Fanfic #72 Joseph Black And The Bone Wand by ThatJeff(HP)

This is a complete fanfic follows an oc in the world of Harry Potter. This fanfic is kind a companion fic to the Harry Potter story, so it doesn't really interact with the canon main characters. I really like the focus on the mc's life and it has a lot of interesting interactions with canon characters and ocs. Oh and the mc is not actually related to Sirius that's just the last name he had. One weird thing though is that the mc starts hogwarts late so he's 13, same age as Harry, but still taking first year classes, although it feels like he'll more than catch up. Just try out the first chapter, this fanfic is a complete series with over 800k words if you get into it.

Rated: M

words: 103k

Synopsis: Harry Potter's tale as witnessed by a Slytherin student. Everyone knows about the story of the Boy Who Lived, about his early childhood, his times at school, about his many adventures, and his final triumph over You Know Who. Everyone knows that story. However, several hundred students attended Hogwarts during those years. Many of them went on to live quiet comfortable lives, while a few of them became famous in their own right. However, all of them have their own story to tell, just as interesting and just as important. This is one of them.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30331188/chapters/74766471

Here's the first chapter:

Thirteen years ago, across a wide ocean, a boy was born in the States. Nothing special really, many boys were born that year, each of them special in their own way. Even when dark events were unfolding in England a year later, Joseph spent his night going door to door begging for candy on his very first Halloween. Indeed, nothing troubling from England ever reached the States, but trouble comes in many forms.

For Joe, it was something simple. His father lost his job during a recession. For months, his father floundered, trying to find something, anything, to keep his family afloat, but nothing was to be had. In a pique of desperation and despair, he turned to the bottle. Soon, he began spending almost all of his time at the bars rather than at home.

Joe's mom did her best to keep the family together, working days and nights to keep them afloat. It might have worked in the beginning, but Joe's dad was a proud man, and it galled him to think that he had to depend on his wife which made him drink even more. Then the hitting began.

For years Joe and his mom suffered in silence until one night something changed. It was a typical event, where his father had come home drunk and began yelling and hitting everything and everyone in his way. But after his dad had stumbled off to bed, Joe's mom quietly began collecting clothing, frantically stuffing them into a small travel bag. Joe didn't argue when she told him to do the same--you never talked back in this household.

What was going on, he wondered. However Joe had learned years ago you never asked questions. Asking questions either got you yelled at—or worse. No, the best thing to do was what he always did; keep quiet, but listen to everything. Eventually, you learned everything you wanted to know.

Soon Joe was following his mother down the dusty street, his schoolbag overstuffed with every thing he owned. It wasn't much. One block down the street, a small, beat-up car sat idling. He had seen it before, Miss Maggie's if he was correct. Miss Maggie was a waitress that worked with his mom. His guess was mom had called her while he was packing. When they reached the corner where the car sat, he saw that he was correct. They quietly piled into the back seat, Miss Maggie whispering something he couldn't hear to his mom.

"The bus station is fine," his mom replied. Bus station? Something odd definitely was going on, that was obvious. Being only eleven, Joe couldn't quite grasp exactly what his mom intended but it did sound a lot like running away.

Running away. From dad. They could do that? Why hadn't they done it sooner? Where would they go? Mom didn't know anyone that dad didn't as well. Perhaps that was the idea—get away from everyone and everything so as to be harder to find. Riding a bus to a different city would definitely do that. It actually sounded exciting!

The car lurched to a halt, breaking Joe out of his reverie. There was a dirty building in front of them, a backlit sign that showed a racing dog sprinting across a background of red and blue. The sign was dingy like the building, and one of the light bulbs was out so that only half of it was lit, but at that moment it was the most beautiful dog Joe had ever seen. He was never allowed to have a dog. For the first time, he was glad he hadn't—he probably would have been forced to leave it behind.

They got out of the car, mom hugged Miss Maggie, Miss Maggie said some words of encouragement to him, and then they went inside. They stood in line at a counter, bought some tickets, and boarded a bus outside. The sign on the bus's side said Dallas. As they settled into the cushioned seats Joe began to wonder what Dallas would be like. He'd never been in a large city. Would it be hot and dusty like Arlen? He wondered just how tall the buildings would be; he seen pictures of New York and the like, but they never showed you people or cars, nothing to judge the scale of the buildings....

Joe started awake when his mom nudged his shoulder, "Joe, we're almost there. Wake up." Where exactly was 'there?' He looked out the window, but nighttime had finally settled so he couldn't really see anything except for a bunch of bright lights. Still, that was something new. Apparently Dallas had lights everywhere. Overhead, the rumble of a jet airplane drowned out the noise of the bus's engine. Must be nearby an airport, he mused.

They gathered their meager belongings from the driver, and walked to a nearby taxi. That was very odd, thought Joe. His mom never paid money for a taxi, said the money could be saved by walking instead. Still, this night was already proving to be very different than any other. They rode for several minutes, finally arriving at the very airport he had guessed was close. Once there, they quickly walked inside and stood in line at the ticket counter.

"Joe, here, hold onto this," his mom rummaged through her bag and produced a small paper booklet, "Do not lose it, understand? If someone asks to see it, you let him look at it, but make sure you get it back, okay?"

Joe accepted the item and flipped through its pages. The cover said, 'passport' but that didn't mean much to him. Inside there was a photograph of him stuck to one of the pages; he looked a couple years younger than he was now. His brain raced back in time, remembering the day they went to a small drugstore to get his picture taken. He had always wondered why he never saw the photos of that day; it must have been the time this book was made. Three, maybe four years ago he mused.

Three years ago. His mother had been planning this day that far back. Why hadn't she said anything to him about it? Three years seemed like a lifetime to him, and to him it was. How could anyone plan that far ahead?

He continued pondering what all of this meant as his mom guided him through customs, security checks, and to the boarding gate. At one point, he noticed a large black shadow flapping outside, but dismissed it as a bat or some such. He still had no idea where they were going, but in one night, he had traveled by bus, by taxi, and now by airplane. It would be an exciting time for him if he could just ignore the reason for their flight.

What would his dad do when he discovered them gone? Would he be able to find them? Mom seemed to have planned this for a long time; surely she had planned for that as well. One thing for sure, if father caught them, it would not be pleasant. He unconsciously rubbed a spot on his left arm. No, not pleasant at all.

About an hour later, they began to board the large aircraft he could see outside a nearby window. As they passed through an attendant that checked their tickets, he saw the gate's counter had a sign above the clerk's head: United Flight 2923 London Departure 11:10pm.

London! They were going to a whole new country! Surely dad couldn't follow them there. No wonder mother had taken so long to have them run away—tickets to London must cost a fortune! Probably more than a thousand dollars! Joe's body finally sagged a little in relief; he hadn't noticed he was scared until just then. He had hidden it well he thought. That was another rule to getting along; don't show people how you feel. Showing emotions could get you punished just as mouthing off could. He straightened his back a little and walked steadfastly down the odd little hallway and into the plane. If he felt he could afford a little excitement, he would have stared agog to look at the sheer size of the plane's interior. His mom gently took his hand and led them to their seats.

"We're almost there, honey. You can sleep now if you want, we're safe now," She settled him in a seat in the middle of the plane, but he could see just a little outside the small window if he leaned forward a little. A small section of wing and engine could be seen but that was all.

No wait, there was something else. A dark shape sat on the wingtip, easily seen against the white of the wing itself. It almost looked like a huge barn owl. Joe blinked to clear his vision, but when he looked again, the shadow was gone. Yet another strange thing to happen on this strange night. He was probably just very tired. He settled back in the seat, getting comfortable enough to sleep.

He woke once to hear his mother tell him they were flying over the Atlantic. He acknowledged that, but immediately went back to sleep. He dreamed of large owls flying over a huge expanse of water, being pursued by a black dragon blowing smoke and fire from its nose. When they arrived in London early in the morning, his mother seemed very cheerful, maybe even happy for a change.

"Think of it Joe. You'll be able to see your grandmum for the first time! Won't that be nice?" Even though she genuinely seemed happy, Joe noticed a welling of tears in her eyes that tried hard not to spill. "You two will get along smashingly."

Joe nodded in agreement but said nothing. A whole new life awaited them, he thought to himself. He didn't want to say it to himself, even to think it, but until now, he just assumed father would be waiting for them somewhere to take them back home to be punished. No, not home. It wasn't home anymore. This was home. Hopefully, a good home.

Back in America in a small untidy office, a small wrinkly old man entered carrying a newspaper and a cup of coffee. He wasn't all that remarkable except for the dingy grey robe he wore—that was very unusual. He settled down in a well worn chair behind a tidy old wooden desk. It was then that he finally noticed a large horned owl standing in the middle of his desk, looking very tired and very angry—well, as angry as an owl could look at least.

"What's this?" he muttered. He removed a heavy envelope of parchment from the owl's leg. The owl hooted once, and gratefully sprang into the air, flying through a convenient opening in the wall, presumably to rest in the owlery.

"Hmmm, a returned letter?" he mumbled, taking out a gnarled stick and pointing at the letter. The green ink writing began to swirl around in seemingly random patterns.

"Emigrating are we? No matter." He casually chucked the letter into an empty "International" basket. "Good luck to you, Mr. Lancaster."

Later that day, the letter was collected by a bored clerk who dropped it into a large black cauldron that sat inside a blackened fireplace. Later still, another robe-clad clerk ignited a green fire under the cauldron and with a clear voice, said "London!" The cauldron, with its burdening contents, shivered slightly then shot up the soot-stained flue. As it bumped along its journey, the letter posted to "Mr. Joseph Simon Lancaster" dangled on top of the pile, bouncing with every bump of the cauldron. As expected, during one such bump, the letter jounced sharply and fell out, lodging itself in a crack along the flue. For two long years the letter sat until a routine inspection found it lying in its hiding space. The damage already done, the mailing clerks debated if the letter should be sent on, but the postal inspector stated in no uncertain terms that it should.