7 Unforeseen Circumstance
Albus Dumbledore sighed from his chair within the grand halls of the Wizengamot. Despite the pseudo-omnipresence he liked to project to the public, having so many titles and responsibilities did wear on you over time. This was especially the case in times like this where some 'brilliant mind' puts forth yet another bill to reduce Muggleborns 'influence' on the country.
Anyone with two brain cells would realise what consequences taxing Muggleborn witches and wizard's use of magic would have on society, immediately almost all small and large businesses would go under, as Muggleborns made up a somewhat significant portion of cheap labour in magical Britain. That's not even mentioning how many would leave for greener pastures in other countries.
As much as Nott, the perpetrator of this ridiculous bill, and his compatriots liked to espouse, Muggleborns, Halfbloods, and those with Creature heritage did not, in fact, steal magic. Such myths had been disproven time and again, then subsequently buried by those who disliked the findings.
The fact that Purebloods researched the topic every now and then to try and prove their ideology, only to come to the same conclusion as the others was as pitiful as it was comical.
What Albus wouldn't give to throw his hands up at the blatant dog-whistle by Nott to signal his compliance with Voldemort's base, and swiftly depart the chambers. Unfortunately, as Chief Warlock, he was required to oversee every. single. session. All but forced to sit here and look impartial, despite everyone already knowing his leanings.
Just as he was about to question Nott on how he would handle the subsequent economic disaster from his bill(His answer would no doubt involve enslaving Muggleborns or something of the like), Albus felt a slight vibration from his pocket.
His eyes widen and he barely manages to cough into his hand to hide his sheer surprise, as this was the first time this artifact had gone off, and was the last thing he'd have wished to happen.
The blood wards around young Harry Potter's house had been destroyed.
He was itching to jump up and scramble to Privet's Drive, but such a thing wasn't possible without accepting Nott's bill and dooming the country. The Light faction under him wasn't as influential as the Dark or Neutral, so it fell to him to ensure things went the proper way...
He'd have to slap Nott down quickly and attend to the situation.
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After calling for an impromptu break Albus sped out of the hall and to Hogwarts, where he had Fawkes, his Pheonix familiar flame him to Privet Drive. There, he found Harry Potter's house completely up in flames, and the wave of dark magic washing over the area made clear just what this was.
Fiendfyre.
The Firefighters on the scene were struggling to stop it from moving into the neighbouring houses, but the remnants of his blood wards seemed to be containing it somewhat. Thank Merlin.
With his aid, the fire was quickly brought under control, but upon entering what was left of the scorched house, he found almost nothing left. In where the living room used to be he found some bones, which upon some examination, appeared to be of young Harry's relatives.
No sign of the boy could be found, though, with his long cultivated magic sensitivity, he could swear a Portkey had been used here... Judging by the abundance of blackened owl feathers on the street and in the garden, he could tell the ward blocking Harry's mail had been obstructed somehow, allowing the owls to deliver.
Which meant, he'd likely been abducted with an illegal portkey, handdelivered to him. Why the perpetrators had felt the need to butcher the young man's family as well, he wasn't sure... Likely vengeance for Voldemort?
Drat. After all the efforts he'd put into planning for the prophecy, and Harry's upbringing, this happens? Was it because he sought to control and manipulate fate? Or was it something more?
Either way, he'd need to start looking for the boy, along with ensuring he wasn't destroyed by the public after they found out he'd be lost while in his care.
Hopefully, the loss of perhaps thousands of family owls would draw their attention for now, though, he imagined the fact everyone affected by it had sent mail to the boy would come out eventually.
His plans needed evaluation. If magical Britain was ever to be safe, he must have a firm hand on things.
For the Greater Good.
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Earlier :
Harry awoke with a start to find himself lying against the cold, hardwood floor of his home's living room. Blood from his relatives caked his face and clothes, but he hadn't been out long enough for it to fully coagulate, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.
He'd planned to leave immediately after the ritual, but he hadn't expected... Well, everything.
His entire body ached as if he'd run multiple marathons, but strangely he felt more energized than ever. Like he could do anything he could think of!
The price of selling his soul, he imagined.
Groaning, he forced himself to his feet, his movements quickened as he reached for his pocket and retrieved a feather, the same one he'd been struggling with since he'd first learned of magic.
"Moment of truth." he mutters nervously. All he could think of now was whether the ritual had done as he'd wished, the fact he'd just murdered his entire family and sold his soul to some unseen master wasn't even a factor.
"Move." he intones, a vein popping on his forehead as he strains to gather his intent... A bit much, given what happened next.
*CRACK!*
He blinked at his empty hands, then at the ceiling which now had a hole travelling from the first floor to the roof, revealing the blue sky above.
...
"It... Worked..." he mouthes in shock, "IT WORKED!" he bursts out cackling, hopping around the room in sheer excitement. He thrusts his hand at the nearby couch and laughs harder as an unseen force crashes into it and sends it flying into the wall, almost going through it.
He felt incredible, despite the aches in his muscles and bones, his magic had never been so reactive before, nor this powerful. Whereas before he'd struggled to lift a feather, now he could throw heavy furniture around as if it weighed nothing! All without much strain on himself or his reserves.
He turns on his heel towards where the ritual circle had been, now just a scorched mark on the floor surrounded by stubby candles that were still tipped with green fire. "You'll see how this freak does without you! Who needs family when you have THIS!?" he throws his arms out either side of him, crumpling in the fridge inwards and collapsing much of the stairs, inadvertently destroying the cupboard, his former home.
Thankfully he'd had the wherewithal to gather his things beforehand. All of which were sitting in the doorway within a backpack.
"Well then, time to go." he mutters, only to pause when the faint sound of flapping wings approaches. Taking a glance out of one of the shattered living room windows, he spots a veritable army of dark spots in the sky, all heading right towards him.
Before he's able to put his newfound magical power to use, he pauses as a number of the black spots, which appear to be owls carrying something, land on nearby trees and buildings before looking at him expectantly.
Owls...? He couldn't remember reading anything about magic owls, maybe they'd come to kill him for using dark rituals or something? He knew that owls were supposedly linked with the Greek god Athena, along with other myths like them being bad omens, typically predicting death.
He shakes his head and gestures for them to come closer when he gets a better look at their legs. Some of them had papers tied around their necks, legs, and back, while others simply carried letters in their mouths.
One lands directly in front of him and drops the letter before leaving without a sound. Gingerly taking the mail, he opens it and narrows his eyes.
----
Dear Harry Potter, I hope you got my last letter as me and mum must've spent hours writing it. We thank you again for what you did, Dad says things would have been really bad if You-Know-Who wasn't stopped!
I wanted to send another gift but mum says two was already too much, but I can't help myself! I really want to meet you but you didn't respond to my last invite, so I'll ask again in this one. Would you come to my fifth birthday at the Burrow please? It would be the best present ever if you did!
Mum says a girl shouldn't ask but you're The-Boy-Who-Lived! She really doesn't understand, even if she's writing this for me. I think we would be fantastic friends! So please, consider coming?
With great admiration and respect, Ginevra Weasley.
PS, please call me Ginny, Ginevra is a bit of a mouthful, don't you think?
----
"Boy who lived...?" he mutters aloud in confusion, before turning to the growing pile of letters and grabbing another.
As it turns out, he appeared to be quite famous in Britain among 'Witches and Wizards' for his 'Vanquishing' of You-Know-Who, which he didn't know, who, that is...
Some of the letters had been dated years, some even around the time of his birth. This left to question... What the fuck!?
"I'm nationally famous, heir to the 'Potter' family, but was kept here in this abusive shit heap!? None of this makes sense!" he angrily shouts, pacing around with hectic thoughts.
"I need to leave, now." whoever was watching him would surely come to check. They obviously had something in mind for him, whether they wanted to control him for his fame, money, family prestige, or whatever else it may be. Harry refused to be chained again!
He kicks over one of the ritual candles and throws on the backpack full of his personal affects, before moving back to the letters and shovelling them all into a plastic shopping bag. He'd read the rest of them later to see if they had anything pertinent, but for now he needed to-
His thoughts are cut short as he grab a letter and feels something suddenly pull at his navel. He vanishes from the house, just as the cursed flames begin to grow.
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He wasn't quite sure how to describe it, perhaps a mix of being inside a tumbledryer that'd been caught in a tornado, while simultaneously somehow still working. It was nauseating, and before he knew it he'd been dropped face first into some grimey basement?
He scrambles to his feet and feels his heart skip a beat when he sees the rusty metal bars blocking him from the rest of the room... He was in a cell, one within an old timey room with no visible electrical lights, merely a few burnt out candles on a table on the opposite side of the room.
"No... No no no NO!" he angrily shouts in a panic, gripping and shaking the bars with all his might. It takes him a couple moments to remember he now had proper magic, but even then all he could do was lift stuff!... Sure, he might've been able to randomly teleport a while ago, but he'd never even tried that since!
*Thud... Thud... Thud...*
Footsteps from above this room could be heard, and soon he could hear voices from behind the single door.
"I could swear I heard something earlier, brother." a cagey, rasping female voice states as it approaches.
"You're just hearing things again, sister. But if it will ease your woes." a man sighs, causing Harry to look around for a place to hide, to no avail... The only things within his cell were his bag, and a hole in the ground to shit in.
"Oh my!" a woman exclaims at the side of him, her expression of shock turning to one of smug satisfaction. She was rather chubby, with black hair tied into a ponytail that pulled the strands hard enough that it made it appear she had a receding hairline. Add the illplaced nose and eyes that were rimmed with bruised black flesh, and she cut an ugly sight.
The man looked almost normal, with a larger than average nose, half-rotten teeth, black hair, and dull eyes. They resembled one another, though, the way they held each others hands and stood too close for comfort belied something more... disgusting.
Most importantly to Harry however was their dress, each wearing strange black robes of an unknown material, and wielding sticks in their hands. Wands, if he had to gander.
"Merlin... Harry Potter!"
