The Last Daughter of Krypton Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and at least one character from the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.
Due to features peculiar to this fic that well become evident as it progresses, some technologies and practices are more consistent with real world technologies of the 2010s.
From this chapter onwards, some of the content is adapted from both the book and movie versions of Philosopher’s Stone.
Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on this chapter.
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Harry Potter: Alchemy | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe, Cursed Child and beyond Characters:All Genres: Action/Adventure, Crossover Warnings: Disturbing Imagery, Mental Abuse, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 19 Summary: After twelve years with his foster family, the time for Harry Potter to return to Britain and begin his journey towards his destiny! Hitcount: Story Total: 7465; Chapter Total: 787 Author's Notes: |
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London WC2, July 31, 10:10 BST. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop: Cauldrons -- All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring — Collapsible "Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid. "But we gotta get yer money first." Despite his previous adventures with the ‘play-date group’ and others, Harry was pretty impressed. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...." A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Further down the street, several kids — mostly boys but also a couple of girls if he was any judge — of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say. "It’s just come out… start-of-the-art prototype… fastest broom in the world.” “Individually selected birch twigs,” added another. “Honed to aerodynamic perfection… unsurpassable balance, pinpoint precision…” “A hundred-and-fifty miles an hour in ten seconds with an Unbreakable Breaking Charm,” said a third. “Price on request though,” mused the first. “Is it really worth it?” "The Irish International Side's Just put in an order for seven of these beauties!" the proprietor of the shop told the crowd. "And they're favourites for the World Cup!" Harry and his group moving on with Hagrid in the lead, parting the crowd like an icebreaker. There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.... Eventually, they reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops, emblazoned with the legend Gringotts’ Wizarding Bank over its burnished bronze doors. Standing beside them was a tiny, swarthy-faced man with a pointed beard and long fingers and feet wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold… "Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them: Enter, stranger, but take heed Of what awaits the sin of greed, For those who take, but do not earn, Must pay most dearly in their turn. So, if you seek beneath our floors A treasure that was never yours, Thief, you have been warned, beware Of finding more than treasure there. "Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid. A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors, and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. The group made for the counter, Hagrid still in the lead. "Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's vault." "You have his key, sir?" "Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals. "Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key. The goblin looked at it closely. “I see… Ragnok has left instructions that he wishes to speak to anyone requesting access to that vault personally.” "An' I've also got a letter here from Perfessor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen." The goblin read the letter carefully. "Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid. "I will have someone take you to Ragnok and then down to the vaults. Griphook!" Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall. "What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked. "Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts’ business. Dumbledore's trustin’ me. More 'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that." Griphook held the door open for them and ushered the group into another marble corridor lined with office doors. Once they were through the door, Griphook closed it, then trotted forward until he was at the head of the group and lead them down the corridor to the final door which had the name ‘Ragnok’ etched on the glass. He knocked on the door frame and received a “come in” from inside. Griphook opened the door slightly so that the elderly goblin inside was visible. “A young wizard and his escort are requesting access to the Potter Vault. You wanted to see them?" “Send them in,” said Ragnok. “You and the groundskeeper can stay outside.” Hagrid didn’t seem entirely keen on this suggestion, but after a moment he shuffled aside so that Harry, Karen and Mera could enter the room, and handed the key over to Mera as she passed. “Please be seated,” offered Ragnok. He glanced at Harry. “Mr Potter, I presume?” “That’s what they tell me,” Harry replied. “I’ve been going under another name for the last ten years.” “That would explain one or two points,” mused the goblin. “And your companions?” “My mentor, Mera Orinaina… she’s standing in place of my adoptive parents who are busy back home…” “Mera, wife of Orin…” translated the goblin, a slight tremor in his voice. “Headmistress of the Odeío tis Mageías?” “I am.” When the silence stretched beyond a few seconds, Harry indicated his second companion, “And this is Karen Kent, an honorary cousin.” The goblin nodded. “I asked to see you because in the last ten years there have been several attempts by various parties to seize the Potter Vault and have its contents redistributed to ‘worthy causes’. Fortunately, Fleamont Potter left sufficiently clear instructions that I have been able to ensure that these attempts have been thwarted so far. However, as a result — particularly as you didn’t have the key in your possession — I require certain bonafides before I can allow you to access the vault.” “Who has…?” “A variety of different players for what I believe to be nearly as many reasons,” Ragnok replied. “There is no need to be concerned… such intrigue has been… more common than Gringotts is comfortable with in recent years.” “What do you need me to do?” asked Harry. “Is it dangerous to him?” asked Karen, her tone indicating that for everyone’s sake, the answer had better be ‘no’. “Nothing to be concerned about,” Ragnok assured them. “I just need him to write a short declaration on some special parchment… A sharp scratch is normal, but it heals immediately.” Harry glanced over at Mera, she paused to consider it, but then nodded. “Please write ‘My name is Harry James Potter, son of James Potter’,” requested Ragnok. Harry obeyed the instruction, picking up the handsome scarlet quill and scratched out the desired missive, noting with interest that the red ink quickly filled out into a family tree. “Excellent,” said Ragnok. “Griphook!” The other goblin eased open the door and poked his head in. “Yes, sir?” “You may take Mr Potter and his party down to vault six-hundred and eighty-seven.” “Immediately,” agreed the younger goblin. “Follow me, please.” As they rose to their feet, Ragnok picked up a folder stuffed with parchment and handed it over to Harry. “These are copies of your bank records, if you have any further questions, send me an owl.” Griphook led them back to the main hall, then down into another passageway — this time a narrow stone one lit with flaming torches with a series of railway tracks set into the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in — Hagrid with some difficulty — and were off. At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late… they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor. Harry enjoyed the ride and from what he could tell, Karen did too. Mera on the other hand exuded an air of casual indifference, while Hagrid clearly had not enjoyed the trip as he looked very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling. Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped at the sight. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze ones. "All yours," smiled Hagrid. “Impressive,” allowed Mera. "The gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid explained as Karen joined Harry inside the vault and helped him pile some of it into a bag. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?" "One speed only," said Griphook. They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Karen pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. “You’re not missing much,” she assured him as he scowled at her. Vault seven-hundred-and-thirteen had no keyhole. "Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook. "How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked. "About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Harry was sure, and he leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least… but at first, he thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry longed to know what it was but knew better than to ask. "Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid. **** One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. "Might as well get yer uniform next," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry nodded agreement and followed Mera into the robe shop, with Karen bringing up the rear. Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch who was dressed all in mauve. “How can I help, ma’am?” she asked in brisk, no-nonsense tone. “One for Hogwarts, please,” Mera replied, ushering Harry forward. “Very good, ma’am,” said Madam Malkin with a nod. “We’ve got the lot here… there’s another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." She signalled for one of her assistants — wearing a name tag of ‘Raine Goldfinch’ who towed Harry over to a stool next to a boy with a pale, pointed face. Harry heard Madam Malkin asked Mera if she or Kara wanted anything but missed their response as the blond boy spoke up. "Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?" "Yes," said Harry. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." "Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on. “No," said Harry. "Play Quidditch at all?" "No," Harry said again, but inwardly made a mental note to ask Madam Hooch about the possibilities. "I do,” said the blond boy, smugly. “Father says it'll be a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree… Do you know what house you'll be in yet?" asked the boy. "No…” Harry replied, feeling more stupid by the minute. “But from what I’ve heard, no-one really does until they get there… Do they?” "Not for sure,” agreed the blonde boy. “But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been… imagine being in Hufflepuff… I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" I think that would be a bit of an extreme reaction, thought Harry, but politely said nothing. The blonde boy looked like he wanted to say more, but the assistant had finished with him, so she prodded him off the stool and back towards the front of the shop. Raine didn’t take long to finish up his own measurements, so they were back out on the street about ten minutes later, where Hagrid — carrying a handful of ice-creams — met them with a smile. “What were you and that boy talking about?” Karen asked him as they walked up the street, eating their ice-creams. “Quidditch and the school houses,” Harry replied. “He thinks it would be a ‘crime’ if he’s not picked for his house team.” Karen snorted. “Arrogant, much?” “Yeah,” Harry agreed. “He also said that he ‘knows’ he’ll be in Slytherin.” “Stay away from tha’ one,” said Hagrid. “After t’ war, anyone who wants ter be in Slytherin is a bad un. You-Know-Who was one.” "Vol… sorry… You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?" "Years an' years ago," said Hagrid. They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients, Harry and Karen examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop) and many more. Outside the apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again. "Just yer wand left… and yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. You should get an owl, all the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'." Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. Harry glanced at Karen… she was frowning. “What’s up?” “I can’t remember the details, but Clark did an article about illegal pets a while ago, and I’m not sure if snowy owls are allowed.” “Really? Why didn’t you…” “I’m sure any problems can be resolved,” stated Mera in a tone that brooked no argument. “Just Ollivanders’ left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand," said Hagrid. A magic wand... Harry knew that it wasn’t the only way to do magic… but even so, this was what he’d really been looking forward to. The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid beckoned Mera into to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered an extremely strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic. "Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped, and for a moment he sensed the fizzing sensation of Karen pulling up her magic, but then it faded. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop. "Hello," said Harry awkwardly. "Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon… Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it… it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where..." Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, very powerful… and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do...." He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted the rest of the group. "Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy… wasn't it?" "It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid. "Good wand, that one,” said Mr Ollivander, but then suddenly became stern. “But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" "Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet, then added brightly. "I've still got the pieces, though." "But you don't use them?" said Mr Ollivander sharply. "Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke. "Hmm," said Mr Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. Then he turned his attention to Mera and Karen. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure, ma’am… I would certainly remember someone with your…” he paused, then apparently reconsidering his word-choice, he added. “Presence.” “I practise the techniques of the Odeío for the most part,” Mera replied. “I do not require a wand.” “Indeed not,” agreed Ollivander, then turned towards Karen. “And you, my dear?” “I prefer sigilomancy,” Karen told him. “My family has their own personal take on it.” “Sigilomancy… interesting,” mused Ollivander. “But you are not here to indulge my personal curiosity, so let us see what we can do for young Mr Potter.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?" "Er… well, I'm right-handed," said Harry. "Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand." Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. "That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave." Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, causing most of the boxes to come flying out of the shelves and come crashing down. Harry jumped and hurriedly puts the wand back on the counter. “Apparently not,” said Ollivander, dryly, then returns to his stacks. After a moment he produced another wand. “Perhaps this… ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Try…" Harry waved at a vase, which shatters, startling Harry. “No, no, definitely not!” insisted Ollivander. “No matter... Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere… I wonder, now… yes, why not… unusual combination…” After searching his selection, he selected a third wand, but stopped and became thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder…” Coming to a decision, he hands the wand to Harry. “Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." As soon as his fingers closed around the handle, Harry felt a sudden warmth in them, he raised the wand above his head and it suddenly began to glow under it, a mysterious draft blowing his hair up and causing several sheets of paperwork in the background to float around the room. Ollivander’s expression shifted to one of surprise and he lapsed deep into thought. “Curious, very curious…” "Sorry," said Harry. "But what's curious?" Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather… just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother… gave you that scar." Harry swallowed. Glancing at his companions, he got the idea that they weren’t too thrilled at the information either. "Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter.... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things… terrible, yes, but great." Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop. The sun was at its height as the group wound their way back down Diagon Alley and back through the wall, into the Leaky Cauldron, now well into the lunch trade. Initially, Mera had wanted to head back to the Embassy straight away, but once she realised that the pub’s patrons were content to ignore them this time she agreed to a late lunch, which Tom quickly provided. A few minutes later, Harry paused in the middle of eating his soup. “Hagrid?” “Yes, Harry?” “Madam Hooch hinted at some sort of story behind how I became an orphan when she came to Smallville last week, and Mera and Karen have both done some digging, but…” He paused again. “But you know the whole story, Hagrid? You know why I’m famous!” “I'm not exactly sure I'm the right person to tell you tha’, Harry,” replied Hagrid. “And truth be told, I’m not sure anyone knows the whole story, even Dumbledore… But yeh can’ go to Hogwarts withou’ knowin’ the story…” He paused to take a fortifying swallow of his mead. “First, an’ understand this, Harry, 'cause it's important… Not all wizards are good. Some of them go bad.” Harry nodded here, while his personal experience of such people was limited, he’d heard plenty of stories from his ‘babysitters’ over the years. “A few years ago, there was one wizard who went as bad as you can go. And his name was V... his name was V...” “Voldemort?” offered Karen. “Constantine was able to tell us that much.” “That’s the one,” agreed Hagrid, with evident relief. “It was dark times, Harry… dark times. You-Know-Who’d gathered some followers — Death Eaters he called them — and brought 'em over to the dark side. Anyone that stood up to ‘im ended up dead. Your parents fought against ‘im, but nobody lived once ‘e decided to kill 'em.” Here, he paused again for effect. “Nobody... not one. ‘Cept you.” “Me?” repeated Harry, puzzled. “Voldemort tried to kill... me?” “Aye,” agreed Hagrid. “There’s a lotta mystery ‘bout the details even now… but that ain't no ordinary cut on your forehead, Harry. A mark like that only comes from being touched by a curse...and an evil curse at that.” “I assume from your description of the attack you are referring to the Killing Curse?” asked Mera. Hagrid nodded. Mera turned to Harry. “I think we need to investigate your scar more thoroughly than we have…” Harry nodded, then turned back to Hagrid. “What happened to...to Voldemort?” “Well, some say ‘e died…” replied Hagrid. “Codswallop in my opinion. Nope, I reckon he's out there, still… too tired to go on. But one thing's absolutely certain. Something about you stumped him that night. That's why you're famous. That's why everybody knows your name. You're the Boy Who Lived.” |
| Reviews 19 |
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