Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Alfred A History
Harry gasped. Who was this Alex? How did he know that Alfred was also Harry? Had he slipped? Had said something to give himself away? Was Alex a Death Eater in disguise? A wizard, come to take him to the ministry? No, how would he recognize him? And besides, he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Alex interrupted Harry’s inner panic, “Did you think I wouldn’t look up your background? I do find it interesting that you felt the need to change your name. Honestly Harry, sharing a bank account with yourself? Getting a job at the same place at the same time, and then ‘Harry’ mysteriously disappears when ‘Alfred’ gets a promotion. It didn’t take a genius to figure out.”
Harry didn’t know whether to be glad it wasn’t someone from his past, or angry to have been figured out.
“I can help you with that, you know.” Alex looked around, “If you want ‘Harry’ to disappear. I don’t know if you just liked one job better than the other or if you wanted to hide from something.”
Harry was now angry at himself. He knew about the Internet, he was hiding, but he hadn’t considered what would happen if muggles got curious. Death Eaters couldn’t use the Internet and he wasn’t hiding from muggles, but illegal name changes were sure to make it look like he was.
“How can you help? Not that I need it, but I would rather start fresh.”
“It’s just a matter of paperwork, Alfred.” Alex winked and switched topics, “But we can save that for later, I suggest that right now, we work on what skills you do have.”
The next hour was filled with sparring and a crash course in field tactics and skills. Though it wasn’t exactly blackmail, Harry felt obligated to train with Alex. With his new singular life, he found he had more free time than he could fill by fixing up his humble flat. He wanted to change his official records, but those skills were denied to him until Alex had had plenty of time to discover all of Harry’s hidden talents.
Over the next few days Harry found he was instinctive with all sorts of vehicles from motorcycles to limousines but he had a little trouble adjusting to the backlash of most guns. Usually spells didn’t have backlash, so he had to learn to aim appropriately.
One of the most useful things Harry learned was field medicine. With his luck, someone got hurt on every adventure he went on. While the one attacked was usually he, other people got hurt too and it would good to be able to actually do something to help them. Harry made a mental note to find a few healing spells so that he could help if he got sucked back into his old life.
After a month of training with Alex, Harry was taught how to cover his paper trails and to create new ones. He wasn’t expert at hacking or even using the Internet, but Alex made sure that as long as he stayed reasonably unobtrusive, he could fool a casual background check. That was only in the event that he needed to change his name from his current pseudonym though. Harry was grateful for the help with creating his persona, even if he was somewhat reluctant to loose all ties with his former self.
Besides his reluctance, Harry (or Alfred) was suspicious of all the help he was receiving. He had even asked Alex, “Why are you helping me?”
“You may not always be so reluctant to join the MI5 as you are now,” was the simple reply. Harry couldn’t get another answer no matter how persistent he was, and after a few unusual lessons, he guessed that Alex had been taught how to avoid questioning and he stopped trying.
Harry was glad he had some practical skills besides cooking and cleaning at the end of his training. The only thing Alex asked in return was somewhat strange.
“Alfred,” He started when they were practicing parallel parking a limo at high speeds, “I want your promise that if you ever get over your scruples you will come back here to work and you won’t go vigilante on us.
Thinking of the Order, Harry felt the urge to squirm uncomfortably but managed to remind himself that Alfred didn’t squirm. “I won’t.” Harry promised.
AAH6AAH6AAH6AAH6AAH6
Weeks later when Harry, as Alfred, was practicing popping up at tables just as the patrons raised their hands to wave him over; someone came into the VIP lounge with a gun. The man had two friends who blocked the front entrance and the door to the kitchen. All three had black pantyhose masking their faces and distorting their noses. The main man lifted his gun and ordered all of the high-class patrons to the floor.
Harry squatted behind the booth he had just surprised and cursed his luck. What kind of robbers robed a hotel anyway? He wondered not quite hysterically. Unfortunately, the robbers had picked a hotel that had an uncomfortable proximity to the coppers.
One of the more paranoid old women had already put in a call in the confusion and as the burglar had begun his rounds with a sack for jewelry and money clips the situation escalated with teams of law enforcement blocked the outside exits. Harry almost cursed the woman for turning an armed robbery into a hostage situation.
Unfortunately, the situation went from bad to worse. Apparently, one of his patrons was quite a political figure and one of the other patrons was a suicide bomber who had planned to kill the woman that night. All the stress and confusion came to a climax when a woman screamed.
Attention was turned to her. A pregnant woman with blood soaking her dress was not what the robbers had had in mind. Chaos mounted as the man who had been waving his gun began fervently denying that he had shot her. A few of the more calm husbands tried to reassure the hysterical robber so he might just let the coppers in. He would not be calmed however and the pregnant woman’s husband began begging for a doctor in the room.
None of the eaters admitted to the profession and many were confused as to what was happening, what with the suicidal man being talked down from the window and the robber bursting into tears to the embarrassment of the door guards. The one guarding the kitchen eventually just took over the bag and tried to get money from the angry hostages.
Harry crept to the waiters’ station in the middle of the room for clean towels and a sharp dessert knife, which he stuck in clean, hot dishwater. He knew the woman needed help and he couldn’t trust the delinquents to look past themselves to the woman. He wasn’t sure he could help, but he had to try.
“Are you going into labor?” Harry hissed to the woman who was by now sweating profusely from her temples and dampening her previously straight hair into frizzy coils.
“What do you think?” the woman spat in and accent Harry had never heard before.
The rude woman’s husband gave Harry a pleading look and grasped her hand tightly.
“I’m a surgeon,” the woman’s husband stated. “Dr. Thomas Wayne, but I am no expert on babies.”
“I am not sure I can help you much, but if this goes on much longer the baby might be in danger.” Dr. Wayne started giving Harry directions on things he could do to help and was surprised when he found that the young waiter had already retrieved the necessary equipment. Harry listened intently over the yelling of the robber who was now crying on one of the shoulder of rich man and explaining his sob story to the uncomfortable man.
Harry spread the clean towels under his work area as calmly as he could. The world around fell into a buzzing white noise as Harry focused solely on the woman and her unborn child. Dr Wayne was whispering breathing patterns that he had obviously practiced before. When Harry saw the top of a little head he urged her to push as she clenched her teeth on a towel to try to stifle her gasps and cries.
Her muffled screams couldn’t be herd over the din, and the blood wasn’t noticed as Harry passed the dessert knife over to cut the umbilical cord for the little boy. The shrieking cry of the newborn baby however, cut through everything, and the room went silent around them.
This was the final straw for the over emotional thief and he ran into the unguarded kitchen and out through the door into the waiting police officer’s arms. Harry wrapped the wet sticky baby in a towel and passed him to his waiting mother. While she cooed at her new son, her husband apologized to Harry.
“My wife isn’t usually so sarcastic.” Dr. Wayne smiled ruefully at his family.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry assured him, he was used to the attitudes of the Dursleys, and Mrs. Wayne was an angel compared to them.
Through the kitchen, the coppers rushed in to allay the hostage’s fears and to deal with the suicidal bomber who was having second thoughts. Harry, separated from the Waynes, watched feeling a familiar feeling of accomplishment as Britain’s finest escorted them to a waiting ambulance.
Alex interrupted Harry’s inner panic, “Did you think I wouldn’t look up your background? I do find it interesting that you felt the need to change your name. Honestly Harry, sharing a bank account with yourself? Getting a job at the same place at the same time, and then ‘Harry’ mysteriously disappears when ‘Alfred’ gets a promotion. It didn’t take a genius to figure out.”
Harry didn’t know whether to be glad it wasn’t someone from his past, or angry to have been figured out.
“I can help you with that, you know.” Alex looked around, “If you want ‘Harry’ to disappear. I don’t know if you just liked one job better than the other or if you wanted to hide from something.”
Harry was now angry at himself. He knew about the Internet, he was hiding, but he hadn’t considered what would happen if muggles got curious. Death Eaters couldn’t use the Internet and he wasn’t hiding from muggles, but illegal name changes were sure to make it look like he was.
“How can you help? Not that I need it, but I would rather start fresh.”
“It’s just a matter of paperwork, Alfred.” Alex winked and switched topics, “But we can save that for later, I suggest that right now, we work on what skills you do have.”
The next hour was filled with sparring and a crash course in field tactics and skills. Though it wasn’t exactly blackmail, Harry felt obligated to train with Alex. With his new singular life, he found he had more free time than he could fill by fixing up his humble flat. He wanted to change his official records, but those skills were denied to him until Alex had had plenty of time to discover all of Harry’s hidden talents.
Over the next few days Harry found he was instinctive with all sorts of vehicles from motorcycles to limousines but he had a little trouble adjusting to the backlash of most guns. Usually spells didn’t have backlash, so he had to learn to aim appropriately.
One of the most useful things Harry learned was field medicine. With his luck, someone got hurt on every adventure he went on. While the one attacked was usually he, other people got hurt too and it would good to be able to actually do something to help them. Harry made a mental note to find a few healing spells so that he could help if he got sucked back into his old life.
After a month of training with Alex, Harry was taught how to cover his paper trails and to create new ones. He wasn’t expert at hacking or even using the Internet, but Alex made sure that as long as he stayed reasonably unobtrusive, he could fool a casual background check. That was only in the event that he needed to change his name from his current pseudonym though. Harry was grateful for the help with creating his persona, even if he was somewhat reluctant to loose all ties with his former self.
Besides his reluctance, Harry (or Alfred) was suspicious of all the help he was receiving. He had even asked Alex, “Why are you helping me?”
“You may not always be so reluctant to join the MI5 as you are now,” was the simple reply. Harry couldn’t get another answer no matter how persistent he was, and after a few unusual lessons, he guessed that Alex had been taught how to avoid questioning and he stopped trying.
Harry was glad he had some practical skills besides cooking and cleaning at the end of his training. The only thing Alex asked in return was somewhat strange.
“Alfred,” He started when they were practicing parallel parking a limo at high speeds, “I want your promise that if you ever get over your scruples you will come back here to work and you won’t go vigilante on us.
Thinking of the Order, Harry felt the urge to squirm uncomfortably but managed to remind himself that Alfred didn’t squirm. “I won’t.” Harry promised.
AAH6AAH6AAH6AAH6AAH6
Weeks later when Harry, as Alfred, was practicing popping up at tables just as the patrons raised their hands to wave him over; someone came into the VIP lounge with a gun. The man had two friends who blocked the front entrance and the door to the kitchen. All three had black pantyhose masking their faces and distorting their noses. The main man lifted his gun and ordered all of the high-class patrons to the floor.
Harry squatted behind the booth he had just surprised and cursed his luck. What kind of robbers robed a hotel anyway? He wondered not quite hysterically. Unfortunately, the robbers had picked a hotel that had an uncomfortable proximity to the coppers.
One of the more paranoid old women had already put in a call in the confusion and as the burglar had begun his rounds with a sack for jewelry and money clips the situation escalated with teams of law enforcement blocked the outside exits. Harry almost cursed the woman for turning an armed robbery into a hostage situation.
Unfortunately, the situation went from bad to worse. Apparently, one of his patrons was quite a political figure and one of the other patrons was a suicide bomber who had planned to kill the woman that night. All the stress and confusion came to a climax when a woman screamed.
Attention was turned to her. A pregnant woman with blood soaking her dress was not what the robbers had had in mind. Chaos mounted as the man who had been waving his gun began fervently denying that he had shot her. A few of the more calm husbands tried to reassure the hysterical robber so he might just let the coppers in. He would not be calmed however and the pregnant woman’s husband began begging for a doctor in the room.
None of the eaters admitted to the profession and many were confused as to what was happening, what with the suicidal man being talked down from the window and the robber bursting into tears to the embarrassment of the door guards. The one guarding the kitchen eventually just took over the bag and tried to get money from the angry hostages.
Harry crept to the waiters’ station in the middle of the room for clean towels and a sharp dessert knife, which he stuck in clean, hot dishwater. He knew the woman needed help and he couldn’t trust the delinquents to look past themselves to the woman. He wasn’t sure he could help, but he had to try.
“Are you going into labor?” Harry hissed to the woman who was by now sweating profusely from her temples and dampening her previously straight hair into frizzy coils.
“What do you think?” the woman spat in and accent Harry had never heard before.
The rude woman’s husband gave Harry a pleading look and grasped her hand tightly.
“I’m a surgeon,” the woman’s husband stated. “Dr. Thomas Wayne, but I am no expert on babies.”
“I am not sure I can help you much, but if this goes on much longer the baby might be in danger.” Dr. Wayne started giving Harry directions on things he could do to help and was surprised when he found that the young waiter had already retrieved the necessary equipment. Harry listened intently over the yelling of the robber who was now crying on one of the shoulder of rich man and explaining his sob story to the uncomfortable man.
Harry spread the clean towels under his work area as calmly as he could. The world around fell into a buzzing white noise as Harry focused solely on the woman and her unborn child. Dr Wayne was whispering breathing patterns that he had obviously practiced before. When Harry saw the top of a little head he urged her to push as she clenched her teeth on a towel to try to stifle her gasps and cries.
Her muffled screams couldn’t be herd over the din, and the blood wasn’t noticed as Harry passed the dessert knife over to cut the umbilical cord for the little boy. The shrieking cry of the newborn baby however, cut through everything, and the room went silent around them.
This was the final straw for the over emotional thief and he ran into the unguarded kitchen and out through the door into the waiting police officer’s arms. Harry wrapped the wet sticky baby in a towel and passed him to his waiting mother. While she cooed at her new son, her husband apologized to Harry.
“My wife isn’t usually so sarcastic.” Dr. Wayne smiled ruefully at his family.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry assured him, he was used to the attitudes of the Dursleys, and Mrs. Wayne was an angel compared to them.
Through the kitchen, the coppers rushed in to allay the hostage’s fears and to deal with the suicidal bomber who was having second thoughts. Harry, separated from the Waynes, watched feeling a familiar feeling of accomplishment as Britain’s finest escorted them to a waiting ambulance.
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