Harry Potter and the First Division
PART I - NOVICE
A Storm in the Garden
Disclaimer: I do not own the world or characters of Harry Potter, and I do not make any money from writing about them. Also, I am not a TV evangelist in disguise.
Harry Potter was enthralled. He didn't notice the heat of the summer sun, or the pricking of the short grass beneath his legs, or the bee that had landed on his knee. All he could see was the storm cloud forming above his head. It had little bolts of lightning flashing in it, though Harry just knew somehow that he need not worry about being struck. Watching the static, Harry wondered why he had heard people talk about his "lightening bolt scar", since his only scar didn't look anything like the lightning he was watching now.
Harry sighed in relief as the storm began to release large, cool raindrops. Aunt 'Tunia had locked him out of the house this morning after finding that he had wet the bed during the night, and he hadn't had more than a quick drink from the hose since he woke up. Now Harry laid back and let the cool rain fall on his face, imagining he was steaming like firewood that had been put out with a bucket of water.
"BOY!" Aunt 'Tunia's screech rang out from the back door, breaking Harry out of his fantasy. Up above, thunder rumbled ominously.
Petunia Dursley was quite normal, thank you very much. She had a normal house and a normal husband who worked a normal job. Her son was a normal little boy. And that was just how Petunia liked it.
There was one thing in Petunia Dursley's normal little world, however, that was decidedly not normal. As she looked out into the garden, Normal Petunia Dursley thought her heart would stop right there in her chest.
Her nephew, Harry Potter, lay directly under one of the meanest looking storm clouds Petunia had ever seen, (and she lived in England,) soaking in the rain like it was water from a shower head. Lightening flashed through the cloud constantly, threatening to zip down to the ground and light up the boy below. The cloud was a curious thing. It was strangely still. Oh, it shrank and grew and roiled like any storm cloud would, but it didn't move even an inch. It was also floating in her back garden, a scant ten feet above the ground.
Petunia glanced over to Number Six's garden, knowing what she'd see. Across the fence, birds played in the birdbath, flowers opened their petals to the sky, and the sun beat down on the patio. That made sense - the weatherman had said there was no chance for rain at all. And yet, here Petunia was, with a storm raging in her garden. Over her nephew. Only over her nephew. Petunia would bet her wedding china that her flower garden was dry as a bone.
As lightening flashed in the cloud again, she shook herself out of her shock. This wouldn't do at all. She may not like the boy, but that didn't mean she wanted him to get fried to a crisp in her back garden. Setting her shoulders against the rain, Petunia marched out to her nephew, intending to drag him inside for a shower, but she didn't get that far. Just as she entered the small area under the cloud, a bolt of lightening slammed into the ground not five feet in front of her.
His aunt's scream snapped Harry out of the last of his daze. As his attention focused on Aunt 'Tunia, he barely noticed the rain lightening up and stopping.
"Aunt 'Tunia?" the not quite five year-old asked in concern. She probably wouldn't like getting wet, Harry thought. After all, she hated mud with a passion.
Aunt 'Tunia marched over to the him and grabbed him painfully by the arm, yanking him to his feet and half-dragging him into the house.
"Get upstairs and shower, boy, and then it's into your cupboard," she snapped. Oh, Harry thought. I did something freakish again. Morosely, he took his shoes off and trudged up the stairs.
That evening, locked in his cupboard, Harry strained to listen through the door to his aunt and uncle's conversation. They were talking about him.
"...could...killed you!" Harry could tell Uncle Vern was struggling not to yell, and he wondered why. Uncle Vern usually didn't have any problem yelling.
"...was...worried about...Vernon." That was Aunt 'Tunia - she was better at whispering, but her voice carried under the door more easily. "...just laying...paying any mind...lightening...going to get...killed one day!"
"Damn...boy, Pet! ...not have...-dangering...family. ...what...neighbours...?"
"..must be someth-...be done, Vern."
Uncle Vern was silent for what seemed like a long time. Harry could just imagine him scrunching his face up in thought, running his beefy hands over his moustache. Then Aunt 'Tunia spoke up.
Harry couldn't hear any more after that, and soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming about clouds that followed people around.
His shoe had a hole in it. Not counting the one his foot slipped into, that is. Harry scuffed his trainers against the ground as he followed Aunt 'Tunia and Uncle Vern. He wondered how much duct tape it would take to keep his toes from poking out this time. The hole in his other shoe had been so big it had needed taped on the inside, too, to keep his socks from sticking. This one wasn't so big.
Harry was so concentrated on his shoes that he didn't notice Aunt 'Tunia stop as Uncle Vern went to open the door for her. He crashed into her back, and it was only Uncle Vern's hand snapping out to grab his arm that stopped him tumbling down the steps and into the street. Heart pounding, Harry stammered an apology to his aunt and finally looked around.
They were in a part of Little Whinging that Harry hadn't seen before. Directly in front of him was a pair of large carved oak double doors. The building into which they led was similarly large and seemed to Harry to be unnecessarily pointy, with coloured windows that showed pictures of women and strange people with wings. The bit Harry could see through the open door was filled with rows of long wooden benches and seemed to be lit with hundreds of candles. A big table with a green tablecloth stood at the front of the room. There was a pillar near the door with what looked like a birdbath in the top of it. The whole set up looked very strange to Harry, and the thought flashed through his mind that Uncle Vern couldn't have decided to sell Harry to a haunted house, since Halloween was forever away, and besides, where were the monsters?
"Careful, boy," Uncle Vern growled at him, snapping him out of his thoughts again. "We don't need you snapping your fool neck on the steps of the church. You cause enough trouble as it is." The man squinted at Harry intently, making sure the boy wouldn't start to fall again, before releasing his arm and following Aunt 'Tunia into the building. Harry was left scrambling to follow before the giant door closed on him.
The inside of the large building was just as strange as he had thought from the outside, if not moreso. Looking around as he followed his aunt and uncle, the boy failed to notice the glow that started around his head and hands until Aunt 'Tunia glanced back at him and let out a loud gasp. When Harry looked down at himself, trying to find out what had upset his aunt now, he let out a loud cry. Bright white light was coming from his hands. He started whimpering when his feet left the ground, and then he heard music playing in his head and a large book on the table started glowing as well.
Uncle Vern and Aunt 'Tunia were staring at him, mouths open in shock, as Harry floated higher and higher. The music in Harry's head got so loud he thought his skull would burst, and then, with a great flash, the white light seemed to explode from both his body and the book on the table, and music filled the room.
For what seemed like forever, Harry floated there, feeling more and more relaxed, until he finally came back down, dead asleep when he hit the ground.
A/N: This story is the answer to a question that has been banging around my head for a while now...What would happen if, for whatever reason, Vernon and Petunia decided to raise Harry as a Christian? It's an interesting question, and one that I don't think I've ever seen addressed. What follows will be a bit of history mixed with (quite) a bit of creative license, and also a pretty close look at the particular faith walk that I feel would result from the environment that Harry finds himself in when he gets to Hogwarts, because let's face it, I don't care how good a kid is, no eleven year-old at boarding school does everything by the book. Perhaps there's also a bit of allegorical commentary on the challenges presented to young Christians in modern society, but that's for the reader to either examine or ignore at your pleasure.
I've got a pretty good idea how this story is going to progress, but I don't have a full outline yet. The story will be in four parts, and I'll possibly have some breaks in posting between parts or Hogwarts years while I put finishing touches on the next bit of outline. In the meantime, this intro chapter was begging to be written.
Please note, I will gladly accept comments and/or constructive criticism, but flames will be ignored, deleted, and forgotten. Frankly, I don't really care if you're Christian or Athiest or even Pastafarian. I'm not really writing this for you. I'm writing to see where the story takes me. I don't intend to turn off anonymous reviews (I'm not sure I even remember how), but I will if I get a lot of flames.
Finally, if anyone wants to volunteer as a Brit-picker for the Yank (I am a bit of a HP and Doctor Who nut, but I don't know everything) or as a brain-source for various denominations (Catholic and C of E in particular), please PM me.