Author: Capricious Purple Clarity
Warnings: Yaoi/slash. Gay stuff. Don't like it? Well, nobody's holding a gun to your head and threatening your very existence if you don't read.
Pairings: 1+2, 3+4, 5+?, HGRW, maybe DMHP... DMHP all depends on how it works out, and I haven't decided on who I'm going to pair Wufei with, or even if I'm going to pair Wufei.
Summary: GWHP Crossover. Duo Maxwell's unique brand of luck strikes again. Ron wants to keep him, even if he does have some weird obsession with flirting with Snape. Snape just wants to know where to bury the body.
Disclaimer: Not mine; this disclaimer applies to all chapters.
Author's Note: Since Gundam Wing takes place a long time in the future and the first Harry Potter is based in 1991, a few delicate changes with the time frame needs to be made. For example, Nearly Headless Nick (the Gryffindor ghost) had his 500th deathday in book two ("Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets"). Because his cake clearly stated the date of his death (October 31, 1492), Nicholas' state of dress, his botched beheading, ect., Nick will simply have to be older than bordering-on-504-years-dead. Also, Albus Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald in 1945 and any other recent material will have to be adjusted to the time frame. The year is A.C. 196; Harry Potter and friends are in their sixth year at Hogwarts, and they are sixteen (or bordering it, as only Harry and Dudley's birthdays are celebrated in the book, and it's hinted Hermione's birthday is sometime before school's out). It's called "artistic license." If you don't like it, deal.
Harry Potter and the Secret Link Part 1
Geoffrey Heckelmuff was a rather decrepit old man. His thinning, discolored hair barely covered his ever-growing bald spot at the back of his head as his hairline receded at such a pace that he would most likely be near complete baldness by winter. Once he had been a tall, striping young lad, but now he was short and slumped over, his once flawlessly tanned skin wrinkled and paled since the peak of his younger years. Thick, black rimmed glasses nearly encompassed his entire face, increasing the size of his beady eyes to five times their actual size. His mouth was a permanent thin line of seriousness, as the time from his youth had rarely caused any more smiles. Nonetheless, laugh lines (or more accurately termed as 'crows feet') stayed with him even into his wizened years, marking him once a happy man.
Despite all of this, Geoffrey would like to think that he was a diligent, hardworking man. He did his job right and did it extremely well. He wasn't paid well, but it was a decent pay nevertheless. He wouldn't trade his job for any other job in the world.
Geoffrey was, as it were, a recruiter for schools. Ah, but not just any school. Geoffrey Heckelmuff was the head of the Department of the Recruitment of Young Witches and Wizards, a small, almost barely recognized name of a department under the Ministry of Magic. His job, and the job of those that were under him, was to seek out potential witches and wizards, place their names on a list, and send it off by owl to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. From there, Hogwarts (which was his school alma mater) would take care of the rest. He considered his part of the process an important task, and took great pride in it.
For almost seventy years Geoffrey had accomplished his job without error. Never had there been an accident involving an over-aged aspiring wizard or witch having a magical catastrophe in the middle of a public area. Never had a Muggle accidentally been sent to Hogwarts only to find that he or she did not possess even an inkling of power at all. If there were suspicions that, should the witch or wizard be Muggle-borne, the parents would disapprove, a separate letter was sent to the child while a Muggle-looking one was sent to the parent or parents, informing them that their child had been accepted into a normal, prestigious school that required special... needs of them (Well, except for that incident with the Boy-Who-Lived and his Muggle-if-he-ever-heard-of-one aunt, uncle, and cousin, but that wasn't really the fault of the department; more so, it was the fault of the Muggle for taking a letter that did not belong to him). This usually did not set off any alarms, and both sides were usually very happy with the situation.
Geoffrey Heckelmuff had never had a mistake in all of his almost-seventy years... until one of his subordinates, a man in his fifties, finally confessed to a mistake on his part. As it turned out, this man had gone a little lax of the high regulations Geoffrey had set for the department. Five years ago, a young lad should have been sent his letter. Because of the man's bumbling (and, Geoffrey admitted, his distracted attention), this young lad _did not_ receive his letter. A sixteen year old with incredible power was walking around, a proverbial ticking timed spell just waiting to go off.
"Sir," the subordinate said nervously, squeaky regiments from his younger days still lasting through his worn voice, "that's not all."
Geoffrey Heckelmuff thought things couldn't have gotten any worse than making a mistake. As it turned out, things _did_ get worse. A _lot_ worse.
He yelled, he ranted, he threw a fit so outraged that it was sure to take ten years off his already long life. Finally he flopped down into his chair, having acrimoniously dismissed the careless man with many dire words, and covered his face with his shriveled, thin-fingered hands. Finally he wrote a hurried letter and sent it to the Ministry.
Already he could see his retirement benefits flying out the window and into a sinkhole.
It was a rainy day on Privet Drive, especially dark at Number 4 Privet Drive. The air there seemed thicker with electricity, the clouds so dark above the beautiful if not mundane home of the Dursleys. A tarp covered their top-of-the-line sports car, and toys carelessly left about on the front porch were hurriedly brought in by the mother of the household, if only because her son refused to do so. The first bolt of lightning seemed to strike just about their home, and the thunder clapped almost an instant after. It was the yard of Number 4 Privet Drive that experienced the first drop of fat rain, and the second, third, and fourth. Soon all of Privet Drive and neighboring streets were experiencing the sudden rainstorm.
This did not dapper the mood of Vernon Dursley. In fact, the sudden rainfall seemed to irritate him even further.
Vernon Dursley was a Muggle. He was, in fact, about as Muggle as anyone could get, and he rather wanted it to remain that way. He wore his most boring ties to work, and sat with his back to the window. He had a good day when he had the opportunity to yell at people, especially those who worked under him at his company, Grunnings, where he ran drills. It was all about appearances to him; he refused to tolerate anything out of the norm, and judged everyone by their car or home.
Vernon Dursley was a rather overweight man, not exactly morbidly obese like his son, but he could stand to lose a few good pounds. He had almost no neck and a mustache that had seemed to loose a tuft here and there due to his nature of pulling on it hard enough to yank the hairs out. Vernon was also the type of person to find something to complain about. At the moment of the rainfall, he was complaining about weathermen and how their predictions were wrong. Even if they were wrong only sometimes, to Vernon, sometimes was just too much. Another thing he liked to continuously gripe about was his nephew Harry.
Harry Potter had always been thin, but he had grown even more lanky in his years. His ebony hair, no matter how many times he seemed to go to the barber to have it cut even, grew jagged and uneven. Glasses adorned his bright green eyes, and under his wild hair a scar shaped much like the lightning outside hid. Harry's clothes were always too big for his too thin frame because most of his wardrobe consisted of hand-me-downs the Dursleys' son had grown out of. In respect to school, Harry wasn't like other children. In one way, he liked being at school way more than he liked being away. At least at school he didn't have to put up with family that hated him. Another thing that set him off from other children was the kind of school Harry went to. Under the grumbling protests of his uncle (who once vehemently denied that Harry should go, but was persuaded otherwise by a certain half-giant named Hagrid) Harry attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry was an aspiring wizard.
He missed a lot of things about Hogwarts. One was his opportunity to be away from the Dursleys, but with a family like them, who would want to be around? He also missed his friends and how freely he could just practice his magic inside the safe walls of the prominent school. He missed Quidditch, a wizard's game that, he had to admit, he was quite good at. He missed talking about magic, which was something Vernon fanatically prohibited from being spoken of inside or outside his home. He missed hearing about magic, breathing magic, anything to do with magic he missed with a passion.
Harry was taken out of his thoughtful mood when his aunt Petunia began to fix salad with nonfat dressing and steamed chicken. That story had lightened Harry's mood even if he did have to suffer under the family diet with the Dursleys.
Petunia was taller and much thinner than Vernon. She had a long neck that she craned over her shoulder in order to catch the latest gossip. She was horribly horse faced and blonde, with small eyes, a large nose, and a mouth that seemed to always thin with distaste whenever she even spared a glance at Harry. Petunia was his mother's sister, and she was deeply disgusted when her sister began attending Hogwarts. For a while, she and Vernon went as far as to pretend she didn't even have a sister. When Harry came to the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive, the two made up quick, horrible lies about Harry's parents, going as far as to claiming they were layabout drunks without jobs and filthy habits. They even went as far as telling him they died in a car wreck he was a survivor of. Usually that was as far as they would go about Lily and James Potter.
Petunia had received letters of concern from the nurses at the school the youngest Dursley attended. He could no longer fit in the Smeltings' uniform. Not even their biggest size could fit him. With the letter of concern, the thoughtful nurse had included a list of dietary needs. Petunia could no longer claim that her son was big boned; hence, the salad. Much to Dudley's protests (including much wailing and blubbering) he and the rest of the family had to undergo the diet.
Dudley Dursley was a classic example of one who was morbidly obese. He had a large pink face, not much neck, thick blonde hair, small watery blue eyes that he shared in common with his mother, and an attitude that was rank. Dudley had many favorite pass times (TV, video games, Mega Mutilation Four, toys, ect.), but there was none as high on his list as his two favorites: eating and beating on Harry, not in that respective order. Or at least, those were things he used to do. Ever since Harry began going to Hogwarts, Dudley had voted not to be around the thinner boy in fear of having a hex of some kind cast on him. And due to the diet, he had not had as much to eat as he usually did.
Petunia stonily placed the small bowls of salad in front of them. He noticed with no surprise that Dudley had at least half of Harry's meager salad piled into his own bowl. In fact, most of his was the brown part that looked far too unappetizing.
It was when he entered his small bedroom (a large improvement over the cupboard under the stairs) that he received a letter from Ron. Pig whirled around the room in frantic excitement, and Harry hushed him with quick words before he opened the parchment Ron had sent him. It was a clipping from the _Daily Prophet_, a prosperous wizarding newspaper. With red, Ron had underlined the headline of the front page and had quickly scribbled "READ!!" in large letters.
MINISTRY FOULS AGAIN?!
Mysterious New Student Found Overage!
Some people work very hard at their jobs, writes reporter John Tobbs for the Daily Prophet. But in this case, working very hard just isn't good enough, as the Department of the Recruitment of Young Witches and Wizards has so thoughtfully proved.
To the shock of the magical world, the head of the Department of the Recruitment of Young Witches and Wizards, Geoffrey Heckelmuff, has just recently found a mistake pertained to his underling, Jobe Mickels. Mickels has recently confessed, to the shame of Heckelmuff, that his organization skills over the years were not the best. Five years ago, an aspiring young wizard had been left out of the wizarding world, alone with a power he could in no possible way understand. A mistake like this has not been made in over a hundred years of the Ministry's history.
The left out wizard's name has yet to be released by the Ministry of Magic or Hogwarts, but rumor has had it that this stranger is in some strange way connected to the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. In case some of our readers did not know, Harry Potter is the one person in the history of magic-kind that has survived and defeated the feared He Who Shall Not Be Named. This piece of information has made us of the Daily Prophet curious, and we hope to have more on that soon.
In the meantime, the young wizard is immediately being sought out. The Ministry has assured us that the forgotten boy will be taking quick classes over the summer to hopefully have the boy in his proper age group. All of us who went to Hogwarts will know of the tough time the young wizard will be having, and unless he's a born natural, this paper has severe doubts of him making it to the third year over the summer.
At the end of the article, a quickly scrawled message, "Wild, huh?" was followed by Ron's signature.
"Yeah," Harry murmured thoughtfully, tilting his head as he slowly put the clipped article on his desk. "Wild." With this appearance of this new boy, something told him that this year was going to be a little different from every other adventure-filled year at Hogwarts.
Somewhere in Ireland, a boy had just recently purchased a cheap, rinky-dink hotel room for the night. The neon light of the sign splayed in ugly, block letters "Ocean Shore Hotel" in twitching, dying light. There was only one floor of rooms, and that floor only had forty-seven rooms. The boy had checked into room forty-two, which surprisingly did have a nice view of the ocean front. The room was sparsely decorated, as if someone actually grew taste overnight and tried to make the simple seedy room look homey. There was only one bed and one pillow, with a television set that only picked up eight stations. The bathroom, which was currently occupied, barely had enough room to maneuver. Someone had such a bad idea when they decided to try and push the sink and mirror, the toilet, and the shower into the same small room. If he bent over, his butt would be hitting the sink and his face would be damn near implanted in the toilet. If he faced the shower and did the same, he would probably bump his butt against the door and fall forward only to split his head open on the cracked tub. But the water was hot and they actually had entertaining movies on TV, so who was he complained? He couldn't exactly afford comfort.
Outside of the tiny bathroom, where the steam built up behind the closed door, there was mysterious fluttering outside of his hotel room door, followed by the soft hoots of a barn owl. Mere seconds later, a small envelope slipped underneath the door. Somehow, as if controlled by something other than the air conditioner, which seemed to be permanently set on sub-zero, the parchment curled in midair a few times before floating softly to the bed.
Minutes later the shower's water ran to a trickle. The door slowly opened, emitting steam as the colder air flew into the once enclosed room. The boy, teeth chittering under the sudden clash of cold and hot, hurried to his pack to throw something warm over his nude form. The towels weren't even big enough to wrap around his waist, and compared to many, his waist was tiny. It was once he threw on a pair of boxers and wooly pants (and in the middle of looking for a shirt that was at least partially clean) that the boy noticed the letter.
Slowly, knowing instantly that the yellowish-brown envelope hadn't been there before, he glided toward the bed. With nimble fingers, he cautiously picked it up and read the address to himself.
Room 42 of Ocean Shore Inn
Ocean Shore, Ireland
Duo blinked. This letter really shouldn't have found him at all. No one knew where he was, as he had taken to constantly wandering and rarely keeping in contact with anyone who would actually care. For a letter to reach him this fast when he had checked in only an hour before... well, that was only possible if the person sending the letter knew where he would end up before he did, and there was no way said person could predict he'd be in this exact room.
So who would send him a letter? Correction: How could this letter get to HIM?
Duo Maxwell was an exceptionally handsome young boy; many would be quick to claim he was quite pretty. He had thick, long chestnut hair in an elegant plait, and wide purple eyes that almost glittered with some kind of positive emotion during any situation. He usually wore some semblance of a priest outfit; tight black jeans and a black shirt with rolled sleeves, the underside white, while a tiny sliver of white hinted at a priest's collar. A small, golden cross usually hung from around his neck, but it had taken to lying on the television for the time being.
Duo also had a dark past. Due to his dark past, he didn't usually stay in one place for too long. If he did, his time there would only span to a little over a month before he moved on again. It was his dark past that kept him from carelessly ripping open the envelope to get to the letter inside. Or, more aptly put, it was his training in that dark past. Duo Maxwell, sixteen and still living, had been a trained assassin/killer/terrorist by the time he had been fourteen. He had saved the world -twice- before his sixteenth birthday. With the end of the war behind him, he had the secret of the Gundam with him, and an unknown future before him.
That was strangely a little too poetic for him.
With care he flipped the old-fashioned seal from the back and easily slipped the parchment from inside. Slowly he unfurled it. The first thing he noticed was that the letter was written in green ink on tanned paper. The second thing he noticed was what it said.
Dear Duo Maxwell,
It has been brought to the attention of the faculty at Hogwarts, a school for youth with special abilities, that a grave mistake has been made. Because of this mistake, I would wish to ask to meet you in person so we can discuss your future with our school. I am regretful that I cannot explain all in a letter, but this meeting is of dire importance.
Included is a map of a part of Scotland you should be familiar with. In three days you will be picked up by a very close friend, who will bring you to this school to meet me. Just meet him near the Forbidden Forest, but be careful not to come into the forest! The Forbidden Forest is very dangerous during the summer.
I look forward to meeting you again, Duo Maxwell.
Professor Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts
That last sentence only cemented the deal. Duo would be heading for Scotland by morning.
No one said traveling to such an unpopulated portion of Scotland like that would be easy. Duo only proved more so. He almost didn't make it in time for the third day; in fact, he thought he had missed the date. But as he traveled the outskirt of the dark, creepy forest that even sent chills down Duo's spine (and that was not an easy accomplishment), he finally found the person he was looking for. Or, as it was, the person who was looking for him.
Jesus, that guy was big.
The man Duo supposed was waiting for him was tall. Taller than Rashid, Quatre Winner's servant and comrade, and that was saying a lot when in reference to Rashid. Duo supposed this man had to be a good foot and a half over Rashid, and maybe taller. His shoulders were wide and his arms heavily muscled; Duo had little doubt that this man could go against a mobile suit barehanded and have a good chance of putting up a good fight. His black hair was wild, long and untamed by a comb. His beard was in similar state, and was so bushy it nearly covered his entire face. The only thing Duo could see really well were his eyes. Those eyes were too friendly to fit such a mean-looking exterior. Those eyes were the only reason Duo didn't turn around and hurry away before the giant could catch glance of him.
The giant caught sight of him, and a wide grin broke out from under that bushy beard. "Oy! Ya must be Duo, hey? Duo Maxwell?"
Determined not to show nervousness at the booming voice, Duo nodded with a confident grin on his face. "That's me! I run, I hide, but I never, ever tell a lie!" Duo imitated a low, sweeping bow before straightening and quickly giving the giant a sweeping look. "You must be the friend the headmaster mentioned. You're taking me to Professor Dumbledore, right?"
"Aye," agreed the giant. "Name's Rubeus Hagrid. Most call me Hagrid. I'll be leadin' ya 'round the Forbidden Forest to git ta the school. Any questions 'fore we go?"
"Yeah. Why's it forbidden?" He motioned to the forest, but Hagrid did not see the motion. He was already walking in a direction beside it.
"That'll be explained in due time, lad."
To the outside world, it would be uncertain as to what words were exchanged between Duo Maxwell and Albus Dumbledore. Sometimes even Duo was unsure as to whether he had all of his facts straight. Yet, in any case, Duo remained at the school for the rest of the summer.
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