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Meet Jim D. Topert

Chapter 1 (version 1.01)

Disclaimer: I do believe that J. K. Rowling owns the rights and likenesses of all the characters in the Harry Potter series. I don’t own anything here, except for the persona of Jim D Topert perhaps.

 "I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

(Chapter One of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, J.K. Rowlings)

 Less than a minute later, the head of a certain Mad-eye Moody appeared out of nowhere.

“Good luck Harry?” the Master Auror echoed, disbelief on his scarred features despite the fact that no one else could see it.  He just couldn’t understand it; out of all people, why would Albus place baby Harry with these particular Muggles?  The last Potter , newly proclaimed by the Wizarding World as the ‘The Boy Who Lived’, was a geniune Hero to them.  He certainly deserved a better fate than this!

Mad-Eye shook his head in disappointment and not a little disgust.  He had borrowed Auror James Potter’s invisibility cloak earlier in the year to help him hunt down some Death-Eaters and now Potter wasn’t going to be able to accept it back.  It was with a pang of heartfelt regret that Moody stood there eyeing his favorite protege’s one and only son.

Mad-Eye was more or less second in command, after Dumbledore, of the Order of the Phoenix.  As such, he had been privy to a significant amount of Dumbledore’s plans, theories and strategies.  One of said theories was that Riddle hadn’t died after all; thanks to some dark, currently unknown ritual, Voldemort’s soul had not died along with the body, it had just been merely ejected.  Although on that Albus hadn’t been completely sure though if that particular theory would eventually accurately pan out.  

Plan for the worst and hope for the best.  That was one of the many things Albus was good at.

However, the part of Albus plan to place baby Harry with the Dursleys was the one part that Mad-Eye vehemently disagreed with.

That was, of course, why he was here.

 “Albus you mad fool,” the overly paranoid Auror muttered as he stooped over and gently picked up the infant with his invisible arms.  To his relief, Harry failed to make a peep and automatically snuggled closer to the welcome source of heat and warmth.  Mad-Eye’s other eye span crazily in its socket as he regarded the Dursley house.  “I already warned you that these blood-wards had a fatal flaw in them.”  Then again, it was so like the Supreme Mugwump to believe the best of everyone.

Mad-Eye shook his grizzled head in disbelief; Albus and Minerva hadn’t even thought of placing a Warming Charm on the infant.  With that and now this, leaving baby Harry to the tender mercies of a bunch of wizard-hating Muggles like the Dursleys, it was clear to him now the sun did not shine out of Dumbledore’s arse; that Harry’s safety wasn’t a paramount issue with the almighty Supreme Mugwump.  The scarred auror had his suspicions before, but to find out about something like this was galling, humbling, but definitely an eye opening experience for him.

 “Petunia and her family won’t accept Harry as one of their own.  All those stories I’ve heard about them from James and Lily have convinced me that they are the worst.  Minerva was right after all; these people are definitely NOT the ones who should be responsible for Harry’s upbringing if and should Voldemort somehow return.”  

“Constant Vigilance lad," Mad-Eye whispered and straightened up.  Bringing baby Harry under the cloak, he covered his head again and was once again completely invisible.  A few minutes later, there was a slightly muffled *crack* and Pivet Drive returned to its previous normal state with no wizards or witches in sight whatsoever.



9 and a 1/2 years later

Platform 9 and 3/4

A large crowd had gathered on Platform 9 and 3/4.  Students, parents, younger siblings, train workers, conductors, and even a couple of Aurors (stationed for crowd control) were milling around, greeting each other and having last minute conversations before the train departed.  

There was a bit of excitement in the air for the students, especially amongst the First Years, as well as some eagerness and anxiety.  The children were all chatting with their friends and acquaintances, craning their necks in a pitiful attempt to catch a glimpse of anyone they didn’t know, speculatively studying their faces as if they could recognize the infamous Avada-Kavadra inflicted lightning-shaped scar.

For this was the year that Harry Potter was supposed to attend Hogwarts.

Away from all the commotion and hustle bustle, inside the Hogwarts Express, a few students who didn’t like crowds or simply wanted to secure a compartment ahead of time.  

One of these few, a red-haired, blue-eyed boy sat by his lonesome, intently reading the book in his hands, which was entitled ‘You and Your Inner Duelist (2nd edition, circa 1978)’, by Anthony Powdlings.  A fairly decent book by any competent auror’s standards.

Jim D. Topert tilted his head to the side as he heard footsteps approaching his compartment.  What information he could glean from the pattern of steps told him that there were three people; the difference in the thudding noises their heels made when they met the ground also told him that two of the were either scarily overweight or human gorillas.  Maybe both.

The third was probably a boy, around ten to thirteen years of age, maybe the same height as Jim himself give or take a few inches.

It seemed like they had stopped right at his door.  Jim twisted his right wrist twice which activated the quick-release of his custom-made wand from the wrist holster.  It immediately slid into his waiting palm and the ten year old rested it on his thigh, placing his open book over it, letting the book covers help hide the fact that it was there.

Just in time too because the compartment door opened and in stepped three uninvited visitors, and it looked like Jim’s suspicions were proven correct.

“I heard Harry Potter was on the train.  Are you him?” drawled their expensively dressed leader, a blonde stuck-up ponce if Jim had ever seen one.  

The recipient of the question looked at him with a indifferent expression.  “Well hello to you too.  You got the wrong person.  Bye now.”  Jim said in a bored monotone, then looked down at his book as if to resume reading.  

While Draco looked to be having an acute attack of being shocked speechless, Jim  was mentally fishing through the many character profiles he’d memorized over the years, searching for a match.  However, this proved to be quite an easy task.  The hair was a dead giveaway.  

Description:  Rich, snobby, pale blond hair, ten years old, arrogant tone of voice.   

Match.  Subject:  Draco Malfoy.  Pure-Blood.  Only child of former Death Eater and Voldemort’s right hand man Lucius Malfoy.  

 Jim briefly eyed the two overgrown apes that accompanied Malfoy.  Both were around ten years old and possessed a vapid look in their eyes while their bodies possessed a  loose, slightly aggressive stance that said they were quite ready to visit some bodily harm upon the nearest person upon their leader’s orders.  An exact match for them was even faster then their apparent leader’s had been.  

 Match.  Subjects:  Vincent Crabbe. Greg Goyle.  Pure-Bloods. Sons of former DeathEater Henchmen Crabbe and Goyle.  Obviously following their father’s path in life as brute muscle.  

Perhaps to anyone else, Jim’s tone of voice would’ve sounded monotone, but for Draco Malfoy, it sounded like a curt dismissal, something quite similar to what he would say to, for example, his stupid House Elf Dobby.

And it got his goat but good.

Unseen to the threesome, the faintest of smirks appeared on Jim’s lips and he subtledy grasped his hidden wand a little bit more tighter.

 “Perhaps, my incredibly dull friend, you have no idea who I am?  I am Draco Malfoy--”

“--son of the incredibly weak willed wanker Lucius Malfoy, Mr. Prime “Oh no Minister, you see I was Imperioused!"  Yeah yeah.  Well, Death Eater Malfoy spawn, the name’s Jim Domody Topert,  and I’ve only got one thing to say to you.”

He paused for dramatic effect.  “Go away, you bunch of ponces, and bugger each other.”



Draco Scorpius Malfoy was a child accustomed to certain things in his life.  

Ever since he was born, the young Malfoy was born rich.  Much like a certain Muggle child named Dudley, Draco had been pampered and spoiled almost rotten by his parents.  Consequentially, his choice of playmates had been limited to other children of “formerly Imperioused" Death Eaters and sympathizers (quiet supporters of Lord Voldemorts who elected to serve him financially and who also lacked the nerve to take the Death Mark.  

This meant that to a certain degree, it was an unspoken rule that the Death Eater children treated each other with, at most, respect, and at least, civil tolerance.  This open secret policy also firmly extended and strongly encouraged towards their elders and other like-minded purebloods as well.  

With such a upbringing, it was an understatement to say Draco Malfoy was rather shocked to hear a complete stranger casually and boldly speak such ill of his father.  In fact, such was he affected that he was struck speechless for at least ten seconds, which was a record.  During that time, his mind vainly attempted to deal with the fact that Lucius Malfoy had just been insulted by a mere fellow ‘firstie’.  

His eyes were comically wide open and his mouth opened and closed several times.  

And to make it worse, said schoolboy was now openly smirking at him!  Of all the bloody nerve!  

Inevitably, shock fell swiftly away and anger rose up in its place.

Lucius and Narcissa’s only son drew out his wand smoothly, quickly with a motion that spoke of years of practice.  Definitely a hex or two would rectify the situation.  

Maybe three.

However, unfortunately for Draco, Jim’s wand was already in position.  

 “Rigentis Nervus!”  (Frozen Muscle!)

Crabbe and Goyle had a half second to realize what had just happened and started to react.  However, unfortunately for them, there was a fatal flaw in their positioning, one which Jim had spotted the moment they had walked in.  Their self-proclaimed leader was in front of them and his currently frozen body was blocking more than half of their potential angles of attack.  In order to get an accurate shot at the red-head, they would either have to slide their wands around Draco’s sides or above his shoulders.

And their location just inside the compartment doorway allowed for very little elbow room.  

During the time it took for Crabbe and Goyle to come to this depressing realization, Jim Topert had already taken quick, precise aim at their faces and froze them as well.  

The sole individual in the compartment who was still ambulatory smirked victoriously at his frozen opponents.  He hadn’t been really expecting to encounter the one and only scion of the Malfoy family on the Express, but this was an golden opportunity for him to experience practical use of his spellwork.

And it was also a satisfactory bonus that his guinea pigs just happened to be Death Eater spawn.  

“Constant Vigilance!” Jim announced triumphantly to the trio, who were all frozen in place though the mounting rage and indignation in their eyes easily informed him of their desire for immediate revenge.  He merely shrugged his indifference; after all, they were Death Eater spawn and had walked in uninvited.

Besides, the young Topert knew it was very possible with these three the odds were that it was a case of the apple not falling far from the tree.  With that in mind, Jim couldn’t bring himself to feel the slightest trace of guilt for what he was about to do.

He cast the Disillusionment Charm upon himself, pointed the wand first at Draco, then...

“Obliviate!” “Obliviate!” “Obliviate!”

“The three of you came in here and saw no one.”  And just to mess with their minds, Jim mischieviously said, “Crabbe, incidentally, you also wanted to find a private place where you could attempt to snog senseless both Malfoy and Goyle.”  

Quickly, before they could regain their senses, he released them from the Rigentis Nervis spell and silently took two steps back to watch the results.

No later than four seconds passed, then Draco shook his head and looked around the apparently empty compartment in a bit of annoyance.  Evidently that idiot Nott had wrongly directed him and his dubious entourage.  Harry Potter clearly wasn’t around, the only thing that was there was a complete waste of time.

Draco sighed.  He'd have to try and meet up with Potter at the Sorting.

Goyle and Draco completely missed the sudden paling on his face and the nauseated look that Crabbe gave them.  They also initially missed the fact that he took a step further away from his companions than was normal.



When his uninvited visitors finally left the room, Jim couldn’t resist the temptation to give one final parting shot.  He waited until the trio had gone a bit down the hallway, then stepped out, grinned in anticipation, and swept his wand in a series of quick left to right motions, finishing with a sharp slash up, he whispered “Iocus Signum!” (Joke Sign)

A sign appeared with the following message on all the backs of the three oblivious boys.

We are THE Nancy Boys of Nancy Boys and We ALL Bloody Love it!

Jim grinned. Just let them try to remove it.   

 The grin transformed into a devilish smirk.  The kind of smirk that would, say, make any of his fellow firsties, should they have seen it, go running for their mama’s.  He couldn’t wait to continue pranking those three at Hogwarts.  It was too easy, really they had practically walked in to volunteer.

Good thing too, he needed the practice if he wanted to last longer when going up against Uncle Moody on the Christmas Hols.

Jim stepped and ended the Disillusionment Charm.  He confidently went right back out the compartment and started towards the end of the train where his friends were at.  They would love to hear about these recent developments.


 Draco was perplexed.  Either Harry Potter was really making quite the effort to hide himself from his adoring public or he wasn’t attending Hogwarts this year.  It was quite the conundrum, after all, where else would Harry Potter go?  

On another thing, the young Malfoy had never really paid that much attention to his bodyguards, but he noticed that Crabbe was lagging a step or two behind his associates.  It was a bit strange, but Draco immediately dismissed it from his mind.  It was probably one of those Crabbe family things Draco had never really bothered to understand or care about.

Lucius’s son frowned and resumed his attention to in front of him.  He had wanted to meet Harry Potter in person (as per his Father’s instructions) on the train and befriend him, or if not that, at least make him aware of the advantages of being well-acquainted with the Malfoys.  

Now, just exactly what was the problem with the peasants these days?  It seemed that everyone he passed by was breaking out into outright laughter, giggling and smiling like a loon, all for no apparent reason.

Merlin grant him patience for the lowerclass.


Jim meandered on, smoothly stepping past other people headed the other way, his eyes snapped attentively from side to side, subtledly following every movement around that happened around him.  Whenever a compartment door opened on either side, he automatically turned his gaze in that direction and flexed his fingers on his wand arm, ready to throw himself backwards and start hexing away.

Like his Uncle Moody always said, Constant Vigilance.

Even though the risk of being ambushed while on the Hogwarts Express was low, at most a two to four percent chance, practice did make perfect, as the Muggles always said.

Jim later reckoned that he had just passed the middle of the Express when right in his path, sitting in the hallway as if it owned it, was a cat-kneazle cross.  It was glaring steadily at him, which disconcerted him a bit more than he cared to admit.  

And then it meowed.  


Author’s Notes:  Liked it? Hated it? Leave a review and let me know how/if I can improve on it. Much thanks!!