A/N: Chap 25 review responses are available in the forums.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Just When You Thought It Was Safe…
"Fred, George, you're as brilliant as Hermione," Harry said. Beside him, Hermione nodded her agreement.
"Well, yes," Fred said, while George nodded.
It was Luna's suggestion that they farm out their communications problem to the Weasley Twins. Hermione drew up their specifications, but otherwise left it in the hands of the twins themselves.
This it was a surprise when just two days later they received an owl telling them the project was done. Harry and Hermione flew to Hogsmeade and then apparated directly to Diagon Alley to see. What they found was simply ingenious.
It looked like a very large-screen muggle computer or even a television. The twins went shopping in the muggle world and found a newly released large, flat-screen television. The television cost almost twelve thousand pounds. So, instead they bought a cheap mirror for a tiny fraction of the price, put black wood framing around it until it looked vaguely like the large but expensive muggle television, and mounted it on top of a large metal box that also looked vaguely like a muggle computer. With a little film over the mirror, it looked just like the television.
They then attached to it a simple muggle computer keyboard, but with individual buttons charmed to activate certain functions. The box held a tray to hold paper or parchment on one side, and after feeding that parchment or paper through the duplication charm chamber, it appeared on the other side.
They then capped it off by writing a wildly obtuse and impossible to understand technical manual, taking much of the text from an actual Muggle computer manual, while also providing a one-sheet "short-cut" guide that was in fact all that was needed to work it.
Now two units awaited Harry and Hermione. They took the units to separate rooms in Weasley Wizarding Weazes and gave it a try.
"The picture quality is astounding," Hermione said through the mirror.
"And the sound it perfect," Harry agreed.
They tested the "fax" functions and found the duplication charm to be perfect as well. All in all, it was years beyond anything the muggles were going to produce, and suited their needs perfectly.
By the time Nils Baar returned on the second week of December from his negotiations with the French, they had a communication center installed in the now empty office that for thirty years belonged to Archibald Grunnings. Harry brought the equipment personally, wrapped securely in a box that said "IBM". It was a final touch to convince the office that there was no magic involved in a patently magical device.
That afternoon they held their very first conference call from Hogwarts. Hermione took the liberty of conjuring a background in their room that made it look like an office building, rather than a drafty old castle. It was by this conference call that Delores the secretary announced she wished to join her old boss in retirement. Bartleby, who was on-site for the call, suggested a replacement.
Surprisingly, the interview for the new executive assistant took place in Hogsmeade two days later, since Martha Whitehall was a squib. Though twenty-four years old, she held a two year degree from London College and had almost five years experience at Lincoln Fields, where she met Bartleby while working for another solicitor. She came highly recommended not so much because of her legal background, but because of her demonstrated flexibility. Plus, being a squib, she knew who Harry Potter was.
Luna, who sat in on the meeting, beamed at the young woman and said, "If muggle police came to arrest Harry, what would you do?"
Martha blinked a little, taken aback by the odd question. "Well, I suppose I would tell them he was out of the country and that I did not have his phone number since he wished to vacation undisturbed. Then I would probably send an OWL or other magical means to let you know they were after you."
Harry smiled, both at Luna's pertinent question, and at Martha's excellent response. "Very good. You're hired. Can you start tomorrow?"
"Well, yes, I suppose I can."
"Even better."
"Do you have any experience in human resources matters?" Hermione asked.
"My previous employer handled several HR cases," Martha said.
"Excellent, you're also the new acting HR representative until we can hire someone," Hermione said. "Please place an ad. We won't be on premises every day, obviously, but we have established a magical communication center that looks remarkably like a computer video phone. We'll speak as often as required. I'll let Mr. Baar and Chandrakar, the two production managers, know you start tomorrow."
And like that, they had their new executive assistant.
In the meantime, Baar did manage to obtain the entire assembly line with an annual contract for maintenance from the company that made the robots, and they already had material coming in, while Chandrakar continued to milk the existing production lines for all he could to create a supply tools to continue to sell.
While there that weekend, Harry had his first meeting with Grunning's sales staff, and realized that he was going to have to bring in new blood. The four men were old, grouchy, and completely unwilling to work with a "boy" not yet out of school, especially one their old friend Vernon Dursley told them was a complete waste of flesh.
"Martha," Harry said, "put out an ad for an experienced sales person, preferably with experience in energy savings and production equipment. Also, how do I fire my current staff?"
"Well," Martha said, "if you want to avoid an industrial tribunal, you'll need to give them all a verbal warning to do better, followed by a written warning and only then a letter of dismissal. I'd suggest thirty days between each. You never know—some of those blokes have been with the company long enough to retire. You might be able to offer them a buyout."
The next weekend, Harry visited with the four salesmen again. "I have an offer for each of you," he said. "We are going to completely change the focus of this company. Within 12 months we will stop producing drills entirely and will focus solely on photovoltaics, followed over the next few years by other technologically oriented products. I know some of you may not like that, but Mr. Grunnings told me you had been with the company for a long time, and I don't wish to see you mistreated. So, in return for your voluntary and permanent retirement and a relinquishment of any claims against this company, I will offer each of you a full year's salary in the form of a lump sum payment."
The next day they started aggressively advertising for a new sales staff. Meanwhile, Luna also sat her OWLs mid-term, having already been ahead on her studies even before Harry taught her the accelerated learning meditations.
Dumbledore did not even bother fighting when Harry told the headmaster that Luna was going on independent study as well.
~~Broken~~
~~Broken~~
Two weeks before the Christmas holiday, a small group appeared in a park across the street from a row of Georgian houses. Lord Voldemort stood in an immaculate silk three piece suit in the Muggle fashion, replete with a bright, cherry-red tie. No one noticed the fact he had no body hair, nor nose, nor did they see the red reptilian eyes that peered at Numbers 11 and 13 of Grimmauld Place. They did not notice because a powerful aura of magic did not allow them too.
"This is the place?" he asked.
"The thief said so," his most faithful Bellatrix said. She spoke in a half-whisper given the damage to her vocal cords during her meeting with Potter.
"Very well. Bring the thief here."
At Bellatrix's signal, two more Death Eaters dragged the semi-conscious Mundungus Fletcher forward. The few Muggles in the park felt a strange compulsion to leave and did so, until after a few moments the park and the street were completely cleared.
"Although the thief is not the secret keeper," Voldemort said, "he has the secret within him, locking inside. I shall unlock that secret, and I shall have admittance. Come with me."
He crossed the street as his servants followed, dragging Fletcher in their grip. "Place him between Eleven and Thirteen."
Two of the Death Eaters—Rudolphus and Rabastan Lestrange—placed the doomed Order of the Phoenix member on the line of the sidewalk between the buildings. When done, they stepped aside, ready to witness the impossible. Voldemort was about to break the unbreakable Fidelius Charm.
At least, that's what Voldemort wanted them to believe. In fact, he was not going to break the charm so much as he was going to slip under it. The spell used, however, was as dangerous to Voldemort as it was to Fletcher.
"Are the note pad and pen in his robe?"
"Yes, master," Bellatrix said.
He stood over the thief, and with his wand dis-apparated not into another location, but into Fletcher himself. Pain dominated the Dark Lord's essence—pain as brilliant and wonderful as the exquisite agony of his rebirth. He felt Fletcher's mind screaming in horror, and used the pleasure derived from the lesser man's mind to fuel his own power, until with a final crack of mental energy, Voldemort completely possessed Fletcher's body.
Slowly, he stood in the short, weak body. His perceptions were limited solely to sight, given his need to concentrate on maintaining his possession. However, he was able easily enough to see where his wand fell and reached down to lift it. When he looked up, before him stood Number 12 Grimmauld place, as clear as it ever was. Fletcher could not divulge the secret, nor could Voldemort have extracted it from him, so instead Voldemort joined with Fletcher directly.
"Wait for me," he hissed in the lesser man's voice. Unsteadily, he made it up to the stairs and walked inside. Almost instantly he was confronted by a small, wizened elf.
"Thief should leave now," the elf said in a threatening manner.
Voldemort removed his wand, which looked odd in another man's fingers, and wordlessly killed the vermin. Nearby, he heard a portrait bellowing at the elf to know who it was. Voldemort recognized the grating voice of the deceased Black Matriarch, but ignored her as he walked stiffly into the Black Library.
Once upon a time, Voldemort entered this home as the honored guest of Walburga Black. Her husband pledged his support and the support of his family. Since that time, their eldest son actively fought him, and their youngest betrayed him by trying to flee. Now the entire Black Family was gone.
However, because he visited this home before, Voldemort knew about the real Black Library. He entered the study with its shelves of scrolls and books, but ignored them as he walked toward the narrow wall that framed the fireplace. He placed his wand against one of the flour de lis that decorated the faded wall paper, and said, "Toujours Pur."
The hidden panel swung open to reveal the true library of the Black Family—a library of the darkest arts ever amassed in the British Isles—a library Malfoy would have loved to get his hands on. Through theft, pillaging and murder, members of the Black family beginning five hundred years ago managed to amass magical texts from around the world.
It was one such text Voldemort sought. With his eye-sight limited to that of the thief, it took him a long time to peruse the shelves. Though his followers would never realize it, the scholar in Voldemort wanted desperately to take all the texts, but his magic was limited to what the thief had, and he knew that little bit of magic would be necessary to overcome the wards protecting the text.
Finally, after ten minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for.
It was a book, not of parchment of vellum, but of sheets of papyrus bound together by strings of human sinew. Not daring to touch it, Voldemort levitated the ancient book to a reading stand against the wall. A source-less light appeared over the stand, illuminating the scowling figure of a Black ancestor in his portrait.
Voldemort ignored the figure as he placed the book down and with the gentle caress of a lover, he opened the book. The papyrus was covered in faded but still perfectly legible Hieratic script, and if the mention of this book was correct, the book was easily over three thousand years old.
"Here is the account of the Sed of Ramesses, God-King of the Land of the Nile." Voldemort stopped, disgusted by the sound of Fletcher's voice.
"You read Hieratic?" the portrait asked. "You're nothing but a common thief."
Voldemort looked up at the portrait. At first he was going to dismiss it as unimportant, but then he remembered the history of the man in the portrait. "I am Lord Voldemort. This body is simply a means to an end."
"Are you now?" the portrait said. "You had the allegiance of the Black Family?"
"If you doubt me, ask Walburga Black."
"Aye, I will." The figure walked out of the portrait, only to return moments later. "She says to help you."
"And so you shall," Voldemort said. "I wish to take this book with me."
"Only a Black by blood can remove the books from this library," the portrait said a trifle smugly. "Nor can the books be copied. That particular piece cost Theodosius Black his right leg and his second son when he raided the Heliopolis. It's one of the family's greatest treasures. How often can you claim to have the notes from the wizard-priests who helped make their king an actual god?"
"How often indeed," Voldemort whispered. "And yet I have need of this ritual."
The portrait made a show of thinking, hands to his chin. "Do you perchance have a pensieve? Just look over the pages carefully, and then go back and read them and made notes from your memory."
Voldemort sneered. "Or I can make my notes now." He reached into the robes of the thief and removed a notepad and self-inking dictaquill, expanded the notepad, and started to read aloud again, reading of the ritual devised by the wizard Priests of the Nineteenth Dynasty of Egypt to elevate their king from a mere wizard ruler into a god to celebrate his jubilee. It was dark because of the sheer brutality of the methods described in the simple, matter-of-fact and straight forward description of the ritual disembowelment and murder of a hundred adoring servants so that the life-blood could mingle with the magic of the holy sites of the ancient kingdom to create a being that was more than just a man.
The fact that Ramesses went on to rule for a total of 66 years and lived to his nineties three thousand years before modern medicine was proof of how potent the ritual was for the remaining 36 years of his reign. He died not from old age, but from a treacherous wizard priest and one of his sons. For generations after, his descendants referred to him as "the Great".
What made Voldemort realize his need this book, however, was a note made by the philosopher-mage Xrystaiphares, who served in the court of Aegeus, King of Athens. Xrystaiphares attended the great Sed of Ramesses as a guest, and described Rameses becoming one with the gods, as if the power of divinity actually entered the mortal body of the Pharaoh. After the ceremony, Xrystaiphares wrote that Ramesses rose into the air as a god, and that all the peoples of the Nile bowed down before his might.
One with the gods. In other words, Ramesses infused his own body with natural, raw magic.
He read of the account as a youth in the warded, restricted Library of Alexandria, and since that time had been looking for the Sed of Ramesses since then. And now he had it, and the rituals it described were horrifying and beautiful at once. The people of ancient Egypt loved their God-king so devoutly they gladly died for him. Fathers and mothers held back the hair of their own sons and daughters to ease the priests in cutting their throats. Mothers gave up their infants and husbands their wives, so that the ritual floor of the Heliopolis of Pi-Ramesses held blood deep enough for the great pharaoh to bathe in it.
What was a dark ritual of the blackest magic today was, at the time, a celebration of love and loyalty on an unimaginable level. For a moment, Voldemort lost himself in the fantasy of living at that time, when he would be revered as both king and god. His dreams, however, shifted his godhead to modern times, and it was London he ruled over with the might of divine magic. He summoned bolts of magic to destroy Big Ben. He shattered London Bridge and sent people scattering in terror, while his faithful servants bowed to him.
And standing before him, wielding a blade of fire, stood Harry Potter. "This world is not yours," the Boy-Who-Lived declared with a disdainful laugh. "It is mine."
With that Voldemort broke from his daydream and looked back to see exactly where he stopped reciting the ritual. With a dark look at the portrait, which said nothing, he continued reading the rituals. It took nearly two hours to read it all, but finally he finished and placed the book gently back in its shelf.
"All done, then?" the portrait asked.
"All done," Voldemort said. "Your family is dead. The last Black male died this summer."
The figure in the portrait stared at him in silence for a moment, before nodding. "And yet the wards have not failed entirely. Someone owns the home. Good day, Dark Lord."
Voldemort left the Black Library, struggling to maintain his control after so long. He left the house without even stopping to look at the bloody smear that used to be Kreacher, and staggered outside. He just cleared the ward before he was magically ejected from Fletcher's body. The Dark Lord staggered further, clutching an iron gate to keep from falling.
Fletcher, meanwhile, fell to his knees before he was loudly, boisterously sick all over the sidewalk.
"His use is at an end," Voldemort said. "Kill him and dispose of the evidence."
Fletcher looked up, eyes blood-shot from his ordeal, and started to beg for mercy before Rabastan Lestrange casually cast the Death Curse, ripping the man's life from his body. A moment later the body was vanished, as was all evidence of his sickness.
~~Broken~~
~~Broken~~
On the last Hogsmeade Weekend before the holidays, Harry, Hermione and Luna invited Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Ron Weasley, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Katie Bell to join them for lunch at the Witch's Garden, a better-than-average restaurant in Hogsmeade. Seamus decided he was more interested in helping his family than a long-term struggle.
They arrived at the restaurant to find Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan waiting for them in the thick snow, steaming under warming charms. "Glad you could make it," Harry said as he shook their hands.
They received a private room and began the first course of a very good lunch. "So, we've had two months of DA training," Harry said to his friends. "What do you think?"
"Moody's a right sadistic bastard," Terry Boot announced. "But the man knows his business. I think I've learned more in the past two months than five years of DADA combined. Snape's starting to get suspicious."
"Snape is a non-issue," Harry said. "Lee, Angelina, how are you two holding up?"
"Good," Lee said. "We're both helping Fred and George at the shop and business is booming. But things are getting nervous. You read the Prophet?"
"I do," Hermione said. "Despite her best efforts, I don't believe Minister Bones was able to clean things out as much as she wanted. Voldemort is marking his people in different ways, so even if they wanted to check forearms it wouldn't necessarily work. People are starting to disappear."
"That's why we're here," Harry said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out seven badges. The badges said: "Phoenix Security". "These are all charmed to provide instant communications," Harry said. "You can speak to me, or to each other. Just touch it with your wand and name who you wish to call, or say 'Allcom' and it will activate all our badges. With the badge comes an employment contract with Phoenix Industries. You'll be paid for all training time and on-duty time. You won't be on duty unless there is a need. If you accept these, you'll also serve as my lieutenants for the larger DA, and will be in the lead for any leadership positions as the company expands."
"How are you affording this, Harry?" Justin asked.
"You ever hear of Grunnings Drills?"
"I have," Anthony said. "My father says they're pieces of shite."
"Yes, they probably are," Harry said with a snort. "I own the company. I'm converting it over to a different product line, and we already have multi-million pound contract pending. Plus I came into some inheritance. When the company truly takes off, we'll have all the money we need to fund the war effort."
"What are you selling?" Justin asked.
"A solar panel nearly five times more efficient than anything on the market," Harry said. "And when I saturate the market for that, I'll 'discover' an energy-based, non-lethal weapon that instantly stuns without causing any long-term harm or even pain, or some other piece of technology beyond current means. That will open the door to major government contracts."
"My father has some experience with business," Justin said. "Our title may be inherited, but our money he earned."
"I'd be honored to meet him," Harry said. "Perhaps a dinner sometime?"
"I'll check," Justin said, pleased.
"So, what do you say?" Hermione asked everyone.
"We wouldn't be here if we didn't agree," Katie Bell said. "I do have one question, though. Luna, Hermione—is he all that?"
"All that and more," Luna assured the Gryffindor chaser.
~~Broken~~
~~Broken~~
Bellatrix Lestrange lay nude in the center of the circle of stones near the village of Little Salked. In a large circle, standing between the stones of the circle, stood the black-robed followers of Lord Voldemort. In front of each Death Eater stood the naked, shivering, Imperious'd forms of one hundred muggles.
The grassy fields between the stones had been charmed smooth, like stone.
Voldemort himself knelt beside her, also divested of his robes. At first glance, once might think them lovers. Bellatrix trembled, her nipples erect with excitement, her sex engorged under the thick, black thatch of her pubic hair. However, the image ended at the scarred, sexless expanse of pale, inhuman flesh that wrapped unbroken between Voldemort's legs. Rebirth had come at a price—with immortality came the ultimate sacrifice. However, the Dark Lord took his pleasure through other means.
Bellatrix was not trembling through ecstasy, but in agony as Voldemort continued the slow, steady cuts down her leg. The cuts were deep—all the way to the bone, nor were they restrained to just that one leg. He had cut her to the bone down the length of her other leg, both her arms, along each rip and along the ridge of her thighs and a broad line split her forehead. Only magic kept her from bleeding out—only insane lust kept her from screaming.
At last Voldemort finished cutting. "Almost, dearest Bellatrix," he said to her, almost lovingly. "Your sacrifice will bring you great power, and will ensure your place as my most precious. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Master!" Bellatrix ground out from between gritted teeth. "Fill me with your power!"
"Not just my power, dear Bellatrix," Voldemort said. "The power of magic itself."
He raised his wand and from it shot a shower of red sparks. At that signal, the Death Eaters standing in the distance between the stones known as Long Meg and Her Sisters reached around the front of their kidnapped muggle victims, and as the muggles under their control lifted their chins, Death Eaters cut their jugulars. With magic, the Death Eaters then grasped the muggles and held them upside down to ensure all the blood flowed.
The dark red fluid seeped down the charmed slops to the center indentation, where Voldemort knelt beside the prone, bleeding Bellatrix Lestrange. Even as the Death Eaters continued to bleed their victims, they began to chant the ancient Eryption spell last used in the apotheosis of a pharaoh in a god.
The air took on the taste of ozone while the ground beneath Voldemort's feet began to shimmer and flicker with phantom lights as the blood began to pool around Bellatrix. The Dark Lord stood and stepped back from the filleted form of his most loyal Death Eater as the lights seemed to coalesce around her. Voldemort himself raised his head and started chanting as well, but his chant was in Aramaic—a spell of resurrection known only to the most powerful of necromancers. It was his own personal addition to the original Egyptian spell.
The Egyptian spell caused the blood to flow faster and burn with the power of life itself. It pooled around Bellatrix, rising up above the level of her own cuts, until her very bones were caressed by the life's blood of a hundred muggles.
A dome of green light grew up from the ground directly underneath Bellatrix's body, expanding outward until it covered her entirely. Before it could expand any further, though, it exploded with such violent power even Voldemort was thrown from his feet.
Slowly, he stood and healed the broken bone in his arm from where he landed awkwardly, and approached his most loyal servant.
She lay on the now darkened and magically drained ground, still trembling. However, every single wound was fully healed, leaving a pattern of scars all over her body as tell-tale marks of the ritual.
"Rise, Bella," Voldemort said.
Her eyes opened and burned with an inner light. She placed her hands out to either side, and with barely a move of her hands she lifted herself from the ground with the grace of a floating feather, until she stood next to her master.
"You are now one with magic," Voldemort whispered to the beautiful witch. "You have no need of a wand or of spells. The magic has been infused into your very being. You are its master, just as I am yours. Can you feel it?"
"Yes, Master," she breathed.
"We will train you to use this new power," Voldemort said. "And then, when the time comes, you will be more than a match for Harry Potter."
"I will make him scream for you, Master," Bellatrix whispered. "Just like he made me scream."
"Of this," Voldemort said, "I have no doubt."