From Kith to Kin
Frank Thompson was… he wasn’t entirely sure, anymore. Life had started out as normal as could be for him. Granted, that was a bit of a loose use of the term. Sure, he may have grown up on a reservation up in Washington with his Ma, but given that she was also teaching him magic, it was a less-than-normal childhood. Still, it was his normal, and he had loved it. And then it was gone. And he and his Ma had moved.
Frank didn’t like Hogwarts. It was big, cold and so sterile. He wished he and his Ma were still living in Washington. Where he learned his family’s history, where his Ma taught him how to use herbs, for better or worse, how to identify different creatures, magical and mundane, and when to fight or flee.
Mostly, he missed the personality that Hogwarts was lacking.
It was made worse by the robes. Completely impractical clothes, especially compared to what he was used to wearing when his Ma took him out hiking, or to their makeshift shooting range made of crab apples and tin cans. And then there was the wand. Frank did not like using a wand. He was used to tapping into the magic in reagents, the subtle powers of willow bark and acorns, the magic of association and belief. Having to adapt to a wand, a focus, was… not painful, but uncomfortable.
So no, Frank didn’t like Hogwarts. Even hated it a little, maybe.
He hated it even more when, in his second to last year, he was pulled out of a class and told that his Ma was dead. A wild animal attack, they had told him. He had dropped out at day’s end and gone back home, to the small apartment he and his Ma had lived in.
It wasn’t a wild animal.
And so Frank Thompson became a Hunter.
When he avenged his Ma, he lost the fuel to his fire, the one thing motivating him. But there was still Hunting, and he had heard about a bar in Nebraska that catered to Hunters. So he gave them a call. And gained a friend or two. Not quite family, but close enough to soothe the aching hole where his heart used to be. Just a little bit.
Getting the bar, which he had named The Hunter’s Moon, up and running helped as well. If you’re busy, you don’t have the time to think. To grieve. Eventually, though, he had that time. And some support. He would grow to appreciate that. Some of the Hunters he had seen…
And then the kid came. Walked into a bar, casual as you please, asking after Hunters, and training and information. And Frank, well Frank felt his heart break a little. Seven. The kid, Harry, was seven and talking about Hunting.
So Frank, knowing the life he was condemning Harry to, but knowing what would happen if he didn’t, got him that help. Gave him that training, the information that he was so hungry for, that he stripped use out of like a starved coyote ripping flesh off of bone.
Then came Harry’s first Hunt. It was a rogue werewolf. Mundane, not Magical. And that was his first kill. The first time blood was spilled by his hands. Harry was twelve when he first took a life. And Frank was there, at his side when he broke down, faced with the full realization of what he was now. And he was still at Harry’s side when he decided to keep going. That one killer, one kid with blood on his hands was, if not a perfect price, if not a good price, was an acceptable price to pay.
It wasn’t too long after that that Petunia signed some paperwork for him.
And it was then that Frank realized something. Sometime, during the five-odd years he’s known this kid, known Harry Potter, James Evans, he’d become… family. Maybe not a son, definitely not a brother, but definitely family. And a small part of Frank Thompson felt at peace, no longer missing what he had lost at age eighteen.
And then the kid gets a Hogwarts letter. And Frank explained what that meant. What purebloods and halfbloods and muggleborns are. Told Harry how his parents died. How their last act in life was protecting him. Took him to Diagon Alley. Pondered his own wand. Rowan and loup-garou hair. Frank hadn’t used it much, since he turned eighteen. Not after he found what had killed his Ma. He wondered what core Harry’s wand would have, already knowing the wood.
He grimaced internally at the Church Grim Hair.
And then Harry’s at Hogwarts. And Frank’s in London. Missing the kid. The Moon didn’t feel the same without him. It’s better the next year when he can call him. But then he learned what might be in Harry, learned what happened at the school. And, uncharacteristically, Frank Thompson was scared. Scared for Harry, that he might have to die if his ghost friend was right. Scared he might lose his family again. But then the kid starts talking about a website, and database, to help Hunters, and he lets himself be distracted by his pride.
He was surprised when one of his schoolmates was in the news. Sirius. He’d been a year below Black, but he remembered him. Handsome, unbearably annoying and willing to die for anyone he loved. And when Harry returned at the end of the school year, he was scared again but relieved. Scared for Harry, since Helena was right, but relieved that Sirius wasn’t a threat. Relieved that there might be a way out of what might happen.
And then, all of a sudden, that worry, that fear, is gone. Because Harry, in all his foolishness, managed to summon something that dealt with the piece of soul lodged in him. Something that wasn’t a demon. Something that he doesn’t know about. Which is its own tiny bit of fear.
That year is the first time he sees Sirius since Hogwarts. He looks good, for a wanted fugitive. He could be surprisingly funny when he wasn’t being annoying. Sirius was with him when he learned about Harry being entered into the Triwizard Tournament. Sirius was concerned. Frank wasn’t. He had taught Harry how to fight, that dirty was better than fair, living better than dead. He heard about the outcome of the First Task from Harry, along with the rest of his friends. Was sent some recordings by his Granger friend.
Lovegood lets him know that he and Zabini finally made their situation official, and Frank is happy. It’s hard to find that sort of happiness as a Hunter. And he makes Harry happy, so that helps. This year he finally has someone to spend the holidays with, even if it’s an annoying, yet charming, fugitive.
Harry makes it through the Second Task unscathed, like Frank knew he would. He gets told that the families of the Champions can attend the last Task, so of course he and Sirius are there. It’s kind of fun, getting to watch Harry in action, by himself. But then he goes and vanishes, and most of the bureaucrats aren’t taking it seriously, and Harry’s little gang is demanding they find him. Granger’s citing different laws and statutes, Lovegood and Longbottom are harassing Albus and Zabini is threatening to kill the Minister.
Wonderful.
Then Zabini poisons that Alastor fella with something, and suddenly he’s getting a call, and it’s Harry, who’s at The Moon somehow, and Zabini is threatening officials again before he can get back to- and now Longbottom is having to restrain him from assaulting Bagman. Eventually, he gets Harry back, but then he has to deal with Albus and he’s tired, so he may have subtly threatened to stab him. It worked though, so he didn’t regret it.
And then it’s the summer. And it’s a decently normal one, as far as normal can carry a summer filled with Hunting, enchanting, public image sabotage and potential assassination attempts. Because yeah, a fascist came back to life, and the government is slowly becoming a dictatorship. That isn’t really a surprise though. No, what is a surprise is Sirius turning his house, and an impromptu vigilante headquarters, into a halfway house for Hunters. He visits more often than he doesn’t.
The more time he spends around Sirius, the more that passive appreciation of his looks becomes something more. After that night with the whiskey, and shared secrets, they become something more.
And then Harry messages him, saying he’s a fugitive. Like godfather, like godson, he supposes.
It’s simple enough to get some people together to head on over to Privet Drive to do some warding, as well as rustling together a duffel bag of clothes for Blaise. And then they’re there. Harry and Blaise, standing in front of The Moon, next to the bike Frank got Harry as a gift. Obviously, he checks to see if Harry knows where he and his little group went wrong. Of course, Harry knows and answers. He’s raised him well, or well enough. Frank doesn’t really think raising a kid to be a Hunter is raising someone well. And then Frank casts a spell on that bike and pulls Harry into a parting hug.
And then he sends them off. To the States. To a friend.
And as he walks back into The Moon, all Frank can think is that he was hoping it would have been a long while until Harry had to deal with the law.
But that’s not the looking glass we went through. Not the river runoff we boated down.
And Frank just hopes he’s done enough to help the kid.