TNÖ Writes Harry Potter Fan Fiction

...something I normally do my best to avoid but THE PLOT BUNNIES ATTACKED ME and I couldn't help it.

The idea is very distinctly AU and telling it would give some things away. Critique is welcome as always, flagrant unhelpful praise distinctly less so. Also the timeline moved forward about 10 years in order to (a) make things work with the days of the week [yes, I checked a calendar] and (b) because I'm more comfortable writing in the 90s/00s than I am in the 80s/90s.

*

Chapter One -- Miracles

Saturday, October 31, 1992

Miss Edwards was the sort of person who, presented with a problem of any kind, calmly and methodically worked out the most efficient way to destroy the problem, and continued about her business without a second thought. She tended to think in straight lines, which in turn tended to cause disturbances in the world at large.

For a long time she had tried to find work only to learn that her peculiarproblem-solving style generally didn’t sit well with her superiors. Miss Edwards had thought about this for a while, and then quietly built up a company of her own, operating out of a tiny closet of an office and slowly hiring other people to do all the boring bits.

Now she was technically the filthily rich chief executive of a lightbulb company, but as she considered most of the managerial duties implied therein to fall into the category of “boring bits”, Miss Edwards simply owned most of the company stock and spent her office hours doing the bookkeeping.

Perhaps it was indicative of Miss Edwards’ outlook on life that bookkeeping was one of the few things that she did not consider to be boring. 

At six o’clock in the evening, she left her office and took a deep breath. The damp, slightly sweet air bore the promise of rain, a promise echoed by the thick clouds overhead.

Miss Edwards smiled.

A few steps later she stopped dead on the pavement, staring across the street. The smile vanished.

On the sidewalk opposite her there was a large group of people wearing brightly colored cloaks, clearly conspiring with each other and drawing nervous looks from the more appropriately clothed passerby.

Miss Edwards hastened to the crosswalk, because she was the sort of person who would never even consider crossing the street outside the painted confines of a crosswalk.

A minute later she reached the cloaked group, wormed her way into the centre, and snarled, “What do you people think you’re doing?”

The group stared at her, and Miss Edwards felt a flicker of annoyance. It wouldn’t be the first time in her unfortunately long history of dealing with... their kind. “This is a muggle street,” she said, forcing her voice into a more normal tone. “And you’re out in full robes! I’m not terribly up to date on your more recent secrecy laws, but I know you are all in flagrant violation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy! You might at least try to blend in!”

The staring continued. Miss Edwards glared around at them, annoyance growing. “For god's...” she said, “how stupid are you? Muggles aren’t blind. I should know, I am one. You’re drawing attention to yourselves and-- look,” and she pointed at one scrawny wizard with tufts of brown hair, “you’ve even got a wand out, how can you be so careless?!”

The wizard with the wand turned to his neighbor and asked, “You reckon I should Obliviate her?”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Miss Edwards said irritably. “What you should do is go home right now and change into something less noticeable!” She took a deep breath. “Or, better yet, gossip in your own streets! Good bye!”

She turned on her heel and fought her way out of the cluster of wizards again, fuming to herself.

Wizards!

Her younger sister had been a witch, carted off to Hogwarts shortly after her eleventh birthday. Miss Edwards hadn’t minded, much, until she actually met some of her sister’s wizard friends. Most of them were condescending, and all of them were pathetically clueless about the muggle world. Worse than that, they seemed to lack common sense.

Miss Edwards had flung herself into a year-long research project into the culture of magical Britain, and she wasn’t terribly impressed with what she found. They hadn’t progressed, technologically speaking, in almost a century. Their laws were archaic, their medical practices dismal. They didn’t even know about bacteria, or DNA.

And they didn’t seem to have any interest in learning about it, either, which Miss Edwards had discovered with some dismay when she finally got a chance to speak with a healer face-to-face.

She shook her head and forced the wizards out of her mind as she reached her car and pulled into the street. They were more trouble than they were worth, really; she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why her sister had chosen to stay in the wizarding world after graduating from Hogwarts (and what kind of name was Hogwarts for a school, anyway?).

It was nearly an hour later, after she had arrived at her home in Privet Drive and eaten a scant dinner consisting mainly of leftover potatoes, when someone knocked on her door. The knock suggested mysterious conversation and promised a headache. Dread squeezed around her ribcage.

She opened the door.

A pale face, partially hidden in a deep, black cowl blocked her view of her quiet, peaceful, and blessedly nonmagical street. He even held his wand lightly between two long fingers.

Miss Edwards summoned up her best glare.

The thin lips curved into the slightest of smiles, and he said, “Hello, Rose. May I come in?”

Manners kicked in before Miss Edwards could slam the door in his face, so she said, “If you must,” through gritted teeth. The tall, cloaked man glided past her and into the living room.

Over his shoulder he said, “It’s a matter of some urgency, I assure you.”

“How urgent?”

She followed him into the living room, and tasted the ever-so-slightly metallic edge of magic. “How urgent, Tom?”

He finished his wand work, and lowered his hood as he turned to face her. “The Potters are dead,” he said, calmly and without preamble.

Miss Edwards blinked. “They’re--”

“Yes, dead.” Tom sighed and sank into a chair. “There is a faint possibility that Harry survived; at any rate, the man who did the deed is dead by his own wand.”

“Which would indicate--”

A brief, wry smile flickered over Tom’s face. “A sacrifice strong enough to counteract the killing curse, of course.”

Miss Edwards thought for a moment. “I seem to recall you saying that it was the Dark Lord himself who made that discovery. Surely he would know better than to allow such a thing?”

“He would, yes, but his servants? Not necessarily.” Tom sighed. “Regardless, I sent Avery to investigate. If Harry did indeed survive, then he’ll be taken to his aunt and uncle. Your neighbors.” The wizard tilted his head in the direction of number four, and Miss Edwards stared at him in horror.

“You can’t mean-- you couldn’t possibly mean the Dursleys?” she asked. “Leave an innocent, magical boy with them? Tom, they’re the most-- I mean-- They’re the worst sort of muggles imaginable! Tom, you can’t!”

“You’re a muggle,” he said mildly. Miss Edwards dismissed this with a wave of her hand.

“Yes, yes, but I don’t mind wizards except when you’re being complete dunderheads. But the Dursleys-- Well, they’re decent enough people I guess, but-- Tom, I know Petunia is-- was-- Lily’s sister, but, for god’s sake Tom, they haven’t spoken in years! And Vernon-- Their son is a little demon, Tom, and Vernon thinks it’s cute, you can’t possibly leave--”

Tom held up a hand, and she stopped. “Believe me, if there was an alternative I wouldn’t hesitate to take it. I know several kind people who wouldn’t hesitate to raise him as their own. However, if he did survive due to a sacrifice on his mother’s part, and it would be his mother because James would have fought rather than protected Harry outright, then he will be safest with blood relatives.”

“That’s a fairly perverse kind of protection, Tom, quite frankly.”

“The Dark Lord wants him dead, Rose. He needs every kind of protection he can get.” Tom drew a deep breath. “Including a Fidelius Charm. It wouldn’t hide them from other muggles, but it would delay him and the Dark Lord would never dream that we’d use-- hear me out, Rose!” he added hastily as she made to stand up, furious.

Miss Edwards glared at him. “I told you years ago I don’t want any part in your magical war! I told you, I’ll keep an eye on things on the muggle side-- and I have!-- and I’ll let your people use my house if the need ever arises! That doesn’t mean you can just force me to--”

Tom stood up too and interrupted her swiftly. “Rose, Rose, it’s a simple request, and if you really don’t want it I certainly won’t force you to be their Secret-Keeper. However, I think you would be the best choice, if only because the Dark Lord knows absolutely nothing about you. Rose, just think about it for a minute...”

Huffing angrily, Rose turned and stalked over to the window, pressed her forehead against the cold glass. After a long time she said, “Who’s your next best choice?”

“Avery, of course. He knew them best.”

“Use him then.”

“He’s at a higher risk of death, though.”

Miss Edwards turned around and glowered at Tom. He was one of the few logical wizards she’d ever met, and in this particular situation it was infuriating. “Can muggles even be Secret-Keepers?” she asked, a last, desperate hope.

“Yes. Several times throughout history.” Tom smiled faintly. “I did my research, Rose, as always.”

“Fine, then.” She crossed her arms and turned back to the window so she wouldn’t have to see his triumphant, smug grin.

“Dependent on Harry actually having survived, of course,” Tom said, his voice suddenly grim again. Miss Edwards grimaced. As much as she didn’t want to get wrapped up in a wizarding war, she’d take the hassle Fidelius Charm over a dead toddler any day of the week. “We’ll know by midnight.”

The few minutes that ticked by with agonizing slowness were perhaps the most stressful of Miss Edwards’ life. She squinted into the darkness, desperate for the sight of a broomstick against the faint light reflecting off the clouds. Behind her, Tom paced, muttering almost inaudibly to himself.

At long last, she saw him; a heavily cloaked figure on a broom who landed on the edge of her lawn and dismounted rather stiffly. She let out a soft cry and sprinted to the front door with Tom right behind her.

“Is he--” she began as they burst into the chilly midnight air.

At the same time, Tom said, “Did you--”

They both broke off, embarrassed, and Avery answered them both by grinning and cradling the sling around his neck. “Got him,” he said, in a deep, gravelly voice which put Miss Edwards in mind of a grindstone. “Fell asleep on the way over, poor bugger. House was destroyed, and all that’s left of whoever tried to kill him is a lot of burnt gristle.”

“Delightful,” Miss Edwards muttered. Usually she wasn’t terribly fond of children, but she peered down at the baby in Avery’s arms. A thin, jagged cut on his forehead caught her attention. “Is that where the...?” she asked, pointing.

 Tom glanced down as he swept past her and down the sidewalk. “Probably,” he said. Avery followed, and after some hesitation Miss Edwards trailed after the two wizards.

Tom stood on the Dursley’s front step for some time, apparently lost in thought. After a while he said, “We’ll have to leave him on the step, I think. Too dangerous otherwise. Leave a few warming spells around him, and he should be fine.”

He caught Miss Edward’s eye as he spoke, and smiled thinly. “No doubt the Dark Lord will be looking for him, once he finds out the boy survived. He’ll be safe enough under the protection provided by his family’s blood, and in the meantime we can do the Fidelius Charm.”

Miss Edwards sighed. “Am I going to sleep at all tonight?” she asked dismally.

Avery snickered while Tom shrugged. “I doubt it.”

They trudged back into Miss Edwards’ living room, and began the long and complicated spell.

...

"A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up.... not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley..." 

...

The swish of a cloak against rough stone, a glimmer of red light... Blood splattered against the floor.

The cloaked figure bent, dipped her pale fingers into the freshly spilled puddle. Raised her fingers to her lips, licked. Considered for a long moment, and then she smiled. Sweet, with the slightest hint of iron and a faintly salty aftertaste. 

She rose jerkily, and left without a second glance at the stiffening corpse.

*

Your thoughts, questions, suggestions, and/or violent declarations of loathing to follow.

I'm working on chapter 3 at the moment, so chapter 2 is ready if you want it.