakage is what causes an owl, or any familiar, to bond with a Magical being is ridiculous. The Bond has been around since time immemorial; it may even predate Atlantis, or was invented by those mysterious peoples.

On the other hand, I can say from observing Hermione, Marissa, Jin, and James that it, the Bond, runs deeper than an owl spontaneously developing a paranormal sense of direction.

-notes on paper, presumably a thesis rough draft
found in a leather binder amongst other documents
anonymously donated to Hogwarts School, 2003 CE
SUBMITTED TO DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES

DoM note: handwriting is a match to Glimmervale Journeyman Claude Sabat of Chad; check remaining donations for other examples

.
[..|..]
.​

"With every year that passes, I am more and more convinced the Statute is the worst mistake we, humanity, have ever made."
-Nicholas Flamel, August 1945 CE

.
[..|..]
.​

"I am eternally convinced that the British are gluttons for punishment. Nowhere else do I see the logic in not killing Voldemort before he could rape their Isles. Thank the Flame Eternal a pair of them had the sense to use that cruelty against him."

-Kefka, Satrap of Flame
in conversation with
Beauxbatons Headmistress Olympe Maxime
Free City of Babylon, 1985

.
[..|..]
.​

…then, on the fifteenth day of Summer, there came a triple horn blast from the city's walls. The earth trembled, horses and animals became nervous, and men shivered behind the shield walls. Great Alexander wisely called for the siege engines to be abandoned and those manning them to retreat; showing, once more, the vast wisdom in his noble mind.

For naught less than Hades' own child ushered from the iron gates of Samarkand.

Vast as a sea serpent, hide black as a starless night, her head that of a viper, she came: the death of nations and empires, a Basilisk whose age must've predated Babylon and Ur, that horror the Bactrians named in their tongue "Slithering Death". As she took to the field, all the terrified Host of Macedon were glad for the volcanic glass shielding their eyes, a suggestion from Cleitus after the scouts reported this monster within the walls, for only thin slips of obsidian could protect from a Basilisk's lethal gaze, a lesson hard-bought in the Egyptian desert.

Yet this was a secondary worry, for this was a monster beyond mortal ken.

Her scales were as granite, harder than the millstone's bottom, the fell monster laughing off arrow and javelin alike. With a single swing of her tail, and a black laugh from her lipless mouth, she shattered the engines Great Alexander brought to break this last bastion of Persia. Spells failed to harm her. Spears and blades could not mar her hide, the steel and bronze denting and breaking on impact no matter the strength of arm or enchantment. Horses, birds, and all manner of animal quailed at the sight of her, and either bolted for the horizon, or fell dead where they stood, their hearts stopped by the sight of this most terrible foe.

All the Host quaked in their boots, their bladders weakening at the sight of this monster unheard of in legend or rumor outside the waste places of the world: a Basilisk unlike any ever seen, even in the legendary tombs of Old Egypt, laying waste to those too slow or frightened to flee.

All the Host quailed in fear, as the Basilisk turned her sights on us with a hungry laugh.

All quailed, save one.

Red-plumed helm of gold, cape of royal purple dashing in the winds of ruin, astride dark and brave Bucephalus, the only Steed undaunted before the monster, Great Alexander rode before the Host and raised his spear in challenge.

"Face me, foul serpent! I am Alexander, child of Zeus, and King of All!"

The monster laughed mockingly, fangs dripping liquid death as she coiled to strike, and spoke in return:

"King of All, King of Air, King of Dust, King of Nothing; child of rape, unloved son, conqueror of sheep, walking shadow soon to fade; despair, human, for I am Shiva, the First Basilisk, the Ruin of Atlantis, and Master of Herpo the Foul. Your kind has lived in fear of my works since they huddled in the painted caves and cowered before the sound of thunder. Now, come, bastard spawn of Zeus, whose screams turned to whimpers in my gullet. Come and die like your father."

Legend was their battle, so violent and awful it seemed to shake the heavens; the hills were rent by the Serpent's adamantine coils, and the grasses burned around Pallas in Alexander's hand, and the mountains shook beneath the Steed's hooves, and I have no doubt there is a single Spirit or God, above or below, who did not hear their wrestling before Samarkand's walls.

There fell noble Bucephalus, knocking out a tooth to save his master from a deathblow, and there Great Alexander's screams echoed in the hills as Shiva's venom entered his veins…

And there, in reply, Alexander put out the left eye of Slithering Death with his spear; screaming and thrashing in pain from the first telling injury she had ever been dealt, Shiva quit the field and retreated into the Hindu Kush. Behind her, the Host rushed to aid Alexander, who was weeping at brave Bucephalus' side, and the peoples of Samarkand threw down their arms and begged for mercy; they found none. For harboring such a black fiend, Cleitus and I led the sack and burning of the last mighty city in Persia…

-handwritten account of the end of the siege of Samarkand, 329 BCE
from the personal diary of Ptolemy I Soter
Great Library Archives, Vaults
document access restricted, 5 Curator signatures needed for viewing

Curator's note: this is the only known document depicting the self-proclaimed Shiva, the First Basilisk. Indeed, other than His Eminence's account, there are no other written records of this fell beast; however, there are records of both Great Alexander and Bucephalus' post-mortem examinations by the physicians of the time. The Steed was felled by a crushed sternum, Shiva's blow smashing the Spirit-horse's lungs and heart against his spine; it is known that nothing short of a dragon could have harmed a True Steed, let alone a Pureblood Patriarch like Bucephalus, who was known to have weathered axe-blows and arrows alike. As for Alexander, it is well-known among the histories of Magical Man that he suffered from weakness and pain since the siege of Samarkand; after his death in Babylon, an examination by a team of physicians revealed that his alcoholism allowed the Basilisk venom to rot his body. Though it took a long period of time due to his demi-Spirit constitution, the death of Hephaestion worsened Alexander's drinking habits, already concerning after Bucephalus' death, allowing for the venom to do its dark work. High Dragon consultation has revealed that this beast is known, but is notoriously reclusive, to the point where even Master-level Divination cannot reveal its current location. – filed: 1612

DoM file (dated September 12, 1777):
To: ICW Defense Initiative, Board of Department Heads
From: CLASSIFIED
Topic: Verified 4-O Level Threat (DO NOT DISSEMINATE TO THE PUBLIC)
Attached is a memory of a memory of a Library reading, and a Curator note. Relevant information is as follows. Humanity Prevails.

Shiva: confirmed hyper-ancient Basilisk (~120,000 BP); likely pre-First Fall experiment; unknown progenitor/process of creation; current location unknown

Threat Level: OOOO (EXTREME PHYSICAL, MORAL, AND SPIRITUAL THREAT)

POSSIBLE CIVILIZATION KILLER
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO NEGOTIATE OR ENGANGE IN CONVERSATION WITH THE ABOMINATION

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE ANY ORDINARY BEINGS TO ENGAGE THE ABOMINATION IN COMBAT WITHOUT THE ASSISTANCE OF AT LEAST ONE(1) CLASS-OOOO SPIRIT AND/OR HIGH DRAGON

THE STATUTE OF SECRECY, CIVILIAN POPULATIONS, AND ANY NON-LEGACY SETTLEMENT MAY BE SEEN AS EXPENDABLE TO ENSURE THE ABOMINATION'S FINAL DEMISE

INFORM GENEVA COMMAND IMMEDIATELY UPON CONFIRMED SIGHTING
RESPONDING PERSONNEL: UNFORGIVABLE/DARK MAGIC RESTRICTIONS WAIVED; KILL ON SIGHT AND DESTROY CORPSE BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY

.

.

.

[..\|/..]

.

.

.

Chapter 14:
The Gathering Storm

.

.

.​

Spring broke over Walnut Manor in warm sunlight, and it was with the season's change that James noticed something else about the Faerie who lived there.

They didn't like it when things changed too slowly; James couldn't think of another reason why the countless winged beings would swarm over the whole grounds, which they did as soon as the migratory birds, like swallows, started returning. Working as a large swarm under Sir Cookie's direction, the Faeries spent a good week melting the last of winter's snow and making sure all the footpaths were good and dried; even the trees were cared for and prepared for temporary habitation during the warmer months, though Yavanna took care of most of the hardest work, like knocking stubborn icicles off branches and ensuring the grass was dried.

Of course, Vera had a different guess why the Fae Folk flew over the grounds so swiftly: they'd finally had their fill of her swimming through the snow, undetected, only to pop up when and where least expected. Her alignment with Water actually allowed her to become the snow drifts, allowing her greater mobility in the winter than any other time of year – though she admitted that she could do the same thing with ordinary bodies of water, just not as smoothly.

So James' foxy sister, over the winter months, spent most of her time delivering messages between the Manor and those who made their home outside its walls, pranking virtually everyone in the Manor (except Gregory, Wyne and James)… or utterly dominating in snowball fights – even with most of Rivendell against her, Vera was near-unstoppable in the snow; that is, until either Landlady Melfina or Librarian Lisanna got involved.

James mostly kept to himself and his studies, listening to stories from Uncle Remus' school days – a whole lot better than listening to another of Vernon's rugby tales… and being friends with Wyne, who helped Vera teach James how to breathe underwater. Honestly, he was so grateful to have her as a friend, despite the small hiccup around February.

For some reason, his heart was starting to beat faster whenever she looked at him a certain way. Vera was no help figuring it out, and the Librarian just told him to ask Remus. So, James did.

Quite a lot of meditative therapy was needed for James and Vera after getting that explanation; said meditation not only resulted in firmly establishing Wyne as a friend first and foremost, that time spent Listening to the world included speaking at greater length with Shaman Jander in the Fade, though, so it was a win-win all around.

Wind was everywhere on Gaia; if her breath touched it, some song would come from it, carrying news of events mundane and grand away to far-off places, where those who could hear the tidings could listen. The tale of a cavern being touched by light for the first time, a bird's flight through the air, the story of a person's life, and the long slow breath of a mountain forest; in the Wind, all were heard, and all were equal.

But it was also dangerous: to Listen to the Winds was to use magic like the very first Shamans among humanity, who lived in an age long before Lost Atlantis was even a glimmer of an idea in human consciousness. In a way, Listening was magic at its most quintessential, as it allowed the soul to communicate with the world around it in ways that the physical body never could; in fact, Listening was the basis behind the invention of the first magical foci, like wands and staffs.

And it was still one of the most dangerous forms of magic… because, to Listen to the world, a Shaman would need more than the blessing of Gaia; even with it, the risk of losing ones' mind on opening it to everything was very real.

After all, one only needed to look at the night sky to understand that there was a whole lot of stuff making up everything.

Until being instructed by Jander, both James and Vera had been using their ability to Listen at a very small scale; they both knew trying to listen to everything was both really distracting and kinda painful – the headaches definitely weren't worth the effort involved.

After Jander the Sky-Sailor taught them, the Shaman and kitsune knew how to aim their Listening, how to Listen for specific notes out of the cacophony that was nature and focus on them. They could hear Melfina and Sir Vileclaw talking about old, happy stories from their past over tea, and they could hear Wyne admitting her happiness to Shepherd in the seal-like language of the Selkies.

They could feel the breath of Mother Earth, deep and loving even with all the pollution and dust of Mundane Man, exhaling slowly further south and inhaling further north, as had been the case since time immemorial.

And, deep under the Manor, there was the hissing breath of all-consuming thirst, clawing at their senses with each raspy, rattling noise.

With a shudder and a lot of blinking, James came back to himself and shook off the last fuzziness of his meditation; next to him, Vera yawned and smacked her chops and stretched out before glaring at a point in the middle distance. Next to her, James stood up, picking up his staff and coming upright with a grunt and a frown.

From their vantage atop one of the Manor's roofs, they had a great view of Rivendell in the full bloom of spring. Gleaming emerald trees as far as the eye could see, only broken by a pillar of white smoke where Sir Vileclaw's hill was, the scents of Faerie-tended flowers on the wind accompanied by the fresh scent of the nearby Merrow Pond, and a lightly smoky smell from the kitchens; to the pair's noses, it'd likely be fish and salad for lunch. Even in the light of day, there was a silver gleam just beyond the library tower, in the center of the Gardens where the Sapling grew; and not far, the Willow had a small stream of light smoke, from a fire made of dried leaves in its small oven – currently making a loaf of Egyptian honey bread – the breeze carrying the white wisps North toward the Thestral Glade with its dark evergreens. And then, of course, there was the Great Walnut in the middle of the Manor, and the colossal forest surrounding the hidden, magical valley.

James completed his turn, and frowned in frustration, eyes narrowed as he stared at the light plume rising from the trees, marking where Sir Vileclaw's house was.

Vera scratched a claw behind an ear and grumbled, "Ya think she knows about it?"

Knowing she was talking about the thirst far under the Manor, James replied, "I can't see why she wouldn't be able to hear it. This is her house, after all."

"I'm actually surprised I can only hear it while Listening with you," Vera admitted with a huff, turning around and bounding over to a hole in the roof; joining her, James stared into the dark waters three floors below. Vera clicked her tongue, "I mean, I'm Water. If anything's down there, I should be able to Sense it easily."

Crouching at the brim, James thought furiously, recalling all the lessons on dangerous magical creatures, both from Uncle Remus and Lady Lisanna, and then applying what he knew about Shaman magic to it. "We know a few things. It has magic and life, otherwise it wouldn't stand out like that. And while it isn't poison to the land like the revenant, it's still not something anyone should try to mess with."

Vera kicked briefly at her ear, and asked, "So, tell Landlady?"

James nodded solemnly, standing up and tapping his staff to summon Yavanna, "Yup, tell Landlady."

.
[..|..]
.​

When James and Vera – plus the Triplets – got to the hill-home out on the grounds, Lady Melfina and Sir Vileclaw were, respectively, painting and carving a vase in the Goblin's home. The same vase. It looked like it was coming along well, but James was on a mission.

On relating what he and Vera felt under the Manor, Melfina just smiled a little, "Sense that, do you? Don't worry about it, James; I know what it is."

Sir Vileclaw grunted and grumbled, without looking up from his carving, a relief of the Great Walnut, "Ancient vampire, that; we found out it was there not long after I arrived. The Merrow could only unearth so much rubble, and while they're great swimmers, they're not so great diggers; plus, part of the Roman villa the Manor was built on was still airtight, so Lisa forbade anyone from digging into its walls. Nobody wanted it flooded by accident."

"Once Vile showed up, we made a concentrated effort, with the Griffon's help, to move some of the rubble and unblock a few rooms; mostly bedrooms, but a couple rooms here and in Lisa's tower have some of the artifacts we found," Melfina reported with a small, wry smile as she painted some Faeries around an image of Walnut Manor's East Tower. "But then we found out what was lurking underneath; we slapped plenty of wards on the access point and haven't been back down since."

"An ancient vampire, though?" Vera asked, really confused, "I mean, have you tried talking to him?"

"Not that easy, once they've been starved of blood for long enough," Vile grumbled; clearing his throat, he went on, "See, a blood-starved vampire's one thing; they're feral, like a Werewolf on the full moon only worse. Generally, Werewolves hate bright lights and noise; s'why they don't go after the Muggles. Blood-starved vamps, though, they don't care; they'll do anything to slake their thirst.

"Leave it for long enough, though, starve the vamp long enough, and they become something else entirely, a being that knows nothing, feels nothing, but the need to feed. Curse-Breakers call those types a Hunger; I just call 'em nightmare fuel." Sir Vileclaw, who James heard sometimes sparred with the Griffons – when he was younger, but still – shivered, mouth twisting in disgust.

Landlady took over before he could start ranting, concluding lightly, "Essentially, it's a magic-resistant humanoid with half-meter-long claws that cause necrosis, and is extremely fast, especially in close quarters; it has night vision, skin that can turn aside enchanted weapons but not Goblin steel, is about as physically strong as the average revenant, and can drain a full-grown man dry in less than three seconds. About its only weaknesses are high-tier light-creating spells – ask Remus about those – and the fact that it is about as intelligent as a moth; in other words, as long as it doesn't smell blood, it won't move at all.

"So there it sits," Melfina concluded, gesturing in the direction of the Manor, "and will sit, for at most another hundred years. Eventually, without anything to feed upon, it'll simply crumble to dust; a quiet, and most importantly bloodless, end."

Taking all that information in, James hummed and, seeing Landlady's expectant gaze, nodded, "Okay, so we just leave it alone."

She nodded, "Leave it alone. Even Hungers eventually die; according to this stump-face," Sir Vile just grinned fondly at Landlady's cheeky remark, "none have been discovered that're over 1700 years old."

"Hmm; if they never get fed, they just turn to dust. And trust me, it's easier to leave it be than just kill it," Vileclaw nodded curtly and returned to his carving.

"It's in a lot of pain, though," Vera kicked the floor of the workshop with a paw, James nodding along with her; the thirst the Hunger felt was… unique. The closest comparison from any of his past lives – what few he could commune with – was dehydration; but even that was a pale shadow before what a Hunger felt.

"The same pain of the revenant?" Landlady asked with a raised eyebrow, paused in the act of painting; at James and Vera's eventual head-shakes, Melfina nodded sharply, "Then we leave it be, James. There is no soul in it but what it feeds on, and while it can't walk in the Sun, I don't want to take the chance of it harming Rivendell; in a fight, it's actually more dangerous than the revenant was. It was only because Vile here noticed the claw marks on the wall that we didn't run into it; so, until that happy day when you're ready, stay clear."

"I will, Landlady," when his sister didn't reply, James nudged her with his foot.

Huffing, she flicked her tails dismissively, "I'll stay out too; not like there's any water down there, anyway."

"Focus on something else, young'uns. Like learnin' about magic, or history… ah, now there's an idea," Vileclaw grumbled, before pointing in a direction behind James, but further under the hill, "Here, if you're going to be in my house, make yourselves useful: there's some Late-Akkadian clay tablets over in Room 12; see if you can decipher some of em."

And off the pair went, with eager grins on their faces. Shaman Khepri knew just about every language ever written, as she'd once studied at the Great Library; even better, there were Akkadian tablets! James knew, from his learning of history, that the Akkadian Empire once held Babylon as a protectorate city-state; maybe they'd find something about the Arborists!

Back with Melfina and Vileclaw, the Landlady watched them go and smiled at her partner, "That was nice of you."

Vile huffed, but smiled slightly nonetheless as he focused on smoothing out a section of bark on his tree carving, "It's best they're kept busy. And it isn't like Lisa knows how to read Cuneiform."

"As if you can," Mel riposted.

Vileclaw chuckled under his breath, "Why do ya think I had the lad do it? Better him figure out what they are, then send em to Lisa's Library, than lettin' em rot in my tomb forever."

"Oh, so I'm building you a tomb when you cark it?"

"Would be mighty fine if ya did," Goblins rarely gave members of other races warm looks, but Vile loved Mel, so he gave her the warmest he could

She blushed and laughed lightly, "I will have to draw up some plans, but later. Now, come; I want Cookie's present ready before his party."

With a pleased hum, they returned to their work… for all of ten minutes, which was when James returned at a run, making them both look up from their work. James managed to stop before slamming into Vileclaw, however, and, with a face that clearly showed he was trying not to burst into tears… bowed.

Then he hugged Vileclaw and said, in a heartfelt voice, "Thank you," before releasing him and saying to Melfina, who was blinking confusedly at the exchange; the lad was just about vibrating with energy, "May I borrow some paper, Landlady?"

"Lisa should have some; but- James!" she called after him as he whirled around and sprinted from the room, "What was on the tablets?!"

"They're a record of Babylon's founding and the first Arborists!" he yelled back, voice dopplering at the end as Yavanna's presence departed back toward the manor.

"Huh," Melfina clicked her tongue and turned a suspicious gaze on Vile, who looked fairly poleaxed by the information, "What an improbable coincidence."

"Nothing more, I assure you; those tablets came from a dredging operation at the Tigris' headwaters. They were too worn and cracked for the Ministry to want to keep 'em, so I spent some time restoring 'em between jobs," sighing, Vileclaw returned to his work, though there was a definite straightening of his back and twinkle in his eyes. "How about that… old, useless Vileclaw uncovering a bit of the eldest history; some of my relatives would just hate that."

"A pleasing mental image, I take it?"

"Ah, just the best."

Grinning just as wide, showing off her gleaming, sharp teeth, Melfina returned to her painting, paying especial attention to detailing the robes Cookie, front and center, was wearing.

In her heart, however, she let her mind wander toward other ideas… if she sent a letter to old Dumbles through Remus – who wasn't as clever as he thought he was – would she be able to rent a column in one of the local papers? Ah yes, a section on gardening, written by a Faerie, would certainly liven up the dull and uninteresting lives of the British Wizarding World.

And, even better, it was a way for Dumbledore to pay the Walnut Court for raising Harry Potter…

.
[..|..]
.​

Far from Walnut Manor, in a house whose residents knew nothing of Rivendell or the Walnut Manor's existence, the girl who was known to that vale's residents as 'Jean' paid the owl on her windowsill for the paper. It smartly flew off, and for good reason: the owl in her room was giving the fleeing barn owl one hard glare for daring to intrude on her territory, nevermind try to fraternize with her human.

But Hermione Jean Granger, with her overbite, bushy amber hair, and brown, freckled face all full of wistful wonder, didn't notice; she was too busy checking headlines, becoming more excited for her regular columns, and remembering the day she found magic…

.

Blinking at the people in odd robes going into a pub, Hermione read the sign and asked her Mum, who was driving, "Mum? What kind of pub's the Leaky Cauldron?"

"The what?" Dad asked, looking back at Hermione.

She pointed over her shoulder, "The pub we just passed, with all the people outside it. So colorful, I dunno how you missed it."

Her parents exchanged a glance, and Mum pulled over, "Can't see it, even in the rearview mirror."

Dad sighed and unbuckled himself, "Hope they're nice as that little town in Lorraine."

It wasn't the first time Hermione had seen something her parents couldn't, having bicycled through a town her parents had trouble remembering, last year while on holiday in France, but it was the first time they'd seen such an oddity in London; if they hadn't been for their driving home from a visit to the British Museum, odds are they might've never coasted by the magical pub – at least, not for a few years.

But that day, the Granger family found the Leaky Cauldron, and, after a rather unexpected shopping trip, they learned three things.

First was that magic was quite alive and more-or-less well in Britain, as well as the rest of the world. So the bookshop suggested; however, the Grangers didn't have the local currency.

Second was that Goblins were as excellent at negotiation as they were at discreetly banking with "Muggles"; an extension was set up from Grangers bank account to a vault designated for their daughter, all without paying too many fees, while Hermione admired the halberds, armors, banners, and exquisitely unique architecture of Gringotts Bank, with its bas-reliefs and frescoes of battle, mining, and banking.

Thirdly was that Hermione generated magic naturally, and was therefore a Witch, a human who could perform magic; furthermore, as a "Muggleborn" Witch, she was automatically enrolled at a private magic-focused school in Scotland, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

While this peeved Hermione somewhat – as there was no mention of mundane classes – the opening door of an entire separate world's worth of history and magic, complete with her new favorite shopping center, ensured this disappointment was short-lived. Extremely so, seeing as she used her life savings to buy an owl – her snowy owl, who was named Hedwig – as soon as she could convert the money to Galleons.

Because MAGIC WAS REAL, and she was going to learn everything about it!

.

Nearly a year later, Hermione, having just turned 11, already had a subscription to both of Britain's magical newspapers, The Quibbler and The Daily Prophet. The Prophet was useful for local and international news, but mostly focused on sports and politics.

The Quibbler, Hermione mostly read for the Rune Puzzles by Pandora Lovegood, the Gardening section by Melfina Millsbury, and the Weekly Bestiary of Rare Creatures by Xenophilius Lovegood; they were certainly a better expenditure of Hermione's time than reading about Quidditch matches, or the near-defunct magical elements of the Ottoman Empire trying to push other nations around.

And wasn't that quite the coup! Hermione never thought the "official" paper would be more mind-numbing than the "joke" publication; at least the Quibbler did its best to not editorialize when it went on about the news.

Around the young girl, her room reflected her studious nature; bookshelves packed almost to overflowing with books – alphabetized, and ordered by subject – notebooks and reference texts neatly arranged on a desk against one wall, and a big comfy bed that was half-surrounded by stacks of books, most of which came from Flourish and Blott's, the magical bookstore on Diagon Alley. And lastly…

A bark shook Hermione from her reading about acquiring, planting, and caring for Dawn Lotuses. Looking up, she saw Hedwig, her snowy owl, giving her an expectant look.

"…oh! I'm sorry for forgetting, Hedwig," Hermione scrambled back out of bed and ran for her desk, and the mini fridge under one side of it. "The paper just got here, and you know how much I like Ms. Milsbury's gardening column."

Hedwig replied with an even screech, then rustled her feathers and stooped on her perch, getting ready to lunge as Hermione set a plate on an empty part of her desk, and filled it with shredded raw bacon.

Hermione rolled her eyes with a huff, "Once I've got some saved up, yes of course I'll be starting a gardening bed. Most Magical plants are too dangerous to keep around, but Ms. Milsbury knows of a few… I wish she posted her contact info though, honestly." Shaking her head, she gestured at the plate and got out of her owl's way, "Have at it, Hedwig."

As Hedwig lunged and began tearing mercilessly into her helpless prey, Hermione opened a window so Hedwig could "go walkies" after dinner. She'd worried, those first weeks, that Hedwig might not come back if left to roam on her own, but that worry had been needless. Hedwig had come right back to perch on Hermione's arm, nibble her ear, and generally just be a fluffy friend…

The bushy-haired soon-to-be Witch blew out a breath from her nose, and pulled at the cord around her neck, tugging out the attached hemp-wrapped stone so she could fiddle with it.

It was a pathetic thing to think that Hedwig was only the second real friend Hermione ever had.

Her first friend was the one who'd shown her that adventures weren't just things that happened in books. They could be real, and scary, and fun, like when they went on that day trip to South Downs, and fought the Black Badger of Buster Hill for the Eye of St. George's Dragon…

The Eye, which was what hung from Hermione's neck, rubbed even more smooth by her fingers, than the stream they found it in had done for centuries. An orb of natural black-gold gneiss, it had seemed so much bigger, five years past; it was still a large example, big as her eye, and was an exquisite color according to a mineralogist her dad knew…

'But I'd trade it, and all my books, and never go to school again,' Hermione thought, pressing the stone to her face and wishing, with all her heart, 'I'd give everything, everything, just to tell James about magic.'

Oh, the Magic laws said she wasn't supposed to, but that was one thing; her first friend ever, James, was in a different category, and if they were still around each other…

She wouldn't be so lonely, but what else? They hadn't known each other long at all; her councilor pointed that out a lot, after she changed schools and became melancholy for losing her only friend. And surely she'd make other friends, and move on with life.

But she hadn't. Made friends, that is. Or moved on; discovering magic, the odd things that happened when she got cross, those only emboldened Hermione's adventurous side, made her realize that the world was bigger and more impressive than she or – most – anyone else knew.

So, Hermione was excited to go to Hogwarts, to learn more about Magic, maybe even make friends…

Yet, after reading the columns, washing up, and nuzzling Hedwig goodnight, she still wished James was there, so she could tell him about magic and, maybe, go on one last adventure with him…

.
[..|..]
.​

Sitting in the glade where, more than a year ago, he'd brought Yavanna into the world, 10-year-old James Stormcaller sat cross-legged at the edge of the bowl-shaped depression, running his fingers over his Shaman's Rattle and… contemplating the past year.

Autumn was only just beginning to set in, heralded with slightly cooler breezes and different pitches of birdsong. The leaves of Rivendell's trees were only starting to yellow and brown; already, in his moments of meditation, James could hear the Wind singing the beautiful and sharp opera of the approaching Winter, snows already falling in Scotland's most northern reaches.

A warm smile spread across James' face. After the past year, he knew the coming Winter would be filled with music, warmth, and happiness for all of Rivendell and Walnut Manor.

In the Spring, with Lisanna and Cookie's help, he, Vera and Yavanna had covered most of the remaining holes in the Manor's roof with living vines and trees. Seeds, songs, and willpower; those were what, according to Gregory the Occamy Gardener, what the Arborists of Babylon used to ensure the beauty of the Hanging Gardens. Together, with Landlady, they spread their work all over the grounds of Rivendell, from the cattails around the Merrow Pond to the glades where the Griffons spent most of the year.

While he was proud of their work, and marveled at the Gardens of Walnut Manor, James knew in his heart and head that Babylon's legendary city-wide gardens would put this little corner of the world to shame. But he still took pride in his work, shaping some of the yew, walnut and oak trees growing from the roof of the Manor into the silhouettes of animals – much to the trees' delight – and walking through the copse of evergreen trees where the Thestrals lived, helping flowers and mushrooms bloom as he walked with Yavanna.

James had also – under Vera's expert instruction – become rather good at manipulating water; he couldn't quite make ice spears like she could yet, but as long as he was near a stream or small body of water, anyone trying to mess with him would get a rude awakening in the form of snowballs, water-whips, and blasts of hailstones. A jerk of the staff, and a tone in his throat, and he could manipulate water almost as well as Vera – in his eyes, anyway; his foxy sister still thought he was a novice.

In truth, James' skill with artifice, Listening, and Herbology were miles ahead of his Water manipulation, but he and Vera both figured that was because he hadn't communed with the Shaman of Water in the Fade yet. Despite their promises, James wasn't able to contact the Shamans of Earth or Water yet, both Khepri – Fire – and Jander – Wind – telling him and Vera that they weren't ready; of course, James and Vera asked why.

Khepri replied, "You are yet young, your minds fleeting from one subject to the next. Yes, you are both quite focused in your duties regardless, but some lessons taught by we Shamans are not for children. Be patient, for neither Shamans of Earth or Water are swift to trust or speak; in their own time, and in your own growth, you will know them one day."

Jander's response was, "Fire and Wind, while everlasting, are the more forgetful of the Elements; from land to land, volcano to hurricane, they seldom stay in one place long, always finding a new curiosity to hold their attention. Earth is slow to move, slow to trust, and slow to forget; there is little the Earth, the Soil of Life, has forgotten in its many layers. And while you are of Water, Vera, tell me truthfully… are not the deepest depths frightening to you? The Ocean is almost as old as Gaia, the Soul of the World herself; it is the Eternal Witness, for there is nowhere in this world Water has not touched. Learn of both, the world and its waters, do so patiently, and you will know the final two Shamans."

They both spoke wisdom, reiterating in James' thoughts just how small he really was, even as a Shaman.

The world was at his fingertips, but he alone couldn't hold the whole of it; no one could, and the memories of most Shamans – those not aligned with Water or Earth – whispered that trying to comprehend the entire world, all of Gaia…

Well, he didn't want to hurt himself again.

James fidgeted, and resisted the urge to mess with the small objects sitting on a square piece of faded blue brocade.

Instead, he looked more closely at the pool of water in the bowl where Yavanna was born, and worried.

"Calm, James," Melfina, sitting cross-legged nearby with her eyes closed, told him in a serene voice, "Keep your thoughts on the task at hand."

He nodded, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself, and focused on the pool of water.

One might think, with so shallow a divot and the Sun high in the sky, James would be able to see the pool's grassy bottom, but that wasn't the case; minutes ago, he'd sang at its edges with Vera, Melfina lending her fiddle and Yavanna her tails.

Water ever flowing, fathoms unseen,
deep-to-deep, pool-to-pool,
lake-to-lake, stream-to-stream,
sea-to-sea, a toll of blue!

An aquamarine, part of Sir Vileclaw's collection, had been tossed in the then-shallow pool.

It didn't touch the bottom.

Land-to-land, glade-to-glade,
knoll-to-barrow, isle-to-bay,
height-to-edge, we swim to thee!
Toll is paid, show us the way!

And then the shallow pool of water deepened in the center, plunging down, down, into a blackness that chilled James' heart, but made Vera whoop with laughter at their success; they'd succeeded in using a type of magic only Water kitsune and various types of Fae were known to use. The art of League Swimming.

When used properly, it allowed a being to swim from one body of water to another, anywhere in the world; the catch – because, as Melfina made sure he knew, "Magic always has a catch" – was that the art was useless to anyone who didn't have a strong Water alignment. James' alignment, Vera assured him, was very strong.

Which made a sort of sense, as he'd been able to bring small rain showers on occasion; there was a few weeks, during the Summer, where it didn't rain. A quick song and dance fixed that right up, though.

As to why he and Vera were performing a League Swimming pool… well…

James felt his Bond start to swell, along with a feeling of delight. His lips curled into a small smile as he watched the water, saying aloud, "Vera's coming back. I think she found it."

It was very slight, but he noticed Melfina's shoulders droop minutely as she relaxed, "Good. I'm glad it was a success."

"And that you don't have to go rescue her?" James grinned, feeling more of Vera coming closer and closer, and with her, her mischievous nature.

Melfina barked out a single laugh, seafoam eyes glinting with mirth, "More that I don't have to do her job for her… but yes," her gaze softened as the water in the pool began to look less shallow, "I am glad she's alright."

'Me too,' James thought with a squirm of discomfort; it was the longest he and Vera had been parted since they Bonded in the River Yew Circle.

Barely a second later, his world was squirming white fur and giggling as Vera glomped him, "You missed me, you missed me! Ha-ha-ha! My Shaman missed his kitsune!"

"I missed my sister," James corrected, hugging Vera tight, getting a three-tailed hug and wet-nosed nuzzle of affection in return. Holding her at arm's length – and ignoring Landlady's grin – James asked, "Did you get it?"

"Yep!" Vera yipped, her tails twisting just so, and out popped a thick twig, long as James' forearm, smelling strongly of resin. The butt of the twig revealed the interior: a yellow bordering on gold.

Vera puffed her chest out proudly as another item, a cone, popped out of thin air to balance on a tail, much to Landlady's interest.

"One branch of Lebanese cedar, and one cone, both freshly fallen from one of the older trees," Vera chuckled lowly while tossing the cone to Landlady, adding, "And boy, do the wood golems in that forest mean business."

"Wood golems… Vera," James looked up from the twig, a cold feeling dripping down his back, "did you take these from a forest surrounded by inscribed stones?"

"Eh, maybe?" Vera shrugged, squinting at nothing before blinking in realization. "Ooooh… I think I might've come out in a pond near Mount Lebanon."

Melfina's jaw was hanging open, the Landlady of the Walnut Court looking between kitsune and evergreen cone in disbelief, and with good reason, "You… took these… from the Kadisha Cedars?!"

The Kadisha Valley, near Mount Lebanon, was home to the oldest remaining cedars as described in the oldest stories, spoken of in both The Epic of Gilgamesh and Torah. The 'wood of the gods' to that ancient people, seeds were taken and preserved in Babylon, while the forests in Lebanon were cut by nobles who wished for their palaces to be made from the golden wood. In modern times, the Kadisha Cedars were the oldest surviving examples, with half protected rigorously by the Muggle government of Lebanon, while the Magical half was patrolled by golems and wizards, with a Goblin outpost nearby.

To think Vera snuck into the Magical half, and got away with a branch and a cone…

"Well, James said the oldest cedars near Water the spell could find, and I wound up there!" Vera protested as James felt his respect for her grow, if that was even possible! His sister was so awesome.

"It's… fine, Vera," James told her truthfully, caressing the precious and rare wood in his hands, feeling the echo of Life and Age thrum deep within its rings. "You took them from the ground, which makes them freely-given gifts from Gaia."

"So it's good?" Vera asked, looking between her Shaman and the Landlady, who still seemed stunned by the seed cone held in her green-tipped claws.

"…yes." Melfina said at last, softly, gently caressing the cone like the precious gift it was, before shaking herself from her stupor. "Yes, this is… beyond all expectations, Vera. Once you and James are done here, we'll bring this to Gregory," her Fae grin was back, "I'm sure he'll be overjoyed, and the other Gardeners will likely fight over the privilege of aiding him in its growth."

Bumping a fist with Vera, James turned to the cloth lying next to him, and the reason he needed a branch of cedar: he was making a wand.

On the cloth was everything he needed: the cedar twig, a polished, round sea-green opal from the Manor Gardens, the knife Dudley threw out all those years ago, a stone bowl, a small jar of special wood stain Remus sent him via owl, and James' Rattle.

James steadied his breathing, in through his nose, out through his mouth, and picked up the knife and twig.

He'd studied the books, made some mock-up wands under Landlady and Librarian's attention. Cookie, the third Scribe, traded the opal for a few threads of cloth dipped in James' blood – so he could be tied into the wards of Rivendell, and so totems could be made if he brought friends over… if he made friends, at Hogwarts.

Most important of all was the core, one of Gregory the Occamy's feathers.

"You're ready, James, Harry," Melfina said softly, a hundred miles away as James bent all his attention on the twig in his hands, feeling the desire within it, the need to not stagnate, to become something more.

Nodding as he saw the item take shape in his mind – and smirking as Vera licked his cheek in affection – James set the knife against the wood, and began to carve.

.
[..|..]
.​

Far from Britain and the happenings there, in the deep dark of a jungle valley where no man dared tread, soil and grass shifted as something stirred.

For miles around, birds and beasts fled like mad, a primal instinct at the back of their minds screaming for them to fly, fly and save yourselves!

The stirring beast paid them no heed; long had it slept, as mortals counted the years, for though it was older than any calendar in use, time passed no more quick or slow for it than any other sapient being.

A hiss came from a knoll where no trees ever grew, deep in the valley where little light touched, moss and soil sloughing off reptilian scales the size of compact cars. The owner of the scales shook itself, sending an avalanche of soil and stone to the jungle floor, and flicked a forked tongue at the air.

And yet, it did not taste the air. Rather, it tasted magic, flowing along the leylines beneath the world, the ancient-beyond-ancient rails on which every continent moved.

Flick-flick went the tongue again, followed by a deep, hissing hum of amusement.

Another flick, this one snapping at the air, and the monstrosity spoke.

§Tom…oh, Tommy… I senssse you have returned.§

A long moment passed, before an answering hiss, high and cold, replied from thin air, §My lady, it isss an honor to hear your voicsse.§

§Ssspare me the platitudesss. Have you a body of your own? §

§Nay, my lady. I have possssessssed a weak-willed Wizard. He knowsss, my lady: the Philosopher's Stone, it will be at Hogwartsss.§

The monstrosity laughed, and had any mortal Man been within hearing distance of it, they would surely have lost control of their bladder, so terrible and purely evil was the laugh.

§Foolisssh boy! Flamel would never let it out of hisss sssight; nay. It isss bait, for the child who sssurvived you returnsss to the fold.§

§Potter.§ the servant of the Dark's hiss made several nearby flowers wilt and die. §He will be the catylissst for my resssurrection-§

§No.§

Silence followed the "lady's" refusal. No bird sang, no animal called, no insect so much as moved.

§…no? My lady… he isss a child!§

§Do you doubt my wisdom, child? Do you doubt Death, little flying sssnake of mine?§

§…what ssshall I do, then? Thisss body will not lassst long enough, and hasss not the connectionsss, to grant me new flesssh.§

The monstrosity grinned, teeth dripping liquid death that turned the soil grey.

§Go to Hogwartsss. Obssserve the child, Harry Potter. Your current ssskin, ssshed it once itsss usssefulnesss isss at an end.§

§And if I can kill the child?§

§Do not do ssso openly, and you will not incur my wrath, little Tommy. Now, go. Do your lady'sss bidding.§

The monstrosity's tail tip snapped in the air like a whip. Motes of grey light burst from an invisible point, but the creature paid them no heed.

Instead, its fell maw opened wide as it snapped out and bit into a nearby tree; with a horrible sucking sound – and a scream, unheard by mortal ears, as the tree's life was drained – the beast drained the life from the old tree, which rotted and cracked miserably as it died.

Around the edges of the clearing, deep in the dark valley where little sunlight ever touched, other trees, just as dead, creaked in the rare breeze that touched the clearing.

Its meal finished, the monster chuckled and returned to its coiled state, preparing to sleep once more, its lone eye, yellow like nothing else in the world, opening in a delighted slit.

'Soon,' thought Shiva, the First Basilisk, 'Soon…'

[..\|/..]

.

.

.

End of Book 1

.

.

.​

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Welcome, one and all, to the story that comes after James Stormcaller and the Walnut Court. If you haven’t read that story, GO DO THAT FIRST.

Sit back, relax, and enjoy.

[\|/]
.
[..|..]
.​

The London Alleys

As with most major European cities, London holds its own Magical District. Unlike the Parisian Le Dédale, the London Alleys are both a relatively newer construction, and situated aboveground.

Prior to their founding, the name “Alley” in London could mean a great many places when referencing a Magical locale, whether it be a store off the beaten path, or a clothiers. For instance, the Alley in The Grays wasn’t the same Alley in Greenwich, and neither offered the same services or wares. This haphazard layout served two purposes: firstly, it encouraged a diverse market of Magical wares, as with no centralized or large market no one Alley could corner a whole business, and secondly, it made the Mundane population feel safer; smaller businesses in small clusters were seen as more approachable, in the days before the Statute. This also meant the local Chemist might also house the neighborhood Potion Master.

However, as England became more and more involved in the wider world, so did that nation’s simultaneous increase of trade and, consequently, tourism. Both Mundane and Magical were, understandably, vexed by the seemingly unordered nature of London’s storefronts, and more so by the confusing way the Alleys were laid out; while the Mundane markets were mostly easy to find, figuring out which Alley one wanted to go to was like rolling dice, with no guarantee the Alley you ended up in was the Alley you needed.

Of course, where money goes, crime follows, and after nearly a century of conflict with France, on top of the ruinous Crusades, foreigner and local both were fed up with the confusing way in which the Alleys were set up. To wit, once the Hundred Years’ War was concluded, the Crown released some money into the Magical community, to the end of creating a full Magical district that would cater to both residential and commercial needs.

Thus, the Four Alleys were born.

Founded in the late-15^th Century by Daisy Dodderidge, Gawain Ollivander, Antares Black, and Solaire Dagworth, the Four Alleys contain the largest (by area) Magical Quarter in Europe. Each Alley is a combination of residential and commercial housing – sometimes combined – and each has its own cultural flavor. Please note that the word Alley is a misnomer; each of the modern-day Alleys are districts of the Four Alleys Quarter, as it is known in official records.

The Dodderidge Alley – now known as Diagon Alley – is the most well-known of the Four Alleys, as it holds on its narrow lanes the more “publicly acceptable” stores; that is, the businesses there are both the most legally sound, and the most expensive. This also extends to rental properties and the price of real estate. Ollivander’s, the oldest wandmaker in Britain, has its flagship store in this Alley, which is also home to the England branch of Gringotts. It is also the recommended Alley for back-to-school shopping; some French students of Beauxbatons Academy even make the trip for quality Potions supplies, as The Diagon Apothecary is one of the best in Western Europe.

The Black Alley – now Knockturn Alley – was initially intended for lower-income workers and university student housing, with start-up businesses planned for its storefronts; the intention was to encourage economic diversification while simultaneously creating jobs that could network to other nations. Unfortunately, with two European Dark Lords rising after the Hundred Years’ War, combined with the Statute of Secrecy removing all combined Mundane/Magical classes from Oxford, this plan fell by the wayside. Knockturn Alley is now seen as the “seedier” of the Four Alleys, both in terms of its business and the demeanor of its residents.

Ollivander Alley – now Orthogon Alley – is the least well-known of the Alleys, mainly because – due to a Magical accident in 1765 – it is impossible to enter without already knowing where it is, accidentally entering it, or receiving directions from someone who has been there. Of the Four Alleys, it is arguably the liveliest, as its neighborhoods contain more public parks than the other Alleys, as well as more theaters and music halls; there is even a Mundane-style movie theater – The Golden Ticket – which plays older films on a clockwork reel.

Dagworth Alley – now Latter Alley – has a reputation among the British Wizarding community that is similar to Knockturn Alley’s, though for a different reason. Latter Alley hosts the largest community of Werewolves in the British Isles, and the largest population of same outside a certified Sanctuary. As anyone familiar with Magical Britain will know, most of the population is notoriously hateful of those affected by the Scourge of Herpo, to the point where open discrimination is not unheard of. Despite this, Latter Alley has the most diverse selection of businesses to choose from out of the Four Alleys, most of said business being foreign imports, specialists trades, and “exotic” foodstuffs – that is, all of the Alley’s restaurants have non-human or demi-human menus on hand.

Each of the Four Alleys is 2km-square, and has its own external entrance to Mundane London – Orthogon and Latter Alleys have three such entrances, located at their external corners and outer midpoints – which initially facilitated ease of access while simultaneously keeping the Magical and Mundane worlds somewhat separate, and therefore slightly safer. A fascinating note is that the entrances do not conform to the shape of the Four Alleys Quarter; each entrance is located where, once, there was a major Alley of old London. Thus, one can enter Latter Alley from its corner entrance in Barking, and leave from its Orthogon-side entrance in Slough.

Some scholars have pointed out that the Four Alleys should not be able to fit inside London, as the whole Quarter has an area of 16 kilometers, or 4km-squared. This is true; such an expanse should not be possible to hide from the Mundane world without pointed questions being asked.

Which leads to the most interesting fact about the Alleys: while they were built within the London of this Mundus, they do not occupy the same space as our Earth. Rather, the Four Alleys Quarter exists in a parallel timeline where humanity – and most life on Earth – does not exist. This phenomenon was accomplished by repurposing a type of Magical practice known as Gate Creation, the art of accessing the Spiritual Realms. While fascinating, the ICW has unanimously banned further exploration of alternate timelines, as the risks involved outweigh potential gains; in the Four Alleys’ case, however, there are only benefits.

-from A Comprehensive and Definitive Guide to Great Britain’s Magical and Mundane Locations Throughout History, by Justinian Boor (©Fredericks and Sachs LTD, 1964)

.
[..|..]
.​

“Unplottable, shmonplottable! Someone needs to make a map of this damnable warren!”
-a common statement made by visitors to the Four Alleys

.
[..|..]
.​

To: Department Head Jotun
From: Field Agent Mica

The survey is complete. Our team lead and five others were lost, but we managed to get the best idea of what’s in there since Enchanted became Forbidden. From the area just beyond Hogwarts’ grounds to Ground Zero, the composition is as follows:

Target: old-growth magical forest bordering Hogwarts Castle. Forest is invariably tall, ancient trees with rocky terrain; clearings are rare, streams are common. Area is corrupted by [blacked out] the effects of which have spread slowly from a Ground Zero.

Outer Ring: Fauna includes unicorns, red caps, lesser Faerie, Centaur, various Mundane and Magical wildlife. Flora is nettle and creeper vines. Corruption is faint but noticeable, especially at night.

Middle Ring: Fauna includes wyverns, manticores, acromantula hive. The last’s origin is believed to be Rubeus Hagrid. Flora becomes esoteric in nature, almost entirely hostile. Corruption is obvious, but managed by local groups.

Inner Ring: Very little fauna, almost exclusively Dark and hostile; squad theta discovered a series of crags on the Hogsmeade side that were free of taint, yet played host to an isolated group of humanoid chimera; chimera were hostile to approach, squad theta accounted for three of our casualties. Flora is sparse shrub, mosses, grasses, some flowering plants; Faerie circles and grottos are prominent, most are abandoned and in ruins; corruption is near-total.

Ground Zero: no fauna. Little flora, and what grows is Evil. Center point is a verified psychic hazard for magic-sensitives. The source of the corruption is [blacked out]

For the love of God, sir, the castle must be evacuated and that forest burned. The knock-on effects of its proximity will [blacked out]

.

To: All
From: Department Head Jotun

The Forbidden Forest outside Hogwarts’ grounds is not for research or experimentation. The outer edges are less corrupted than the inner edges, but this is already known. The spread is contained by rune stones placed at the corruption’s source. There is no chance for the students to become corrupted, as the castle’s wards will keep the corruption at bay until the Druidic Order finds a way to cleanse the area without disturbing the wildlife.

Additionally, Field Agent Mica and all others who conducted the survey have been terminated, hospitalized, or relocated to foreign offices. As stated in their reports, the Ground Zero point is a psychic hazard, and all members of the survey team were found to have been affected. Those who experienced worse effects have been sent to the long-term Spell Damage ward of St. Mungo’s Hospital; agent names will be given on request, should the requester have some relationship with the damaged. Get Well cards and gifts will be delivered via House Elf. That is all.

-two Department of Mysteries memos
regarding a survey of Hogwarts’ infamous Forbidden Forest
1983 CE

[..|..]
.
.
.

James Stormcaller
and the
Forbidden Forest

.
.
.

Chapter 1:
Three Up, Two Across

.
.
.​

On the corner of Charing Cross Road and Newport Court, in downtown London, there was an inn that most people never looked at twice.

That’s not to say it was a poor-looking inn, far from it; the stone face of the building was always clean, and the iron frame windows flickered with the light of an inviting fireplace, especially on cold winter nights. Three stories, roofed with blue terracotta tile, its chimneys big and small puffing day and night, by all accounts the Leaky Cauldron Inn was quite the splendid sight, the centuries-old building sitting stubborn and proud amidst the hustle and bustle of London.

Or, well, it would be quite the sight, if anyone in the Muggle world could see it.

For the Leaky Cauldron was a Wizarding Inn, and catered exclusively to a lesser-known subset of humanity: Magicals. And while most people could go their whole lives and never see a Wizard or Witch, many who know Witches and Wizards know they’re not so different from Mundane, or Muggle as some say, human beings. Indeed, some scholars thought Mundane and Magical would get along quite well; on the other hand, other scholars think those scholars shouldn’t visit the pub so often.

Of course, this matters little, as an old legislation/magical geas known as The Statute of Secrecy forever separates ordinary folk from the Magical side of things. Therefore, all Wizarding establishments, from houses and inns like the Leaky Cauldron, to whole sections of cities, and even entire cities, all of it was hidden behind devious spells and enchantments.

You could go your whole life without seeing a single shred of evidence that magic exists, but it is there, always, hidden.

Thus, the only people paying the Leaky Cauldron any visits, or renting any rooms, were those who travelled from other lands to visit Magical Britain. Merchants and students and teachers, and students to be; all and sundry wandered through the door of one of London’s oldest surviving inns. And as it was August, in the year of 1991, that meant more than a few foreigners were paying the inn a visit, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Harry Potter, who was due to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Naturally, as the Leaky Cauldron was also the only way to enter Diagon Alley, Britain’s premier Magical shopping center, from Muggle London, the common room of the inn was rather full for early afternoon.

The honey floors and dark oak walls of the inn’s common room were, indeed, quite busy for the time of day. Split into two levels – back when a German bomb fell straight through the ceiling to shatter the barroom floor during the Blitz – any who entered the Cauldron would be met with a warm buzz of noise, the smell of food and tobacco, and the well-worn but cared-for wood supports and walls that’d survived far more than bombs. The Fire of London, several Dark Lords, and quite a few impromptu duels had taken place inside the walls, all of which were standing strong and resolute. A set of wooden stairs led to the second bar level, where there were more booths than tables, while another staircase, this one stone worn smooth by countless feet, led to the inn’s rooms.

Decorations and memorabilia covered the walls; no paintings – the inn’s founder, Daisy Dodderidge, disliked magical paintings – but shields commemorating battles, coins, and a wide selection of potpourri were displayed. Tables and support beams held carved messages from witches and wizards long gone and recently arrived.

Indeed, it was a welcoming inn and pub by any standard.

However, some of the locals were, understandably, wary of foreigners, and tended to keep their distance.

“Vultures, the lot of ‘em,” rumbled one Rubeus Hagrid into his mug at the bar of that most venerable inn, casting an unfriendly eye on some Turks over in a corner, smoking hookah and playing a card game. “Why they’re even allow’d up ‘ere, I’ll never know.”

Tomas Dodderidge IV – or just Tom, if you didn’t want a boot in your arse – proprietor and barman of the Leaky Cauldron, rolled his eyes at Hagrid’s mildly deserved suspicions, saying quietly to the half-giant, “Easy, Hagrid. Again, they ain’t Turks. They’re Saracens.”

The look Hagrid gave him said quite clearly the big man didn’t think that distinction made much of a difference to him, but Tom wasn’t interested in changing one of his regular’s minds. Fair, Hagrid had been in a funk for the past few years, if what Tom heard was truthful. Still, whether prejudices or Hagrid’s mood, it wasn’t a great concern of Tom’s; there were drinks to pour, rooms to rent, meal orders to shout into the kitchen – in short, there was business to conduct.

Once in a while, a child would come through the door, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and leading their shocked-looking parents by the hand. Muggleborns just accepted to Hogwarts, Tom would graciously show them to the archway leading to the back, and go through the ritual of opening the barrier to Diagon Alley for them. Happily, for each person, it only needed doing once; the barrier would analyze and ‘mark’ each person who approached and passed through the arch. After that first time, the barrier would open as they arrived at the seeming-bricks.

Tom, admittedly, was looking forward to Harry Potter’s arrival. Yes, it’d inevitably cause some hubbub, but at least then Hagrid would have something to do. Though…

“Why’d Dumbledore send you, Hagrid? Not being rude,” Tom added when the half-giant gave him a look, “just askin’. Lad like him, big man like you; boy might bolt right back out the door.”

Grumpiness disappearing instantly, Hagrid chuckled, “Ah, I en’t worried, Tom. Got it on good authority, I do. Lad’ll think I’m rather fascinating, I wager.” And he preened a bit; fair, Hagrid’s beard had been trimmed and his coat was in a bit better shape than usual, but 10 foot and change of half-giant wasn’t anything to scoff at.

Still, Hagrid was an honest bloke by anyone’s word, so, “If you say so. ‘Nother butterbeer?”

“Aye, but just a top-off. Dun wanna make a bad impression, affer all,” Hagrid grinned; his cheeks weren’t rosy at all, so Tom just topped him off, as requested.

Neither of the men noticed the door open, nor did they notice a black-haired boy with glasses, wearing a pointed hat, brown-gold robes, and carrying a malachite-topped staff, scurry past the bar. Nor did they notice the snow-white fox sticking her head out of his travelling bag, blue eyes looking around at the bar with interest.

Thus did Harry James Potter, the most recent Shaman of Gaia and student of Faerie magic, make his entrance into the Wizarding World: quietly, with no one the wiser, and his Bonded kitsune familiar, Vera, at his side – or, in his messenger bag, but same difference.

No one in the room noticed them, in fact, something which made more than a few of the rubberneckers and gawkers rather upset, and Hagrid rather worried. He’d waited all day, and Harry Potter hadn’t shown up! He’d gotten him a cake and everything!

In the end, Tom just sighed and managed his pub and inn. Maybe tomorrow…

.
[..|..]
.​

Tipping his hat up to as he looked over his shoulder, James smirked; that had been so easy! Sure, it’d just been his good ol’ Unseen ability, but he’d never used it around so many people before. At least now, after two years of being taught by Faeries, he knew it was good as any Notice-Me-Not charm.

“This is Diagon Alley?” Vera asked, squinting at the brick wall in front of them. “We had to stow away on busses all the way from Rivendell and walk through that nice but smelly bar for this?”

“It’s behind the wall, Vera. Try our Sensing,” James replied, letting his Sense ability flow outward; it rippled against the barrier… and then exploded into a world of nonsensical color!

“Yow!” Vera yipped, ducking deeper into their bag, blue eyes glaring at the bricks. “That hurt!”

Shaking his head to clear the spots in his eyes, James grimaced, “Yeah… I think it’s a False Gate to somewhere else. S’why we got whammied by the over-stimulation; our Sense can’t extend into other dimensions, unless we’re at a Circle.” He mulled on that for a second, then smirked again, “That makes sense, actually. It means nobody will know it’s here; I mean, the security’s not as great as Rivendell – you can’t even get in unless you’re really good, or know it’s there – but this is still a great barrier.”

“Could make it hurt less when ya poke it,” grumbled Vera, though she lightened up when James rubbed her ears in comfort.

“Now then…” James pulled the list Remus made for him back in April out of his pocket; on the slip of paper were step-by-step instructions on how to enter Diagon Alley, and what to do once inside. The first was a small map showing where the Leaky Cauldron was, in relation to the British Museum. Next was…

Leaning his staff forward, James tapped the bricks above a trash can, “Three up…”

With each tap, a tone, only heard in their Sense ability, rang through the barrier in front of them. Activating the Hydra, a kohl mask that allowed him to see certain types of magic, James saw the magic beneath the three bricks twist in odd ways, the symbols lining up like… like a complex lock on a door; each brick was a tumbler. With each tap, that tumbler was ‘unlocked’.

And next to that third brick… was a short ‘slider’.

“Two across…” James whispered while dragging his staff along the bricks, Vera watching with wide eyes as the ‘slider’ came to the rough center of the wall…

Which lit up with light, before each brick began to tumble, but not downward; the bricks tumbled left and right!

Before their eyes, the wall opened up into a wide archway, and as it revealed a cobblestone street, it also allowed James and Vera’s Sense ability to wash outward, letting them understand the sight they were both smiling in open-mouthed wonder at.

The street before them winded lazily into the distance, where a large white marble building stood; leading up to that building were three-story wooden buildings, all of them not quite looming over the Alley below, Diagon Alley.

Each of those wooden buildings held storefronts and businesses, offices and house accesses, and all around them were people, hundreds of people, all talking and walking and yelling about sales. Owls, eagles, and other airborne familiars watched the throngs below from metal perches built into the sides of buildings, a tall witch in a tartan robe was leading more Mundane-looking people around like a tour guide might, and messages in the form of paper birds flitted through the magic-thick air.

Air that was also thick with the smell of both humanity, and of potions, ingredients, flowers and books and stone and many, many other things besides!

James stepped into this new and exciting world… and both he and Vera felt, just beyond the archway, the light of Gaia behind them, while a different and unfamiliar world was now beneath their feet.

For the first time in its history, a Shaman was walking upon Diagon Alley, and he couldn’t help but grin widely.

“Blimey, I love magic,” James whispered to himself while walking toward the throngs, Vera looking at everything while her tongue lolled out in a big foxy grin, both kitsune and Shaman still safely Unseen to everyone.

Checking the list, James nodded sharply; best to get the unpleasant bit out of the way first, “Right. First is getting you registered officially as my familiar so nobody freaks out about you.”

That erased Vera’s grin, her ears laying back on her head as she asked waspishly, “I don’t really have to wear a collar, do I?”

James’ lips twisted in disgust, too; he really, really didn’t like it, but, “Sorry, but it’s British law, Vera. We could get in a lot of trouble if we don’t do this.”

And so James turned his feet, reluctantly, toward a small, narrow door with the words Ministry of Magic: Department of the Regulation of Magical Creatures, Familiar Registration Office painted on the glass, the small and narrow place squeezed between the Owl Emporium and the Magical Menagerie. The whole while, Vera hissed in hatred of having to wear a collar, and James did his best not to show how peeved he was at the idea.

.
[..|..]
.​

Tiffany Truffle – Noble House, half-blood, Ravenclaw alumnus – was in the middle of doing her University correspondence when the door to the Familiar Registration Office opened; she swiftly hid the Muggle papers and straightened up to greet whoever entered.

Usually, the only reason anyone came to the FRO was if they’d been insanely lucky in the Emporium or Menagerie; out of the dozens of children attending Hogwarts each year, and the hundreds who visited the Alleys from abroad, maybe five people overall would find a magical familiar. Thus, Tiffany’s job was a fairly easy, if boring, post. The last person who came through the door was a Muggleborn girl and her snowy owl, and that had been over a year ago.

Hence her University correspondence; her father might not like it, but Tiffany wanted to be a veterinarian. Anything was better than sitting bored at a dead-end job.

The current visitor to the Office was also a child, a young boy, but… there was much odd about him, in Tiffany’s eyes.

And surely, he’d be odd to anyone’s eyes! Wearing a wide-brimmed, pointed hat was, while not out of style, rather uncommon for normal people. His robe was brown with gold trim, and while well-fitted looked like it’d seen regular and rough use. Around the boy’s chest, where the robe parted, Tiffany spotted red-blue scales, saying – to the part of her mind with an Outstanding NEWT in Care of Magical Creatures – that the lad was wearing a sea-serpent hide vest, something very uncommon in the British Isles. To top the whole oddity that was the boy off, he was carrying an oak staff with a chunk of velvet-wrapped green-black stone at the top, a Casanova leather messenger bag, and his feet were clad in Muggle running shoes!

Tiffany watched, nonplussed, as the lad took off his hat, set it on the rack next to the door, and huffed before approaching her counter.

Mentally shaking herself, she smiled and greeted him, “Welcome to the Familiar Registration Office. My name is Tiffany, how may I help you?”

The lad smiled, and it was then that she noticed the glasses, the raven black hair… and a lightning-bolt shaped scar, white and faded, just above his eyebrow.

“Morning!” Harry Potter chirped at Tiffany, before continuing in a strained voice, “I’m here to register my Bonded, as required by law.”

Something about how he said that – Bonded – clicked in Tiffany’s mind, bringing her out of her state of shock, “I’m sorry, Bonded? You mean a… Spirit, yes?”

Spirit Bindings, while not illegal, were generally frowned upon by most of Magical Britain’s gentry. At best, Spirits were seen as mischievous pests or annoyances, only in the world to satisfy their own desire for merriment; at worst, some of the old families thought all Sprits were Demons, of the sort that the Dark Lords Herpo the Foul and Godelot the Reviled brought into the world.

Of course, being a Ravenclaw and deeply learned in the subject of Magical Creatures, Tiffany knew that Spirits weren’t Demons. Still, one Bonding a British witch or wizard hadn’t happened in… well, ages! The last was Albus Dumbledore and his phoenix!

“Yes,” Harry Potter nodded, before looking down at his bag and whispering, “Come on out, Vera.”

With a snarl that made Tiffany’s teeth itch, a flowing stream of white light slipped out of the bag and pooled on her desk, reforming in an eyeblink into…

“Oh, you’re a kitsune!” Tiffany gasped with her hands over her mouth, trying with all her might not to squeal in happiness; the pictures in the books didn’t nearly do the real thing justice!

White as freshly-fallen snow with blue tips at their extremities, the kitsune – Vera, very likely a female name – was rather larger than Tiffany would’ve thought; sitting down, Vera’s ear tips would reach her mid-thigh, or Mr. Potter’s forearm. Beautiful swirls of blue twisted from those blue tips, from her paws and three tails and ears, and twirled from the sides of her eyes, highlighting the angles of the gorgeous kitsune’s face, set with eyes of sapphire blue.

Eyes which were narrowed in annoyance and distaste, “I am. Do I have to wear a collar, like the law book said I do?” And it didn’t look like Mr. Potter was happy about that qualifier, either!

Luckily, “Oh, nonono no!” Tiffany waved her hands in assurance, “That was probably an older book you read; no, the current law, after the ICW Mandate of 1964, is that all Bonded Spirits and/or Familiars must wear an object they wouldn’t normally, so as to identify themselves as not wild or un-Bonded.”

Vera seemed to perk up, while Mr. Potter turned thoughtful, “So… a bangle or vest would do?”

Tiffany nodded happily, excited to not only meet the Harry Potter, but a real live kitsune! “Even large earrings or other jewelry have been known to be used. For the moment,” she paused, rummaging under her desk, and came back with a simple rope-patterned silver bangle, which she let Vera sniff, “you can have this re-sizing bangle, for the price of 5 Sickles, on top of the 20 Galleon fee for registering a Spirit.”

Their reaction was, Tiffany had to admit, totally justified.

“Twenty Galleons?!”

“You could buy a cauldron of gold for that much!”

“How by Kyuubi’s glorious ears do you sleep at night?!”

“That’s highway robbery!”

“I’m very sorry,” Tiffany wilted, bowing slightly to them both, “but that’s the price the Ministry Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures has set for Spirits. Unlike most other Magical, ah, beings capable of being Bonded in the Alleys,” she clarified diplomatically when boy and Spirit both looked mutinous, “a Spirit is a sort of… wild card, if you follow me. There isn’t a set list of things their entire race can do, outside the basics-”

“-and because of that versatility, they make the people in power more nervous,” Harry Potter finished with a wince, rolling his staff around in his hand.

Vera only grumbled and mumbled in another language before huffing, “Well, at least I don’t have to wear a collar.”

Mr. Potter nodded in agreement, and smiled a little again, “Yeah, and it’s not putting that much a dent into our spending money.”

And then, with another apologetic wince, Tiffany set the inch-thick stack of papers collectively known as the Bonded Spirit Registration Form on the desk.

Both Spirit and Boy-Who-Lived blinked at the stack, then at Tiffany.

She winced harder, “It all needs to be filled out, and the 20 Galleons paid, before you can leave, sorry.”

Harry Potter’s lips pursed, and his hand dug into one of his robe’s pockets while he drawled, “What do you say to a Dragon-”

And the Boy-Who-Lived slapped a great stonking platinum Dragon, the largest coin and denomination of the Magical World, worth a whole 53 Galleons, on the counter.

“-and you fill out anything that I don’t need to put my name on?”

Tiffany’s mouth flapped open and closed for a moment, visions of eating at The Heath and Brick Oven over in Latter Alley, the best eatery in the Four Alleys, dancing through her mind, warring with the part of her that wanted to drawl ‘bribing a government official is a crime, young man’. She looked at the pair.

They gazed back expectantly.

Tiffany took a deep breath, pocketed that big, fat Dragon, and pulled the paperwork toward her, “I’ll still need your signatures, and a pawprint from you, Vera, in certain areas; I’ll also need to ask certain… personal questions. Though, have no fear; I am bound by law to never reveal what you say in this office to anyone, all and sundry. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Harry Potter smiled widely, just as widely as his kitsune, actually. “Fire away.”

After filling out the most boring bits – their names, respective ages, and how long they’d been Bonded – Tiffany asked the first meaty question, “What was the manner of summoning Vera into this world?”

“I sang a song in a circle of standing stones,” Harry Potter said fondly, exchanging a warm look with his kitsune while Tiffany had a quiet existential crisis. “Vera liked the song so much, she flitted over into Mundus, and we’ve been together ever since.”

“Wouldn’t change that day for all the ice cream in the world, Harry,” Vera replied with a wide smile.

Tiffany added a bottle of strong drink to her future purposes and tried to hurry through the questions, lest some eldritch thing suddenly burst free from the soil of Britain and wriggle into her little corner of the world to remind Mr. Potter not to leave the oven on, or some other madness. Standing Stones, honestly! Who was watching the lad?!

[..|..]
.
.
.​

A/N: And thus does the next adventure begin! With paperwork and miserable whimpers due to hand cramps, XD.

Hope you all enjoyed this early Christmas present! The next chapter, Many Shades of Gold, will be out soon-ish, while the SB thread for the collected stories, The Saga of James Stormcaller, will go live tomorrow!

Cheers, everyone!

~Baked