Stormseeker: Unwanted Destiny

I have a lot to do over the summer. I hardly know where to begin. I've already arranged with Dumbledore what parts he will need to take care of, and what tasks I will do myself. Obtaining the diary and capturing Peter Pettigrew are two of my main objectives for the summer.

I even got Dumbledore to give me the invisibility cloak early. Honestly, giving me heirlooms as Christmas presents? It's funny how knowing that I am actually the rightful heir makes me feel somehow better about this all. I think I'll just give Dumbledore the benefit of the doubt and assume that the goblins simply didn't tell him about the connection before.

Before I do anything, though, I need to do some more shopping, if I'm going to be staying here and being Harry Potter again. I put in an order for a new wardrobe with size-adjusting enchantments on it. No need to bother to pay extra for it to be done quickly. There's plenty of time.

I'm also going to need an owl to deliver my mail for me. I head over to Eeylops Owl Emporium to pick up a familiar large grey owl.

"Your name is Solomon," I tell him.

My new old owl hoots in approval.

"I've got a task for you already, in fact," I say. "I want you to deliver a message to the Parkinson family. They've been very bad people and have enslaved a free-born elf against his will, but do try not to peck them too hard when you deliver it."

I write out a letter addressed to the Parkinson family, politely introducing myself and expressing an interest in purchasing a house-elf. I send it off with Solomon.

I've done quite a bit today, and I think I'll settle in for some sleep before doing anything else. I don't think I'm likely to get killed at the moment here, but I'd really rather not have to repeat the day.

I receive a reply the next morning, inviting me over for the next Sunday, July 7th. I haven't actually been to the Parkinsons' place before. I'm going to free my old friend, Rispy, by any means necessary. The thought of an intelligent creature being held in slavery against their will makes my blood boil.

On Saturday, I make a trip to Hogwarts, straight to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore has left his office open to me at all times again. However, at the moment, Dumbledore isn't even in. Just as well, I suppose. This might kill me, and I don't care to have to explain what I'm doing multiple times.

I head out and down to the girls' restroom on the first floor. I hear gurgling from a nearby toilet, and say absently, "Hello, Myrtle."

The ghost girl doesn't reply. I suppose she must be too busy thinking about death to be paying much attention at the moment. No matter. I was just trying to be friendly.

I turn my attention to the faucet on the middle sink. I'm not actually a Parselmouth. I only even know one word in Parseltongue, and that's the word to open the way into the Chamber of Secrets. I can only assume that it might mean "open" or something, but for all I know, it means "swordfish".

It's been a long time since I've been here and actually used this word to get inside, too. I wind up having to try it several times before the wall opens up and reveals the pipe spiraling down into the Chamber. I slide down inside.

"Scourgify," I mutter, cleaning some of the muck off of myself. "Lumos." I head down the tunnel to the great door marking the entrance to the Chamber proper. It takes me a few less tries to get this one to open.

I head into Salazar Slytherin's private library, off the side from the large chamber. At least I'm not really in any danger of being killed by the basilisk. It's still asleep inside of Slytherin's statue, after all. And if it did come out and kill me, I'll just bring a rooster along next time. No big deal. Provided I avoid looking it in the eye. That'll send me back to the start.

There's a lot of books in here, most of them written in Latin, some in Middle English, others in languages that I don't even recognize. My Latin is far from perfect, but I can manage it. One in particular that I'm interested in studying: Codex Veritatum, the Book of Truths. Considering nigh-legendary in wizarding culture, in my last life, it was stolen before I knew enough Latin to hope to puzzle through it. I never did recover it to have a chance to study it. I'm eager for the opportunity to do so now.

I grab a number of other books as well and shove them into my bag of holding. Many of them are ones that I've already read through extensively. I'm not going to clean out this library today. I can always come back down here, after all. But these books will make a good bargaining point when dealing with those who might be difficult to sway with mere promises of money.

One book I grab doesn't look like it's written in any sort of script I'm familiar with. I open it up curiously to take a look. As I do so, three black snakes slither out from nowhere and coil up my arms. They don't do anything else for a few seconds, and then they strike. They sink their fangs into me and inject burning venom into my veins. My head spins, and I collapse to the ground. It's only seconds before the darkness takes me.

I wake in my room at the Leaky Cauldron. Well, that was unpleasant, if not entirely unexpected. What was that book, anyway? Written Parseltongue or something? How would snakes have a written language? They don't even have hands! Well, maybe it was actually the language of something snake-like, like the naga. Or just some obscure language that happened to be protected by Parseltongue in some way.

That did, however, remind me of a very important safety tip that I'd forgotten about. I should buy a few bezoars and carry them with me in my bag of holding. It probably wouldn't have saved me in that last case, but I've never regretted having them available for emergencies.

I get up and get dressed again, then it's back to the Floo. To the Hogwarts Headmaster's office, down to the girls' restroom, and into the Chamber of Secrets. I'm still not getting the password on the first try, but the second or third isn't bad.

I collect the books I'd wanted, and avoid touching the one that killed me. I think that's quite enough for today, so I don't press my luck any further. I head back out again. It's always a nuisance getting out of the Chamber of Secrets. I don't know the Parseltongue word to call for the stairs, so I wind up having to climb up the hard way. This time, I use an Energy Stream Curse to propel me up the pipe. So it's dark magic, but nobody's looking and it's the quickest way I know of to get out of here.

When I get back to the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore has returned. "Ah, Harry," he says deliberately. "What can I do for you today?"

"It's alright," I say. "I was just using your Floo to sneak into the castle so that I could get down to the Chamber of Secrets to swipe some reading material from Salazar Slytherin's private library."

I pull out the Codex Veritatum to show him. I have no reason to lie to him, after all. Maybe in this life, there won't be so much broken trust and paranoia between us.

"The Book of Truths?" Dumbledore says, eyes widening as he looks at it, then to me. "You did not mention that you are a Parselmouth."

"I'm not," I say. "The only word I know is the one to open the Chamber of Secrets. And that took quite a bit of practice to get right."

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore says. "You did not have any difficulty with Slytherin's monster that was supposed to be in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"A basilisk," I say. "It's hibernating. I don't know the Parseltongue phrase to awaken it anyway. If I did, I'd go down there with a rooster and be rid of it."

"Strange," Dumbledore says. "I would have expected the creature to be guarding the Chamber."

"Apparently not," I say.

"I would also imagine that there is probably a lot of material on dark magic in Slytherin's library," Dumbledore says, looking at me a little suspiciously.

"There is," I say. "And some books that are liable to kill you if the wrong person tries to read them. But not all of them." I tap the cover of the Codex Veritatum. "This one, I've been dying for a chance to read."

"I would imagine," Dumbledore says. "There are many who would kill for a chance to read that book, if it's genuine."

"And you don't need to worry about me going back on our agreement," I say. "I'll be on my best behavior, and put on the cleanest face I can. As you see, I'm not hiding anything from you, either."

"Of course," Dumbledore says, although I can tell he still doesn't really trust me anyway. "What do you think about having Remus Lupin as the new Battle Magic teacher?"

"He's a good teacher," I say. "As I said, he just needs to remember to take his potions. And if he can't do that, have Snape go and force feed them to him." I smirk.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling.

Maybe thinking that he's being suspicious and distrustful of me is misplaced. For one thing, he hasn't once tried Legilimency against me. He wouldn't be able to get through my Occlumency barriers without my noticing, but he hasn't even tried. All things considered, I think he's actually being amazingly trustful and not paranoid at all.

"Ah, Harry Potter," Mr. Parkinson says. "It's an honor to have you in our home." He gives me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"I hope that our meeting will be beneficial," I say with forced politeness.

"I must say, I'm surprised to see you came alone," Mr. Parkinson says. "Where are your guardians?"

"I was raised in the United States by some of my mother's cousins," I reply. "But they died recently. I'm technically the ward of Professor Dumbledore now."

"I see," Mr. Parkinson says. "And you're interested in purchasing a house-elf?"

"It has recently come to my attention that I have inherited some property," I say.

"Of course, of course," Mr. Parkinson says. "I have several fine house-elves available. Although, given your age, perhaps we could make an arrangement for a fresh, young servant to be raised and trained for you for when you leave school."

I shake my head. "No, I would prefer to obtain one now, thank you."

"As you wish," Mr. Parkinson says. "I have three males available at the moment. I'm afraid my females are currently not for sale."

He brings out the three males for me to inspect. Rispy is not among them, unsurprisingly. I say, "No, not these. I have heard that you have another elf. A special one. Where is he?"

Mr. Parkinson suddenly looks rather nervous. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, there's no need to hide it with me," I say. "I don't plan on going to snitch to the goblins about it, after all. That would be simply awful for you, and I would never do that to you."

Mr. Parkinson looks at me suspiciously. "What do you want, Potter?"

"I want that elf," I say darkly, narrowing my eyes at him. "By any means necessary. I suggest going along with means that are beneficial toward you."

"Are you threatening me, Potter?" Mr. Parkinson says.

"No," I say. "I'm making you an offer. You have something I want. Let us negotiate on what I will give you in exchange."

Mr. Parkinson looks at me for a long moment, and then chuckles softly. "You are quite the surprising child, Mr. Potter. Bound for Slytherin, no doubt. Very well. Let us negotiate, then."

"So, what interests you, Mr. Parkinson?" I ask. "Gold? Prestige? Rare artifacts? Lost arcane knowledge?"

"What sort of artifacts and knowledge?" Mr. Parkinson asks.

"How would you like some books that belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself?" I say.

Mr. Parkinson's eyes widen. "Where did you get these?"

"That's a secret," I say, grinning.

"If you speak truly, then show me what you are offering so that I can inspect them," Mr. Parkinson says. "If I am satisfied, I will transfer ownership of Rispy to you."

"Very well," I say. I pull three books out of my bag of holding and laying them on a nearby table. Not the Book of Truths. That one is mine. But the ones I've already read, they can be used as bargaining chips. No doubt any one of these is worth more than a single mere elf, no matter how "special", but I don't care. It's not like I want them myself, and I'd like to buy Mr. Parkinson's happiness as well as possession of Rispy.

Mr. Parkinson picks up one of them and looks at it intently. He opens it up and carefully flips through some of the pages. These books are very clearly old, but magically preserved.

"These belonged to Salazar Slytherin?" Mr. Parkinson says. "They certainly seem old..."

"Indeed," I say.

"But you won't tell me where you got them from," Mr. Parkinson says.

"How about we look at it this way," I say. "The first book is to pay for the elf. The second is for not asking any questions about where I got them from. And the third is to pay for your silence on where you got these from and what happened to the elf."

Mr. Parkinson thinks on this for a few moments, before nodding. "If these are even half as valuable as they look, then I suppose I have no cause to complain of those terms. I accept your bargain. Rispy!"

Rispy appears before us, looking positively miserable in the dirty pillowcase he's wearing, tied with a bit of rope as a belt. "What do you want, Master?" he says bitterly.

"Rispy," Mr. Parkinson says. "You now belong to Mr. Harry Potter here. You will follow his orders instead of mine."

Rispy looks over at me with an expression of distaste. "I see."

"I hereby cancel any orders that any other wizards have given you," I say.

Rispy visibly relaxes, and says, "Well, in that case." He turns to Mr. Parkinson and says. "You son of a bitch!" Rispy waves a hand and hurls Mr. Parkinson against a wall.

"Gah!" Mr. Parkinson exclaims. "Potter! Tell him to leave me alone!"

I smirk. "He's not very happy with you, is he."

"I'm going to kill you, wizard scum!" Rispy cries, grabbing a poker from beside the fireplace and brandishing it like a spear.

"Potter!" Mr. Parkinson screams.

"Stand down, Rispy," I say. "As amusing as this is, I'm afraid I can't allow you to kill anyone today."

Rispy glares at me, but stops and lowers his makeshift weapon. "I didn't think you'd actually let me anyway," he mutters dejectedly.

"You shouldn't have canceled his directives," Mr. Parkinson says, standing up again and straightening his robes with as much dignity as he can muster. "He'll be a danger to you if you aren't careful."

"I know what I'm doing, Mr. Parkinson," I say. "Farewell. Come, Rispy." I step over to the fireplace and toss in a bit of Floo powder. "The Leaky Cauldron!"

I step into the Floo, and tumble out of the fireplace at the far end. Rispy, with reluctant obedience, teleports after me. I gesture at him to follow as I go up to my room. Once we're inside, I pull out my wand and cast privacy and locking spells, to make sure nobody disturbs us.

"What, an inn, and not an oversized mansion?" Rispy says, peering about. Although Mr. Parkinson treated me as a cunning, precocious child, Rispy never looked at anyone any differently, whatever age they were.

I shrug. "I've inherited some properties, but I haven't gotten around to claiming them yet. I wanted to make sure to get you out of that situation first."

Rispy snorts softly. "I'm not going to believe that a wizard actually cared about my welfare. You're going to have to do a lot of convincing if you want me to believe that you aren't just like the rest of them, wanting an elf slave to order around and force to breed new slaves for you."

"Believe me when I say that if I could have gotten you out of there sooner, or prevented it from happening in the first place, I would have," I say.

"Why would you care about the misfortunes of a 'mere' elf?" Rispy demands.

"I'm going to tell you a secret," I say. "I am a time traveler. In the future of another timeline, another lifetime, you were my friend. We were working toward freedom for your people. It wasn't going quickly, but we were making progress, and without needing to resort to bloodshed, either."

"I find that more than a little hard to believe, especially considering that you've just enslaved me yourself, and refused to let me kill the one who stole my freedom from me," Rispy says.

"Personally, I'm impressed at your restraint," I say. "You haven't tried to kill me yet. Last time, our first meeting was punctuated by you stabbing me in the eye."

Rispy smirks. "I'm willing to hear you out, if only because the first thing you did was to free me from most of the chains Parkinson placed on me."

"And I'm perfectly willing to free you from the rest of them, too," I say, pulling a pair of socks out of my bag of holding and laying them on the table beside me. "I'm making you an offer. On the right hand, you can take the socks and be free, go home, and we go our separate ways. On the left... you remain bound to me, but also protected by me. No other wizard will be able to bind you again. I will not abuse that bond, and will still allow you to do as you wish."

Rispy frowns at me, looking toward the socks. "I still don't trust you or your motivations. Is this some sort of trick? What do you want, Potter?"

"Freedom for all beings," I say firmly.

"If you're really, honestly, offering me a chance at reclaiming my freedom, why would I ever wish to remain bound to you?" Rispy wonders.

"Fair trade," I say. "In exchange for your assistance, I'll offer you protection and privilege. No one else will be able to bind you against your will. You will be able to go places that you would not be able to. And if there's anything you wish, within reason, ask me and I will provide it if I can. Provided it doesn't involve murdering anyone." I smirk.

"I was just going to ask if you would kill Parkinson, then," Rispy says, smirking back.

"Yeah, like I said, I know you," I say, chuckling. "You can be quite bloodthirsty at times. I don't blame you, really. But I can't go around murdering people."

Rispy sighs and slumps his shoulders. "Fine, I suppose I can understand that. But it just wouldn't be right if he receives no justice for what he did to me."

"Someone once told me that death isn't justice," I say. "I'm not sure that I agree with that, personally. Some people just deserve to die, or that it's the most expedient way to keep them from hurting you or anyone else. However, under the circumstances, it would take a fair bit to make Parkinson dead and get away with it. I am, however, willing to make the preparations necessary if that's what you really want."

Rispy thinks about it for a few moments. "I don't know if I can really trust you until he's dead."

"Then take the socks and go," I say. "Otherwise, you're going to have to trust me, and I'm going to have to trust you."

"Why do you have to trust me?" Rispy says. "You're the one who has complete control over me."

"Alright, here's a direct order for you, then," I say. "Construe any orders from me as suggestions or requests. You never need to follow them."

Rispy stares at me. "That kind of hurts my head."

"Sorry," I say, snickering softly. "At least I didn't order you to ignore all orders?"

"Have I mentioned yet that you're insane?" Rispy asks.

"Not in this lifetime," I say wryly, laughing softly. "Okay, I suppose that should have been, construe all orders except this one as suggestions or requests."

"Better," Rispy says, smirking. "Alright, you know what. I might wind up regreting this, but... I'll go along with this, then. I'll stay with you, for now. But I want that offer to remain open if I ever want out."

"Of course," I say. "I won't hold you one minute longer than you wish. Although, I'd like you to think on whether you really want Mr. Parkinson dead. If, by tomorrow, you still want that, then I will set into motion events to make sure that he dies discreetly, without it being traced back to me."

"I don't think I'm going to stop wanting revenge," Rispy says. "But very well."

I grin darkly. "Ah, but killing someone is rarely the best revenge."

"You'd better not be about to give me some bullshit about living well," Rispy says.

"Oh, no, certainly not," I say. "But if it's revenge you want, there are far more creative ways to go about it. Ways that will leave him alive to regret how things have come to that point."

"I never thought of it that way," Rispy says.

"If you like, I can come up with something suitable," I say. "Always keep your eyes open for opportunities. The best plans can come crashing down due to something unexpected happening... or a sudden victory can be achieved by taking advantage of a rapidly changing situation."

Rispy nods. "Very well. So what are you going to do for now? What sorts of things exactly did you want my assistance with?"

"For starters, I mean to take over one of the old Potter properties to use as a headquarters of sorts," I say. "I don't know if I want to use the one in Godric's Hollow, but probably not. Anyway, when I decide on a place, it's going to be well-protected, and a safe haven for me and any friends that want to stay there for any reason."

"And what about me?" Rispy asks.

"You will get your own bedroom, not a filthy cupboard or something," I say. "And money to buy whatever you need. Buy your own clothes, perhaps?"

"That would be nice," Rispy says. "I'm not going to do all the cooking and cleaning for a mansion, though. That would just be demeaning. But I'd be willing to help defend the place or look after animals."

"There's another elf who had his eye on freedom that I wanted to take on," I say. "One by the name of Dobby, who currently belongs to the Malfoys. They mistreat him pretty badly, to the point where he even tried defying their orders as much as possible."

Rispy nods. "I met Dobby. He was pretty miserable. I'd be glad to see him get into a better situation."

"Yeah," I say. "Alright, shall we get something to eat? Then we can go down the list of properties the goblins gave me and see about picking one to use as our headquarters."

"Our headquarters?" Rispy repeats, then grins. "You know, I kind of like the sound of that."

The mansion before me is three stories tall, built of austere stone, with two wings enclosing a courtyard containing a dry fountain. There are gardens in the back, and an unoccupied pasture that might have once been used for horses. It's practically a castle, a fortress in its own right. Rispy doesn't look impressed.

"I didn't think I would see Caer Danas again," Dumbledore says. "James tried to sell it off in order to fund the war against Voldemort."

"According to the information the goblins gave me," I say, "the sale was invalid in the first place. His father didn't let him inherit the castle for fear that he would do just that. I probably wouldn't have even known it existed if I hadn't gone specifically looking for owned land."

"What of the recipient of the sale?" Dumbledore asks.

"Dead with no heirs even before James was killed," I say. "So it's a moot point anyway."

"I'll check to make sure the wards are still intact," Dumbledore says. "The spells they put over wizarding properties are intended to last for quite a long time, so they should be fine with some updating. Are there any additions you'd like to make?"

"Would having the Fidelius Charm on it preclude it from being on the Floo network?" I ask.

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore says. "You don't know how to Apparate, I take it?"

"No, I don't," I say. "I really need to learn that sometime. I've been getting by with Floo, portkeys, and Side-Along Apparation. But it's not very convenient sometimes. I'm rubbish on a broom, too."

"I could set up portkeys for when you need to get somewhere, I suppose," Dumbledore says. "There aren't any other houses nearby that could discreetly be used as a Floo point."

"And I really wouldn't mind some other trusted adult wizards being around here, either," I say. "They could always Apparate me places if needed, too."

"I can cast the Fidelius Charm for you if you want," Dumbledore says. "What should the secret be, and who do you want as the Secret-Keeper? Yourself?"

"Rispy, would you be willing to do it?" I ask.

Rispy's eyes widen. "Me? You would trust me that much?"

"Of course," I say, smiling at him.

"Then I would be honored," Rispy says.

I nod, and tell Dumbledore, "As for the secret. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at Caer Danas."

"The Order of... Really?" Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling.

"I didn't want this, but I'm not one to do things in half measures," I say, grinning. "I'll take up your fight. I'll stop the Dark Lord."