Author’s Note: This is a series of one-shots that detail Harry’s time with the Founders. I would suggest reading The Founders’ Heir first, but it isn’t required I suppose.

These chapters aren’t guaranteed to be connected to each other, in chronological order, or otherwise make any sense between one and the next; though I will try to do something about keeping them in some semblance of order. Again, no guarantees…

There is no overall plotline. This is not necessarily from one point of view. There is no plan for the number of chapters that will be included. There is no set length for each short. This is not beta’d.

“.ss” Just so that you know

Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, I swear. They’re Rowling’s, I’m sure of it. Go bug her about them. I’m just stealing them for a while.

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The Founders Four

By Renatus

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Prelude Summary

Harry has just gone through a rather intense battle with about a dozen Death Eaters in the middle of the Dursely residence. That particular scene is written fully in the first chapter of my story The Founders’ Heir. This rather disjointed collection of shorts picks up directly after Harry disappears in a flurry of magic from number four Privet Drive. Again, I suggest reading The Founders’ Heir prior to exploring this collection, but I reckon it’s not strictly necessary.

A Green Storm

“Everard, pass!” a boy hollered across the pitch. The boy in question ignored the advice from his teammate, instead diving towards the ground with the quaffle tucked under his arm.

“Everard!” the boy hollered again.

“He’s going to make us loose if he doesn’t learn to pass the ball!” a girl floating next to him said.

“I know, Branwen.”

“So do something about it, Gideon, you’re the captain.”

“Bloody hell.” Gideon swore and dove after their teammate.

Everard had managed to avoid the other team’s defense and had climbed back to a level height with the goal posts, but that was about as far as he would get. Gideon could tell, even from the other side of the pitch, that he was in trouble. The other team’s beaters had him caught in a cross fire, and it was only a miracle that Everard was still on his broom.

“Gideon, what’s up with him?” one of his beaters asked him.

“He’s being bloody stubborn and selfish, Albus, like always.” Gideon snarled. He glanced over at the boy next him. “Where’s your brother?”

Albus pointed back towards their goal posts. Gideon followed the direction and groaned. Aberforth, his second beater, was floating around their keeper’s broom, flirting.

“Can’t you keep a leash on him or something?” Gideon asked.

Albus shrugged. “You’re the captain.”

“He’s your brother!”

Albus just sent him a smile. “So he is.”

Gideon narrowed his eyes at the boy, irked at his attitude.

“Everard is in trouble.” Albus said, pointing his attention towards his wayward chaser.

“Bloody hell.” Gideon swore again, and dived away from Albus towards the other end of the field.

He could tell the moment that Everard caught on to the trouble he was in, as he suddenly spiraled straight up into the sky, barely avoiding two well-aimed bludgers. Gideon barreled through two chasers, trying to get his teammate’s attention.

“Everard!” Gideon yelled up at him.

Everard turned out of his upward spiral, looking around him almost frantically. Gideon eyed him from his position some twenty meters below him, not entirely positive that his teammate would see him and pass the ball. For all his attention to the game and his team, Gideon’s eyes looked past his chaser to the sky above him. Dark clouds suddenly covered the sky, menacing in their speed as they spiraled to a center above the pitch, covering the clear sky they had only moments ago.

“Everard, dive!” Gideon yelled frantically, waving his teammate to the ground.

By some miracle Everard obeyed him, laying low over his broom and diving toward the pitch.

It was none too soon.

A wild bolt of lightning struck out of the center of the spiraling clouds, crackling through the air as it bolted into the ground. Gideon fancied he could feel the heat of it as it passed not far from him. A second later he heard and felt the thunder. It rattled his bones and he could feel it through his broom.

“Everyone to the ground!” he yelled, diving towards the edge of the pitch himself.

A second bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky. Gideon saw the flash out of the corner of his eye, slightly amazed that it hadn’t struck any of the brooms yet. He landed hard, stumbling under the force of his dive. A third flash lit up the area, striking the center of the pitch and sending grass and dirt flying.

Gideon looked around for his team, and the other students. All of them had made it to the ground, and were watching the strange storm with a mixture of expressions.

“We should get one of the Founders!” Branwen yelled in his ear. Gideon nodded, flinching slightly as another bolt of lightning struck the field. He turned towards the castle, but froze as a thought occurred to him.

Each bolt of lightning was hitting the same spot.

He turned back to the pitch, watching the charred mark on the ground intently. Indeed, a moment later lightning struck, sending another round of dirt and stones up into the air.

“It’s hitting the same spot.” Albus’ voice said next to his shoulder.

“That’s impossible.” Branwen said.

Another flash of lightning struck, but Gideon noticed that they were beginning to change. No longer were they the bright flash of white-hot light. Instead each strike became colder and carried a greenish coloration.

“The Founders are here!” one of the other students yelled.

Gideon looked around, noticing the four Founders stream onto the field.

“Keep your distance!” Godric’s deep voice boomed over the pitch. The students pressed themselves farther back along the edges of the field, as much from the order as from the changing nature of the storm before them. The students at Hogwarts were used to such odd displays of magic and power and rare skills, but the storm that invaded the grounds of the school that evening was beyond any of their collective experiences.

There was a pause as the Founders circled the center of the pitch, placing themselves at four even points surrounding the charred mark. There was a lull, and an eerie silence fell over the area. Gideon could hear his own heart pounding in the quiet.

Then it started again, but instead of the lightning striking from the clouds, it came out of the ground. Great arcs of it, flashing up over the field and into the stands and surrounding grounds. Lightning streamed across the sky, connecting ground and clouds with the green tinged bolts. A wide arc flashed out of the ground, streaming across the pitch and writhing along the edges of the stands like some great snake. The students watched it warily, fully aware that it was uncontrolled and likely dangerous.

“Don’t let it touch you!” Gideon yelled, seeing the glowing green trails the arcs left in their wake. The other students crowded away from it, many working their way towards the stadium entrances. Gideon turned his attention back to the center of the pitch, keeping half an eye out for the random arcs of green lightning.

The epicenter of the storm had changed. Great streams of lightning arced between the clouds and the ground, while wild arms of fire flashed from the charred pitch in the center of the Founders. The fire was as green as the strange lightning. Gideon was sure then that the storm was completely magical.

That’s when he heard the scream.

It was faint at first, as if from a great distance, but it rose in pitch and volume as the strength of the magical storm intensified. The lightning struck harder, and the flames rose higher, and Gideon winced at the scream that never stopped. Instead it pulsed, as if controlled by the very magic running amuck around him.

As suddenly as the storm had come, it was gone.

Gideon blinked rapidly in the sudden quiet, dim light of the evening. The lightning and fire were gone, leaving behind only faint traces of their existence. The dark, spiraling clouds slowed and began to fade, revealing the clear sky beyond them.

In the center of the four Founders, where the lightning had struck, and the fire sprang from, lay a figure.

Gideon approached the area slowly, still wary of the display of raw magic. The Founders gathered around him, Helga already inspecting the boy with her wand, ready for healing.

“Gideon,” Helga beckoned, spotting him.

He approached quickly, then, stopping next to her kneeling form.

“Mistress,” he said, eyeing the figure below him. She didn’t answer him, intent on her examination of the new arrival.

The figure was a boy, young and scrawny and thin. His black hair was matted and clung to his forehead. Red blood streamed from his face, though Gideon couldn’t pinpoint if it was from one wound or many. A deep gash ran along his ribs and side, streaming a thick blood onto the pitch. Gideon winced, knowing that it was deep and likely very painful. Scratches scattered his forearms and one of his shoulders; a reflection of light revealed that pieces of glass were imbedded in many of them, as if he had jumped through a glass pane.

The boy shifted, groaning weakly, and Gideon caught sight of bright green eyes before they closed again. He shivered slightly. The green of the boy’s eyes was the same green as the lightning and fire that had left its mark on the pitch.

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