FicWad

Disclaimer: I don't own anything about the Potterverse. That all belongs to J.K.R. No copyright infringement is intended.



AN: The original idea and inspiration for this story - Harry Potter and The Warlock's Calling - was written by Shadowface, who was kind enough to give me permission to take the idea and run with it. I hope you all enjoy my version.



Letters, Etc.


Thoughts, Mindspeak


/Parseltongue/




/July 5th, Number Four Privet Drive/


Tossing and turning fitfully as sleep evaded him for the third night in a row, Harry snarled out a quiet but frustrated sound and sat up abruptly. Turning darkly shadowed, hollow seeming green eyes towards the dim red glow of his digital clock, the teen sighed and shook his head. He didn't feel like putting his glasses on and finding out how late - or in this case, how early - it was.

"What is wrong with me?" he whispered. Rubbing at his dry, tired eyes, he shook his head again, but this time in an attempt to clear it of exhausted dizziness. Despite the horrifying imagery and painful memories that haunted his dreams and nightmares, some sleep had to be better than none at all. "Why can't I sleep at all, even for just a few hours?"

As if in answer to his query, a sense of powerful urgency rose up within him and he shifted nervously, one hand rising to rub at his scar. When all too familiar pain failed to explode through his body, he paid more attention to what he was feeling.

Feels like I need to do something, but what, for Merlin's sake?! Rubbing his hands together to keep them busy, he made a low sound in the back of his throat and fidgeted even more as the sense of urgency intensified. I guess this is it...I'm finally going crazy...

Unaware of any intent to move until he was already doing so, Harry was on the floor fishing his wand out from under the loose floorboard beneath his bed before he could question why he wanted it. Sliding back into bed, wand firmly grasped in his right hand, he felt some of the tension ease, but now his left hand ached on the edge of pain, as if it, too, wanted a wand to fill it.

Hurts, he whispered in his own mind and wrapped both hands around his Holly wand in an effort to ease that dull, throbbing ache. With the slight easing of his discomfort came a thought so direct and certain that he doubted it was his own for a moment.

My time in this muggle place is done. It is time to leave.

A deep calm followed on the heels of that thought and he relaxed against his thin mattress with a soft sigh. The exhausted teen fell into the first dreamless sleep he'd had without the aid of potions in over a year.


Waking slowly, Harry stretched and sighed, green eyes blinking rapidly against the late morning brightness. His restful peace was interrupted by a vivid recollection of the strange epiphany that had come to him during the night; seeing that his wand was still clutched in both hands drove the point home and re-kindled the urgent need that had driven him to his decision to leave his relative's home.

I'm really going to leave? He wondered if this was another trick, another false thought planted in his mind by Voldemort, but he couldn't get the curious drive to go away anymore than he could find any source beyond himself. I'll go to the Leaky Cauldron for a few days. What can it hurt? It is time to leave.

"It's time to leave," he declared aloud, startling himself and Hedwig, who hooted at him inquisitively. Rising abruptly, wand still in hand since it still almost hurt to not at least have it in one hand, Harry began carefully packing what little he had bothered to unpack. Cleaning out the owl's cage, he crooned softly to her and stroked the soft feathers atop her head.

"I'm leaving here, girl, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do or where I'll be, but you can always find me, can't you?"

Head bobbing, Hedwig shifted from one clawed talon to the other and hooted sharply as if to tell him in no uncertain terms that she'd find him in hell if that was where he decided to go.

"That's my girl, Hedwig," he praised the snowy owl and made sure the window was open far enough for her to get out easily. Taking a deep bracing breath, Harry tucked his wand in his back pocket and went downstairs to brave his family for the day until his Uncle returned home from work.




Vernon opened the front door and went through his usual routine of putting away his coat and briefcase before turning and seeing a sight that brought his blood to a boil. There, sitting on his living room couch was that good for nothing freak of a boy.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, lazing around, boy? There must be something useful you could be doing..."

"Actually, you and I need to talk, Vernon." Harry looked up at the much larger man and resisted the urge to shrink back from him as his face started to go purple. It helped that he had his wand in hand - that little bit of intimidation couldn't hurt his chances. "It might be a good idea to hear what I have to say before you lose your temper."

Petunia cleared her throat, drawing the lumbering man's attention in her direction. Nodding, she shrugged minutely. Harry had already had this conversation with her and she was all for getting him out of their hair as quickly as possible. If that meant shutting her husband up for the time being, then she would do what she had to do.

"If he's telling the truth, then I'd like for you to hear him out, Vernon. Please?"

Frowning, Vernon studied his wife before returning his attention to Harry. The presence of the stick the boy called a wand wasn't lost on him and he immediately wondered if a spell had been cast on his Petunia.

"Did you cast a spell on your Aunt, freak?" he demanded, face purpling as rapidly as it had begun to fade.

"No, Uncle Vernon. I haven't done anything you would consider freakish or abnormal. I know you don't want me here and I'm not sure that you ever did," Harry began. "I don't know all of the circumstances that led to you taking me in, but I'm guessing that you were afraid not to for some reason." He sighed and let his urgent need to get away from this sterile, mundane little home help him say the words.

"I need to go...I need to leave. If you would be willing to take me into London and drop me off at an Inn run by my kind so I can stay there, I won't bother you ever again and I will send the letter every three days so the rest of my people don't come around to bother you."

"You won't ever come back? Not ever?" Vernon could suddenly see why Petunia had tried to get him to listen to the freak. This was almost better than Christmas. "All I have to do is take you to some freak place in London?"

"That's right. We'll never have to deal with each other again if I have anything to say about it, and all you have to do is take me to London. It's not hard to get to." Harry forced himself to breathe despite how much this clear and obvious show of indifference towards him and his feelings hurt. He had known they stopped caring for him once they found out he was different, but now he knew they never had. "Will you do it?"

"I'll take you to the rest of the freaks, boy. Get your things so we can be done with it. I'll be taking Petunia and Dudders out to dinner to celebrate once we've dropped you off." Vernon made a shooing motion at the small teen and practically rubbed his hands together in his eagerness to be rid of the freakish child. "Do you hear that, Dudders? You'll be getting your second room back."




On the evening of July fifth, it rained. The streets were oddly empty of other traffic except for one car slowly making its way down the row of shops and boutiques. Vernon turned and glared at the backseat's occupant.

"Are you sure it's this way, boy?"

Harry nodded and pointed, "Its right there."

Vernon looked around and saw nothing he would consider to be out of the ordinary. "Are you sure? I don't see any old Inn...just a few shops."

Again the teen just nodded and said, "It's here, trust me. You can just drop me off. I'll send the letters every three days so that they don't bother you."

"See that you do" was the large man's terse reply. The car stopped and the trunk popped open. "Hurry up and don't get the trunk wet."

Harry left the car, closing the door behind him. He went to the back of the car and removed his things. He set them down on the sidewalk next to the car and went back to the door. "This is goodbye forever." He nodded at the car's other occupants, grabbed the cage from the middle seat and closed the door, this time locking it. He was finally free.




Some one knocking on the door startled Tom, the innkeeper, from his nap. He jumped up from his seat by the fire and opened the door; a very wet, smiling young man was standing there, trunk and owl cage in hand.

"Hello," Harry said. "Do you have an extra room, Tom?"

"Why, Mr. Potter, what a surprise! Get in out of the rain, young man. You haven't run into any trouble have you?" The Inn Keeper couldn't help but worry about the young saviour of the wizarding world. He always seemed so loaded down with worries and this night appeared to be no different.

"No trouble this time, Tom," Harry replied as he stepped in out of the rain and relaxed into the welcoming atmosphere that was the Leaky Cauldron. "I just need to take care of a few things in town, so I had my relatives drop me off here so I could get a room. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself though. The fewer people who know I'm here, the less likely it will be that trouble finds me."

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Let's get you up to your room. Would you be wanting something to eat and some tea?"

"Something to eat and a pot of tea sounds wonderful, Tom. I'd really appreciate that."


With his belly full from the first solid meal he'd had in a week and his body relaxed by a hot, leisurely bath, Harry crawled into the big, soft bed that dominated the room he was renting and groaned. His hands hurt even though he had his wand clutched in both hands and that urgent need to find or do something was not easing its grip on him as quickly as it had the night before and he desperately wanted to get some rest before he went wandering the next day. I'll find whatever it is in the morning...I think I will go crazy if I don't find it soon...




/July 6th, Diagon Alley/


Harry had woken up from his not so restful sleep with an inexplicable desire to walk the Alley. He was still driven by that unceasing sensation of seeking something without knowing what it was he sought and between that and the constant aching of his hands that was now spreading up his arms, the teen was reaching a frantic and desperate place within him self.

He stopped at the signpost denoting the particular sector of the alley he was in and gazed about, green eyes searching for some clue. His eyes fell on the faded gold letters of the Ollivander's Wand shop and he was overcome with a need to enter the shop, so he did.

The bell above the door rang as Harry walked in. He looked around; the shop hadn't changed at all in the not quite five years since he had last entered. He sat down on the rickety chair the wand maker kept in the front of the shop and waited. I wonder why he doesn't get a better chair...

"I was wondering when I'd see you again, Mr. Potter. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple, superb for defence and charms and good for transfiguration. How is it serving you? I hope you haven't damaged it..."

The voice startled Harry and he jumped out of the chair. "Hello," he said politely to the older man. "I...no, my wand is fine, thank you... I saw the sign and I had to come in. I don't know why I'm here, actually..."

Ollivander smiled at the confused young man, silver eyes filling with a margin of concern over the way he seemed to clutch at the wand he now held in both hands. "You came for a wand."

Harry looked at him confusedly. "I already have one though."

Again the old man smiled. "Your wand needs a mate."

Harry just looked at him, trying to process what he had just heard. A mate? A second wand...is that why I keep feeling this pain?

Mistaking the young man's further silence for lack of understanding, Ollivander elaborated. "All the powerful Warlocks have two wands and every wand has a mate." He paused. "I seem to recall that you were quite the tricky customer. The core of your wand limits the number of choices and there are only so many wands with a core that will properly balance something as Light and powerful as the phoenix feather core your Holly wand contains, so that narrows the number of wands possible considerably. The difficulty is doubled by the fact that the phoenix who donated your core was an ancient, so split the choices that remain by half at the very least."

He paused and took in Harry's intent expression with no small amount of amusement. "That makes the number of choices around two hundred wands since we only have my stock to work with."

"Two hundred?" Harry asked incredulously. That sounded like a lot of wands to have to go through.

"Indeed."

"What did you mean by 'all warlocks have two wands'? Is that why my hands started aching...why they hurt even more now?"

"Actually, I said that all powerful warlocks have two wands, and you are undoubtedly a powerful warlock." Ollivander studied Harry with a little more open concern now. "How badly do your hands hurt and is it only your hands?"

Harry doubted he was all that powerful, but he decided to go along with Ollivander on that point for now.

"They started aching early yesterday morning, well before dawn...when I woke this morning they still ached but the ache moved up into my arms a little while ago." Something that Ollivander kept saying was confusing him. "I'm a Wizard, right? What's a Warlock and why do you keep calling me one?"

Ollivander gazed at him, surprised. "No one has ever told you?"

"No one has ever told me what?" Harry was starting to get irritated and that was making his hands ache even more fiercely.

"Has no one told you about your family history, about your Families and your heritage?"

"What do you mean? What's to tell? Mom was muggleborn and Dad was a pureblood. I only have one family...doesn't everyone?"

Ollivander looked shocked. "No one's ever told him," he muttered into the air and shook his head with an exasperated sounding growl.

Harry looked at the old man confusedly as he mumbled to himself. He waited for a few minutes before interrupting the old man's thoughts in a slightly more forceful tone than before. "What did you mean by families and heritage?"

Ollivander seemed to collect himself. He looked as if he was on the verge of bursting and he said to Harry, "I will explain everything shortly. I have to check on something so I know exactly what I need to cover. Please stay here for a bit." With that he turned and disappeared into the back of the shop.

Ollivander almost ran to the fireplace, lit the fire with an incantation, threw in the floo powder, and shouted, "Dumbledore's Summerhouse." He then stuck his head into the fire and waited. He called out, "Albus! Get down here NOW!" He watched the door open and took satisfaction in seeing the other looking as confused as the young man he had waiting in his shop.

"What is it Marik? Has something happened? Was there an attack at the Alley?!"

Ollivander snarled, "Do you know who is in my shop at this moment?"

Taken aback by the wand maker's anger, Albus blinked and shook his head. "No...Who paid you a visit and why would you expect me to know their identity?"

"Harry James Potter Evans Black is in my shop as we speak. Do you know WHY?" Marik practically yelled the last word, silver eyes luminescent with anger.

Dumbledore was definitely starting to look a little ashamed and concerned, but he also looked curious.

"Why?"

"He's here to get his wand a mate and he had no idea why he was in my shop or that he might have needed a second! The poor child is in pain from the demands his magic is putting on his body and it is your fault, Albus Dumbledore!!!"

Dumbledore blinked at Marik with unconcealed shock. The boy hadn't shown any signs that would indicate that kind of power...at least none that he had noticed. "But a wizard hasn't required a mate for his wand in more than 300 years."

Ollivander looked at Albus like he was contemplating doing him serious physical harm. "With all of his family connections, how could he not need a mate for his wand? He's the heir of three houses and you didn't even think it might be a possibility? You didn't even explain to him that it might be possible!"

Dumbledore was looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Uh...I wanted him to have as normal a childhood as possible...and it just never came up..."

Ollivander looked even angrier, if possible. He lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper "Why didn't you explain it to him when you told him about his family?"

The other man remained silent, and Ollivander had no problem interpreting what Albus' lack of response meant.

"Do you mean to say that the boy has no knowledge of his own blood?"

Dumbledore could see the rage in the wand maker's eyes and it wasn't a pretty sight.

"Well, you see...there was really no good time and I was planning to tell Harry about his family after he grad-." He was cut off.

"Albus we will discuss this later. Right now I am going to tell that boy about his family - families - and then I will tell the boy why his wand is in need of a mate, and from now on you will hide nothing from him. Is that clear?"

Dumbledore nodded quickly and watched as the man's head disappeared from his fire. He really had not planned on telling Harry about his family before the boy graduated from school, if at all, but if Harry needed another wand, and then Dumbledore was more than happy to let Marik be the one to tell the tale. He shuddered as he recalled the wand maker's anger and it was then that he realized that he should probably worry about their upcoming "talk".




Back in the front room of Ollivander's shop, Harry was getting nervous. What did he mean when he said I was a powerful Warlock? And why do I need two wands? I mean that part makes sense, sort of, I guess. I can feel that I need the other wand, but why....

The young man's thoughts were interrupted by the older man's re-entry. Harry stood up from his precarious perch on the old man's spindly chair and quietly asked the question that was most prominent in his mind.

"Mr. Ollivander, what is a Warlock? I've never heard that particular term used before, sir."

Ollivander looked at Harry for a long moment before replying. He could see the potential fairly bursting free of the younger Warlock's body and aura and knew they needed to develop some sort of rapport or he'd never be able to teach him properly.

Harry was a bit unnerved by the way Ollivander seemed to be considering him and was relieved when the older man started speaking.

"Call me Marik, and if it's all right, I'll call you Harry." He waited for Harry's nod of affirmation and continued. "Since it's obvious that you know nothing about your families, or apparently even about your name or about our kind, I will explain everything." Seeing that Harry was about to ask something, he answered what he felt safe in assuming the question would be before the young man could even open his mouth, "And I'll explain about Warlocks and the need for two wands.... Do you want to get your wand first or do you want me to tell you your story?"

Harry considered the older man's question seriously. "Which will take longer?"

"It's likely that the story will take a good long while to tell."

Harry nodded and spoke the answer that the urgent need and aching pain in his body had driven him to accept.

"I...I need the wand. You can tell me my story after."

Ollivander nodded and smiled. "The blood is very strong in you, Harry." He then walked to the shelf closest to them and selected a wand seemingly as if at random. Holding the box out to the green eyed teen, he smiled encouragingly.

"All right, let's try this one first."