Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Harry Potter and the Endwar Project
I own Harry Potter. You see, I used the Endwar Project to go back in time with a lifetime's supply of polyjuice potion and replaced J. K. Rowling with myself. Yeah, I figured you wouldn't fall for that. Never mind.
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Chapter 3 - Likes Repel
While Hawthorne had heavily suspected that Harry was from the future, hearing him say it out loud was still a surprise. He knew that Harry's claim was most likely true - the technicians working on the Endwar Project had all signed contracts stating that they would only use it for its intended purpose - he still needed some convincing.
"Will you be willing to repeat that under veritaserum?" Hawthorne asked, pulling a vial of said potion from his pocket.
"You can give it to me," Harry said, shrugging, "no guarantees I'll give you the answers you’re looking for." Harry opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out while Hawthorne applied three drops of veritaserum onto the organ. Harry swallowed and his muscles relaxed as the potion took effect.
"What is your name?" Hawthorne asked, capping the potion vial and putting it back in his pocket.
"I've gone by many names in my lifetime," Harry replied in a monotone.
"What is the name on your birth certificate?" Hawthorne asked.
"I don't know; I've never seen my birth certificate," Harry said. Hawthorne began to grin at Harry's answers.
"Are you Harry James Potter, an agent of the Unspeakables?" he asked. Harry did not reply immediately.
"Yes," he finally said.
"Did you use the Endwar Project at any time between the twentieth and twenty-seventh of June Two-Thousand Nine in order to prevent a catastrophic war with Voldemort or some other entity?" Hawthorne asked.
"Yes."
"What is in the briefcase that you brought with you?" Hawthorne asked, his grin threatening to split his face.
"I don't know," Harry answered. "The person that gave it to me said that it had roughly one million pounds in cash and galleons, as well as some other devices and clothes to help me in my new life here."
"How do you intend to carry out your mission?" Hawthorne asked, regaining control over his facial muscles.
"I intend to prevent the Second War with Voldemort by eliminating his assets, both in money and manpower," Harry replied.
"How do you intend to…eliminate Voldemort's manpower?" Hawthorne asked.
"Depending on the threat that they pose to my plans, I have a variety of plans on how to dispose of them."
"Do you know of any Death Eaters that are currently employed by the Department of Mysteries?"
"As far as I'm aware of, only Augustus Rookwood." Hawthorne saw that Harry's body was beginning to tense again, and looked down at his watch.
"Alright, you have enough for one last question. Anything else you'd like to say?" Hawthorne asked.
"Yeah, your security sucks," Harry said bluntly. "Six fourth- and fifth-years were able to break in with little difficulty." Hawthorne frowned at this news; he would have to speak to the security personnel about that. By then, Harry had fully recovered from the effects of the veritaserum and turned to Hawthorne. "So, do you believe me now?"
"Yes, I do," Hawthorne said. "I'll have Jennifer get some clothes for you and release you. After that, I want to see you in my office."
"Yes, sir," Harry said. Nodding in satisfaction, Hawthorne canceled the privacy charms and opened the curtains before disappearing. A few minutes later, Hexlie appeared with a pile of clothes in her arms. She set the clothes on the bed and with a wave of her wand, the manacles snapped open. "Thanks," Harry said as he rubbed his wrists.
"No problem," Hexlie said, smiling pleasantly as she closed the privacy curtain around Harry again. Harry stripped out of his hospital robes and put on the provided clothes. Once he was decent again, he opened the curtains and walked to Hawthorne's office and knocked on the closed door.
"Come in," Hawthorne said. When he entered, closing the door behind him, he saw Hawthorne sitting at his desk with the metal briefcase that Harry took with him laying on top of it. "Ah, Potter, please sit," Hawthorne said, Harry taking the offered seat. "Now, I was wondering if you could help me here," he continued, laying his hands on the briefcase. "This case is programmed to only open for two people. I'm assuming that one of them is you, but we don't know who the second person is. I was wondering if you could open it up for me."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, and pressed his thumbs against the latches, causing them to unlock. He opened the lid and his eyes widened slightly in surprise.
The interior was divided into four compartments: The left contained several shrunken equipment carrying cases. The second contained several blocks of pound bills stacked neatly on top of each other. The third compartment contained the golden currency of the wizards. The fourth contained several neatly folded articles of clothing. On top of all of this was a single file folder with the words "FOR NEBUCHADNEZZAR HAWTHORNE" stamped across it in bold red letters. Harry wordlessly took the folder and handed it to Hawthorne, who flipped it open. It turned out to be the profile information concerning Harry upon his entry into the Unspeakables. After he skimmed through Harry's information, he jotted something down onto a piece of parchment. With a wave of his wand, the parchment folded into a paper airplane and flew off through a small window above his office door.
"Well, Potter, your record is rather...interesting to say the least," Hawthorne said, linking his fingers together. "And I have affirmed your honesty, so I guess I have no choice but to let you go to fulfill your mission." Harry nodded and closed the briefcase.
"Thank you, sir," he said, beginning to sit up. "I shall begin immediately."
"I'm not done yet, so sit back down," Hawthorne said, and Harry settled back into his seat. "You may be an accomplished Unspeakable, but I haven't seen you in action myself yet. And while I don't know your exact plans regarding your mission, I'm fairly certain that whatever it is it's probably illegal if you should get caught, so I'm assigning someone to make sure that doesn't happen." Harry frowned in confusion.
"Sir, with all due respect, I don't need a babysitter," he said calmly.
"Don't think of it as being given a babysitter," Hawthorne sighed, "think of it as-" he continued, but was interrupted by a knocking on his door. "Ah, speak of the devil, come in!" The door opened to reveal Harry's assigned partner: A Caucasian woman around Harry's age, with black hair pulled back into a tight bun and bright, honey-colored eyes. While the loose Unspeakable robes concealed her figure, Harry idly noted that her face at least seemed attractive.
"Sir, you asked for me?" she asked. Hawthorne nodded and offered a seat, which she took beside Harry.
"Mister Potter, meet Christine Lockley," Hawthorne introduced the woman. "Miss Lockley, meet Harry Potter." Christine looked at Harry, her eyebrow raised.
"No relation," Harry lied. The two agents looked at each other and shook hands politely before returning their attention to their superior.
"Lockley, I've finally found the perfect mission for you," Hawthorne said. "You're going to be working with Mister Potter here," he continued, gesturing towards Harry.
"Sir, with-" both agents began, and then stopped. Harry leaned back and allowed Christine to finish. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't work well with partners," she said.
"I know," Hawthorne said. "That's exactly why I'm giving you this assignment. Mister Potter here will be doing some less-than-savory work, and it's your job to keep an eye on him and make sure that he doesn't get into trouble." Christine's brow furrowed much like Harry's had earlier.
"A babysitter, sir?" she asked, trying to hide the disdain in her voice.
"That's what I told him," Harry quipped.
"However, due to the unique nature of Potter's mission, special measures have to be taken to make sure that you fulfill your mission, Lockley." Hawthorne reached into his desk and pulled out an envelope. Harry opened it to find a pair of keys, as well as specifications to a two-bedroom flat in London. He pored over the information briefly.
"It seems like a nice place," Harry said. "But what does that have to do with anything?" Hawthorne grinned knowingly and linked his fingers together.
"Due to the unusual circumstances, you two will be living together until Mister Potter's mission is complete or I assign either of you to a different one." The room was so silent that Hawthorne thought he could hear the clocks ticking from the Time Room.
"What?!" both agents asked, shocked.
"And how long is Mister Potter's assignment supposed to last?" Christine asked, shooting Harry a scathing glare. Hawthorne briefly flicked his eyes towards Harry, who shrugged fractionally.
"Indefinitely," Hawthorne finally said. Christine groaned and cradled her head in her hands.
"Sir, I have my own flat," Christine protested.
"I understand that it's a rental, isn't it?" Hawthorne asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Great," Hawthorne said, "then it should be easier to leave it then. I expect you to be moved in by tomorrow." Christine clenched her jaw and her fists, but eventually agreed through clenched teeth. "I'm glad that you're so accepting of this; you're both dismissed." Both agents stood up and left, Harry taking his briefcase with him. They both left the Department of Mysteries, Christine pointedly ignoring Harry until they entered the Atrium. Then, she grabbed Harry by the collar of his robes and dragged him off.
"What the hell, woman?" Harry asked as he tried to shake off the grip of the obviously upset woman beside him. "Where are we going?"
"My place," she ground out.
"Look, you're an attractive woman, but I like to get to know someone first before going to their flat," Harry replied. Christine glared at him, but continued dragging him to the Apparation point.
"You're the reason why I have to move out of my flat, so you might as well help me pack," she said as they walked out onto the Apparation point and disappeared with a crack. When Harry's world returned, he found himself in a studio flat, the bathroom being the only separate room. "Alright, I take this half of the flat," Christine said, sweeping her arms from the doorway towards the bed. "And you have this half," she continued, sweeping her arms in the opposite direction before conjuring several cardboard boxes and began packing. Harry grabbed a few and turned towards the kitchenette, and with a wave of his wand, Christine's pots and pans and dishes began to pile themselves neatly inside the boxes. Taking another box, Harry walked into the bathroom and quickly packed up Christine's various toiletries.
Within ten minutes, Christine's flat was completely bare except for the furniture that came with the room itself, and having shrunken the boxes to fit in their pockets, transfigured their robes to Muggle clothes and left. As they walked out of the flat and towards Muggle London, Harry noted that Christine's body was pleasantly curved as well, and began to fall further behind.
"Keep up!" she snapped, and Harry made several long strides to catch up. "Stop falling behind," she hissed at him.
"Two feet is not falling behind," Harry retorted.
"Maybe, but I also don't want you staring at my ass," she said.
"I was not staring!" Harry protested.
"Oh please, I could feel your eyes on me," she countered. Harry sighed in defeat.
"Well, to be fair, it is a nice ass." Christine leered at him for a moment, before changing the subject.
"Holmes Street is this way," she said, pointing in the direction they needed to go. After wandering around for several more minutes, they finally found the building they were looking for and entered their new flat. The walls were painted beige, with light brown furniture decorating the sitting room; a copy of the Daily Prophet was lying on the coffee table. "Not bad," Christine admitted. "Dibs on the master bedroom." Harry pulled out the boxes out of his pocket and enlarged them so Christine could unpack. Harry sat down on the sofa and picked up the newspaper, checking the date. June Twenty-Four, Nineteen Eighty-Three, Harry thought as he perused the periodical. The...other me turns three next month. A grin grew on Harry's face that a plan formulated in his mind. I think I know what my first move's going to be.
"So, when are we going to start?" Christine asked.
"Tonight," Harry answered. "We start tonight."
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I once met a girl with honey-colored eyes.
Does anyone besides me think that, for a place that's supposed to hold the magic's greatest secrets, the DoM's security is really crappy?
Don't forget to review.
Edited 12/22/08 for factual error.
--------
Chapter 3 - Likes Repel
While Hawthorne had heavily suspected that Harry was from the future, hearing him say it out loud was still a surprise. He knew that Harry's claim was most likely true - the technicians working on the Endwar Project had all signed contracts stating that they would only use it for its intended purpose - he still needed some convincing.
"Will you be willing to repeat that under veritaserum?" Hawthorne asked, pulling a vial of said potion from his pocket.
"You can give it to me," Harry said, shrugging, "no guarantees I'll give you the answers you’re looking for." Harry opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out while Hawthorne applied three drops of veritaserum onto the organ. Harry swallowed and his muscles relaxed as the potion took effect.
"What is your name?" Hawthorne asked, capping the potion vial and putting it back in his pocket.
"I've gone by many names in my lifetime," Harry replied in a monotone.
"What is the name on your birth certificate?" Hawthorne asked.
"I don't know; I've never seen my birth certificate," Harry said. Hawthorne began to grin at Harry's answers.
"Are you Harry James Potter, an agent of the Unspeakables?" he asked. Harry did not reply immediately.
"Yes," he finally said.
"Did you use the Endwar Project at any time between the twentieth and twenty-seventh of June Two-Thousand Nine in order to prevent a catastrophic war with Voldemort or some other entity?" Hawthorne asked.
"Yes."
"What is in the briefcase that you brought with you?" Hawthorne asked, his grin threatening to split his face.
"I don't know," Harry answered. "The person that gave it to me said that it had roughly one million pounds in cash and galleons, as well as some other devices and clothes to help me in my new life here."
"How do you intend to carry out your mission?" Hawthorne asked, regaining control over his facial muscles.
"I intend to prevent the Second War with Voldemort by eliminating his assets, both in money and manpower," Harry replied.
"How do you intend to…eliminate Voldemort's manpower?" Hawthorne asked.
"Depending on the threat that they pose to my plans, I have a variety of plans on how to dispose of them."
"Do you know of any Death Eaters that are currently employed by the Department of Mysteries?"
"As far as I'm aware of, only Augustus Rookwood." Hawthorne saw that Harry's body was beginning to tense again, and looked down at his watch.
"Alright, you have enough for one last question. Anything else you'd like to say?" Hawthorne asked.
"Yeah, your security sucks," Harry said bluntly. "Six fourth- and fifth-years were able to break in with little difficulty." Hawthorne frowned at this news; he would have to speak to the security personnel about that. By then, Harry had fully recovered from the effects of the veritaserum and turned to Hawthorne. "So, do you believe me now?"
"Yes, I do," Hawthorne said. "I'll have Jennifer get some clothes for you and release you. After that, I want to see you in my office."
"Yes, sir," Harry said. Nodding in satisfaction, Hawthorne canceled the privacy charms and opened the curtains before disappearing. A few minutes later, Hexlie appeared with a pile of clothes in her arms. She set the clothes on the bed and with a wave of her wand, the manacles snapped open. "Thanks," Harry said as he rubbed his wrists.
"No problem," Hexlie said, smiling pleasantly as she closed the privacy curtain around Harry again. Harry stripped out of his hospital robes and put on the provided clothes. Once he was decent again, he opened the curtains and walked to Hawthorne's office and knocked on the closed door.
"Come in," Hawthorne said. When he entered, closing the door behind him, he saw Hawthorne sitting at his desk with the metal briefcase that Harry took with him laying on top of it. "Ah, Potter, please sit," Hawthorne said, Harry taking the offered seat. "Now, I was wondering if you could help me here," he continued, laying his hands on the briefcase. "This case is programmed to only open for two people. I'm assuming that one of them is you, but we don't know who the second person is. I was wondering if you could open it up for me."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, and pressed his thumbs against the latches, causing them to unlock. He opened the lid and his eyes widened slightly in surprise.
The interior was divided into four compartments: The left contained several shrunken equipment carrying cases. The second contained several blocks of pound bills stacked neatly on top of each other. The third compartment contained the golden currency of the wizards. The fourth contained several neatly folded articles of clothing. On top of all of this was a single file folder with the words "FOR NEBUCHADNEZZAR HAWTHORNE" stamped across it in bold red letters. Harry wordlessly took the folder and handed it to Hawthorne, who flipped it open. It turned out to be the profile information concerning Harry upon his entry into the Unspeakables. After he skimmed through Harry's information, he jotted something down onto a piece of parchment. With a wave of his wand, the parchment folded into a paper airplane and flew off through a small window above his office door.
"Well, Potter, your record is rather...interesting to say the least," Hawthorne said, linking his fingers together. "And I have affirmed your honesty, so I guess I have no choice but to let you go to fulfill your mission." Harry nodded and closed the briefcase.
"Thank you, sir," he said, beginning to sit up. "I shall begin immediately."
"I'm not done yet, so sit back down," Hawthorne said, and Harry settled back into his seat. "You may be an accomplished Unspeakable, but I haven't seen you in action myself yet. And while I don't know your exact plans regarding your mission, I'm fairly certain that whatever it is it's probably illegal if you should get caught, so I'm assigning someone to make sure that doesn't happen." Harry frowned in confusion.
"Sir, with all due respect, I don't need a babysitter," he said calmly.
"Don't think of it as being given a babysitter," Hawthorne sighed, "think of it as-" he continued, but was interrupted by a knocking on his door. "Ah, speak of the devil, come in!" The door opened to reveal Harry's assigned partner: A Caucasian woman around Harry's age, with black hair pulled back into a tight bun and bright, honey-colored eyes. While the loose Unspeakable robes concealed her figure, Harry idly noted that her face at least seemed attractive.
"Sir, you asked for me?" she asked. Hawthorne nodded and offered a seat, which she took beside Harry.
"Mister Potter, meet Christine Lockley," Hawthorne introduced the woman. "Miss Lockley, meet Harry Potter." Christine looked at Harry, her eyebrow raised.
"No relation," Harry lied. The two agents looked at each other and shook hands politely before returning their attention to their superior.
"Lockley, I've finally found the perfect mission for you," Hawthorne said. "You're going to be working with Mister Potter here," he continued, gesturing towards Harry.
"Sir, with-" both agents began, and then stopped. Harry leaned back and allowed Christine to finish. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't work well with partners," she said.
"I know," Hawthorne said. "That's exactly why I'm giving you this assignment. Mister Potter here will be doing some less-than-savory work, and it's your job to keep an eye on him and make sure that he doesn't get into trouble." Christine's brow furrowed much like Harry's had earlier.
"A babysitter, sir?" she asked, trying to hide the disdain in her voice.
"That's what I told him," Harry quipped.
"However, due to the unique nature of Potter's mission, special measures have to be taken to make sure that you fulfill your mission, Lockley." Hawthorne reached into his desk and pulled out an envelope. Harry opened it to find a pair of keys, as well as specifications to a two-bedroom flat in London. He pored over the information briefly.
"It seems like a nice place," Harry said. "But what does that have to do with anything?" Hawthorne grinned knowingly and linked his fingers together.
"Due to the unusual circumstances, you two will be living together until Mister Potter's mission is complete or I assign either of you to a different one." The room was so silent that Hawthorne thought he could hear the clocks ticking from the Time Room.
"What?!" both agents asked, shocked.
"And how long is Mister Potter's assignment supposed to last?" Christine asked, shooting Harry a scathing glare. Hawthorne briefly flicked his eyes towards Harry, who shrugged fractionally.
"Indefinitely," Hawthorne finally said. Christine groaned and cradled her head in her hands.
"Sir, I have my own flat," Christine protested.
"I understand that it's a rental, isn't it?" Hawthorne asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Great," Hawthorne said, "then it should be easier to leave it then. I expect you to be moved in by tomorrow." Christine clenched her jaw and her fists, but eventually agreed through clenched teeth. "I'm glad that you're so accepting of this; you're both dismissed." Both agents stood up and left, Harry taking his briefcase with him. They both left the Department of Mysteries, Christine pointedly ignoring Harry until they entered the Atrium. Then, she grabbed Harry by the collar of his robes and dragged him off.
"What the hell, woman?" Harry asked as he tried to shake off the grip of the obviously upset woman beside him. "Where are we going?"
"My place," she ground out.
"Look, you're an attractive woman, but I like to get to know someone first before going to their flat," Harry replied. Christine glared at him, but continued dragging him to the Apparation point.
"You're the reason why I have to move out of my flat, so you might as well help me pack," she said as they walked out onto the Apparation point and disappeared with a crack. When Harry's world returned, he found himself in a studio flat, the bathroom being the only separate room. "Alright, I take this half of the flat," Christine said, sweeping her arms from the doorway towards the bed. "And you have this half," she continued, sweeping her arms in the opposite direction before conjuring several cardboard boxes and began packing. Harry grabbed a few and turned towards the kitchenette, and with a wave of his wand, Christine's pots and pans and dishes began to pile themselves neatly inside the boxes. Taking another box, Harry walked into the bathroom and quickly packed up Christine's various toiletries.
Within ten minutes, Christine's flat was completely bare except for the furniture that came with the room itself, and having shrunken the boxes to fit in their pockets, transfigured their robes to Muggle clothes and left. As they walked out of the flat and towards Muggle London, Harry noted that Christine's body was pleasantly curved as well, and began to fall further behind.
"Keep up!" she snapped, and Harry made several long strides to catch up. "Stop falling behind," she hissed at him.
"Two feet is not falling behind," Harry retorted.
"Maybe, but I also don't want you staring at my ass," she said.
"I was not staring!" Harry protested.
"Oh please, I could feel your eyes on me," she countered. Harry sighed in defeat.
"Well, to be fair, it is a nice ass." Christine leered at him for a moment, before changing the subject.
"Holmes Street is this way," she said, pointing in the direction they needed to go. After wandering around for several more minutes, they finally found the building they were looking for and entered their new flat. The walls were painted beige, with light brown furniture decorating the sitting room; a copy of the Daily Prophet was lying on the coffee table. "Not bad," Christine admitted. "Dibs on the master bedroom." Harry pulled out the boxes out of his pocket and enlarged them so Christine could unpack. Harry sat down on the sofa and picked up the newspaper, checking the date. June Twenty-Four, Nineteen Eighty-Three, Harry thought as he perused the periodical. The...other me turns three next month. A grin grew on Harry's face that a plan formulated in his mind. I think I know what my first move's going to be.
"So, when are we going to start?" Christine asked.
"Tonight," Harry answered. "We start tonight."
--------
I once met a girl with honey-colored eyes.
Does anyone besides me think that, for a place that's supposed to hold the magic's greatest secrets, the DoM's security is really crappy?
Don't forget to review.
Edited 12/22/08 for factual error.
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