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Ginny Potter - A Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive and Community -- Fictioneer
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HP stories following Canon after Deathly Hallows >> Siblings by Themumf

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A/N – Ok. So, when I wrote this after Deathly Hallows came out last year, I said that I had abandoned another story and made this one to keep it cannon, figuring that now that the series was done, I could no longer violate canon, my little pet peeve. The main character was originally intended to be Dumbledore’s grandson. Lo and behold, Ms. Rowling came out in an interview and put an end to speculation, stating that Dumbledore was, in fact, gay. BOOM! There goes Canon. :( So, here I am almost a year later, finally picking up the pieces, modifying chapter one into what you’re about to read. One complaint was the extent of the main character’s power, but something I’ve been curious about is, what if someone like Harry’s power was to mature and grow. What if there was someone with the equivalent of a Dark Lord’s power but with the power based in good, and applied to the lighter side of magic? That’s where I’m coming from with the ability of the main character. I will, however, try to make it not go overboard, although in Chapter 2 and 3 I will say now, it might come close.

Chapter 1 – Marcus

Marcus Peterson. A great man’s final secret. It is one which he took with him to the grave, and it will soon be revealed to the wizarding world at large, leaving even the likes of Rita Skeeter in awe.

Albus Dumbledore had kept his this boy hidden from the wizards of Great Britain to protect him and to keep him out of the war with Voldemort at the request of the boy’s parents. They expected the impending attack from Voldemort and wished to protect both their sons. Marcus and his brother were separated.

Fearing an attack on the elder brother, Albus gave him over to an American foster family of wizards. He went to the finest schools and excelled in all subjects, gaining notoriety under his foster family’s name so that none would know who he was.

But why wouldn’t he be safer at a place like Hogwarts under his Dumbledore’s watchful eye? Why send him into hiding, leaving him to not know who he truly was? What reason could there have been for this? Why place a charm on him so that he would not remember any of his past? Why not leave him with the same people as his younger brother? Alas, this is one part of the secret that Albus Dumbledore did not reveal.

Marcus himself had only recently arrived in Great Britain, knowing vaguely of a war taking place and following a premonition that had come to him in his sleep. That is where our story begins. Somehow, he had known he had to get to England, and that he had to get to, more specifically, a place called Hogwarts. There was a battle to be fought, and he was needed to help decide it.

The battle, however, started without him. By the time he had apparated to the small outlying village, it was easy to see that everything was in a state of havoc. It was also easy to tell which side was the side he was supposed to help as he pulled out a full sized staff of oak with a core of dragon heartstring. It was the closest thing he carried to a wand, but it was also very much more. He rarely used it except to channel his power when in combat or serious situations. This was both. He had been capable of wandless magic since his third year at school and only used his staff when absolutely necessary.

At the gates he was met by an army of dementors. Marcus still appeared calm despite their multitude. When they got close enough he slammed the butt end of the staff into the ground. As soon as contact was made with the ground, a glowing, silvery-white light began to grow from the top. The light expanded outward until it enveloped both him and all of the dementors. Any dementor that was ensnared in the light was killed, causing the grim reaper-like creatures to dissolve into thin air. The ones that did survive fled. Instantly, the light materialized into a large bear which approached Marcus.

“Pursue them and all of the remaining dementors and relieve them of their vile existence. Then, I need you to pass a message along to whomever is in charge that they have been dealt with and that I am assisting them.”

Without hesitation the bear trundled off after the dementors, mauling each one it caught into inexistence. Turning on his heel, Marcus continued up the school’s drive. He flicked his wrist and two masked dark wizards fell to the ground unconscious and from a wandless and non-verbal stunning spell. As he got nearer to the castle, he was able to truly see the destruction and chaos the dark wizards had wreaked. It truly was a fierce battle.

There were several fully grown giants pounding on the walls of the ancient castle. Marcus could see the masonry crumbling beneath their massive blows and knew that he would have to act quickly. With a few muttered words, what had been his staff had transfigured into a jet black broomstick. He soared into the air, raising his palm and pointing at the nearest giant’s back. From his palm erupted a fireball; not large enough to hurt it, but enough to piss it off. He had to distract them and get them away from the castle. Zipping around with the first giant furiously charging after him, Marcus repeated the process with the other two giants before speeding off and leading them to one of the areas of the grounds where there seemed to be less people fighting or seeking refuge.

As he landed, he looked straight up into the faces of three angry giants and swore to himself.

“Great,” he said. “I’ve got them here. Now what the hell am I supposed to do with them? This could get ugly.”

He raised the now restored staff into the air to try something, anything, but he had clearly waited too long. One of the giant’s massive hands swatted him, sending him flying thirty feet across the lawn and sending his staff beyond his reach.

With a groan, he got to his feet and muttered, “Not good,” as the giants began to close in on him again. The last blow had broken at lest a few ribs, and he felt a warm stream of blood on the side of his face.

He made sure to sidestep the next blow from one of the giants and began trying to come up with some way to end this. He had to do it quickly. There was no way he could dodge the giants’ attacks for too long in his current state. Not only that, but he did not want to wait for them to lose patience and opt to all start swinging at him at once.

He had to think. How could he incapacitate these three and survive? His eyes at last fell on his staff, which was now only about ten feet away what with all of the moving and dodging he had been doing.

With a grin and some sudden inspiration, he raised his hand towards the staff. It soared rapidly back to its owner and instantly transfigured into a katana with a black grip and scabbard. The blade itself when he unsheathed it was pure gleaming white. It a metal of ancient dwarven make known as mithril. It far surpassed anything even of goblin design. It would cut anything. Even the skin of a giant.

Marcus stood, rooted to the ground, staring down the giants, hoping this plan would work. He waited. The timing had to be right. The swing he was waiting for finally came. He sidestepped the giant’s massive swing and buried the blade of the sword in the giant’s wrist. He felt bone snap and tendons pop as the mithril blade found its mark and the giant bellowed in pain. Keeping the blade embedded in the skin, Marcus ran from wrist to forearm before using the sword as leverage to hoist himself up onto the giant’s arm, enabling him to run up his huge arms to his head, and leaving its forearm muscle severed in two.

Sheathing the sword, Marcus changed it back into the staff. The first giant, combined with his speed, was in too much pain to realize that he had climbed up his body and was standing atop his head. The other two giants were staring stupidly at the wounded one. These were not very bright giants, even by giant standards, which were not very high to begin with. Marcus was taking full advantage of this.

Using his staff, he conjured another large fireball near one of the uninjured giants’ hands and then sent it at the other uninjured one’s face, both blinding it and causing it to punch and flail at anything within reach in its fury, which turned out, conveniently, to be the other two giants. It probably would have hit the other two anyway, since it thought the others had made the fireball, but it never hurt to have a little insurance.

Marcus leapt off the head of the giant with the wounded forearm and kept his distance while one of the blinded one’s blows connected and knocked it unconscious. The uninjured giant was not about to allow itself to suffer the same fate. It picked up a nearby boulder and hurled it at the rampaging, blind giant. The boulder connected with a dull thunk and sent it unconscious to the ground as well.

The final giant had completely forgotten about the wizard. If it hadn’t, it would have seen him step out of the shadows with his staff raised in the air. It would have had more time to react when it heard someone shout, “Petrificus Incarcerous!” However, it didn’t. It fell, like the others when a jet of light hit it from behind, froze him in his place, and had chains the size of those on cargo ship anchors wrapped around it before it ever hit the ground.

Marcus limped, exhausted, up to the chained and paralyzed giant and cast a stunning spell on it as well to be safe. He then did the same to the other two before heading slowly back towards the castle.

The grounds were quiet now. He only hoped it did not mean the battle had ended for the worst. There was no way of telling how long the fight with the giants had taken. He could only measure it by the aches in his body and the growing light of the rising sun. He paused when he reached the courtyard that led to the castle doors. He looked around and had an odd sense of familiarity.

This feeling grew for some odd reason as he drew nearer to the huge doors of the castle. It all seemed vaguely as though he had seen it before. He reached out and felt a jolt of warmth as he pushed open the door. After a deep breath, he stepped inside.

And Marcus remembered.

He remembered everything. Who he was. His true parents. His grandmother. His grandfather. He remembered the last time he saw his parents when they brought him to see a man here with half moon spectacles. He recalled that man placing a charm on him and explaining that it was for his own good. This was where his old memories of life as a boy in Great Britain ended and his newer memories of life as a Marcus Peterson in America began. He understood now. He understood why he couldn’t remember anything before the age of five. He understood so much, but more importantly, he remembered. He remembered who he really was. His true name. Everything.

Of course this place is familiar, he thought as he walked towards the great hall’s entrance. He spent so much time here with his parents and grandparents. He belonged here. He knew this was why he had those visions. This was why he came here.

He was roused from his thoughts when he realized how many voices were coming from the great hall. He gripped his staff a little tighter, knowing he may need to defend himself, but needing it just as much to help support his tired and injured body. Every fall of the bottom of his staff upon the flagstone floors echoed throughout the hallway. Friend or foe, the hundreds of voices beyond the great hall’s doorway knew he was coming. With the hand that wasn’t gripping his staff, he slowly pushed open the door with a loud creak.

The moment he came within view, the wands of every student, professor, family member, and Hogsmeade townsperson was trained on him. He realized that, to them, he was a complete stranger entering shortly after a major battle. He raised his free hand slowly in the air and said, “Believe me when I say that I mean you no harm. I’d relinquish my staff, but at the moment it’s helping me stand.” He smiled, his brilliant green eyes twinkling behind a pair of round eyeglasses. “I sent my patronus earlier in hopes it would speak to whomever was in charge and make my presence here known, but it may still be pursuing dementors. I’m not sure who it would have gone to.”

He paused as a rather severe but kind, though tired, looking witch stood. “My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am the head of Gryffindor House and acting headmistress at the moment. I did receive the message from your patronus, and your help is, of course, appreciated, but I must ask. Who are you?”

He smiled warmly and inclined his head respectfully. “Marcus Godric Potter at your service Professor McGonagall”


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