The Price of Magic - CH3
AN: usual disclaimers apply
Peter Pettigrew was never a brave wizard despite finishing Gryffindor - he, true to his Animagus form, was always somewhere in the background, disappearing when even a hint of danger happened. This made him perfect for infiltration and what he was about to do - namely steal a small amount of blood from the now comatose, but still very powerful enemies of his Master - Alice and Frank Longbottom.
He remembered how well protected St Mungo was and was ready to come back later when he was better prepared, but his fears were unfounded - in the years of Fudge and hence Lucius was in power the security went from three Aurors posted with a sneakoscope, to a single orderly. The early morning meant that the orderly was quietly napping instead of watchfully patrolling the entrance.
A few notice-me-not charms, coupled with a cheap invisibility cloak and a silencing charm, and Peter was in the Janus Thickey Ward past the measly security. A simple unlocking spell and he was in the spacious room, with it's few residents sleeping soundly in their beds. The Longbottoms were jerking in their sleep, while Lockhart slept peacefully on the nearby bed, only sometimes smiling and muttering. Peter never liked the younger man. Even when Peter was at the peak of Hogwarts - 7th year, Lockhart was able to have all the popularity and adoration that Peter never had despite, or maybe because of, being with the Marauders.
Pettigrew silenced and tied up first Frank and then Alice, and woke them up. The ritual required unwilling victims, so they needed to be at least instinctually aware of what was going on. A few stinging hexes and the pair of ex-Aurors were more than struggling away from Wormtail. If not for the silencing charm, the pair would have woken everyone up around them - but they could scream their lungs out and not make a sound. A few cuts, and quiet episkeys later and two vials of blood were filled and no-one would be the wiser. His job was done and he knocked the two ex-Aurors out.
"Would you like me to sign your autograph?" - Pettigrew heard a pleasant voice from behind him and saw Lockhart sitting up on his bed, staring at Peter with his sky blue eyes and smiling widely. The ex-writer did not seem to mind the bloodied knife or the wand in the hands of Peter.
Peter, in this moment in time, absolutely despised this shell of a man - everything about him. It's this momentary impulse of hate that made Pettigrew first knock Lockhart out, put a silencing charm on him and with a prank spell conjure a wad of bubblegum, not in the hair or clothes, but in the throat of the wizard. The wheezes and coughs were silent as Lockhart lived his final moments. Wormtail looked around for a plausible explanation and found a few wrappers by Alice's bed, quickly putting them on Lockhart's pillow. It was time to get the hell out of the hospital.
Re-applying all the hiding measures, leaving the room and locking it, he was startled by the sudden alarm, and an automated announcement - "Janus Thickey Ward, Code Blue". Pettigrew did not know what that meant, and so he hastily made his way out of the place, almost getting hit by a mediwitch running to the ward, carrying a few potions.
A brief run out of the magic hospital and Wormtail was back near Little Hangleton. His Master would be proud.
Dumbledore cast a tempus from behind his desk, revealing 11.27pm. The Headmaster has not been sleeping well - it has been three weeks since Harry Potter disappeared from his home. If the artefact on his desk was to be trusted - at 5.02 am. The strange, early time, as well as lack of packing, suggested nothing good - either Harry was kidnapped, or worse. But there have been no proclamations from Voldemort, and Severus' dark mark was only slowly getting darker. No orders for ransom were raised, and no-one was reporting anything suspicious except the Vatican - apparently, something ancient and time-based cropped up in Egypt.
"Egypt - wasn't Harry saying something about a temple in the desert?" Dumbledore thought out loud and his familiar Fawkes did a gentle trill, full of sadness but hope at the same time. Dumbledore appreciated the calming effect of the phoenix and he needed it right now as he took out a map conducted a scrying ritual for Harry Potter. What would have required lesser wizard's long incantations, potions, parts of the subject, Dumbledore substituted with a memory and an inordinate amount of personal power. Yielding nothing as before, even when he narrowed it to only Egypt. This only meant three options: Harry was behind powerful wards, or Harry now is not Harry that Dumbledore remembered - became a werewolf or something akin to that. If the young Potter was dead, the ritual would have given him a blinding headache from a momentary view of that which lies outside our understanding. So Dumbledore was only marginally worried for his student, and, not that he would admit this to anyone, the grandson he never had. Marginally, for young Potter was blessed, or cursed, with being able to make his way out of virtually anything that would have an ordinary wizard long dead, or worse.
"Perhaps the prophecy is at play here," Dumbledore thought to himself, as he returned to work through the Hogwarts papers - the Triwizard tournament being held really did add a lot to his plate as the Headmaster.
He was, however, much calmer in his worry for young Mr Potter as opposed to the Weasleys, as first Molly gave him a thorough chewing out, and then Arthur quietly, but in no vague terms explained that clearly Harry's safety with Dursleys was compromised and that he, Albus Dumbledore, is no longer justified in keeping Harry with the Muggles. Not that Albus was too happy about forcing the young man back there every summer, but alas, comfort needed to be sacrificed for safety that blood wards provided, even if that safety apparently was not enough. Arthur suggested that the least Albus could do is to let Harry come to the Quidditch, although now with Harry missing for three weeks and no tangible leads despite all of the Old Guard on the lookout, there was a poor chance that Harry would be able to come.
It was with these heavy thoughts that Dumbledore felt his ICW signet heat up, with the words E.M clearly visible on the surface. "Why has ICW convened an emergency meeting?" the Headmaster muttered. And it was highly unusual, as the last time such an emergency session was called when a Dark Lord tried a demonic summoning ritual in the 1918's. Luckily most of the process was stopped, although a plague from the tear in the reality did spread to the muggles, now known as Spanish Flu.
Dumbledore quickly dressed and packed his belongings, tucking a few artefacts and emergency portkeys into his wide robes. He was not as over-prepared as his old friend Alastor, or at least not as vocal about it, but you don't defeat a Dark Lord, especially one that knows you so intimately, without a healthy dose of paranoia. Dumbledore sighed - his old body was no longer as easily following what his mind wanted to do, and he mentally asked Fawkes to transport him to the headquarters, readying himself for a long night.
Harry woke up in an empty clean room, with two chairs bolted to the floor and a small table. After a look around the room, he turned the True Sight inside himself and found that the grey and gold of his magic have merged together - what that meant he still did not know. "Something else I should ask Professor Dumbledore about" Harry muttered as he paced the empty room, and tried to open the door to what was more and more likely a prison cell. With the door not budging, Harry briefly accessed it with the true sight, finding that it had a strange inner glow to it, but no recognisable enchantments.
He was startled by the voice coming from seemingly nowhere "Prisoner, step back from the door, and sit on the chair. Harry felt his best bet would be to cooperate, instead of scream for lawyers and the like, how he often saw on his Aunts soap operas.
An unassuming middle-aged man, clean shaven with a suit and a leather-bound Bible walked into the room. Despite so very bleak and normal on the outside, he positively glowed with power when Harry looked at him with True Sight, almost to the level of Dumbledore. The man sat down opposite Harry and put down a simple wide lens camera in a night unnoticeable groove on the table. Satisfied with the result, the man pressed the recording button, and in a pleasant baritone intoned:
"The date of the recording is June 23, 1993. The interrogator is Chief Inquisitor. Detainee, please state your name for the record."
Surprised at such high technology coming from a wizard, Harry managed to squeeze out "Harry James Potter"
"Mr Potter, are you aware why you have been detained?". Harry shook his head, yielding a frown and "Please verbally answer the question"
The interrogation lasted for what seemed like hours, where Harry was grilled on everything, from his childhood and education, to how he ended up in Egypt, and what did he do and learn in the mausoleum from the voice in the dark. By the end, Harry was reduced to a nervous wreck, while the Chief Inquisitor looked as fresh as when he walked in. Finally, the camera was switched off, and the Inquisitor stated "Now Mr Potter, you may have some questions"
"Did I break any laws?" was the first thing that Harry blurted out
"This remains to be seen, but for now you seemed to be a victim of a compulsion. There is, however, the issue of you possessing an inherently illegal power, and so we will have to bind it" came the reply from the Inquisitor
"What do you mean, illegal power? And how do you bind it?" Harry was getting worried - this was not the situation he wanted to find himself in, with the brunt of the system brought against him. The example of Sirius was on his mind, and he was getting quite nervous.
"The ability to control time and space is an abomination to the Lord. We will ask for his divine power in separating that from your other, equally abominable, but sadly untouchable powers"
Came the passionate replica out of the Inquisitor. Harry wanted to ask more questions but the Inquisitor steamrolled on, getting more and more passionate and fiery in his speech.
"For you lost your immortal soul when you entered into the contract with the foul Sleeping One, for the power you call magic. Too weak to use your personal power and too blind to see the corruption that Its influence brings on you. But the old pact is still sealed, and we cannot save you from your own ignorance. While we all worked for our power, through prayer and practice, you sold your soul! Even the savages of Africa rely on their own powers and achievements, not from the crumbs of free power your kind lives off, at the cost of the essence when you die!"
Harry had no idea what this fanatic, and it was plain to see that his man was one, was talking about, but it sounded like a good time to get out of there. Almost in response to that thought, the power within Harry rose up, noticed by the Inquisitor who jumped up and laughed at Harry.
"The Sleeping One you belong to has no power here, for this place has been sanctified and the Old Gods can't hear your calls! Prepare for justice!"
The man placed his hand on the Bible and began a psalm, each and every word of his reverberating with a strange power, but the ancient force in Harry's blood awoke first. The time in the room crawled to a halt as the universe itself started responding to Harry's will. The Inquisitor froze with his mouth open mid-chant, a comical position if not for the waves of power rolling off him, seen by the True Sight and felt by Harry in an instinctive way.
Harry reached his energy out and brought into the existence a lance of pure power that he was punished with so many times, and the Inquisitor crumpled over. Clearly, he had no defence against this strange power that Harry unlocked in the mausoleum, through blood and torture in the 'kind' hands of the Voice in the Dark. Almost absently turning on the True Sight, Harry saw that the man was still alive, if barely.
Harry sensed danger emanating from the doors and moved away. The world was still moving at a snail's pace, and Harry simply jumped past the response group headed to his cell. He noticed the runes around each cell, thrumming with power - and promised to himself he will ask Dumbledore about this place when he got out.
A golden beam of light, coming off from a man in a priest uniform, clipped Harry on the arm, and it felt like a red-hot knife dug itself into where it hit - but Harry was more than able to handle pain after what happened in the mausoleum. He just replied with another lance of silver and picked up the pace. He did not see the recipient on the floor virtually torn apart by the power, nor did he see the guard slamming the alarm button. What Harry did sense though, is the instant weight of a mind-numbingly powerful presence on his mind - the heavy response unit was already in the building, and was calling onto the power of the Lord. Operating on nothing but intuition, Harry willed himself to go back home, and with a flash of silver, tearing through all the wards in place, he was back at 4 Privet Drive.
Back at the Vatican cells pandemonium was going down. The Inquisitor was crippled, and the star student was destroyed by the ancient power that the green-eyed wizard wielded, with the said wizard escaping with barely a scratch. With a rasp and a cough of blood from the lungs, the Inquisitor told the guard tending to him "Send out the message. The time mage is free. God save us all". With a nod, the guard relayed the message, and via a quick phone call, just 20 minutes later, the Vatican representative to the ICW invoked his power to hold an emergency meeting.