FicWad

Disclaimer:Honestly. Do you really think that some girl who spends half her time reading fanfiction and the other half of her time writing fanfiction would really be JK Rowling? If she wanted to rewrite Harry Potter, it’d be all over the news by now!

Author’s Note: Just to be clear, I’ll be updating this story on fanfiction.net first. So currently, all the updates are simply just catching up on the chapters (and this is the last one). Therefore, don’t expect chapter eight before next weekend. This chapter is a bit fillerish, but there are several characters that appear in this chapter, most of them are from canon as this chapter sets up some of the relationships and interactions that Harry will have with other characters later on in the fic... Anyways, hope you all enjoy the chapter!

Alchemical Reactions
Chapter Seven
Lucky Number Eleven

Harry sat down at the breakfast table on the morning of his eleventh birthday with great trepidation. He knew that the Flamels had been planning something big for his birthday, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out /what/. He had looked with his ‘Magic Sight’ all over the house for signs of his gifts, and concluded that either they had been hidden by Muggle means and were non-magical, or that Nicholas had found a way to completely bypass his ‘sight’ and had hidden them in some other fashion. He refused to allow himself to consider the fact that the Flamels had forgotten; they had made it fairly clear by now that they wanted him to stick around. For now.

“Good morning, Harry,” Perenelle said, handing him the orange juice as he sat down. Harry had taken a strange preference to mixing orange and pumpkin juice to provide and interesting result that wasn’t quite edible to others, but suited him just fine

“Morning,” he replied, grabbing a piece of toast and spreading marmalade on it.

Perenelle raised an eyebrow at him. “I believe you’re forgetting something.”

“Nope. I’m not forgetting a thing,” Harry answered, taking a bite of his toast. “You’re the one forgetting things.”

“Such as?”

“My birthday, obviously,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes. “Except you haven’t really forgotten my birthday—you’ve just forgotten to wish me happy birthday because you’re secretly trying to plan a surprise party or something. Though I hope that’s not the case,” he mused, talking as if to himself.

“And why would you think that?”

“I’ve talked with the Weasleys. They gave me all the signs of an upcoming birthday surprise months ago—probably before they realized it’d be used against them. Fred and George were especially helpful; I don’t think their mum has ever surprised them on their birthdays before.”

“Hm, interesting concept. But no, I haven’t forgotten your birthday. I was merely waiting for you to finish breakfast.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry replied sceptically. While Perenelle often acted aloof, she did have a sense of humour—to a certain degree—and tended to cover up her slip ups with that very aloofness. So Harry had likely gotten it right on the spot—a surprise was waiting for him but he did not know what.

Before Harry could truly contemplate what awaited him later in the day, the owl post arrived. A flurry of owls flew towards Harry, only one separating from the pack to deliver a letter to Perenelle. One by one each of the owls lined up, waiting for Harry to untie their burdens so that they could return to their business as usual. Harry undid them all, set them in a stack beside his plate, and began to read each one while munching on his toast.

The first was from the Weasleys, not-so-subtly hinting that they would be seeing him later that day and wishing him a happy birthday. Harry had been exchanging letters with various members of the Weasley family for a year or so now, interacting with Wizarding children his own age for once in his life. He, Fred, and George seemed to get on spectacularly, while Harry and Ron interacted on a more information-sharing basis; Ron would explain aspects of the Wizarding World from his perspective (not from the century old perspective of the Flamels) and Harry would explain what it was like growing up as a Muggle. They were Harry’s only real contact with the outside world and he kept it up if only for those snippets of everyday life, for he knew that his own life was far from normal. /Well, when is living with a genius born in the fifteenth century ever normal? /he asked rhetorically, before turning to his next piece of mail.

“Harold Flamel?” he asked Perenelle as soon as he saw how the letter had been addressed. She looked from her own mail, and looked at him in askance. “This letter is addressed to ‘Harold Flamel, Unplottable Location, England.’ Unless you’ve got some other boy hiding in some part of the manor, would you care to explain why my name has been changed from ‘Harry Potter’ to ‘Harold Flamel?’”

“Quite simple, really, Har/old/,” came Nicholas’s voice from the entrance to the kitchen. He walked in, carrying a copy of the /Daily Prophet /and sat down, grabbing a piece of toast for himself. “You’re far too famous in the Wizarding World to go around carrying your own name. You’d in danger everywhere. Not to mention a rather prominent Wizarding family already knows your last name to be Flamel; it was rather easy to change it. ‘Harry Flamel’ didn’t sound right. Who would expect six hundred and something year old me to ever allow a great-great-great-great…and so on…grandchild to be named ‘Harry?’ I suppose no one will really be calling you Harold though, so it doesn’t exactly matter.”

“So you changed the well-known name of Potter to the well-known name of the famous alchemist Nicholas Flamel?” Harry asked sceptically.

“Well, it’ll save you some hassle from the blood-purists and Voldemort supporters,” Nicholas replied cheerfully. “And it’ll give you some degree of anonymity—it’ll be as if no one in the Wizarding World has grown up being told your story—just your ancestor’s story.”

“Right,” Harry replied dryly, before opening the first letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Flamel,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find the enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

“That’s it?” Harry asked, passing his letter to Nicholas.

“Ah yes,” Nicholas nodded, “The infamous Hogwarts letter.”

“They’re assuming I’ll attend? Why on earth would they think that?” Harry asked, puzzled by the clear lack of details and the obvious assumption that he would be going to Hogwarts.

“It’s mandatory for every child in Wizarding Britain to attend Hogwarts, unless their guardians specify otherwise.”

“So I’m off to this school then?” Harry asked, bemused. “What about the offers from all these other schools? That is, assuming that the ones addressed to ‘Harold Flamel’ are from other schools, of course.”

“You won’t be attending Hogwarts,” Nicholas answered, grabbing himself some eggs and bacon.

“Alright,” Harry nodded. He opened another one of the letters. “What about this ‘Academy of Magics’…” he read a bit more of the letter, before exclaiming, “All the way in Canada!”

“No. Harry, you won’t be attending school.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.

“For one, you’re currently/ leagues/ ahead of any other eleven-year-old—let alone twenty-year-old—out there, at least in basic magical skill. In magical knowledge, you could easily achieve an ‘Outstanding’ in every Hogwarts course offered from years one to four, maybe even five. Though perhaps merely an ‘Acceptable’ in Herbology, you’d only be slowed down by your ‘peers.’ There’s also the matter of your…erm…wand issues.” He glanced fearfully at Perenelle, who had tightened her mouth at the mention of the mishap but didn’t say anything.

Harry nodded, taking a sip of his drink. He knew that he was far ahead of most of the Weasleys—even Fred and George—but from the stories that had been told about Hogwarts and attending a magic school in general, he would have enjoyed that experience. It was a shame that he couldn’t…though perhaps one of these schools offered advanced learning?

Harry left breakfast with a quick ‘Thank you,’ before grabbing the stack of letters and taking them to his room to read. He sat on his bed and quickly skimmed through each, noting the more interesting ones. There was a letter from almost every part of the world; Hogwarts, of course, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, the Japanese School for Tejinashi, the Academy of Magics in Toronto, the Salem Institute of Magical Learning in the United States, Spain’s School for Young Wizards, and many more. Unfortunately, most of them didn’t seem to have the advanced learning he required, and even if he/ did/ succeed in those schools, he’d just have to retake his exams to get a job in Wizarding Britain. Hogwarts was his best bet if he was to remain in Britain, but the school moved contrary to his own pace—very, very slowly.

He sighed. It looked as if he wouldn’t be attending school after all. He knew that he was abnormal—it came with his strange title, the odd things he could do (odder than most wizards, even), and how he’d grown up, but he figured that he could at least act like a normal kid once in his life. It was a previously suppressed wish, now completely blown to pieces with the reality of his life now. Harry knew he could never truly be normal, and while most days it was okay with him, the concept of normality was too tempting to ever completely elude his anger or sadness at his life situation now.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. “Harry?” asked the owner of the knocking hand—Nicholas Flamel.

“Yes?” Harry asked, a bit more harshly than intended.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?” Harry asked, getting annoyed. Not that he wanted to sound full of himself, but it’s was fairly obvious that they were planning something from his birthday. He just didn’t feel that it warranted forgetting to say “Happy Birthday.”

“Out.”

“How utterly specific,” Harry said sarcastically. “Care to be more precise?”

“Nope,” answered Nicholas cheerfully. “Just get ready. Perenelle and I are waiting by the Floo.”

“Fine,” Harry grumbled, vaguely wondering what would happen if he went out wearing only his underwear—would the Flamels let him go out like that? Probably, he snorted to himself. They get their kicks out of laughing at everything I do, I swear. Still, he figured it probably wouldn’t be wise if he came out wearing only underwear, considering that it was very likely that he would be heading off towards his surprise party now. Some surprise, he thought to himself while pulling on a t-shirt.

Dressed, he left his room and walked calmly down the hallway to the entrance parlour. He didn’t feel the need to rush, as he figured that the Flamels’ age had kept them patient enough to wait an extra minute for him to appear.

“All set, then?” Perenelle asked when she saw him.

“Yes,” Harry replied, moving towards the fireplace. “What’s the destination?”

“Can’t tell you that,” Nicholas replied grinning.

“Honestly,” Harry rolled his eyes. “How else do you expect me to get through the Floo? And it’s not as if I don’t already know that you’ve got a surprise party or something waiting for me.”

“But we’re not travelling by Floo powder.”

“Then why are we here and not at an Apparition point?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow before a thought came to him. “Oh you’ve got to be kid—”

The end of his sentence was drowned out by a bunch of people popping out from behind the couches, exclaiming “Surprise!” Some of them even added in a few disjointed exclamations of “Happy Birthday!” and “Best Wishes!”

Harry, who had come to the conclusion that everyone was likely hiding disillusioned or something like that, wasn’t as surprised as the guests apparently expected him to be. Though, all things considered, he was a good deal more surprised than he had expected to be.

“Thanks?” he offered, a little half-heartedly.

“Not a problem, mate!” One of the Weasley twins approached him, clapping him on the back. The other appeared beside him, and the two began grinning maniacally at him. Harry ignored the looks the twins were giving him and took a look around the room. It appeared as if many of the Weasley family were here—the notable absence being Charlie who was in Romania. Harry and the Weasleys had hit it off fairly well since Charlie’s over-protective stunt nearly a year ago, and he visited occasionally, mostly to hang out with the twins. He had quickly realized that Ginny and Ron weren’t as intellectually developed as he was—which was perfectly normal for their age—and found that he and the twins got on best. Probably because Harry provided them with obscure spells and potions to aid in their pranks.

“Not going to ask how we surprised you?” one of the twins asked. Harry turned up his Magical Sight and took the second it required to tell the twins apart—this one was George. He had discovered that every witch’s and wizard’s magic looked different, if only slightly, which was the only way he could tell the difference between the twins. The two had thought it was an excellent party trick.

“Not a single curious question?” Fred continued.

“Your inquisitive and curious and insane mind doesn’t need to know the answer?” George asked, mocking.

“For once,” his twin added in an undertone.

Harry just rolled his eyes at their antics. “First off,” he began, “You didn’t surprise me.”

“We didn’t?” Fred asked, putting his hand over his heart and looking hurt.

His twin copied the motion. “You wound us so very deeply.”

“Good to know,” Harry replied. “I figured you lot would surprise me today, considering that your letter was noticeably short, the Flamels didn’t wish me ‘Happy Birthday’ and that I wasn’t being told where I was ‘going.’”

“But you didn’t go anywhere!” Fred exclaimed.

“I know. I figured that out roughly two seconds before you all yelled ‘Surprise!’ And I take it you used a disillusionment charm?”

“Nope,” George said, grinning like the cat ate the cream.

Harry suddenly looked more interested. “What’d you use then? That wonky potion I found last year that only works for five minutes?”

“Damn, George,” Fred said, not acting the least bit upset.

“I know, Fred. The kid’s good.”

“Not good. Great,” Harry smugly stated, folding his arms across his chest.

The twins rolled their eyes. “Of course,” they said in unison. Harry ignored their synchronization—he had gotten over it after talking to them non-stop for three hours one time—and instead turned towards his other guests.

There weren’t very many, but considering how little interaction Harry had with the outside world, it was quite a few.

The Weasleys were in attendance, looking very happy and chatting among the guests. Harry saw the Lovegoods too—he had met Luna and her father while being given a tour around Ottery St. Catchpole by the twins, and had found her rather strange sense of humour and hidden sense of loss very intriguing. His frequent Healer (for Harry’s mishaps were legendary), Fanchon, was sitting, talking with Molly Weasley. An old Auror—probably Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, considering his description—was talking quietly with Nicholas, and Perenelle was chatting with an older lady who had what appeared to be her grandson beside her.

Harry mentally shrugged, before approaching the old lady’s grandson. He didn’t know the boy, but he figured that if he was in the house, he was okay. While he didn’t trust the Flamels in all things, he did know to trust their judgement of character. If he was here, it was safe for everyone for him to be here.

“Hi,” Harry said, nodding to the boy. His grandmother looked down, nodded, and let go of the boy’s hand, making motions for him to move away. Harry led him towards one of the couches. “My name’s Harry.”

“I know,” they boy answered quietly. “I’m Neville Longbottom. Happy Birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks. I guess your grandmother knows Perenelle rather well then?” he asked, nodding towards the two talking.

“Yeah, she does. Why did you call her by her first name?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

Harry shrugged, before giving himself a mental reminder to follow the story of the life the Flamels had made up for him. “I didn’t really grow up knowing them, so it was kind of weird to start calling them grandfather or grandmother or something like that. Well, more like great-great-great-great-great—”

Neville laughed, evidently amused. “Alright, I get it, I get it!”

Harry just smiled, grinning inwardly. The boy, previously shy, was now opening up a bit. He felt it was his good deed of the day.

“So why are you living with them, then?” Neville asked, curious.

“Well, when my parents died I was sent to an orphanage,” Harry began, deciding to stick to the story as much as possible. “You know how old Nicholas and Perenelle are—I don’t even know if my parents knew they were related to them! Anyways, they eventually found me when I was nine, adopted me, and here I am.” He kept his tone deliberately light and cheerful, not wanting anything to upset the boy. He had a better idea of who he might be now—the Longbottoms were friends of the Flamels and he had heard about what had happened to his parents.

Surprisingly, Neville chose to tell him anyways. “I’m with my grandmother too. Well, not quite ‘too,’ as I guess she isn’t my great-great-however-many-greats grandmother,” Harry simply grinned, “But still,” Neville continued. “My parents are in St. Mungo’s…they were attacked just after You-Know-Who fell.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry offered, not quite sure how to act around a fellow socially-awkward boy. Of course, he himself had come out of his shell a bit after meeting the Weasleys, but it wasn’t the same as growing up with friends and such.

“S'alright,” Neville offered him a weak smile.

They sat their in relatively uncomfortable silence before Ron Weasley approached them, pulling up a chair. “Hey Harry!” he said. “Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, nodding to Ron.

“So, you off to Hogwarts this year?” Ron asked excitedly. “I am! It’s supposed to be great, though I heard you have to do some funny test to get in—something about a troll…”

Neville emitted a tiny squeak.

“Don’t worry,” Harry reassured the boy. “I highly doubt that a school for children would test you with trolls, of all things. Who’d you hear that from, anyways?” he asked Ron, deliberately avoiding answering the question of his attendance at Hogwarts.

“The twins,” Ron answered hesitantly.

“I wouldn’t believe them if I were you,” Harry advised. “You know how they are.”

“Yeah, but Charlie…”

“Would also get a laugh if he told you that you had to defeat a troll?” Harry offered.

“Point taken,” Ron said, laughing nervously. “So, are you two excited?”

“Kind of,” Neville replied, reluctantly. “My family didn’t really think I had magic till my Uncle Algie dropped me out of the window and I bounced.”

“That sucks, mate,” Ron replied sympathetically. He turned to Harry. “What about you, Harry? You got your Hogwarts letter today, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” Harry said, inwardly cursing the change of topic. “But I’m not going to Hogwarts.”

“WHAT?” Ron exclaimed as he stood, drawing attention from almost everyone in the room. He went redder than hair and slowly sunk back down into his chair again. “You’re not going to Hogwarts?” he all but whispered.

“What’s this I hear?” Fred asked, materialising beside Harry as if he had apparated there.

“Aside from Ron breaking all of our ear drums, that is,” chimed in George.

“I’m not going to Hogwarts,” Harry repeated.

“So we heard,” the twins said together.

“But /why/?” Ron asked, puzzled.

“Haven’t you seen it by now?” Fred asked Ron.

“Harry’s a lot smarter than he looks,” the other twin added.

“He’s even helped us with/ our/ homework!” Fred said innocently.

Ron snorted. “Pranks, more like.”

“Well, yeah,” George commented sheepishly.

“But that’s beside the point.”

“Harry’s just too smart for us,” George swooned dramatically.

“Too brilliant,”

“Bookish,”

“Know-it-all-ish,”

“Which isn’t even a word,” Harry said dryly.

“See!” George said, pointing at Harry accusingly.

“The Flamels are teaching me privately,” Harry said, ignoring the antics of the twins. “They’ve been teaching me magic for about a year and a half now. According to them I ought to be in my fourth or fifth year Hogwarts education by now—”

“Blimey!” Ron interrupted.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized.

“You shouldn’t apologize for knowledge,” Neville said. “It’s not really something you can help—not if you love to read.” When Harry looked at Neville in askance, he elaborated. “I love Herbology,” he said, purposely not looking at Ron. He knew what his reaction might be—it was the typical reaction of most people. “And I kept apologizing for it. It’s stupid. If I’ve got the green thumb, then why not use it?” He held up his thumb and made it glow green.

“And here I was thinking was that was just another Muggle turn of phrase…” Harry mumbled to himself.

“What was that, Harry?” Neville asked.

“Oh, I just didn’t realize that there was such a thing as ‘the green thumb.’ In the Muggle world it’s usually just used to describe someone who’s good at gardening. I probably should have guessed—I’ve just never held much interest in Herbology.”

“Er…my thumb isn’t green.”

Harry cursed himself inwardly. His Magic Sight, usually on a low level, only responded to really strong stimuli. His mind raced, attempting to come up with a properly fabricated excuse. He opted for a bit of the truth. “I figured that I’d be going somewhere unknown today, so I cast a spell on my eyes that lets me see magic if its strong enough—you never know when you might need something like that—and I completely forgot it was there.”

They seemed to accept the answer and soon the conversation turned to other things. Eventually, it was lunch time and Harry was called over to the buffet table that magically—how else?—appeared. “Cut it Harry!” several people cheered, egging him on.

Harry didn’t exactly know how most birthdays went, but he certainly knew that he needed a knife to cut the cake. “Where’s the knife?” he asked, looking around the large round cake and not finding one.

“Knife?” exclaimed someone, probably one of the twins.


“Use your wand!” That was definitely the other twin.

Harry hesitantly pulled his wand out of the holster on his left forearm, before casting the spell to cut the cake. It took all his effort not to lose control then and there of the magic that wanted to be let out oh-so-badly through his eyes. He closed them shut tightly; clenching his jaw and forcing the magic back down.

Even though it had been nearly a year since Harry had obtained his wand, he still had many control issues. At first he had simply passed out a lot, then, after he had adjusted to the influx of magic into his head, he had shot the spells out of his eyes and his wand, causing no end of trouble—though it had a very high potential for mischief. Nicholas, upon whom the blame solely lay, had been attempting to teach him but as the older wizard hadn’t come across anything like it in his six hundred plus years of living, he was having his own troubles teaching Harry. Instead, Harry had taken to attempting to purposely cast spells with his eyes, though he didn’t touch a wand when doing so. It helped some, and eventually, Harry had gained a certain level of control over it, but he still had to apply a lot of concentration to avoid casting the spell with his eyes as well as his wand.

He sighed, putting his wand back into its holster. It would take a long time before he ever became truly adjusted to using a wand…

All in all, Harry had a good time at his surprise birthday party. He’d never had one before, and it was a rather strange experience, but he was quite pleased. He’d had an interesting conversation with Luna Lovegood, involving the properties of the air and space, talked a bit more with the shy Neville, and plotted with the twins. He had received a wide variety of gifts, the most interesting being the introductory guide to runes and alchemy that Nicholas had given him. He was sure the library had a copy too, but having his own copy was definitely worth it has he took great pleasure in marking up the margins of his other books. He settled down to bed that night content, almost happy with his life to date. Almost.





Author’s Note: Okay, okay…so I dragged in Luna and Neville. Didn’t quite mean to—in fact, I didn’t even intend for Harry to have much of a surprise party! I wanted him to be taken blindfolded through the Floo to the Flamel’s villa or something for a vacation, but changed my mind last minute (aka the Flamels changed their minds and I was too scared that I’d end up as Nicholas’s latest experiment that I agreed). Then the party got away from me a bit and random characters popped in that weren’t supposed to be there. That’s writing for you—the characters have complete control, I swear.

As a side note, the word Tejinashi is Magician in Japanese. Sorry if there’s an error in that—I don’t speak Japanese and so I used an online translator.