The Imposter Complex, Chapter Nine: The House of the Rising Sun
This is to be my most experimental chapter yet, fair warning. It gets a bit weird towards the end.
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'This is demeaning!'
'I mean, do you want to end up in a muggle pound?' I replied, enjoying this entirely too much.
Strictly speaking, I didn't need to have Sirius Black on a leash as we walked through Kings Cross station. Dervish and Banges sold obedience collars in their pet section (and their, ahem, back section) that were charmed so muggles wouldn't realise they had no lead on them. It seemed Black was not aware of these however, and this was a nice harmless way to get some petty revenge for his frequent self-piteous moaning about how the murder of the Potters was all his fault. No wonder the idiot got himself lobbed in prison over the matter.
Hogwarts had locked down hard following my attack on Potter, Black's reconnaissance had revealed they now had Aurors stationed alongside the Dementors. Poor bastards. Unfortunately, unlike Dementors they had functioning eyes, and so sneaking past them was no longer so simple as turning into an animal.
Black had apparently been informed by his spy within the school (a Kneazle he'd managed to befriend and perform rudimentary communication with in animagus form) that Potter had been given an artefact called the Marauder's Map by Ronald Weasley's elder brothers. The Map had apparently been a creation of Black and his friends in school, and Black claimed that it would only have revealed its secrets to new users if it sensed that they were of a similar disposition as its creators. Delinquents, I took that to mean.
Black and I were currently communicating via the Flamels' Candlenights gift to me, a set of earrings that, when worn by two separate individuals, allowed telepathic communication in a short range (perhaps forty feet or so). He would be able to give me whatever necessary background information I would need to fool the twins into assisting us.
We passed through the barrier without incident, into the bevy of wizarding families saying their farewells to their children, at the end of the Yule holiday. The Weasleys were easy to spot through the crowd, their fiery hair standing out like a sore thumb. I approached them confidently. I was dressed very finely, and Black, after a week's worth of healing potions and a good bath, was looking every inch the majestic hound. I still had not figured out what breed his animagus form was, but I'm pretty sure it had a hefty chunk of Tibetan Mastiff in it.
'Arthur Weasley?'
The tall, balding man turned around. 'Yes?' he responded politely.
'My name is Thomas Grey, and I was wondering if I would be able to speak to Fred and George for a brief minute. It's about a business opportunity.'
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 'What kind of business opportunity do you want to talk to a pair of fifteen year olds about? You can discuss it with me'
I looked at the twins, who were similarly confused. 'I believe that you are familiar with a mister Padfoot?'
Their eyes went wide as saucers, and their jaws dropped.
'Dad-'
'Please-'
'We've got to!'
'I can't believe it!'
Their father was being swayed, but remained reluctant.
'It would be just over here, won't leave your sight.' I assured him. It helped that the platform proper had anti-apparition wards.
'Well… alright.' he relented, and the twins practically cheered as I led them out of the crowd a ways.
'You know mister Padfoot?' the left twin said immediately.
'Know him? Well, of course I know him, he's me!' I exclaimed, allowing Black to essentially use me as a mouthpiece from here-on out.
'No way!' breathed the right twin. Ah, teenagers, so gullible. The pair of them started shaking my hand vigorously and gushing about how they were my biggest fans. It made me glad that it was my left arm that I'd had to chop off, and not my right; regenerative potions had grown it back to full size, but it was still tender.
'I was ever so pleased to learn that the Map my friends and I once crafted had fallen into the hands of fellow pranksters' - I suppressed a shudder at the term - 'so soon after our own time at Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.'
'What can we do for you sir?' asked the left twin eagerly, in a voice that suggested he was entirely unused to such respect for a semi-authority figure.
'My compatriots and I moved away from the pranking life in adulthood, forced by… circumstance. I'd hate to see a pair of burgeoning young prodigies such as yourselves suffer the same fate.
'When I was in school, my life's goal was to open a joke shop. You know, really show Zonkos and Gambol & Japes who was boss!' This aspect of the pitch was entirely drawn from memories I had drawn from the waif of the twins' own ambitions. 'And so, in the spirit of a great legacy of pranksters, I would like to offer the pair of you a start-up investment of seven hundred galleons, in exchange for a ten percent cut of your profits after costs."
The pair were absolutely thunderstruck. They started stuttering out words of thanks and praise, but I held up a slim hand.
'Don't thank me yet boys. There is but one task I need you to perform for me before you get this money.'
'Anything!' said right twin, left nodding furiously alongside him.
My eyes glittered. 'I need you to acquire a rat that lives at Hogwarts. It was one of our old experiments, which has allowed it to live for over a decade longer than any normal rat. You will recognise it by its missing leftmost toe on its right front paw.'
The twins exchanged conspiratorial looks.
'What do you need it for?' asked left twin innocently.
'I'm afraid I can't tell you that until I have it in hand. Proprietary secrets, as fellow inventors, surely you understand. But rest assured, I have no intention of harming it. I'm not in the habit of hurting innocent woodland critters.'
Black, who had seen what I did to the animals I conjured to practice combat magic on, snuffled loudly.
'Yeeeah, we can give it a go,' said right twin.
'It'll probably be really hard though,'said left twin
'Almost impossible,'
'Finding one exact rat out of a whole castle?'
'But we won't let you down, mister Padfoot!'
'Not a bit!'
I smiled. 'Glad to hear it, boys. I'm sure you won't. You'll want to be careful though, that rat can seem lazy, but it can be a wily little prick when it wants to be; that's how it escaped me in the first place. I wouldn't mess around, I'd stun it and cage it on the spot if I were you.'
'What should we we do with it once we've got it?'
'Send me an owl, I live in Hogsmeade. We can organise its transportation then.'
Arthur Weasley's voice rang out across the platform. 'Boys!'
The engine compartment was starting to chug and there was a sharp whistle; the Hogwarts Express was about to leave.
'Good luck boys! ' I yelled, waving merrily after them as they ran for the train.
'What do you suppose the odds are Pettigrew kills them?' I asked Black idly.
'Low. Pettigrew was a pathetic embarrassment of a wizard even before he spent a decade as a rodent, even if Voldemort taught him some tricks. A couple of talented lads like them shouldn't have any trouble.'
:—:
It took longer than I expected for the twins to get back to me. Black had moved in with me in Hogsmeade - it was the safest place for him, as Aurors could decide to raid the Alfhearth again at any time. I had lent him one of my spare wands, not a match, but it was better than nothing. I knew first hand how distressing it was to go without access to one's magic.
Finally, on the 12th of February, the twins sent me a letter, which I read over breakfast.
Dear Mr Padfoot
We found the rat, but its owner was guarding it pretty closely, as it has been sick since August. We were working on a way to get our hands on it, but
There were several droplets around this part, as if they had been trying to figure out how to proceed.
another student's cat, this giant orange bastard, ate it before we could. We're really sorry Mr Padfoot, if there's anything we can do to make it up to you, we'll do it.
Sincerely
Fred and George
I flicked the note at Black, who read it quickly and threw it down in disgust.
'So little Wormtail has faked his death once again.' he muttered darkly.
'We're certain the cat didn't actually eat him?'
'Yes I'm certain!' he snapped irritably. 'I told you, the cat's at least half-Kneazle, he knows how to follow instructions.'
'Yeah, well, you know what they say about herding cats…'
I sent a note back to the twins telling them in no uncertain terms that I was confident the rat was alive, and that they were to continue their search. Both they and I may have thought that they were going to get an easy ride with this deal, but they could hardly complain that they would be kept to the agreement as written.
:—:
Once he had settled in, Black naturally grew curious as to my origins. I told him a similar version to what Garrow and I had told to Belinda. Like all good lies, it was closely rooted in fact. Lord Voldemort had killed my father, after Dumbledore drove him out of Britain. I had grown up in Hong Kong with my mother, and only just recently returned to the UK upon her death, and the rapidly approaching return of the territory to Chinese hands. My father had been a friend of Garrow Avery's in school, which was how we had met. I knew Lord Voldemort was out there somewhere, still alive, and I wanted to defeat him permanently.
The only direct mistruth, if one considered Lord Voldemort to technically be a second progenitor, was the Hong Kong part, but I had taken the time to travel there and ransack a few minds to ensure that I would not slip up.
Days turned into weeks, as the twins failed to produce results. Life became - almost - domestic. Black finally stopped constantly whining about how he got the Potters killed, which was a minor miracle all of its own. He had started venturing out into the muggle world under various disguises, filling his room with a wide assortment of knick-knacks, including an aging muggle radio which he showed me how to finagle into working, despite the magical aura that wreathed Hogsmeade and my own house in particular. He was unusually skilled with muggle technology for a wizard - especially one twelve years out of date of modern developments.
It was over this radio, one fateful day, that I first heard the lyrics of a certain song. I had just come back from lunch, and I heard the now-familiar notes of what Sirius had identified as electric guitar booming from his room. It was a good tune, unlike most he played, and I listened idly to the lyrics as I flipped through my bookcase.
'Oh mother…
Tell your children…
Not to do what I have done!
Spend your lives in sin and misery,
In the House of the Rising Sun.'
I froze. I sprinted up the stairs and burst through Sirius's door so hard that it tore off its hinges. Sirius squawked in surprise and fell off his bed.
'Well there is a House in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know, I'm one.'
'What's this song!' I demanded, Black still picking himself up off the ground.
'Bloody hell Tom, look what you did to the door! What's the matter with you?'
'The song, Black!' I jabbed a finger at his radio, which was now cruising through the final instrumental.
'It's - it's House of the Rising Sun by the Animals? Why do you care?'
I stared at him. Weeks of searching every history book I could get my hands on, and it had never even occurred to me to search the muggle world.
'Make it play again. This is important, Sirius.'
Grumbling, he jabbed his wand at the radio, which squealed, then played the song again. I noted down the full lyrics.
'Where are the Animals from?'
'The forest I assume,' Black joked. 'Nah, they're from Britain. Newcastle, if I remember rightly. What's this all about, Tom?'
I chewed on my lip. 'Someone once told me to seek out the House of the Rising Sun, that it could give me answers on how Lord Voldemort managed to survive his own death, and maybe where he's gone.'
'Sounds like they might have been pulling your leg, mate. S'not a real place, it's just a song.'
'Maybe for the Animals it is, but I suspect otherwise. I'll need to talk to whoever wrote the song, where they got that name from.'
'I'm coming with you.' Black announced. I looked at him. Fuck it, I could use the extra wand. Given what happened last time I went on a solo adventure, it was probably for the best.
:—:
I rapped smartly on the dark wooden front door. No response.
I turned to look at Sirius, who was currently looking very different under the human transfigurations I'd layered over him. He shrugged.
'Guy probably gets a lot of paparazzi, I wouldn't answer the door much either. Photographers who sell pictures of celebrities' he explained at my blank expression.
I looked around. We were standing out the front of a beautiful modern mansion. 'We could just break in. Any idea what kind of security forces he'd have?'
'Why would I know that? I dunno, probably just a bodyguard or two. Got to look out for security cameras though. I know we're disguised, but we don't want to accidentally wind up exposing the Wizarding World. Probably best to avoid it at all if we can.'
'Easy enough, I can flip a tank if I feel the need, a few thugs aren't going to stop me.'
On that note, I slammed my palm against the door, just above the handle. The door was surprisingly sturdy, but the lock wasn't, shattering immediately with a loud crack. An alarm immediately went off, wailing painfully loud. I punched what looked like some kind of security panel, forcing some magic into it for good measure. The alarm died with a low dwindling noise.
'Who the fuck are you?!'
A bodyguard, charging at us. I was about to splatter his brains across the foyer, but then I remembered Black was a muggle-lover and would probably object to me murdering this man for sport. I instead gave him a light slap across the face, still more than enough to make him do a full backflip and land in a heap, unconscious.
We searched the house, and encountered another bodyguard, similarly dispatched, but not our prize.
'Could he be out?' I pondered. Black shook his head.
'Nah, there's only one space in his garage that's not filled with crap, and I really doubt that either of these goons drive an Espada. He's here somewhere.'
I quirked an eyebrow. 'Panic room, you think?'
'If you were a famous musician subject to all sorts of freaks, wouldn't you have one?'
I looked around for security cameras, and seeing none I slipped out my wand beneath my coat. 'Homenum Revelio' I muttered.
To my eyes only, a glowing silhouette appeared on one of the living room walls. Bingo.
Eric Burdon screamed bloody murder when I tore the door off his hiding place like it was made of papier-mâché.
'Good morning Eric. You're probably wondering who we are. Just think of me as your biggest fan.'I said sinisterly, and dove into his mind. Inane conversation with a muggle was beneath my pay grade. I quickly found what I needed. Burdon had told interviewers that he had lifted the song from a folk singer in Northumberland, but this was a lie. He'd learned it straight from the source, a muggle sex worker in New Orleans in '61 who'd sung him the song after he'd fucked her. She told him the House was a mysterious and wondrous place, but that it consumed people, drove their lives to wreckage. I suppose that at least that prediction had held true for Lord Voldemort.
She had told Burdon how to reach it, but he had never had the gumption to actually visit it himself. Pathetic.
I pulled out of his noggin, hitting the lights on my way out. The muggle slumped, unconscious. I looked at Sirius, who had taken his down time as an opportunity to rob the man, shoving a trophy into his expanded inner jacket pocket. The trophy was a bronze hand flipping the bird.
'What?' Sirius said, grinning. 'I've always wanted an NME.'
I smirked, despite myself. 'I have what we need. Let's get out of here before the bobbies show up or something.'
:—:
We took the next available portkey to New Orleans; me travelling as myself, and Sirius as my faithful canine companion. We arrived in the French quarter, where lived a thriving community of magicals, most of them descendants of the Cajun refugees from the Acadian debacle. But we weren't here for the magical side of town, at least I didn't think we were. After finding a dark corner for Black to turn human, and for us both to disguise ourselves, we moved on to the muggle part of the famous district.
We wended through narrow streets, enjoying the sights and smells and sounds that came with this cultural icon of the Southern United States. Finally, nibbling on beignets, we reached our goal; a thin door on the side of a 19th century gallery, marked with a half-sunburst symbol, the bottom half of which was cut off by a long line. I pushed it open, and we walked down an equally thin flight of stairs, down into a room thick with a strange mist. The mist had a sweet and heady aroma, like the place was one big hookah.
The moment we walked in, as if a switch had been flipped, we could hear deep, bassy, throbbing electronic music. We were in some kind of lobby, though it was hard to make out details through the mist. The walls looked like they were of a rich maple timber, and lined with obsidian columns. The floor was some kind of blue stone with an intricate inlay of gold. There were couches and tables laid out on either side of the main throughfare, and at these tables were the most strange creatures. A being made entirely out of gravelly stone sat at one, deep in conversation with what looked like a high elf, but they had been extinct for ten thousand years. At another, a man with great, curling horns was playing chess with some kind of blend of a toad and a dinosaur.
'What the hell is this place, Grey?' Sirius hissed over the earring link.
'I don't know. I've never seen beings like these before. Keep your wand ready.' I murmured in response, grasping my wand and hammer in my pockets.
We approached the counter, passing by a corridor where the music was clearly emanating from, along with the occasional dull flares of red and blue light, and another corridor which sounded suspiciously like an orgy was taking place. The front counter was a long, ornate affair of finely carved redwood and blue leather. Standing behind it was a beautiful woman with blue skin, and a tentacle-like crest where her hair should be. She looked up at us and cocked her head.
'First timers, yeah? I'll get the boss'
The creature that soon joined her behind the counter was by far the strangest so far.
He - at least, it looked like a he - was astonishingly tall, at least seven feet, and even more slender than myself. He was dressed finely in a damask waistcoat and silk shirt that surely must have been made particularly for him - four arms extended from it, though I found I could not quite focus my vision on the point where they met his body. The bottom half of his face showed a sharp chin and crisply trimmed sideburns, but the top half was consumed by a black smoke that billowed out of it, dissipating a few feet above it, little licks of flame permeating it. For a moment I thought this was the source of the mist, which was mildly disgusting, but then I saw said mist steaming out behind him from two great woks filled with glowing blue coals. In between them, mounted on the black granite wall, was a sword that seemed to almost glow with power. Above it, that same half-sunburst symbol was inlaid in gold, gleaming like a beacon.
He looked at us - I think - and smiled congenially. I felt a shiver of legilimency shoot through my mind, passing through my defences like they weren't even there, too swift to even react to before it was gone.
'Gentlemen.' his voice was as silky and cultured as his attire, his accent indefinable. 'Welcome to the House of the Rising Sun. My name is Sibrandr Oryx. I do hope you enjoy your stay.'
'What is this place?' Sirius's query mirrored my own.
'The House? Ah, but it is so many things. One may most closely describe it as a crossroads, a place of trade, but even this explanation is lacking. Suffice to say it is my life's work. But for what you have come for, mister… Grey, I believe it is one thing in particular. But all things bear a price…'
'How much?'
'Oh, we don't trade in money here. Our chosen currencies are more… esoteric.'
Sirius and I had been expecting this. The sex worker had warned Burdon of that much, at least. Sacrifice came part-and-parcel with this kind of encounter. 'So, what, knowledge? Trinkets? First-born children?'
He shrugged, something that made my eyes ache a little, given the weird distortion around his shoulders. 'The man whose path you follow gave his beauty. Something of equal value, I think, shall be needed for you to continue in his footsteps.'
I stood in thought for a moment. So this was where Lord Voldemort had gained that waxy melted-candle look that Garrow had told me about. This was a good sign; if he had stayed as vain as me, he would never have done so on less than a sure thing. Me, I was not at all willing to take that particular step. Fortunately I had some choices pieces from his collection on me.
I reached into my pocket and drew out a palm-sized statue of a scarab carved from sard, and laid it on the counter.
'This is the Scarab of Khepri-Ra. Well, the only surviving one that is. A priceless and powerful treasure.'
Oryx seemed to loom over me. 'But not priceless to you, that you would offer it so freely?'
Ah. We stared each other down for a long moment.
'How much do we need this' Sirius asked me privately.
'Badly. Without knowing exactly what Lord Voldemort has done to himself, we will never be able to undo his grasp on life. He will haunt your godson forever' I responded, hoping he was about to do what I think he was.
He stepped forward and spoke aloud 'I offer the friendship I once had with-'
'That won't be necessary lads.' I turned, and beheld a man in a dark suit, who absolutely had not been there a few seconds before. Asian, but with blonde hair that looked natural. British accent. I had never seen him before in my life.
'Put them on my account, Sibrandr, there's a good chap.'He smiled winningly at me, holding out a hand to shake. 'Peter Hein, pleasure to make your acquaintance.'
I took it. His grip was cold, as if he'd just taken his hands out of a fridge. 'Thomas Grey' He winked knowingly at me. I was very quickly getting tired of random strangers knowing exactly who I was.
'Not that I don't appreciate it, but why? Who are you?' asked Sirius.
'A traveller of the world, such as yourselves. Though I daresay perhaps a little more travelled.' He laughed as if he had told an extremely funny joke.
'What do you expect in return for this boon?' I asked sharply.
'Why do I need to expect something in return, dear Tom?' He grinned again. I already hated that smile.
Sibrandr made a note on a pad, and set it aside. 'Very well, mister Hein. Saskia!'
That last remark had been aimed at the blue woman, who had been fiddling with some small rectangular device, and who jumped when her name was called.
'Yes boss?'
'Take these two to the Guest Book, they'll need to see…' he broke off, looking up for a moment in thought. 'Volume seven hundred and two, page thirteen.'
Hein bowed deeply. 'A pleasure, gentlemen, as ever.' He sauntered off towards a hallway, the one6 from whence the electronic music seemed to be booming.
'What do you mean, "as ever"? Hey! I want answers!' I pursued him around a corner, but when I turned it he was gone, the some-thirty-foot-long corridor completely empty. The fuck kind of Deus Ex Machina shit is this?
:—:
The blue woman - Saskia - led us down a different corridor, into a chamber that looked like a miniature library, lined with books. She plucked one out, and laid it on the small pedestal in the centre.
'Sorry if this is rude, but I must know, what exactly are you?' I queried her.
She smirked cutely, revealing a dimple. 'You aren't ready for that answer yet mister Grey, we usually wait a few visits before we get that deep into the mess that is understanding this place.'
I sneered. 'I'm a big boy, I think I can handle it.'
'Next time then, "big boy"' she said playfully, and gestured to the book. At least one thing will be answered today.
I flipped open the book, turning to page thirteen. There was a brief passage written in it, but I couldn't tell you what it said, for as soon as I attempted to read it, I was overcome by a vision.
I was standing in the lobby again, which looked almost identical. The denizens were different, but just as bizarre as the ones that had been there in my own time.
Lord Voldemort strode down the centre of the lobby, like he owned the place. He was perhaps thirty or thirty five, and gorgeous, every bit what I had imagined I would look like in adulthood.
He came to a stop in front of the counter, and demanded to see the owner. The clerk, not Saskia but a similarly pretty woman with metallic silver skin, obliged. Sibrandr Oryx in all his smoky glory came out from the back room.
'I have been told' his voice was unlike mine, it was high-pitched and icy cold. 'That you possess the deepest secrets to immortality.'
Oryx smiled that sinister grin of his. 'The House of the Rising Sun holds more secrets than men are able to fathom. We have what you seek, but all things have their price, and for what you ask it shall be a substantial one.'
Lord Voldemort, like myself, tried bargaining with artefacts he had obtained on his adventures, but once more he was rebuffed. I saw his hand twitch towards his wand, but he thought better of it.
Finally, he offered his beauty, and his chiseled features sagged before my very eyes, some nebulous essence flowing from it into a jar, which Oryx stoppered and handed off to a different underling. No wonder Garrow had been so disturbed by it, Lord Voldemort had become almost unrecognisable in moments.
I followed as the clerk - called Jenny by Oryx - led Lord Voldemort down a different corridor still, to a different little library, and handed him a tome. I saw its name just before the vision dissolved away into darkness.
I stepped back, shaken. Sirius had viewed the recording also, and he looked over at me hurriedly.
'Fuck, I couldn't read the name of that book, could you?'
I nodded. It was an ancient tongue, which had been extinct for millennia. Of the spoken language, only a few fragmented words remained. But the written form, that could still be learned.
'How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Cheat Death. By Cain of Atlantis'
:-:-:-:-:
A/N: I have no idea if Eric Burdon still lived in Newcastle-on-Tyne in the 90s, or if he lived in a mansion, or drove a Lamborghini Espada, because this information was not available from the most cursory of google searches. Ech, we'll say he did in the HP universe.
As I said at the start of the chapter, this is the most experimental of my chapters so far, so if you don't like that story direction, be sure to let me know.
Edited for typos on the 1st of July, 2019
