Harry Potter and the Guardian of Magic 2
Disclaimer: I don't own this series or any other series. I am just floating an idea. I am making no money, nor plan to, off this venture. If you think of suing me over this, then grow up.
I would like to first personally thank all of those reviewing my stories. I enjoy reading your comments, and try to correct the grammatical errors I miss with my final read-through as well as my spell checkers. The suggestions you all make will help make this story better for everyone to enjoy, as well as allow my to fix some plot holes I may unintentionally leave. If you find any, let me know, and I will correct them and repost the chapters.
As requested, here as an attempt to extend what was so far the most reviewed Plot Bunny.
The two males stood, leaning on their staves, panting heavily.
"I thought we killed this ass," muttered Harry, pointing to an Egyptian Wizard lying on the ground, surrounded by dead and dismembered Jackal Soldiers. Said guy was supposed to be dead from the final battle to save the Snow Princess in Egypt—once again, he seriously did not want to know what a supposed Snow Princess was doing there in a hot desert.
Some secrets man was not meant to know … because then man would not be able to sleep at night.
"We did," said Ranma, looking over the corpse. "Must have brought himself back. Egyptian mages are not much nowadays, but in the past they knew hundreds of ways to bring someone back. All those mummies they find now aren't just for show, you know."
"And how do you know that?"
"I'll have you know I studied a lot about magic," growled Ranma.
"Then explain that snow princess this ass was after," demanded Harry, poking the wizard with his staff. It wouldn't get explained, but maybe … just maybe … he could traumatize his caregiver for once.
Ranma ignored him, focusing upon the wizard. Just how did this fool return himself back to life? Ranma had stabbed him in the chest with a pair of swords forged from the Stone Table. They were made so that any life taken via them would work the same as any life sacrificed to the Fae Court in charge of the Stone Table. The only difference was each sword represented the two sides of the Court, one for Winter and one for Summer, and depending on which one did the killing, that was the Court that received the power.
It was also why he never relied on one sword, lest he seem to favor one Court and create an imbalance of power.
So while he so wanted to plunge both swords through the wizard's chest once more, he didn't want to take a chance the guy would just get back up again later. It was annoying when the bad guys just got back up. Most things had the decency to stay dead after you lopped off their heads.
"Ah," murmured Ranma, as he stared at the guy's chest. It was there, buried deep inside, but there was something gathering the ambient mana and chi, slowly restoring the damaged body. The sink gathered power, and since it worked off two sources, it would be almost guaranteed to restore the form to life, since there was rarely any way to prevent both from being nullified.
Unless of course you knew how to properly discharge such an arrangement without setting off … other issues; that was the hard part. "Harry, you might want to step back," Ranma said, raising his staff into the air. Oh, this was going to hurt … the wizard more than him, but it was still going to hurt like hell.
Gulping, the tired boy leapt backwards, glad to not have landed and slipped in some blood. Say what you would, but at least the annoying wizards didn't stop fighting when the Jackal Soldiers teleported in. Most of them were alive … he thought. They were still twitching at least.
Sighing he stared at his Guardian, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever spell the man was about to perform. "Hey Old Man, try and keep him dead this time!" Harry called out.
"Brat," muttered Ranma, as he focused on the effect he wanted. The pool of energy the guy already had was quite high, and releasing it the wrong way—while it would also wipe the man from the living permanently—would also likely remove everyone around him as well. "I need to do this right, Harry; otherwise we're all going to see a really big bang."
The messy-haired boy nodded. "So what are you going to do?"
Ranma just smirked. "Well, use the energy in a spell you can't possibly overpower." With that, he slammed the staff's end through the wizard's chest. "Vigoratus!" he yelled.
The corpse gave a gasping and unholy scream, making what few awake and alert Aurors and medical staff nearby soil themselves in fright, as a blinding light pulsed from the top of the staff, pulsing outwards and enveloping all in its path. The light continued on for nearly half a minute, before it vanished as quickly as it had arrived.
Ranma stood panting, his wounds healed, but his body exhausted from channeling all of that power. His staff was now stuck into the ground by a few inches; the former body of the Egyptian Wizard now a dust outline that seemed to be blowing away, despite no breeze being present. "Come back from that, asshole," he spat.
"A healing spell!" cried out Harry.
"Well, you can't overpower a healing spell," said Ranma. "They work well with either chi or mana, and it fixed everyone up," he finished, motioning to the French wizards that were slowly and cautiously getting to their feet. "Besides, I couldn't very well discharge it straight up, could I? My luck, there's some old sewer right above us."
"True," muttered Harry. "Didn't know you could use a healing spell quite like that."
"I wouldn't advise you trying it sometime soon," said Ranma. "I've built up myself for decades, and it damned near burnt me out. Anyone else, they might have healed the others before they exploded."
The young Potter gulped at that. "Right, no discharging immortal pricks."
"That's my boy," smiled Ranma, as he weakly mussed his pupil's hair. "But could you say that without sounding dirty."
"Whatever," waved off Harry. "Now can we go? We gave them a day to fix this up and I'm hungry."
"A spectacular fight, I must say," came the one voice neither person wanted to hear.
Turning slightly, they spotted four people, people Harry had hoped would stay locked in his former cell until he left the country.
"W-w-what the bloody hell was that?" cried the fat one.
"Jackal Soldiers from a mage in Egypt called Tik," said Ranma. "Guy was trying to resurrect his long dead master with the spirits and souls of people that rather preferred living and not under a despot."
"We went, we kicked ass, and the moron came back for a rematch," Harry said with a smile.
"I see," said the elderly man with the purple robes. "I must say I have never witnessed such a display of magic. May I ask where you all learned such?"
"You were watching and didn't help?" growled out Ranma.
"Alas, young Harry had us detained within his cell," said the man. "Mr. Delacour was kind enough, once we got free, to allow us a view through the observation wards on our way here."
"Whatever," sighed Ranma, wobbling a bit, leaning heavily on his staff. "Come on Harry, let's go."
"You can't take him!" yelled the overweight man. "He's a hero to England! He's got to come back with us!"
"Buddy, I've had a rough day," spat Ranma. "Don't make me kick your ass too."
"Give it a rest, Old Man," sighed Harry with a smirk. "You go eat some stewed prunes or something while the young take care of it."
"If I may, gentlemen," said the elderly man, "might we borrow some of your time for a friendly chat."
"Didn't we give you a whole day for that?" asked Harry with a sneer. Like he was going to give them any more time. They should have been talking to them instead of keeping them in those cells.
"Yes," said the elderly wizard. "It would appear our first attempt at a civil discussion was left wanting. Perhaps could trouble you for a bit more time? We will of course provide a grand meal—"
"Lead the way," said Ranma with a smile.
Harry just shook his head. And this was the guy he was supposed to learn how to survive from. The man would agree to just about anything for a meal. Where could he have learned such a thing was a good idea?
"You can't honestly be considering this!" yelled Harry, as the duo entered their hotel room. The meeting had been long, boring, and filled with long-winded speeches.
And that was just the politician … Pudge? Fudge?
"I consider all things," replied Ranma evenly.
"You're just considering this because you might have some jobs where taking me might be dangerous," spat Harry.
Ranma heaved a heavy sigh. It was true he had been approached by several people about a Demon Lord trying to set up shop in Russia. And such wasn't something he wanted to drag Harry along—especially since the kid was supposed to be recovering from being skewered by an imp. No, such was too dangerous, even to someone who was almost as talented in the magical arts as Harry was.
So he tried another approach, since the harsher truth wouldn't sit well with either of them. "Harry, how many friends do you have?"
"Plenty," Harry replied, confused.
"How many your own age?" asked Ranma.
"So what; this is an excuse to get me a social education with a bunch of fools who thought the Dursleys were a good idea?" asked Harry. "The Dursleys? These guys have already proven that they don't deal with a full deck and you want to send me to a school run by them!"
Ranma sat down hard in a nearby seat, staring at the ceiling. "One month," said Ranma. "One month; if you don't find anything useful, if you find their society distasteful, their schooling a joke, your age group a bunch of morons, then I'll come back and tear apart the school to withdraw you. We can try something similar with the other schools, but I want you to have a chance." He didn't want to mention how at times, he would have crippled people just for such a chance, a chance to connect to his own age group when he was on the road growing up. This wasn't about him though, this was about Harry.
And he wanted Harry to have a better childhood than he did, even if he had to lose him for part of it.
Harry sat across from him, trying not to appear as if he was sulking. He preferred his life the way it was now. It wasn't like he'd have the adventures he enjoyed now—minus the being gored—at some stupid school.
"If nothing else," continued Ranma, "you can settle whatever affairs of your parents that are still unresolved."
"Did … did they say anything about them?" Harry asked. For some of the later discussions, Harry had been out of the room, dragged off by the Delacour sisters—Gabrielle to play and Fleur to be interrogated about his Guardian's likes.
Ranma nodded, as he withdrew a small book from his coat, tossing it over to his protégé. "Everything they told me, I had write itself in there." He paused, patting down his shirt before pulling out a second book. "And they had this one at a gift shop. Apparently you're something of a local celebrity."
"You gotta teach me that spell," said Harry. If he was going to be stuck in some misbegotten school, the least he could have with him was a quick note-taker. Okay, sure; the fact he actually had a book about his parents and their death was a little creepy—and did strike a cord of fear that perhaps he might already be suffering under the 'Saotome Charm' Curse. But it was at least something about his past.
"You'd be proud of them Harry," he continued. "I am; they died protecting you from some idiot named Voldemort. If you want to mess with people, call him that. They freak when you say his name. For them, it is always He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who. Wimps," he muttered. As if he was going to be afraid of someone's name. The only words he ever feared were fiancée and fiancé.
Nothing good ever came from those words.
Harry nodded numbly, as he read the first real lead he had ever found about his parents. He had always hoped something might be found within England. But given his history and the fact the Dursleys were there… No, he could never have gone there searching for it, not with the bad memories haunting that place.
"I'll leave you to it," said Ranma, standing up. "The Mothers have requested my presence."
That got Harry's attention. "What for?" The Mothers of the Fae: Mother Summer and Mother Winter, didn't call upon his Guardian for anything mundane. No, a call from them was about something very important.
Or a booty call, he wouldn't put it past his Guardian to be called just for that, once again making the last Potter glad he didn't have such luck.
All across Britain, girls with dreams about the Boy-Who-Lived as their husband sneezed.
Harry's eyes went wide as he felt a shiver go down his back. His eyes darted forward, looking towards the spot his Guardian had been. Somehow, that had to be the Old Man's fault, right?
But at the moment, Ranma had once again disappeared.
"I'll get him for it in the morning," murmured Harry, as he returned to the book. For the moment, he simply stared at the introductory page … and the only photos he had ever seen of his birth parents.
Ranma trudged through the Woods of Awnsidhe to the cottage of the Queen Mothers. The weather was neither perfect for him nor imperfect, a perfect reflection of the land that divided the homes of the two Fae Courts.
He had no illusions about why he was here, that much was obvious. Years ago, he had worked out a deal with the Mothers, sparing Harry from the deals the young boy had made with a Winter Fae and a Summer Fae. The deal also protected Harry from making any future deals, as well as gave him a lot of leeway when working with the Fae.
Sure, Ranma paid for that deal—in other ways aside from his 'communion' with the Mothers. He'd had to take care of many of their troubles, everything from rivals attempting to invade the Courts to grocery runs—Fae seemed to have a natural addition to anything with honey in it. But for Harry, he'd do it all and more. The boy was more than a student; he was like a son to him. And if need be, he'd go against the Mothers to protect him.
He hoped it never came to that. As strong as he was, he was still nowhere close to being in their league. If they'd ever set out against Harry, Ranma knew he'd barely be a stumbling block, a small delay at best. There was only so much the deal allowed them, and he knew with utmost certainty they would be using it to the fullest.
So here he was, making his way to a meeting he knew the basics about—they always seemed to know what he and Harry were up to—and hoping it would end well. If Harry agreed, then tomorrow they needed to head to London to set things up.
And that meant he needed to call on a few contacts to set up a safe house. They so loved it when he made calls for immediate work, especially at this local time of night.
That's why he called them before he arrived back at the hotel. The more time they had, the better the results.
"Not looking forward to meeting her again, though," he said, shivering at the prospect of having to meet an old acquaintance again to assist in whatever legal matters were on Harry in the magical world of England—he'd rather not be banned from another country again, thank you. And while the woman was of a brilliant mind in tactics and legal maneuvering—almost at the level of the Fae in her negotiating style—she was scary in all things, especially when she wanted payment.
"Going to need her help though," he said with a sigh. He wanted something iron-clad to keep the English wizards from trying to renege on any part of the deal they currently had. And if anyone could make an agreement that left no wiggle-room, it was … her.
The only bright side was that with the current agreement, the English Wizards were not as pushy to retaining Harry's custody. Not that he trusted them—he knew they'd work quickly over Harry's school term to somehow edge Ranma out of custody. If there was any being that could pervert a contract faster than a Fae … it was a politician.
"They can try," he mused. He'd never taken on an entire country before. A kingdom or two? Sure. But never a country. If … she … failed, then he'd get to do what he did best: bust things.
Besides … he had no qualms about killing those that sought to harm his adopted son … no matter who were innocent pawns.
But as the Queens' Cottage came into view, he could only shiver a bit, despite the fact that no wind or breeze had blown by him. Nothing good could come from this, especially after the day he had just had. The two Queens may not go by the forbidden words, but being summoned by them elicited the same fear, the same gnawing horror in his mind.
And he knew that things were just going the way it needed … to bring something odd in his life.
Harry snuggled into his bed, the book about his parents still clutched in his hands. Sure, he could guess half the stuff was pure bull, since he was supposed to be the only survivor and he was relatively certain he hadn't offered any testimony. But it was a connection, that's what mattered.
As his eyes slowly opened, a smile formed on his face. Such pleasant dreams, almost as if they had been real, faded from his mind. It was an enchanting feeling, to have felt a connection, if even for a moment to those people who had sacrificed themselves so he could live.
Of course, he wondered why the hell they didn't flee when someone came barging through their defenses. Not to mention the fact his mother had run upstairs to get him, but then tried nothing else to flee, almost like a cheerleader in a horror movie.
And just why was Volde…? Moldy…? What's-his-name; why was he after them?
Needless to say, Harry was beginning to question the sanity of the society of mages and hoping it didn't dumb him down any.
But first, he had to remember something. Something was supposed to have happened by now, but had not. Maybe it'll come to me after a bit more rest, he thought, curling deeper into the blankets.
And then it hit him, his eyes wide as fear and adrenalin pumped through his body.
He was still in bed. It was past eight in the morning … and his Guardian had yet to wake him up, even for just a simple half-hour practice to stay in shape while on vacation.
This was bad, this was very bad.
Slowly peeking out of the blankets, Harry cast out his senses, looking for any traps, hidden surprises—which included insane love interests after his Guardian, especially of the teenage Veela variety—and other assorted tricks meant to catch him off guard.
But there was nothing, no hidden spells, wards, barriers, armed traps; there was nothing at all.
"I'm dead," Harry muttered, clutching the book tightly, and whimpering as he curled into a ball.
Harry slowly made it down the hallway of the suite, gingerly making headway towards the sounds of the kitchen. He was trying to sense things passively, since it wouldn't be the first time his Old Man had set traps that went off under active screening.
Harry never looked at birthday presents the same after that.
Come to think of it, my birthday is in a few days… Is he planning something for that? He fought hard not to shiver at that thought. Birthdays by Ranma were like roller coasters: they had highs and lows plus could usually end with him throwing up.
But that day was still off a bit. There was something else, something on the edge of his senses that radiated … Fae.
"Dear God, they're visiting him now," Harry fretted. Fae were in the building! Damn it, I knew I should have grabbed that cold iron dagger.
"Breakfast's ready, Harry!" called out his caregiver from the kitchen. "And hurry up; we need to check out those houses in Britain my contact came up with."
Harry sighed. Fae in the large hotel suite, a trip to Britain to look at whatever houses Ranma's contact had come up with, and no morning setup to wakeup to. What else could go wrong?
And like that, the deities decided to once again use the infamous Bitch Slap of the Gods.
Harry stared at the two Fae before him, as they lounged on the table, eating fruit.
No, they weren't the type that usually tried to seduce his Old Man.
Okay, any type was the type to try and seduce his Old Man, but these Fae didn't seem interested at all in the Saotome man.
These were barely a few inches tall, slender, feminine, the main difference between them being the coloring of their wings.
The fact one was an obvious Winter Fae and one an obvious Summer Fae, despite their nearly identical appearances, just confused and frightened the young Potter all the more. Aside from the Queen Mothers, the two Courts simply didn't get along that well.
And these two were eating … together.
"Okay," started Harry, "who are they?"
"Mix and Pix," said Ranma, looking over the morning paper.
"Charges sent to assist you in this … Hogwarts place …in case they try to go back on our agreement," said Ranma.
"And likely an attempt by the Queen Mothers to spy on you and me while seeing what goes on in areas of this mage subculture that they may or may not be able to scry."
"O…kay," said Harry, gingerly taking a seat.
"Take it easy on them, Harry," said Ranma.
"I assume they weren't the first option," offered the boy, all too familiar with how most people negotiated: offer something you'd know they'd never agree to, then offer something a bit more palatable but will seem like a better idea.
"A phoenix and a basilisk," said Ranma. Really, where was the boy to keep a killer snake like that with their lifestyles? And a phoenix of all things? Like Ranma was going to tempt Fate with one of those around.
"We're right here, you know," said Mix, the Summer Fae.
"My deviant sister is correct," said Pix, the Winter Fae.
Harry just blinked, staring at the two for a second, before turning his attention to his Guardian. Did they just claim to be … sisters? "… AND?"
Ranma shrugged. "Winter Fae mother who raped a Summer Fae male; thus oddly producing these two, who were immediately requested by the Mothers."
"Ah," said Harry. "Right; don't want to know anymore."
"But it's a really good story!" offered Mix.
"It could use a bit more blood in it," said Pix.
The two human males shivered at that. One was glad the little psychos were not assigned to him, the other cursing his adopted parent for once again being unable to say no to anything female.
"Are they even allowed to go with me to school?" asked Harry, looking for an easy out. School was going to be enough trouble—like his Guardian, the scholarly institutes were not very … compatible to his lifestyle.
But then again, how many ten-year-olds had an entire private school wing named after them? And it wasn't like that arson charge ever stuck. He could hardly be blamed for a demon burning it down.
Okay, so he had been the one to set the demon on fire in the first place, but how was he to know the thing would run into the school and directly into the chemistry lab?
Ranma just shrugged. "Who knows, who cares; you want to try and stop them?"
Harry shivered, knowing that if he looked, a menacing look of glee would probably be on the faces of the small Fae. "Fine."
Ranma nodded, continuing to read the paper. "We can ask around when we get our escort to this Diagon Alley place," Ranma said. Whoever it was, the Saotome man hoped it was someone who was at least well informed and not likely to make a scene. The less people who knew Harry was back with in that country, the better.
"I blame you for this," grumbled Harry, as he followed the large half-giant towards the location of Diagon Alley.
"Oh sure, it's always my fault," grumbled Ranma right back. Oh, Dumbledore was so going to get yelled at for this. They might as well have been walking under floating signs demanding to be noticed.
"We could just kill him," whispered Pix, hiding under a flap covering Harry's right shoulder. "I wonder how long it'd take to slit a giant's throat." There was no mistaking the curiosity in her voice as to if she could do it.
"Sister dear, you know our limitations placed upon us by the Mothers, remember?" said Mix.
Harry just shook his head. Where was the justice in this? Why did he have two young bloodthirsty Fae assigned to him by the Mothers? Why was his guide to this magical subculture more likely to point him out in a crowd rather than allow him quiet observation—and a good hope of finding proof so as to justify an escape?
And to make matters worse, the legal advisor that his teacher was supposed to have acquired to help Harry smooth out any family obligations and legal issues in this subculture had failed to show up at the house they were 'living' at during Harry's tenure at Hogwarts.
Can't one thing go right this day? he bellowed internally. If his school year was like this, he was going to have to set aside a lot of time to find the proper methods to payback his caregiver for putting him through this.
"My, oh my," came a distinctively female voice, "you do travel with the most interesting people, Saotome."
Harry blinked in surprise as his Guardian cringed like a puppy about to get its nose whacked for peeing on the rug. Who is this woman and how can I use her to torture the Old Man? He almost wanted to smile in joy as finally, the Bitch Slap of the Gods was focused solely on Ranma Saotome, allowing Harry once more … to enjoy the show without being involved.
"Hello, Nabiki," he said quietly. "I was a little worried when you didn't show up at the house." He had been wrong; there were two more words scarier than fiancé or fiancée: Nabiki Tendo, and he had been forced to contact her to help ensure things went their way … legally.
The woman just snorted. "Right; like I couldn't find out where this place was with a few phone calls. Besides, the last time I trusted a cab in this town; it drove by Buckingham Palace three times for one trip. It was just easier to meet you here."
"Really?" asked Hagrid. "I'll 'ave to tell Dumbledore 'bout that," he muttered. "You didn't tell any Muggles, did ya?" he asked nervously. Was the Statute of Secrecy broken?
Nabiki just snorted. "Please; more found out from you discussing it on the street than will ever find out from me." She smiled as the half-giant chuckled nervously.
"And don't worry, I found out from my contacts in the Japanese magical communities.
"Which reminds me," she said, focusing once more back on Ranma. "I was asked to relay a message to you from an Inquisitor, something about some irregularities in some of your filings for the Amaterasu incident."
Harry felt his joy grow as he watched his teacher suddenly pale. No matter what, this day was already so worth it just to see the usual man—a man who seemed unstoppable—look as if he was a small boy about to be grounded before Christmas.
"You know, Ranma-baby," said the woman, her voice a near purr, but her facial expression much like a Fae with a helpless member of the opposing Court before them, "you promised to keep in contact more. How many years ago was that, Saotome?"
Hagrid just stared back and forth between the two adults. He really didn't know why the guy Harry's guardian was acting like that. He didn't know why, but he got the feeling the lady was a decent sort. Hagrid did consider himself a good judge of character, after all.
Harry tilted his head back, feeling a ray of sunshine beam upon him, as his Guardian cowed under the woman's glare. There was a God!