Lawful Good, Lawful Neutral: Chaos Within
Title : Lawful Good, Lawful Neutral : Chaos Within
Chapters: Expect a lot!
Rating: PG/ PG 13 until further notice, exception of this chapter. Note warnings
Genre: Harry Potter with AU elements
Summary : Harry's been raised by Sirius and Remus, but as the school years hit, his inhumanity surfaces. What will happen to the BWL when the truth comes out?
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters, creatures, or spells from the book, movies, and games. They ALL belong to Rowling and associates. I make no money from writing and posting this fic.
Warnings: Overall... Eventual smut, with all that entails. Eventual anthro elements. magic and all the hiccups that can apply.
No warnings specific to this chapter, slight deviations from tradition canon. Oh, most of the story will have deviations and turns. *grins*
bold italics are non- human speech.
Plain italics are spells
Chapter 1
Three weeks before the rush of school kids preparing for the start of the Hogwarts year, Sirius escorted ten-year-old Harry for his biggest trip yet to the Alley. He’d already ensured all of Harry’s schoolbooks were accounted for, and would check them once Harry got his letter, but now he needed to get the boy the most important thing a growing wizard could have- his first wand. And there was only one wand-maker in England that was worth visiting- Ollivander.
Walking into the wand shop was like taking a step back in time. The shop was small, filled with thin, long boxes, shelves upon shelves of them. An old wizard stepped from the slight shadows of the aisles. “Sirius Black. It’s been a long time, since you came for a wand. Who is with you?” Studious, penetrating eyes peered over the lean boy. He looked over the dark brown hair, those particular green eyes, that face and the look of wonder… “The Potter’s boy. In for his first wand, finally?”
“Quiet, please, Ollivander. Few recognize him at a glance, and I prefer to keep things quiet until he goes to school. He’ll get enough attention there.” The wand maker nodded in understanding, before wandering up an aisle. He reappeared moments later with one of the boxes, top off. Harry picked up the wand, but a stinging sensation ripped across his hand and he nearly dropped it, barely fumbling it back into its case before shaking his hand out. Again a box was offered, and again, Harry had to return it. One by one he filtered through the wands offered, and each one he turned away. Some seemed to scald his hand, while others lay completely dormant. A few neutral had let him send a little spark across the floor, but Ollivander shook his head. A good wizard needed a good wand, and the first one needed to be properly balanced with the user. Merely tolerable wands tended to be finicky and backfire periodically, often when least expected. After a moment’s consideration, looking far too serious, Ollivander reappeared with one last wand. “Holly, phoenix feather core.” Harry reached his hand up, but didn’t even get to touch the wand. The air between his palm and the box began spitting sparks and tiny flames, and Harry jerked his hand back.
“I haven’t seen that happen before.” Sirius peered over Harry’s shoulder at the boy’s hand, making sure he wasn’t injured.
“A fair share of witches and wizards have gotten wands from me, and this is rare. This is one of the worse cases of a wand flatly refuses a wielder, and personal magic refusing a wand core. It’s nearly unheard of, unless one’s magical core is drastically different. It’s most commonly found in cases of vampire or werewolves, or other similar creatures, but I doubt this is the case here.” Ollivander carefully stashed the latest wand and led the pair to the back of the shop. “For any reason, in such a case I find it best to let the wielder choose the components of his wand separately, so there is an ensured bond between wand and wizard.” The elder wizard looked down at the youngest. “I do not do this often, Mr. Potter, but please avoid anything you feel react poorly, and find what attracts you most. Bring the items back to me and I will hand-make your wand.” With those words, he opened a small hidden door, closing it after the lad had entered.
Harry couldn’t help staring at the contents of the seemingly little room. Jars, envelopes, and trays lined more shelves, only these were more obviously organized than the wand boxes in the front room. One shelf contained several rows of unmarked vials, the contents ranging from black to brilliant purple, and to deep midnight blue. He walked down the line of shelves built into the wall first, not certain what he was looking for yet, until he felt another spark above him. Peering over the edge he found a stack of trays with brilliant red feathers, highlighted in gold and orange. Phoenix feathers, he recognized, and he made sure to leave them alone. After what happened with that last wand, he wasn’t going to dare disturb them. He drew back and continued roaming the room for several minutes, trying to figure out what he was doing. And then he saw it.
The little flash of light on the shelf wasn’t much, and by no means attention grabbing, but grab Harry’s focus it did. He walked across the room to peer into a jar, filled to half with a distracting sparkle. He carefully turned the jar, watching through the glass at the way some of the contents flickered in the meager light. Gentle warmth tingled up his arm, welcoming him, and he took the jar in hand. A very fine powder, silvery in the light, smoothed over into piles as he turned the jar back and forth again.
A sound rumbled in his throat and the powder gleamed in response, although Harry didn’t seem to be paying particular attention to just what he was doing. A spark refracted out of the darker corner, in time to the silver’s shine, and Harry’s body drew forward, plucking exactly one stone from a pile in a tray on a shelf. He didn’t look while he did it, eyes glued on the powder until the stone came into his line of sight. Then his gaze flickered between the two, judging, adding up something far beyond his ability to truly understand. Sighing softly, he carried the items to the door before pausing and heading back to a bundle of sticks that would become wands with a little work. None of them sparked, but he picked up the most neutral shaft of wood and added it to his pile.
“Mr. Ollivander, sir.” The wand maker opened the door, offering a plain blue cloth for Harry to put his ingredients on. The elder wizard’s eyes opened with surprise as he saw the items, and he turned to his pair of customers. “This needs a binder of some kind. And it will not be a cheap wand, considering the items here.”
“Price is not a worry, not for a first wand.” Sirius’ voice was firm, and it bolstered Harry a bit when he finally spoke up. He had a feeling that his request was going to be a little shocking, if only because he knew that adding blood to any type of magic would change it.
“The only binder I can offer is my blood. Nothing else responded.” Ollivander opened his mouth to ask something, clearly concerned, but a low sound, almost a growl, came from between Sirius’ lips, and the wand maker simply shut it and waved Harry over. A flick of his own wand brought forth a table and he gingerly placed the items down, naming each as he arranged them in a certain fashion.
“One uncut emerald,” Placed toward the close edge of the table.
“Powdered dragon- hatchling scales,” set slightly off to the right side.
“Length of white oak” and he set it gingerly in the middle, above the stone. A small saucer like dish appeared to the left, and a small knife directly above. “My left, Mr. Potter, if you would.” Harry approached, but stood still in his designated spot and waited, watching a surely rare sight.
The wand making itself started simply, the knife biting into the wood until it pierced the core of the limb, coaxing open a wound in the pale wood. With the core open, the blade went next to the end, where Ollivander seemed to be feeling out where to trim off the excess. Finally, at a generous fourteen inches, he let the knife bite through the wood, creating a concave in the heel, where it could fit against the palm. Here he set the knife back in its spot and placed the gemstone against the dip, where it seemed to adhere itself enough not to fall away. The knife came back, but this time it was used to sprinkle the silvery powder into the scored wand, filling the groove nearly to the top. He wiped the knife against the same blue cloth he’d used to handle the items originally, then asked for Harry’s dominant hand. After a moment Harry offered his right palm.
The bite of the blade was nothing compared to some things he’d felt growing up, skinning his knees falling out of a tree, punching the same tree. But back then the blood had trickled red on his skin, a dark clear crimson. The blood that stained the blade now was darker, though, and it seemed to flicker in response with the ingredients present. Nonetheless, the knife point was brought back over the wand, where three drops fell into the powder, one dripped into the very tip, and another where the gem touched the wood. With that fifth drop, everything went haywire.
The wand flared bright with magic and power, silver swirling along the wood and the surface it rested on, forcing Ollivander away as tiny silver flames began dancing along the liquid. They returned, coiling on themselves to wind around the wand, lacing it with a liquid wire that bound it shut and latched around the emerald, securing it in place. Only when the silver stopped flowing did Harry reach above the dancing miniature flames, mere inches above.
“Submit.”
It wasn’t the choice of wording that snapped Sirius and Ollivander to look in surprise at Harry, but the fact they hadn’t heard a word at all. Instead there was a sibilant outrush of air from Harry, with a growl that put Sirius, as Padfoot, to shame on his worse days. But the wand fell quiet the instant Harry spoke, and when he touched it, the silver collected on the wood clearly and smoothed out. Both men could only stare in wonder as the boy ran gentle fingers along his new wand, and the unwitting way he seemed about having just talked in one of the most uncommon languages gifted to humans.
Harry Potter could speak parseltongue- the snake language, or something eerily like it.
It was shock enough that the business was finished quickly and quietly as Harry flicked his wand, casting lumos and nox repeatedly. The wand hadn’t acted up in any way since Harry had taken it in hand. It was with great pride and trepidation that Sirius escorted Harry out, firmly reminding him to save the spell casting for school. At least the boy was only trying simple, harmless spells. Anything more and he’d worry about the stability of the wand.
“Until we get home, at least,” he promised Harry. If something happened he rather have the incident at home, in the secured room he used for practicing new spells in. There were always new spells for a wizard to learn- even one of his age, and one never knew when a miscarried flick or wrong gesture would screw up a spell, even one well known. Harry obliged his godfather, tucking the wand into a pocket on the black slacks before casually following him back to their house.
He nearly bumped into Sirius, lost in stroking his fingers along his wand, when the man nearly stopped still, a yard or two away from the house. Harry peered around Sirius to see a large if not unusual calico cat sitting on their porch, looking for all the world like some stray had decided to claim it as their new home. Sirius coughed low, twice, a set signal that the situation was “safe” but to still be cautious. Harry stepped behind Sirius in acknowledgement as the man moved forward, finally greeting the cat as he approached his door.
“Hello, Mini, come back already? You may as well come inside for a bit…” The trio stepped inside and Sirius closed and spelled the door to silence before introducing Harry.
“This is Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts. Minerva, this is my ward, Harry Potter.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, young Harry.” He nodded in response to her greeting, liking her pleasantly calm tone. He disliked loud and harsh voices, really. “I have Harry’s letter, here. But I am not here completely for pleasure, Sirius. You and I must talk, in private, please.”