The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone
Chapter Two: Night Rises in the South
"Do not count a human dead until you have seen the body. And even then, you can make a mistake." (Bene Gesserit Saying)
The Master of the Scholomance was in an ebullient mood, though his fingers still tapped incessantly on the arm of his chair.
"We're nearly there!" He crowed. "Almost done! With Harry Potter dead, his network is broken up and nobody will see us coming. Nobody will be able to stop what we've started. Within forty-eight hours, our allies will wake in the South. They've been sleeping there for a millennium, waiting for us, waiting for now.
"When the Shadows rise, nobody, not SHIELD, not UNIT, not the Avengers or the wizards, will be able to stop them. Before the week is out, human civilisation will be on the brink of annihilation.
"And that's when we come forward! The Scholomance. Promising an end to the carnage, promising to send the Shadows packing. All we will ask is one thing, one little thing, the one thing we need. The Tesseract. And the mighty Thor will go running back to Asgard, to his father. And if Odin won't give him the Tesseract, Thor will take it, because he's so attached to Earth.
"He'll bring the Tesseract to us, and we'll put on a little firework show, and the Shadows will leave, because by then, they'll have whatever it is they want. But, oh dear, the Tesseract will have been destroyed, so sorry. They'll love it, because everyone's scared of the thing and the humans don't really trust the Asgardians. And then..."
"Then we will have the Tesseract!" The Red Skull said. "It will be the core of this place, and with Herr Teslas' technology and Herr Arkhams' magics, it will allow us to control everything. Nothing will withstand us. Together or separately, we can each demand whatever we wish.
"Wizards, Mutants, ordinary humans, all must answer to us. The Scholomance will be the supreme power in this world!"
"Yes, well, all this won't happen by itself!" The Master said testily – the Skulls' bombast irritated him, as did any except his own. "We've all got things to do, haven't we? Let's go and do them!"
But he did not leave the Chamber as the others did. He waited until they had gone, then addressed the flickering image of the Outsider, who had sat, silent and sardonic as always, throughout the meeting.
The Master gave a sharp bark of laughter. "How long do you think it would take them to fall on each other like a pack of mad dogs?" He asked.
"They're probably all planning it now." Rassilon replied. "At any rate, the Red Skull and DuMorne are, Arkham as well. They're the ones who want to rule the world. Tesla is convinced it will happen naturally once he uses the Tesseract to restore the Vampire race, that they'll dominate as predators always have.
"Blofeld will continue to sell his services to the highest bidder – politics is irrelevant to him, and wealth is safer than power. Mordo cares only about killing Stephen Strange and assuming the title of Sorceror Supreme, as long as people bow and scrape to him, he'll be content. The Riddle woman is only concerned with her precious wizarding world, to tear it down and rebuild it in her fathers' image.
"As for Raven Darkholme, she hopes to use the Dark Energy to create a new generation of Mutants, more powerful than all the others and loyal only to her. She doesn't want to rule the world as such, only to have humanity acknowledge Mutant superiority."
"A pity none of this will ever happen." The Master said. "It would be fun to watch."
"It might yet, if your foolish plan actually works!" Rassilon pointed out.
The Master laughed. "Even if Odin would release the Tesseract, Thor will not ask for it. What he will ask for, and get, is Asgardian aid in the battle. The Aesir are fully aware of the Shadows and their agenda, and their forces are more than sufficient to deal with a Shadow Expeditionary Force.
"No, the Tesseract will be brought to us, directly to us, by our old friend the Doctor. While these so-called Lords of the Scholomance are running around in panic as the Aesir forces rout the Shadows, we will quietly activate the device you told me to build."
Rassilon nodded. "With that much Dark Energy, it will be a simple matter to pull Gallifrey back out of the Time-Lock and into Earth's place. The TimeLords will return!"
"So," the Master pointed out, "will the Dalek fleet that is currently on your doorstep!"
"And the power of the Tesseract, fed into our weapon systems, will sweep them away!" Rassilon snarled. "The TimeLords will be the supreme power in this Galaxy! And this time, there will be no Law of Non-interference. From that moment on, Time will flow as we wish it to flow, events will unfold as we see fit!"
"And me?" The Master asked.
Rassilons' smile was one of contempt. "Since you do not wish to be part of our new order, you will be given what you asked. A TARDIS and the freedom to go as you please and do as you please, providing you do not interfere in our plans. Build your own little empire if you must, my Lord Master, if you will not be a part of your peoples' glory."
"A human poet once said that it is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven." The Master responded. "I will not live anywhere where I must do anothers' bidding. Even yours, my Lord Rassilon!"
The Claw of Russ was the mightiest ship in the Space Wolf fleet. Not only a powerful weapon in her own right, she could accommodate two Great Companies, with all their support and armour, and had a fleet of Thunderhawks and drop-pods sufficient to launch a full planetary assault by both at once.
At the moment, in her vast Engine-Hall, almost every Iron Priest in the Chapter was busy about what appeared to be an Ultramarine drop-pod. Under the direction of Captain Titus, they were linking the machine-spirit of their ship to the even more ancient one of the TARDIS.
Ragnar Blackmane spoke to the Cadian Lieutenant who, like him, stood watching.
"I don't see the need of this, Mira." He said impatiently. "The Great Wolf has told me that your craft is infinitely larger inside than it appears. Surely we could simply all board that one? If it can change its form, it would easily be able to assume the shape of a ship!"
"It's quite possible, my Lord," she replied, "that the TARDIS could accommodate the necessary forces. Certainly, she could assume the shape of one of your fleet. But the TARDIS is a travelling machine, a craft for exploration. She has no weapons, and no means to land a large number of troops efficiently and battle-ready."
"You speak of it as a living thing." Ragnar remarked.
"Which is what she is." Mira told him. "A creature bred to travel among the time-streams. Alive, aware, intelligent in her way, and bonded to Titus. More strongly perhaps than I am." She finished softly.
Ragnar placed a giant hand gently on her shoulder. "It is obvious to anyone how he feels about you." He said softly. "The Ultramarines have always held themselves above such feelings, unlike the Wolves, or the Blood Angels. To bring Titus out of that isolation, you must be a rare person, Mira. Do not lessen yourself."
She smiled sadly. "As an Adeptus Astartes, Titus would outlive me anyway." She said. "As a TimeLord, his lifespan is all but infinite. Though I spend my life with him, I must pass at the last. But he will always have the TARDIS. I am not jealous, Lord Ragnar, merely glad that he will never be alone.
"Come, they are almost done, we must begin the boarding!"
There is a mountain range in Antarctica, a vast, circular formation with peaks that top Everest by thousands of feet. By secret international agreement, they are designated by a code, and all exploration of and beyond them is forbidden. Yet there are those who have read certain papers and books, who whisper of them as the Mountains of Madness.
Along the inner circumference there runs, ribbon-like, a ruined city of alien, Cyclopean architecture. Once it was the home of a mighty civilisation that flourished on Earth before Man, before the Silurians, before the Elves. Beyond the city lies a grim plateau that even those who built the city feared. Legend makes it the earthly analogue of the feared Plateau of Leng, which itself was the outlier of the Cold Waste, where stood the onyx city of Kadath, home of the Old Ones.
Ancient legends aside, that plain was now a place of feverish activity. Alien, insect-like forms glided to and fro among strange machines of dark metal and crystal. Machines that were slowly, but inexorably, emerging from the ice they had been locked in for a thousand years. Machines of war.
Night was rising in the South, and the world suspected nothing.
Talk about your double jeopardy! Harry thought wryly. He'd had plans in place, of course he had. He knew the Scholomance saw him as a primary threat – they'd already tried to attack him through his family. Then there had been a clumsy attempt at assassination.
Harry Potter was no longer the simple young man who had defeated Lord Voldemort more by luck than judgement. He was a wily veteran, who'd absorbed everything some of the craftiest minds in both the wizard and muggle words could teach him. He knew the Scholomance would have to remove him from the board, one way or another. Either they would simply kill him, or they would abduct him for interrogation, to find out how much he actually knew. He had laid his plans for both scenarios. He'd never expected both to happen!
The remote surveillance systems he'd asked UNIT to install around the Ministry had warned him about the sniper, of course. They had even identified the man: Kuo, the Mongolian, a known assassin for hire frequently employed as a sub-contractor by SPECTRE. Ron Weasley had Apparated to the rooftop, incapacitated Kuo and taken his place. Ron was the best – indeed the only – sniper in the Auror section. The plan was for him to take the shot with a magical bullet that would give every impression of a real one, except that it wouldn't kill. All Harry had to do was follow his usual routine.
What Harry hadn't expected was to be grabbed by four men in the alley. A black bag was pulled over his head, and he felt the prick of a needle in his wrist. Before he lost consciousness, he just had time to activate the abduction scenario. Under the skin of his left palm was embedded a tiny crystal. He clenched his fist to crush it. This did two things. First, it sent a signal to similar crystals in the possession of certain witches and wizards. Second, it released a potion into his bloodstream. Harmless and undetectable to either science or magic, the potion nevertheless made Harrys' entire body a beacon to those who knew how to look.
After that, it was just a matter of waiting. No rescue would be attempted until he reached his final destination.
Harry had woken in a nondescript, windowless room. His captors were silent, masked men in battlesuits Harry recognised. HYDRA, then. Were SPECTRE and HYDRA working at cross-purposes? Or had the sniper been a clever bluff? He had been allowed to eat and wash, and given a change of clothes. There must have been more drugs, because he blacked out again.
The next time he awoke, he was clearly on a plane. Again, there were no windows. Again, his captors were silent, but solicitous. It seemed important to them that he reached his destination whole and healthy. There was no way to estimate the length of the flight, because he did not know how long he'd been out. Finally, he felt the sensations of landing. As the plane taxied to a halt, one of the guards approached him with an almost apologetic air, and proffered a black hood. Realising that a show of resistance could only lead to more drugs, Harry put the thing over his head.
He heard the ramp open, and was led quickly and carefully down it. He was outdoors, the air cold and keen, perhaps a little thin..mountain country? Then he was inside again, a large space full of machine sounds and shouted conversations. A lift, going down, a long way. Then another open space, but smaller. The chatter of computer keyboards, whirr of printers, telephones, quiet talk. Another lift, smaller, further down. A thickly carpeted corridor. A knock on a wooden door, a voice calling "Come." Smell of wood, leather, books, expensive cigars and cognac. The voice saying "Leave us." Perfect English, but a German accent. Then "Herr Potter, you may remove the hood. Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss."
The room was an office, but an old-fashioned one. No open-plan, glass-lined corner office here. Just wooden panelled walls hung with old paintings and photographs. A cocktail cabinet in one corner, a bookcase in another. Nothing so vulgar as files. A big oak desk, with silver inkstand and leather blotter, two comfortable-looking chairs set in front of it. Behind it, an immense leather chair. Harry sat as directed, his eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the drinks cabinet.
He was tall, thin and wiry, clad in a black uniform. The cut was that of the old Nazi SS, but most of the emblems had been replaced with the snake-head of HYDRA. The head was hairless, covered in a red skin that gleamed faintly, as if oiled. As the man turned his face to Harry, he could see deep-socketed blue eyes that glittered and seldom blinked, no nose, just nostrils set into the face, and a thin, lipless mouth that showed all the bright white teeth whenever it opened.
"You prefer single malt Scotch, I understand." The man said. "This particular one is matured for fourteen years and is made in a tiny distillery in the Isles." He set the drink down on an exquisite ebony table that stood between the two chairs, then turned and indicated a wooden humidor and two silver cigarette boxes on the desk.
"I'm told that you don't smoke, but if my information is incorrect, please help yourself. Turkish in the right hand box, Virginia in the left. The cigars are, of course, Cuban."
He sat down behind the desk and considered Harry for a moment. Harry sipped the whisky – the time for drugs was long past – and found it excellent.
"My apologies for the hood." His captor went on. "It is my hope that the next time you pass that way, it will be as a person of authority here. Do you know who I am, Herr Potter?"
"Herr Obergruppenfuhrer Doktor Johann Schmidt." Harry told him. "Alias the Red Skull. Aren't you supposed to be dead?"
"Aren't you?" The Red Skull responded. "But I forget, you do not know. Just as my men seized you, they allowed a Life Model Decoy to walk into the cross-hairs of the assassin our colleagues of SPECTRE so obligingly provided. Once dead, it was indistinguishable from the real Harry Potter. The obituaries were most fulsome, you must read them when you have the time.
"For now, Harry Potter, your continued existence is a secret known only to HYDRA!"
Much you know. Harry thought. Ron will be laughing his duck off, Hermione will be spitting feathers and Ginny... Ginny will be blazing, of course!
But the Skull was speaking again. "As to my demise, if Captain America could survive the freezing waters, then how should I, a product of the same science, not be equally able to do so?
"Admittedly, it took my people rather longer to find me, but they did. I am no longer an Obergruppenfuhrer in the extinct forces of a lost cause, Herr Potter. I am now Reichsfuhrer-HYDRA. Supreme Leader of a new world order.
"An order, Herr Potter, which I very much wish you to be part of. I have followed your career, and see in you the capacity to lead by example. That is something we in HYDRA admire. As part of the movement, you would be able to bring about the order your current society makes impossible.
"Say the word, Herr Potter. Pledge yourself to HYDRA, and you will leave this office with the rank of Hauptsturmfuhrer and the command of your own elite unit."
"You knew the answer before you asked." Harry told him. "So you'd better kill me. Just let me finish my drink, first."
The Skull laughed. "You are still loyal, to your friends and your country, Herr Potter. Loyalty is no reason to kill a man, even when it is misplaced. We must attempt to show you your error, and we have one here better suited to do that than I. Finish your drink by all means. Then we will take you to your quarters, where you may meet your mentor."
"Err, just in case anybody missed it," Rory said, stamping his feet, "we're halfway up a mountain!"
"I know!" The Doctor said. "Wonderful, isn't it? Now, those clothes should keep you warm, and there's some hot soup and coffee in the flasks, so just wait here. Enjoy the view, cuddle or text or something to keep warm. Some people will be coming in an hour or so. They're expecting you. Or I think they are. They should be. If not, just tell 'em I sent you."
"Who are these people?" Amy wanted to know.
"Just people." Replied the doctor airily. "You'll know 'em when you see 'em. Now, have you got the crystals? I'll need those inside, and I can't take them in myself."
"Inside where?" Demanded Rory.
"Where are you going?" Amy asked.
"Inside where you're going." The Doctor said, as if it explained everything. "As to where I'm going, I can't tell you. Probably because I won't actually know until I get there. But I'll be back. I think. See you then!"
With that, he bounded back into the TARDIS and was gone.
"Is it me," Rory asked as the sound of the engines faded away, "or is he being more infuriating than usual?"
"Don't think he can be, so it must be you." Amy told him. "Now, soup, coffee or cuddle?"
Harry had to admit, the accommodation was excellent. A little old-fashioned, like Schmidts' office, but more than comfortable. He'd had a bath, put on clean clothes, and enjoyed a first-class dinner. Now he made his way into the room he hadn't yet explored.
It was some kind of study, with books, a globe and a desk set against one wall. A comfortable chair was set before the desk, but on the wall it faced was a portrait. A wizard portrait because the man in it greeted Harry gravely by name.
There was a tantalus nearby with several decanters. Harry poured himself a whisky, pleased to find it was the same brand as he'd had before. Then he sat at the desk and considered the portrait.
"I didn't," he said, "expect to see you here!"
"Why not?" The man asked. "What do you think I fought and stood for all my life?"
"Not this, surely!" Harry said. "And you're the one they said could persuade me?"
"Who else, Harry?" The wizard pointed to a long, narrow box on the desk. "I even have your wand for you!"
Harry opened the box and looked inside. "This isn't my wand." He said. "This is the Elder Wand."
"It is yours." The portrait replied. "Yours by right, and well you know it! We had hoped you would have grown enough by now to accept it, to take it up and use it as you ought. It is your destiny, Harry!"
"You sound like a villain from Star Wars, trying to turn me to the dark side!" Harry remarked.
"Ah, light and dark!" Was the answer. "If only they were as clearly separable as you might wish. If only they were not so dependent each upon the other! Light and dark, good and evil – relative terms only, depending on perspective. There are absolutes, though."
"I know." Said Harry. "Law and Chaos. I have learned a few things lately!"
"But have you learned enough?" Eager now. "Do you understand that Law can be perceived as evil, just as Chaos can be seen as good? What is called fascism springs from Law, but democracy from Chaos."
"That's a bit simplistic." Harry noted. "I've always considered democracy as being a balance between the two."
"And so it would be," replied the other man, "if so many people were not inferior! But the witless should not be forced to choose, to decide. Cattle must be led, they do not lead.
"You must see this Harry, and take your place among those who lead, not the cattle. Your own conscience must tell you this, in your quiet moments. You must be aware of your own superiority.
"But if you are not, not yet, then I can teach you. Teach you what I was unable to do before. Teach you the ideal to which I dedicated my life. The true greater good!" Albus Dumbledore smiled. "Hail HYDRA!"
