Chapter Text
Harry Potter woke up in his room. He had been at home with the Evans family for the last few weeks, and already he was thinking of ways that he could hit back at Professor Dumbledore and the Gryffindors, who had almost ruined his life since he chose to go into Ravenclaw a year ago. But revenge wasn't the only thing on his mind, as he knew that the Gryffindors needed to be taught a lesson about who he really was, and why it wasn't a good idea to mess with him.
A sliver of sunlight snuck through the gap in the curtains, illuminating a forgotten badge pinned to Harry's noticeboard. It was the Ravenclaw crest, its blue and bronze gleaming faintly. A pang of defiance shot through him. He wasn't the "Boy-Who-Lived" anymore, not to Gryffindor. He was Harry Potter, a Ravenclaw student, and proud of it.
Even though revenge felt tempting, it also felt hollow. For all his smiles and twinkles, Professor Dumbledore had kept Harry in the dark regarding his past and his destiny. But Harry knew that anger wouldn't change anything. Harry straightened, a plan forming, more intricate than childish pranks or point-grubbing. He wouldn't stoop to their level. No, he'd hit them where it hurt: their pride and their arrogance.
He would become the embodiment of Ravenclaw ideals. He would excel in Charms and Transfiguration, not just to outshine Gryffindor, but to push the boundaries of magic itself. He would delve into forgotten lore in the Restricted Section, not just out of morbid curiosity, but to unearth knowledge that could benefit the wizarding world. Maybe, just maybe, he would uncover something that Dumbledore, with his Gryffindor bias, had missed. After all, knowledge was power, and Harry was starting to realize just how much power he truly possessed.
A mischievous glint entered his eyes. Harry knew that he wouldn't just surpass Gryffindor expectations; he would redefine them. He would become the Ravenclaw champion, not through blustery heroics, but through cunning intellect and strategic brilliance. He wouldn't be anyone's Boy-Who-Lived, a pawn in their prophecy. He would be Harry Potter, the Ravenclaw who soared above them all, his achievements a testament to the true meaning of magic.
A genuine smile, wider this time, spread across Harry's face. This new term at Hogwarts wouldn't just be about proving them wrong; it would be about proving himself right. He wouldn't be defined by a prophecy or Gryffindor's misguided expectations. He was Harry Potter, and he was ready to not just survive, but to thrive on his own terms. The weight of the wizarding world wouldn't crush him; it would be the springboard that launched him to new heights. With a newfound purpose tingling in his veins, Harry threw back the covers, the thrill of the coming term already buzzing in his mind. He wasn't just going to Hogwarts; he was going to conquer it, Ravenclaw style.
Just then, he heard a voice. "Harry, get up! You have an hour before it's time for summer school!"
Harry nodded, a grimace flashing across his face as he recalled the moment he was back in his room at the Evanses' house. How his uncle Carlyle, a man built more like a bulldog than a human, had complained about the "waste of potential" that Hogwarts had become and Aunt Mary, ever the voice of reason in the chaotic Evans household, had spoken about summer school at the local church. ("Honestly, Harry," she'd said, her voice clipped but kind, "learning a bit of history and current events wouldn't hurt you. Magic isn't everything.")
"Summer school?" Harry echoed, his voice thick with sleep. "But it's the holidays!"
A muffled snort came from the doorway. "Holidays are for proper folk, Harry," came Uncle Carlyle's gruff reply. "You, on the other hand, need to improve your science and math skills. I don't know what they're teaching you in that school, but math and science aren't those things."
Harry scowled, pulling the covers back up slightly. "It's not that," he mumbled. "It's…"
"It's what?" Mary asked, entering the room with a plate of toast and a steaming mug. She placed them on his bedside table, her brow creased slightly at Harry's ruffled expression. "Another run-in with those Gryffindors, dear?"
Harry sighed. He couldn't keep everything bottled up forever, especially not from Mary. "They just don't understand," he muttered into his pillow. "They think because I wasn't in Gryffindor, I'm…"
"Less than them?" Mary finished gently. She sat on the edge of the bed, her expression warm. "Harry, those poor little Gryffindors, bless their brave hearts, sometimes forget there's always more to magic than just charging headfirst into danger."
"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed, throwing off the covers and sitting up. "Ravenclaws are all about learning, about pushing the boundaries of magic. We're not interested in glory or points, just knowledge."
Mary smiled. "Then show them that," she said simply. "Show them what Ravenclaw is truly about. That summer school might be just the opportunity you need."
Harry considered this. He wasn't thrilled about missing out on having a summer vacation, but maybe Mary was right. Maybe he could use this summer school as a chance to prove himself, not through blustery heroics, but through sheer knowledge and intellect. A mischievous glint entered his eyes.
"Alright, alright," he conceded with a playful jab. "But if I have to dissect another frog, I'm turning the school into a toadstool farm."
Mary chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Now get a move on, you. Don't want to be late for your first lesson, do you? Vicar Finch wouldn't be too pleased if you missed his lecture on the history of goblin rebellions."
"Vicar Finch?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Isn't he a bit…"
"Dotty?" Mary finished with a wink. "Perhaps. But the man's got a surprising depth of knowledge about magical creatures and their impact on wizarding history. Besides," she added, her voice lowering slightly, "you never know what kind of magical tidbits you might pick up that could come in handy later on."
Harry pondered this for a moment. Maybe summer school wouldn't be so bad after all. The prospect of learning something unexpected, something the Ministry wouldn't necessarily teach at Hogwarts, sparked a flicker of excitement within him. After all, knowledge was power, and Harry was starting to realize just how much power he truly possessed. With a newfound determination, he grabbed his toast and took a bite. "Alright, Vicar Finch it is. Let's see what goblin rebellions have to teach me."
With that memory fresh in his head, Harry hopped out of bed and quickly got dressed. He shuffled down the stairs, the aroma of bacon and eggs battling the lingering scent of yesterday's stew in the air. Carlyle, a man whose frown seemed permanently etched onto his face, stood at the stove flipping pancakes with a practiced hand. Harry's five cousins, a chaotic menagerie of personalities, were already at the table, their faces buried in bowls of cereal.
Dudley Dursley, the oldest of his cousins, looked up as Harry entered. A smirk plastered across his face, he drawled, "You weren't planning to sleep in all day, were you, Harry?"
Harry, never one to back down from a challenge, fired back with a dry retort, "Once a Hufflepuff, always a Hufflepuff, and you're a Hufflepuff, Dudley Dursley."
Dudley scowled, his face turning a shade of puce. Before a full-blown argument could erupt, Carlyle chimed in, his voice gruff. "At least it's better than being a Gryffindor, which is what your parents were," he said. "When last I remembered, they're all nothing but trouble; you did the right thing when you went into Ravenclaw, using your head instead of rushing headlong into danger like those Gryffindors always seem to do."
"You're right," Harry said to Carlyle. "Everyone expects me to be this big hero, but that's not me. I'm never going to be what my parents were, and that was reckless." He grabbed a plate and a mug, silently filling them with scrambled eggs and lukewarm tea before finding a seat at the far end of the table. Robbie and Louise snickered at the exchange, their eyes flickering between Harry and Dudley, clearly relishing the tension.
Sensing a fight brewing, Mary bustled in, a calming aura surrounding her. "Alright, settle down everyone," she said briskly, placing a plate of toast in front of Harry. "There's no need for name-calling at the breakfast table. Now, Harry, don't forget your books for Vicar Finch's lecture. Apparently, goblin rebellions are quite fascinating once you delve into the historical context."
Carlyle nodded as he said, "She's right, Harry. There are some things you're learning about now that will no doubt come in handy later on, magic or not. Besides," he continued, his voice low and gruff, "knowledge is power, and the more knowledge you have, the better prepared you'll be for whatever life throws your way."
Harry looked at his gruff uncle, surprised by the unexpected wisdom. A flicker of something akin to respect sparked in his eyes. "Thanks, Uncle Carlyle," he mumbled, taking a bite of his toast.
Carlyle grunted in response, a small, almost imperceptible smile twitching at the corner of his lips. The sound of Dudley scoffing broke the momentary peace. "As if Harry Potter needs any more power than he already has," he muttered.
Harry ignored him, his mind already swirling with possibilities. Summer school, once a chore, now held a strange allure. The idea of uncovering forgotten knowledge, knowledge the Ministry might not want him to have, sent a thrill through him. He wouldn't just be learning history; he might be learning secrets. Secrets that could be useful, not just for him, but for the wizarding world as a whole.
With newfound determination, Harry finished his breakfast. He wouldn't let any Gryffindor arrogance or his relatives hold him back. He was Harry Potter, and he was ready to learn. He grabbed his bag, packed with three well-worn textbooks and a notebook for taking notes, and headed out the door.
"Don't be late, Harry!" Mary called after him, her voice laced with warmth. "Vicar Finch might not be the most conventional teacher, but he's got a way of making history come alive."
"See you later," Harry replied with a smile, a genuine one this time. He stepped out into the morning sun, a sense of purpose guiding his steps. Maybe, just maybe, summer school wouldn't be so bad after all. In fact, it might just be the start of something extraordinary.
It was after 4 PM when Harry finally came home from summer school. Class had been interesting, but Vicar Finch could definitely out talk most of the teachers at Hogwarts. In fact, the older man had questioned the validity of Harry going to Hogwarts, with its apparent backward way of teaching and its clear lack of understanding of the real magic of the magical world.
With a sigh, Harry got off his bike and went to the backyard, where no one could bother him. He loved his relatives, including Dudley, but they could sometimes be overbearing. At least staying with the Evanses was much better than staying with the Dursleys, Harry reminded himself, remembering the summer when he had switched places with Patrick Harvey, who was forced to stay with the Dursleys when Carlyle and Mary gained custody of Harry. Then Harry had spent that summer refusing to tolerate the Dursleys mistreating him and putting them in their place. At least Patrick is safe now and he'll never have to deal with them again, Harry thought to himself.
As the cool evening air began to settle, Harry found a spot under a large oak tree, its branches forming a leafy canopy overhead. He pulled out a well-worn copy of "Gringotts and the Goblin Wars" from his bag, eager to delve into the history of goblin rebellions after Vicar Finch's surprisingly engaging lecture.
Just as he settled in and cracked open the book, a rustle in the bushes sent shivers down his spine. He sighed, a touch of annoyance creeping in. Was there no escaping from trouble, even at a supposedly mundane summer school? Setting the book aside with a muttered curse, he approached the bushes cautiously, his wand clutched tightly in his pocket.
Pushing aside the leaves, he wasn't prepared for what he saw. Nestled amongst the roots of the oak was a tiny creature, no bigger than his hand. Ethereal gossamer wings, barely visible in the fading light, fluttered nervously behind its back. Its large, intelligent eyes, the color of polished emeralds, stared back at him with a mixture of fear and defiance.
"Hello?" Harry ventured cautiously, lowering his hand to his side. "Are you lost?"
The creature, clearly startled, squeaked and tried to burrow deeper into the undergrowth. But Harry was quicker, gently cupping his hands around it and lifting it out. The creature, now revealed to be a house-elf, no older than a kitten, squirmed and let out a string of high-pitched chirps.
"Whoa, whoa, easy now," Harry said calmly. "I'm not going to hurt you." He examined the elf, noticing its tattered clothes and the worried frown etched on its tiny face. "What's wrong, little one? Did you run away?"
The elf, its initial fear subsiding slightly, looked up at Harry with pleading eyes. "M-my name is Blink," it squeaked in a voice so high it was almost inaudible. "I...I need your help."
"Why do you need my help?" Harry said gently, the concern for the tiny creature evident in his tone. Blink's large eyes, so like polished emeralds, welled up with tears, threatening to spill over. "It's the Potter twins," he squeaked, his voice trembling like a leaf caught in a whirlwind. "They have been taken. The family who has them appears to be nice, but they're using them to get to Harry Potter..."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. His mind raced, trying to decipher Blink's words. Professor Snape, despite his usual disdain of Harry, had recently revealed a startling truth: Patrick Harvey and Agnes Parker, who he met just before he came to Hogwarts, were actually his younger brother and sister, Lucas and Juniper Potter. Had they been kidnapped? And if so, then who had kidnapped them?
The revelation sent a jolt through him, a mixture of anger and disbelief. "The Weasleys?" he blurted out, a wave of suspicion washing over him. Professor Snape, while not exactly a source of comfort, had confided that the Weasleys were fiercely loyal to Gryffindor and held a grudge against him for choosing Ravenclaw. Could they be so desperate to get back at him that they would resort to taking his siblings?
Blink flinched at the name, his tiny body trembling like a frightened bird. "Y-yes, Mr. Potter," he stammered. "They said they would 'teach you a lesson' and make you 'come crawling back' to Gryffindor if they kept the twins."
Anger, hot and fierce, surged through Harry. The Weasleys, the supposed heroes of the wizarding world, were acting like common kidnappers? He wouldn't stand for it. He, Harry Potter, Ravenclaw or not, would find his brother and sister. This wasn't about proving himself to Gryffindor or anyone else; this was about protecting his family.
"Where are they taking them?" Harry pressed, his voice low and dangerous. A steely glint hardened his gaze.
Blink sniffled, wiping his emerald eyes with a tattered sleeve. "Th-they mentioned a place called...The Burrow. It's supposed to be their home."
A plan began to form in Harry's mind. He wouldn't involve the Ministry or Dumbledore. They might be biased against him, or worse, in cahoots with the Weasleys. He would handle this himself, using his Ravenclaw wit and cunning. He wouldn't rely on brute Gryffindor force; he would use his intellect and knowledge to outsmart them.
"Thank you, Blink," said Harry. He carefully placed the elf back on the ground, earning him a grateful look from the tiny creature. "Don't worry, I'll get them back."
With newfound determination replacing his earlier annoyance, Harry rose to his feet. The summer had taken an unexpected turn, but Harry wouldn't let it deter him. He was going to The Burrow, and he was bringing his brother and sister home. This wasn't just about rescuing his siblings; it was about proving that a Ravenclaw could be just as brave and resourceful as any Gryffindor.