Ex Machina IV: Monroe Vs. A.K.
Chapter Two
World #1375 / A.K. #14
"The One Who's Really Pissed Off"
Updated 31 May 2010
World #1432, Little Whinging
James Monroe returned to his home in Little Whinging, situated a few streets over from number four, Privet Drive; in the same spot where he'd once kept a house while observing and helping a Harry Potter in a universe a long time ago. This house was built on approximately the same plan as the Dursley home (as was just about every house in this neighborhood — they tended to look like rows of identical homes) but with a few physical as well as magical differences. The interior of some rooms were adjustable via wizard space, and Monroe had moved the library from the below-ground level, built from a wine cellar, to the ground floor, installed in the living room, where he tended to spend most of his time when not traveling between dimensions.
His work in this world was done — the A.K. who had come here to kill Voldemort was instead taking over the role of Ron Weasley, who had met with an unfortunate accident at the hands of his brothers' trick telescope. The urge to kill Voldemorts in any and all forms was now missing from this A.K., removed as he was teleported to this world from the Locker Room dimension, the place that only the forty-two extant A.K.'s (and James Monroe) could access, when Monroe had altered his physiology to become Ron Weasley. That A.K. would stay here now, helping the Harry Potter of this world dispatch Voldemort, or he might even do it himself — after all, Monroe had not altered his mind, only his body. That choice, of course, was up to him.
It was time to leave. Monroe walked out onto the porch step of his home, giving the mental command that began its transformation to traveling mode. The house seemed to crumple in on itself, imploding silently inward, until it was no larger than a one-inch cube sitting next to the step. Monroe reached down and picked it up, placing it into his pocket, then taking another small cube from another pocket and placing it next to the step. With the thought Finite, he ended the spell he had placed on the cube. It began to expand, and within a half-minute it had returned to its original size — the house that had originally sat here before Monroe replaced it with his own, including the inhabitants, who never knew that they had spent the past few hours inside his pocket.
Smiling and thinking of his next adventure, Monroe vanished from this world.
=ooo=
World #1375, London
Monroe appeared on Charing Cross Road, deciding to take a little time off before his next run-in with A.K. He would have a few drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, have a look around this world, and decide where and when he would meet the A.K. that "fate" (and his abilities to manipulate space and time) would bring to him.
Before going inside the Leaky Cauldron, Monroe checked his chronometer, which automatically adjusted itself to the date and time of whatever dimension it was in, and found it was 7:32pm on August 15, 1996. A couple of weeks before Year Six was scheduled to start. Monroe smiled and entered the pub's grimy little entrance, situated very inconspicuously between a book shop on one side and a record store on the other.
Inside were the usual suspects, including Tom the barman, who was bald and toothless, as in most Harry Potter universes. Monroe recognized Doris Crockford and Daedalus Diggle, who were perennial visitors to this pub. Finding a table away from the entrance, Monroe sat down, keeping all doors in view as was prudent during times like this (as Voldemort was in the open once again here and one never knew who might come barging into the place) and smiled pleasantly at Geneva, Tom's buxom barmaid, as she came over to take his order. "What'll you have, sir?"
"A bottle of Merlin's Best Mead, please," Monroe said, dropping a couple of Galleons on the table in front of him. "And keep them coming, please," he added.
"Yes, sir!" Geneva grinned, hurrying off to fetch the mead. It was a good alternative to firewhiskey, though no alcoholic beverage could affect Monroe unless he allowed it to. He enjoyed the taste of mead more than firewhiskey, however, since the latter tended to be shorter on flavor and longer on alcoholic content. Merlin's Best was one of the brands of spirits made by Alley Distilleries in Diagon Alley; not as good as Madam Rosemerta's oak-matured mead, from her own micro-distillery, but tasty nonetheless.
Monroe sipped his mead and glanced idly around the pub. It was pretty much business as usual, even in these troubled times, with Voldemort loose. There was a game of wizard darts going on across the room, with both players attempting to alter the course of each dart thrown; at another table two older wizards were engaged in a slow game of wizard chess, while at another table a low stakes game of Exploding Snap was in progress, thankfully with the snap part confined to the immediate vicinity of the table. Not much really going on here at the moment, Monroe decided.
Monroe let his perception travel outward, moving first several counties to the west, where the Burrow was located. There he saw Harry, Ron and Hermione, all sitting around in Fred and George's bedroom, as Harry continued to try and convince them that Draco Malfoy had become a Death Eater. He let his perception study Harry closely for anything unusual, but Harry was not an elemental or secretly holding an artifact of immense power, like Thor's hammer, nor did he possess any unusual abilities like enhanced strength or speed. He was not even any more powerful than Harry Potter Standard. An A.K. showing up here would probably find this world a doss, but Monroe thought Harry himself should have no trouble defeating this world's Voldemort, given that events unfolded pretty much like they normally did. So, when A.K. showed up as Monroe planned, he would invite him to give up his vow and decide for himself whether he wanted to remain in the Voldemort-killing business.
Geneva had just brought another bottle of mead, smiling pleasantly at Monroe as she did so, when he noticed a dark-cloaked man enter the pub, his wide-brimmed hat pulled down to hide his features. "I don't think I've seen you about before," Geneva said, after she set down his bottle. She had a mild Scots accent which, though sounding both quaint and sensual, in a way, made him think of Professor McGonagall. Scots accents always made him think of her, in women, or Scotty from Star Trek in men. Neither of those individuals were particularly sensual to Monroe.
"It's my first time here, dear," Monroe answered her, pleasantly, as he kept one eye on the man who'd just entered. He had gone to the bar and was talking in low tones with Tom. Something familiar about the man, but Monroe kept his attention on Geneva. "I'd heard good things about the Leaky Cauldron and thought I'd come have a few and see what the place was about."
"How nice!" Geneva smiled engagingly. "Where are ye from, then?"
"From America, originally," Monroe replied. "But I've been traveling for quite some time, now." At that moment Tom called her name.
She gave him a look, then turned back to Monroe. "Looks like the boss has work for me," she said, sounding disappointed. "Talk to you later." She hurried off to see what Tom wanted. Meanwhile, the man who'd been talking to Tom at the bar turned and walked toward Monroe's table, and he immediately recognized the man's face, now that it was coming toward him: Mundungus Fletcher.
That was interesting. What would Mundungus Fletcher want with James Monroe, a man he'd never met before in this world? Curious to see what he wanted, Monroe let the man approach.
"Evening," Fletcher said as he neared the table where Monroe sat.
"Evening," Monroe replied. "How are you, Mundungus?"
The hat brim went up a notch as Fletcher stared at him in surprise. "Yeh know me, then?" he asked, in a quiet tone.
"Sure," Monroe replied, equally quietly. "Mundungus Fletcher, member of the Order of the Phoenix, confidence man, thief, and opportunist par excellent." He pointed to the chair across from him. "Would you like to sit down?"
"Yeah." Fletcher pulled the chair away from the table and dropped into it, reaching into his pocket as he did so. Noticing Monroe watching him, he made a show of pulling out what he was reaching for slowly. "D'ye mind if I smoke?" he asked, waving a pipe and a pouch of tobacco in front of Monroe.
"I do, actually, but this is a public house," Monroe said, with a shrug. "So I can't stop you, can I?"
"I guess not," Fletcher grinned, tamping tobacco in his pipe and touching the tip of his wand to it. Almost immediately the air around him began to turn gray with smoke.
"Do we have something to discuss?" Monroe asked, a bit impatiently.
"Well, perchance we do," Fletcher said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He jerked his head back toward the bar. "Tom there says yer new here — never been in the Cauldron before. Izzat right?"
"It's true enough," Monroe agreed. "I've never been in this bar before."
"And where'd yeh come from?" Fletcher asked, as his pipe continued to billow out noxious flumes of gray smoke, all but obscuring him from normal view.
"Any particular reason why that would be important to you?" Monroe asked, coldly.
"Jes' trying to make sure you're the man I want to talk to," Fletcher shrugged. "I'm startin' to think yeh are, from all indications."
"And if I am?" Monroe inquired.
"Well," Fletcher grunted, "then it's time for you to — DIE!" Without warning the hand holding his pipe shot forward, throwing it into Monroe's face. His head snapped back as the pipe hit his forehead. At the same moment Fletcher leaped to his feet; his arms spread as wands slid forward from forearm holsters into each hand and he made several slashing gestures toward Monroe. With each slash a cut appeared on Monroe's body — his hands fell away from his arms, cuts appeared across his face, his throat and his chest; blood spurted from all wounds, and Monroe slumped forward over the table, his life's blood spurting from him as through a sieve.
Fletcher took a step back, both wands still pointed at the dismembered body, in case some magic was in place to automatically heal the wounds. But after a few moments he lowered the wands, convinced that the trauma was too great to recover from, even for Monroe. "That'll show you, you bastard," he muttered, looking at the dead man with contempt. "Nobody fucks with A.K. — none of us!"
"Bloody hell!" a voice behind Fletcher (really A.K., of course) said, in a shocked tone. "You sure got him good, Dung!"
"Yeah, he deserved it," A.K. said, turning to see who'd called him "Dung." Ron Weasley was standing behind him, looking shocked by what he'd just witnessed. "What the fuck are you doing here, Weasley?"
Ron looked affronted at being cursed at. "I could ask you the same question! Who the hell is this guy and why'd you just cut 'im to pieces, Dung?"
"Not your concern," A.K. shook his head dismissively. "I had a score to settle with this one — he kidnapped a friend of mine and cursed him. Now my friend's never gonna be the same again."
Ron shook his head, crossing his arms in front of himself. "That sounds like bullshite to me, Dung. Maybe you should come along and explain this to Dumbledore."
A.K. snorted. "Not bloody likely, boy. Dumbledore's got nothing to do with this. Now run along, before I give you a bit of what I gave him!"
Ron smirked. "That's not going to work again, A.K.," he said. A.K. immediately swung both wands, still in his hands, at Weasley, but as his arms came forward the wands disappeared.
"Oh, fuck me," A.K. snarled, realizing his weapons were gone.
"No, thanks," Monroe said. "Let's talk. But not here." Both of them vanished in twin flashes of white light.
=ooo=
World #1375, South Africa, the Veldt
The two men appeared a moment later on open grassland that seemed to stretch to the horizon in every direction. There were a few trees visible in the distance, in some directions, but it was impossible to tell how far away they were. A.K. still looked like Fletcher, but with a wave of Monroe's hand the Polyjuice Potion wore off and A.K. crumpled to the ground as he changed back to his original form.
Monroe regarded him impassively as A.K. lay panting on the ground. The change was usually unpleasant but A.K. was used to far more pain than the twisting sensations of being Polyjuiced, or coming out of it for that matter. Finally he looked up at Monroe. "How the fuck did you figure out who I was?"
"Well, I got a teensy bit suspicious when you asked me if you could smoke," Monroe pointed out. "I doubt that the real Mundungus Fletcher would have cared whether some stranger in a pub minded if he smoked or not."
A.K. shook his head angrily. "That's not enough to go on!"
"True enough," Monroe agreed. "That's why I checked you out with an Undetectable Detection Charm, and found out that you were Polyjuiced. From there it was a simple matter to examine your quantum signature and determine that you were in fact an A.K." Monroe looked at him curiously. "So what's your beef with me?"
"As if you didn't know!" A.K. snarled. "You kidnapped one of us! You infiltrated our private dimension! You removed all the enchantments on one of us without his permission! And you tried to frame him for voluntarily giving you information that you stole from him! Any one of those things is enough to get you killed!"
"Yeah, my bad," Monroe admitted. "I guess all you A.K.'s like the idea that you're locked into a Vow to destroy Voldemort in any and all forms, no matter what, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."
"Who says we want to?" A.K. growled. "I like killing Voldemorts! It's not up to you to stop me!"
"Actually, it is," Monroe pointed out. "Nobody else seems to want to."
"And why do you care, exactly?" A.K. asked. "From what I gathered from the A.K. you kidnapped, you were in the Voldemort killing business too, for a while."
"I was," Monroe nodded. "But I never made a vow that locked me into some kind of infinite loop of killing Voldemort after Voldemort, forever. What I did for A.K. #37 was to remove the Vow from his system, to give him back the choice to do what he wanted, when he wanted."
"Yeah, see how that worked out," A.K. sneered. "You forced him to become Ron Weasley after removing the Vow from him! That's hardly a case of 'doing what you want, when you want,' is it?"
"He's still free to help the Harry Potter in that world eliminate Voldemort, or do it on his own," Monroe said.
"Fortunately, that's moot now," A.K. said, smugly.
"Oh?" Monroe began to suspect A.K. had unraveled his plans. "What did you do?"
"I went back in time in World #1432, back to when Voldemort was restored to life, at the end of Harry's fourth year," A.K. smirked. "I killed him as he was climbing out of the cauldron, and I killed all the Death Eaters who were present at his revival. Then I made Harry promise to tell everyone it had been him that killed Voldemort and his men, and he took them back to the graveyard in Little Hangleton to prove it."
"Oh, I see," Monroe said, softly. "So Ron Weasley was never killed on that world, and A.K. #37 didn't have to take his place."
"Right," said A.K. brightly. "He vanished out of existence when the timeline changed, but his Horcrux dimension fashioned him another body and returned it to our private locker room, just as he'd been before you began fucking around with him. So his Vow is back in place and you accomplished nothing!"
"Well, that makes me a bit sad," Monroe said. He pointed a finger at A.K., who was immediately vaporized. "And a teensy bit angry, too."
A parchment note appeared in the air in front of Monroe. He snatched it as it began to waft downward and read it.
Monroe,
As I'd planned, when you vaporized me it allowed my regeneration magic in my Horcrux dimension to recreate me, giving me the opportunity to escape. You failed to destroy me, fucker.
However, I shall not fail to defeat you, when we meet again. So beware, the wrath of A.K. is upon you!
Sincerely Gloating,
A.K.
Monroe let the parchment go, watching as it burst suddenly into flame and vanished. "Oh yes, A.K, you surely outsmarted me," he said softly. "I never would have remembered that all you A.K.'s each have your own private Horcrux dimension that rebuilds each of you a new body whenever your current one is destroyed.
"And, knowing there is no way to track your bodies for that very reason, because they can be destroyed at a moment's notice, I never would have thought to place a mental suggestion in your brain before you were vaporized, causing you to unconsciously send out a unique magical signal, traceable across time, space and dimensions. So I know exactly where you are, no matter where or when you go in the multiverse. Just as I've done with A.K. #37."
Monroe stood still for a moment, considering. "Of course," he continued, "I'm still pissed that you tried to kill me — there's a dead body back in the Leaky Cauldron that the Ministry is probably trying to figure out right now who he was. Of course, having no record of me in this world, they'll have no idea who I am, and they'll just chalk me up as another victim of Voldemort, who's a convenient scapegoat for unsolved murders in the Wizarding world. Oh well," he shrugged. "I guess there's only one thing to do.
"Go kill this world's Voldemort, before A.K. tries to. And let him know who did it." Smiling, Monroe vanished from the veldt.
=ooo=
World #1375, Devon, Malfoy Manor
A.K. reappeared in the world he'd just been vaporized out of, alert and ready for anything — except where he found himself. He had appeared in front of a large, ornate iron gate, one he recognized from innumerable times of knocking it down or melting it. What the fuck, he thought, not understanding. Harry can't be here, can he? Not now! The first time Harry visited Malfoy Manor in most universes was during his Horcrux quest with Hermione and Ron, when they were captured by Snatchers and brought to where Fenrir Greyback, the leader of the group that had captured them, believed he would find Lord Voldemort.
The gate, sensing someone before it, bent and twisted itself into the semblance of a visage and intoned, in a graveyard voice, "State your business."
A.K. grinned savagely. "I'm here to kill Lord Voldemort."
"He's not here at the moment," the gate replied. "May I take a message."
"No," A.K. replied, taking out his wand. "I'll wait for him." He cast a very small Fiendfyre spell at the gate — one that would devour the metal and perhaps some of the stone of the wall before it dissipated and died out. The gate screamed satisfyingly as the cursed fire ran up and down its steel grating, burning the metal to ash.
Finally, only the hinges hung on the stone walls, and A.K. marched up the walk to the front door. The grounds were eerily silent — not even the albino pheasants were crying out as he strode up the path. At the main entrance of the manor, he waved his wand, causing the front doors to fly open, expecting some kind of offensive response. There was nothing. "It's quiet," he muttered. Then because it amused him, he added, "Too quiet."
The stench of blood and spilled intestines hit him immediately. Many men would have vomited, but A.K. had seen horrors that made this seem like a Sunday school picnic. He recognized many of the faces that stared lifelessly up at him—of the bodies that still had faces, that is: there was Avery, the Carrows, the big blond, Thorfinn Rowle, Dolohov — many other minor Death Eaters, who were apparently in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Satan on a shit-stick," A.K. muttered. "What the fuck happened here?" Did Voldemort get a hang-nail and kill everyone in a fit of rage? It seemed like he was unbalanced enough to do something crazy like this. He made his way to the sitting room, the place he thought it most likely to find Voldemort — or at least, evidence that he'd been there.
The sitting room was even worse than the hall. In here it was the family hour, however — he saw the remains of Bellatrix Lestrange, the Sword of Gryffindor rammed down her throat, as if she'd been forced to swallow it and hadn't quite gotten the job done. Lucius Malfoy (A.K. thought it was him) was rolled into a corner, in a very unpleasant-looking position: he'd been bent over backwards and his head forced up his own anus — it looked like someone had extended the Jelly-Legs Jinx to his entire body; as far as A.K. could tell, he'd suffocated to death.
Near the center of the room were two nearly identical mounds of ash that more or less resembled a human form burned in place. A.K. would have had to guess at the identity of these individuals if it hadn't been for a piece of a hawthorn wand lying near one of the mounds. That would be Draco, A.K. decided, and the other one was likely to be his mother, Narcissa.
There was one other body in the room, and A.K. approached it warily — wondering if all this was just to trick him. But no, the person grinning at him from the large, ornate chair set up in front of the fireplace could only be Voldemort. But whatever had happened here, the person who'd killed him had done so to get A.K.'s notice. Voldemort was propped up in the chair with one hand on the armrest, the other seeming to gesture to five objects at his feet. As A.K. looked at them he saw Riddle's diary, a gold ring set with a black stone, a gold locket, a two-handled cup, and a tarnished silver diadem. Around behind the chair, he saw, was the headless remains of Voldemort's large green snake, Nagini—but not all of it. A large portion of its tail was missing, though it was obvious where that portion was.
It had been shredded into green strips and woven into a crude, frizzy wig, which was placed atop Voldemort's bald pate. His robes had been transformed into a purple suit, with pinstripes. The corners of the Dark Lord's lipless mouth were dragged back along his cheeks, baring his teeth, and the area around his lips were smeared with Nagini's (or someone's) red blood, so that the once-Lord Voldemort now looked like the Clown Prince of Death. A.K. shook his head — whoever had done this had either really set out to humiliate the Dark Lord, or —
In the mirror over the fireplace words had been written, and reading them, A.K.'s blood boiled with anger. The message said,
Neener neener!
Looks like the joke's
on you, A.K.!
— Monroe
"Motherfucker," A.K. breathed, in fury. "I'll get you, if it's the last thing I do! Nobody kills Voldemorts but us A.K.'s!"
