The Scourge

On (Finally) Going to Hogwarts

Best… birthday… ever!

- August 31st, 1997 (17 Years Old) -

- Harry’s Rooms, Malfoy Manor -

“Am I ready for this?” Harry asked Frank as he packed his trunk.

Holy shit, Harry thought to himself, a duffle bag was just so much easier and more convenient to pack. Usually, he just threw in a change of clothes, some weapons and a toothbrush. (If he was feeling sexy.)

But no… now he had: potion ingredients, school clothes, fuckin’ robes, books for classes, his spare guns and knives that he wasn’t carrying on his person, his leather cloak, extra tac pants, his second favorite boots, some MREs (just in case), a new katana from Wade (Yay! Love Wade!), some books on dark arts from Tom (for light reading), a few pranks from Sirius (seriously?), and a book on the inner-workings of the new laws coming before Wizengamot from Lucy. (“Just in case you get some time to relax and review them, Mr. Scourge.” Yeah, ok Lucy… like that’s gonna happen.)

At least he could shrink the damn thing down and put it in his pocket. (He had been a bit worried about the effects of magic shrinking on his weapons, but they seemed just fine when he practiced on a shitty test sidearm earlier.)

Frank glanced at him from where he sat, staring into the fire. “I dunno, kid, are you?”

Harry grumbled under his breath, “You’re no help. You’re supposed to help your child. I’m going into this trying to pretend to be some pretty boy pompous ass Lord of some shit… which I’m totally not… no matter what they tried to bang into my head this year. And I’m just wiggin’ out a bit.” He chewed his bottom lip as he double and triple checked his gear.

Standing up from his chair and walking over to where Harry was pouring over his trunk’s contents, Frank grasped his shoulder and turned Harry to face him. “Kid, you wanted this. Remember what I told you in the beginning? Revenge is personal. You’re doing this your way. You can still say ‘fuck it’ and we can do it the old-fashioned 'Punisher' way. But this is the choice you made. I’m just stickin’ by your side, supporting you like a good dad is supposed to. I always say you make your own choices and deal with the consequences. Do I think you’re ready? From what I’ve seen with you learnin’ all this new shit, yeah, I think you’re ready. You’ll go in, pass yourself off as this Lord guy, ruin the shit out of the people who did this to you… then, like when I finally finished with my vendetta, you’ll figure out where you want to go from there. If it comes from within you, it’s always right.”

He ruffled Harry’s hair. (Still streaked, since he would not allow them to change that about him.) “Now, did you pack a lunch and your backpack for tomorrow?” Frank asked him with a shitty grin.

Harry punched him in the side. Which, in turn, caused their conversation to deteriorate into a wrestling match on the ground. (Spoiler alert: Frank won… stupid dad with cheating moves, stupid headlock, stupid ridiculous strength, stupid... stupid noogies.)

Okay, Harry could do this. Hogwarts tomorrow, here he comes.

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- September 1st, 1997 (17 Years Old) -

- Platform 9 ¾, King’s Cross Station, London -