Determined Madness
A/N: This is laying the groundwork for something that JKR never truly touched – how would Harry handle failure? We only know that canon Harry was obsessed with things like the Hallows, and became snappy, but it all was due to absolutely no information given to them.
Here, he is going to attempt something totally new, and ending up in largely uncharted territory. So, this one reacts, as the title suggests, with determined madness. That means there is actual madness.
If this largely theory chapter is wrong in some places or has vagueness, please help me correct that. I am no engineer and have only made vague references to some things that were explained far too animatedly for me to understand. Thank you all reviewers, favourite-markers (just crossed 1k before this update) and followers. This is my last chapter for you.
CHAPTER WARNING: PLEASE DO NOT EQUATE A LINGUISTIC/CULTURAL REFERENCE TO ANY SORT OF RELIGIOUS REFERENCE. MAJOR PART THAT I HAD FORGOTTEN TO PUT IN HAS BEEN ADDED. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
True to her nature, Hermione, the woman who had taken over the preparations for the final stage, had started in the one place her boyfriend would never think to look, so far as the preparations were concerned. This last part was very much a Neville Longbottom show, initially, before Harry would reprise the role of the executioner.
The first thing to do was to have every system in place. As much as she trusted Harry's assertion that there was no real reason why electronics didn't work or weren't used in magic-rich areas except for fear, she nevertheless required solid proof.
In other words, Sirius was once more required to be the load bearer. With Arthur Weasley in his official capacity in tow, and Mary Vaughn and the people from the firm she was apprenticing with along with them, the group could often be found testing the contraption, given the uninspiring name MEC-Pro-I. A good marketer its maker wasn't. Then again, most such appliances are so named.
As she had expected, there were problems with the whole thing. The blinking bulb was alright at Hogwarts, but the transformer used to step down the voltage bombed within seconds in the Alley. With the various production areas, and seemingly physics-defying forces in play, the poor thing died an early death as interference by the said forces, unimagined by and the unknown to the designers and makers destroyed it. It took over a month for them all to sort things out, including trying the things done for the electrical work at The Marauders' Place, and a partially successful attempt to make an inside out microwave oven prototype (in that the containment was aimed inwards to protect the appliances; they still had problems connecting the power to the thing though), before it worked.
It took close to a month and a half for that – a span of fifty days, in which even the alliance had made no progress at all. Disappointing didn't even begin to describe it. To be fair, the Cabinet Minister for Magic of the Republic of India had pointed out the same problem Hermione had. She had therefore suggested that if the British Magical Government was willing to use the test site for special weapons, help would be provided.
The idea was immediately scrapped. The non-magical politics, related to what was being referred to, were not favourable enough for Britain to take a stand either way. And that was even with only one person in the entire delegation on the British side having even the foggiest about what these special weapons were, as well as the completely bifurcated government for the two sides in the UK.
It was an impasse fraught with internal and international complications. The magicals had no intention of bringing the Voldemort problem to the notice of the muggles, even though there was no such requirement by the Houses of Potter and Longbottom. This meeting was therefore never mentioned by anyone to anyone – ever.
Once that was done, it was time to bring Neville in on to the idea. He marvelled at it. The idea was something that had once seemed mythical. But to see the simplicity converted him quite easily. From Luna, the reaction was a squeal. She could now access all those channels from the BBC.
Hermione was having the time of her life. It was thrilling. It was exciting for her. She was setting up something new, completely new. True, she had in no way contributed to the product or the idea. But administrating things or at least, given her age, pretending to do so, was her thing. In that she had found what she wanted to do eventually. She liked to decide and rule.
Friends they were. But they were all so...young. And even Hermione was not out of that.
In all the wondrous attempts to get the magic of electricity to the magical world, they all forgot that the real world was no model of nobility or innocence or whatever other so-called good qualities there were that got people killed. The magical world was never, had never been, and would never be more under flux than it would be then. Many a savvy prospector would gain. And there were people who could control exactly who could gain.
It was the last weekend for the Hogsmeade visit. The Dragon still flew over the village for the sake of appearances.
In reality, Lord Griffinheart was once again at the London Branch of Gringotts, working on a secret appointment that not even Ambassador-Designate Sirius Black knew about.
"Zu giritri ush (You are early)," observed Goldhaul. He, Biggem, Rubyclaw and Hightab were to convene in the former's office.
"Brokhthrakh khre Threnghi dezhu barutsh Mogral (secrecy and punctuality both help profits)," reasoned the human. "Brokhthrakh bori gruntre yanda ush. (Secrecy is currently more important.)"
"Kobursh ne groda (Can't deny that)," the goblin said with a smirk. "Grog?" he offered.
"Nark-groog, nere. Mirakhna gokhri Burongla striush, ekhtghri Threnghzinikh, okhursh makhthan. Eri Mirakhnari hakh jerndh ush. (Thank you, no. I prefer having my wits about with me, particularly while messing about with time. Besides, it is too strong for me)."
Goldhaul shrugged and poured another cup and drank it too. "Zunari rokh Tranghtharnth (to your success)," he toasted.
Griffinheart merely nodded.
At precisely eleven the other three entered the office.
"Pe Golgorath morishka sroth gorish (So eager for the kingdom?)?" asked Hightab with a faint air of amusement.
"Olgrafshuk khre Embodriandra Golgorath jarigdrasht sheudrukhush. Mirakhna etfodriush ne pe Rogalnu Brounkh, pe Hrenkthra, khre Threnghzinikh rokh grafshush. (Wastage and Hesitation destroy great Kingdoms. I can't afford to waste the blood of the enemies, the chance, and time)" replied Griffinheart with more than a bit of irritation. "Khre wigra Threnghzinikh grafplushush uth (And we are wasting time now)."
The Garnarukran threw back their heads and laughed. It was, like their language, a thoroughly unpleasant sound. Even their laughter around other humans was different.
Goldhaul retrieved several ledgers from his cupboard, along with a long scroll. Harry frowned at it and tapped it with a wand. "Othra, kone (Scroll, really)? Bori Glojh plush buth (Many pages are easier)."
"Tunda (true)," agreed Goldhaul. "Jave zu segladritush khre ungaldush (Have you selected and decided?"
"Utta (yes). Morndri kithshe jave Mirakhna (I have made a list)."
In spite of the beaked mouth and the fangs not especially lending themselves to a whistle,
Biggem managed it somehow. "Hutthi mlankush dedexi pandrungh arru zunari Khonghari (That makes thirty percent of all your Vaults)!"
"Dededrutxi (thirty-three)," corrected Harry. "Hutthi ush maba pe Knockturn Alley Document khre Anjoor Grikh/Jori Homarundnari. Herthi mlankush sebxi pandrungh mirakhnari Khonghari. (This is apart from the Knockturn Alley Document and the Family Coalition Purchase/Investment. That makes it seventy percent of my vault.)"
Rubyclaw, who had hitherto been completely silent, made his displeasure known. He switched from Glenskrad to English. It was a way of demonstrating that it rubbed the goblin the wrong way. "I don't like it at all. It's too risky."
"It aggrieves you enough to switch to English?" asked Harry with a raised brow.
Rubyclaw only nodded with a severe look on his face.
"I can't and won't deny that. It is risky. However, this corners about forty percent of the Enchanting markets. This is something I have patents lined up for – something I have created myself."
"Zu jave (You have)?"
"Utta. Mirakhna frosush kobursh. Ne Gongor jip Glenskrad mirakhna hungush kobursh oriprush par. (Yes. I can explain. There are no words I know in Glenskrad that can describe, though.)"
"Well, tell us in English then."
"I managed to convert magic into electricity."
"That thing that powers muggle things," Goldhaul reminded his fellows. "So?"
"So? So now I am going to devote a part of that market share for magic-electric combination devices and appliances! I am putting that Wizarding Wireless out of business with live telecasts of Quidditch matches. Just telecast rights are massive businesses by themselves! If this is played right, the investment gives returns in millions of galleons!"
"I have heard that before Griffinheart. I have heard that often enough in my time funding non-magical artistes."
"They needed a good enough show Goldhaul. We already have that waiting to be shown."
"You already planned it?"
"We have been planning it all year, Biggem."
"What is it? A play, film?" he asked.
"We are playing what the mob wants, Biggem. The mob is a bloodthirsty entity, made up of so-called civil people. We will present to them the Death of Voldemort." He then uttered the words that every media-person has uttered across time and space. "We'll show them what they want to see." As it was, there really was more than a bit of truth to that.
It made Goldhaul queasy. "They think we are bloodthirsty beasts, but such an opening show is morbid even for my tastes."
"The need to protect the kingdom by not wasting the enemy's blood," replied Potter with a slight grin.
"I doubt it will be agreeable to everyone. For one, he will be practically rendered a non-magical. You give a bad message whichever way you do it. If you don't kill him, he could still be an intrinsically horrible person to become a murderous criminal anyway. There's no getting out of this."
"That's why a statement of power is needed."
"There are other ways to show that. We will come to it later," Goldhaul said, deferring the matter for later.
"And thereafter?" prompted Rubyclaw.
"The idea is to promote it as a trial thing, gauge their response, and in the meantime, set up TV pubs, as not everyone will want to buy a TV at first."
"TV pubs...like the non-magicals have for football."
"Yes. Each game will have a ticket – say two galleons. As such, match viewership will increase. With even a quarter of the profits shared with the league itself, the game would change. And there's the point of having several different company names and becoming kit sponsors. It's new even in the new English Premier League. Diversify to other countries, and we get more customers, wider visibility and a veritable empire. And all that will be without the revenue from the food and drink."
"Then what's the point of having nearly a tenth of all the revenue under one aegis directly or indirectly."
"We practically destroy competition, don't we? We keep them around to ensure there are no monopolisation charges, but corner the supply chain to keep them down – as Hermione said. This corners the manufacturing market too."
"I still have my reservations against this – the chief being that the magical outreach is simply not large enough for this to work. Magical humans simply don't have that large a population." He shrugged. "If you are dead set upon this course of action, I cannot order you otherwise. It is your money after all."
This pegged Harry back quite a bit. Rubyclaw was evidently the one taking a slightly pessimistic-realistic stand. So he backed down. "I do believe it is necessary. But I don't think I am so foolish as to discount any of your advice, especially since this was supposed to be the first phase towards building an industrial conglomerate with a view to the impending population boom, and I intended to have Hightab become the vault manager for it, with the rest of you on the board."
"That puts two things up," spoke up Hightab. "I know what happened to the Peverell House, and I am not even going there. Dumbledore cost me a practically dead House anyway, though the glory of raising it back from the dead would have been unparalleled. This chance is great. But I have to ask: a population boom?"
"Didn't it happen back in the 1950s and 1960s?"
"It did, but not so much really," answered Hightab.
"Was it because a lot many newbloods decided to leave there shores or at least magic?"
"We know of at least six thousand people leaving Britain, so it might not be untrue. But magical populations have never grown spectacularly."
"So there can't really be a forecast, and we can't exactly ask people to have more babies."
"Yes. I am not saying that this will never work, but my conservative guess for the idea to take hold would be three years. Optimistically, I'd say two."
"Oh."
"However," started Rubyclaw, "getting this done by stages is a better option. My biggest concern is that twelve percent of the Enchantment Industry is taken up by the Wizarding Wireless sets. What could be gained by investing in their stock? Their manufacturing assets are dead inventory if you intend to crash that industry anyway. Purchasing physical assets after production stops and, instead of manufacturing these TVs, retailing them makes far more sense."
"It is obvious that I did not think it through."
"Quite."
"It was actually a point of necessity, to tell the truth. Voldemort's actual raw magical power needs to be sunk."
"That can still be done in other ways. Here and now I am tasked with ensuring that you don't lose money, and since I know you don't take offence if I call a spade a spade, therefore making me actually feel bad if I take money when you lose it, here it is. I think your plan is stupid, ill-prepared, and a complete lemon. I am only opposing the acquiring of dead, dying or killable businesses, as I said. The...hardware...part of the new business will not yield enough to make good profits, and even then, not fast enough. You will be killed in the volume. I doubt many will buy a set per person."
"So what other way can an electric power sink be employed here?"
"Look around you, Griffinheart. I have had one meeting in a non-magical bank once with a Mr. Tonbridge. They had air-conditioning, fans and computers and what-nots. Yet what struck me most was the love they have for well-lit rooms for deals. I will even admit that our stone halls, or those of Hogwarts, seem entirely too dull and dreary. You don't have to manufacture everything – just adapt. Which brings us neatly to the question – how do you intend to get the electronics to run here?"
"A member of the vassalage was supported in that quest. They managed to make a completely non-magical protection gear for all devices."
"So that is the answer for you. Don't go after that market. Create a new one. As of now, we know that at least sixty percent of all magicals have non-magical antecedents – though the number may be wrong, which is something we need to immediately rectify. They will find this a huge opportunity. Get light to the magical world. Tube lights, white lights, everything. At a fraction of the cost, you will get much better returns. Then you can go after an Enchantments Market that will need to adapt to this new avenue."
"So append to existing resources to supplement possible cost escalation, change the industry to suit our needs and acquire assets?" Harry summarised.
"Precisely," agreed Rubyclaw. "Rewalka's blessings are with you, young Griffinheart, but you are not an Account Manager yet."
Harry blinked at the reference.
Rubyclaw grinned horribly.
Some things were better left untouched.
"Another way out," suggested Hightab, "is to own TV sets as you said and possibly come up with an alternative transmission system which doesn't require the electronic machinery and is easier to produce in lower volumes."
"That's easy, considering the mirrors we use. It's just a minor step up from there."
"Then instead of the satellite costs for TV transmission, you should use that."
"I think that I have gained a perspective of your problem, Griffinheart," Biggem spoke. "You are attempting to non-magicalise everything, so to speak. Not everything needs or has such a solution."
"I can't deny that. Then again, I grew up in that world."
"Only a foolish Garnarukro would dismiss that world Unsgrongd (young Garnarukro), but at the end of the day you need balance," he remarked.
"Maybe a pair of channels for the alternative system will be enough to start with," Harry proposed. "It is intended that Luna, my sister by oath, would have the running and handling of the same, with it eventually being a gift in celebration of her matrimonial bliss when the time comes."
"There might be gift taxes involved."
"Aren't there always?"
"Not if you start it in her name, and transfer it at the appropriate time."
"With the profits being transferred to her," Goldhaul added.
"That works for me."
"You know, Griffinheart, you've now got the first failure as well – as far as your plans go that is. You came here half-baked you know. There is nobody here with any knowledge of media transmission and licensing." Rubyclaw narrowed his eyes. "Come back with a better plan and we'll see. We still get paid for this meeting you know."
Harry took that chastisement into his stride. This had been his "When my Account Manager hears of this..." moment.
"My apologies, Account Manager," he said in a low voice. "In my excitement and haste regarding the final resolution of the Voldemort problem, I was quite underprepared for this."
"Yes, but you now know what to do. Just don't become like other humans. You are rather agreeable."
"I think I do."
In the tent, as frustrations ran high, or in the aftermath of Dumbledore's death, Harry had been struck hard by failure. He had turned snappish, distant, and, in general, since there was not much grey matter being used in any case, ineffective.
And he had just faced a failure. It was, he would realise years later, something very normal in the corporate world. The R&D department was always putting up something new in type-2 businesses and it was almost always scrapped at the first shot. The only thing was that he had been shot down where his own money was concerned. And he couldn't even honestly say that he had tried his best.
He hadn't been much for pride before, but more than magic, which was something that had only been an addition for less than half his life, having something that could be called his own creation had engendered it in him somewhat. And that wasn't a bad thing, so long as it wasn't excessive. And he had just received a dent to his pride.
So he chose something better than his previous responses. He chose to hit back with better plans, accomplished ideas, and some degree of vengeance – not against the goblins of course.
Out came the Time Turner. And precisely one Dobby was called in. It was Harry's day of being scolded. "You is being mad," Dobby informed him, slipping from his well-learnt grammar. "And you is being becoming more madder if you is doing that."
"I know. But now there is something at stake. I need you to keep an eye on all me's Dobby."
Dobby gave him a most unimpressed look. He slowly reverted to the correct form of the language he had resorted to butchering. "Luna, I am calling her. Just don't do anything mad like meeting your various forms through time. Anything madder than you already are doing, that is."
The elf, if his ways were disconcerting for other humans, found this human disconcerting as well, when Harry grinned at him. Dobby popped away. The earlier they got Luna around, the better everything would be. Of the two people who could either dissuade or control his flights of impetuousness best, only she was in the castle still.
She duly arrived with her books and homework. "You do realise that there is a strong chance that you will end up either killing some temporal self of your own or go mad?"
"Yes."
"Good. Just thought you should know," she responded brightly. "If that happens, I will write your obituary. Please, I get to do that don't I? Please? I will make sure it is lengthy."
"You're having too much fun."
"I am allowed to do that. Nobody else gets to be as annoying as I can and still get away with it."
There was not one good argument against that which could hold water. "You are supposed to be a good little sister."
"You're adopted, Harry," she replied impudently. "I can say that, quite honestly. But then I am adopted too. I am, am I not? You did adopt me as a sister." Joking was not natural for Luna, who was often literal minded.
"Yes we have adopted each other," Harry confirmed, before he stuck his tongue out at her. "I wanted to give you a gift, but that can now wait for many years."
"A present!" squealed Luna. "What is it?"
"As I said, you were mean to me. I can wait for years to give it to you. You can't even wheedle it out of Hermione and Neville. They don't know."
Luna only smiled innocently at him. They paced outside the Room of Requirement and the door opened to reveal a ten roomed space. One room was where Luna sat studying and keeping an eye on things. The other nine were where eight of the nine Harrys would go berserk after the first half hour when the temporally constant Harry got a note from another Harry about an idea. One of them was the runner to the library, should the Room of Requirements actually reach its limits or if it was necessary to ask someone for help.
And berserk was the best word to describe things.
The first thing to be addressed as far as a broadcasting system went was capturing long image sequences and associated sounds. There was obviously one person who'd immediately be called up for that.
As far as unquestioning loyalty and willingness to help went, Colin Creevey was right up there with house-elves. He probably wouldn't even complain if he was used as a guinea pig for some experiment. He would probably ask to have photographs of everything. Perhaps he could do something like William Stryker and turn Colin into...? No. It would be a catastrophic waste of Adamantium if it was found in real life.
Harry-1 (the one in that first room, for reference) shook his head. He was wasting valuable time. He would return to the Colin Conundrum later. He simply explained that he was trying to create a camcorder for the magical side, and Colin was ready to help anyway he could.
One perplexed looking Colin Creevey with his magical camera was deposited into the room. It was dismantled (after all, he was practically a photography savant). Colin showed how it worked, and with the help of the user's-and-repairer's manual, it was deconstructed, decoded, understood and then rebuilt. If the whole six hours of time that it took for the whole process perplexed the poor boy, he didn't show it. By the end of the six hours, he had mostly lost his hero-worship (after hearing less than half the random pearls of ideas and surviving through the resulting mental images) and was very much out of his shell.
It was simple. The flash of the camera was normal and timed for two second. The shutter actually worked on the principle of tolerance and attenuating switch jitter. It took in both exposure and the magic from those being photographed to augment the light changes for the moving images. This meant that it took hundred stills for the exposure to diminish to 'poor' and all the magic drawn in was used up in that time period. A kind of space and matter compression potion was applied during the development process – essentially the inverse of the thing Hermione had used on her beaded bag fused the hundred film portions into one. The rest of the camera was practically the same.
The camera, which, without contact by magical materials or spells, managed to draw magic from others, was among the most powerful enchanted objects available.
While Harry didn't exactly know this, the pictures taken by the Magical Cameras were essentially what the non-magicals called the .gif format, which was first revealed in 1987. It was a sad testament to the lack of progress in magical technology. The moving single photographs were already available since the 1860's, and yet magic had not progressed to videography. It presented many problems.
The first problem with videography was storage. Magicals had no use for memory chips, seeing how they could remove and reinsert their memories and view them using pensieves at will. However, for broadcasting, a pensieve was useless. While the photographic films were alright for still cameras, for the .gif, it was inefficient. There was no need to add that for an actual video, it would be infeasible.
The closest thing that came to it was the Omnioculars. They were limited in their scope as far as time went – barely five second. Also, there was no way in which the event could be shared. It was a big challenge.
"I think I understand how you want it," the younger boy said after he had heard it all. "My cousin's a programmer. He told me something about the FIFO and LIFO storage systems and stuff. We can arrange each frame."
"First in first out, yes. But it needs something to go inside see."
"Yes, I do understand. But movie cameras have film rolls. That can be adapted directly."
"It's unwieldy for personal use. We do need something like a chip."
"How? We don't have anything resembling bits."
"Lumos and Nox?"
"We don't have the semiconductor thingies working here without being fried, even if we knew how to make them," Colin pointed out. "Why can't we just attach those pen-things to TVs?"
"The memories are like ectoplasm, mate. We might as well breed ghosts while we are at it."
That one sentence was enough for both to shudder. The idea of Helena Ravenclaw and Old Nick the Newly Neck-Cut going at it was...well...ahem.
"For the love of all that is holy," Colin murmured.
"I have stopped. I have."
A few minutes were spent warding away the spell of nausea.
"Maybe we could try a flip photo-book?" suggested Colin. "You know, perhaps make it more interactive, drawing the viewer into..."
"No. No. That sort of thing was what set the basilisk last year."
Colin dropped the idea like a bad job.
"There has to be something!" the older boy grumbled as he paced.
"Maybe we could, you know, freeze the memories?"
Harry wrinkled his nose and withdrew a meaningless memory on his wand. The silvery, transparent, thick fluid goo around the wand... "Tell me what the first thing is that you'd think of when you see this," he challenged.
It took a few moments for both to collect themselves.
"Isn't there anything that the magicals have that isn't in some way disgusting?"
"For every ten nice things we find, we get a hundred of this kind."
"I just hope they never send you out to help introduce muggleborns..."
"Say newbloods, Colin. It's the first step towards eventually destroying all three words."
"Well, alright, newbloods; I am just saying that they should never send you out to do the job. You will keep more people away by telling the most disgusting truths."
"Set aside by itself, one could almost mistake that thing for gelatine, you know."
"That rather proves his point, Harry," cut in Luna. She had come in to check up on them. "It's lunchtime you know." She then saw the memory glistening from Harry's wand. "Your wand is dripping, Harry," she observed.
The boys couldn't take it. They started whimpering.
"By the way, what do you think of my Spectrespecs?" she asked, donning the large things. "They help protect people from Wrackspurts by making them visible to the naked eye."
Colin was sure that he was a friend of Harry, but not enough to make fun of or to scoff at Luna. Marietta Edgecomb still shrieked if someone made so much as a 'woof' around her. There was never any manner in which any incident was traced back to him, but everyone knew that he had done something. Several Ravenclaws had developed a crippling fear of just being around the girl. So he just settled for a polite, "What are Wrackspurts?"
"They are creatures that make people's brains go fuzzy. They also prevent people from looking at things in other ways as well as focusing on memories." She smiled sweetly at Harry. He blinked at her dumbly. So much for the hint, then, she decided. "Let's get to lunch."
She would at least have fun watching him eat enough for nine of him, all the while trying to explain how he was there while he was supposed to be in Hogsmeade. Her wish was unfulfilled. Strong disillusionment and notice-me-not charms meant no student saw him. As such, only Minerva, who oversaw the school while Dumbledore kept watch from his tower, recognised the charms and then realised who it was that had done it. Her lips pursed into a thin line.
"She is going to scold him," Luna giggled quietly. That was fun as well, sometimes.
It took a whole ten minutes of lunch before Harry took the hint. It amused the girl to no end, watching the dawn of realisation.
"Luna! Luna! Lunalunalunalunaluna..." he chanted in a whisper as he looked at in awe. Obviously he hadn't yet reached the articulation stage.
"I am aware that that is my name," she replied simply, before slipping the Spectrespecs on again. "Do you have Wrackspurts again? Are you having trouble remembering my name? It doesn't look like that."
"I want your Spectrespecs."
"I have a pair for you," she answered, handing him another of those things. They might be useful, but they were still aesthetic monstrosities. Nobody would buy them as they were.
"If I whine, will you give me your pair?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Bad Luna!"
"No."
Even pouting, puppy-dog faces didn't work. Not even a slobbery lick by and the frantically wagging tail of a real pup which was furrier than her Krupp, Golem (Luna loved puppies; who doesn't?), worked, apart from a good scratch to his side and muzzle, and being passed some chicken. So he had to take the pair she handed him.
To say his view of the world changed was an understatement.
True to Luna's words, the Spectrespecs actually helped to focus on something, anything with frightening intensity. In terms of a familiar reference, it was as good as being invaded by a Legillimancer of at least Voldemort's quality. That was how good the Spectrespecs were.
"Will you teach me to make one?"
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Improve the design to include a couple of things, and then register a patent for House Lovegood?"
"With House Slytherin since you will be modifying heavily?" she countered.
"If you say so," he agreed. This was all going to be hers anyway.
"And you will teach me to be an animagus."
"Same answer I gave Hermione..." he started, and then blinked as the Spectrespecs focused all his concentration onto the problem of ensuring that he never encountered the problem. He just had to confound himself to believe they were clothed long enough for them to wear some clothes. "Oh. Done. Why didn't anybody tell me to do this?"
"Nobody else thought of it either." She stared at him as he wore the large glasses. "You know, the Spectrespecs make one feel stupider than one is."
"I am not stupid!"
"It was a general statement. Don't you know your pronouns?"
Luna had to have that last word, and Harry decided to cut his losses.
The Spectrespecs were scarily wonderful things. It was a masterful object showcasing charm work. The bases were the Legillimency Charm, Compulsion Charm, a modification of the charm used to modify memories which extracted the memories, and something that people dabbling in search engines would know – weighted searches, and a way to detect the response intent, affirmative or negative.
If one thinks of anything, say a particular book, the various keywords or key ideas would be the title, probably the book's cover and such, the subject matter, the author's name and other such facts. That would be the factual memory. Then there would be the memory cues born from either emotional responses, such as a friend losing herself in her reading, or sensory memory such as the memory of squinting at very small print, or a combination of both, such as the crisp scent of new books which can make most people happy, or the sheer contentment of sitting in a warm chair in front of a crackling fire on a winter morning with a hot beverage.
All of that would spring from many tangential memory cues, as even the smallest part of a memory can remind one of other things. Memories are complex things.
But what the Spectrespecs did, essentially, was clear the neural pathways to focus on each cue. Unlike the many things sold during the OWL and NEWT examination times, this was a real concentration aid. It just grabbed each referenced memory and brought it fully into focus. It was only a few short steps from a pair of Spectrespecs to a true video camera, as the focused memory could be easily extracted.
This was not completely good. For example, if for a certain person, the idea of books is associated with his girlfriend, and if that someone was a teenage boy and therefore likely to...well, everyone knows what teenage boys think of for the most part. Just having a way to share and letting it be unchecked would expose the deepest fantasies to those with whom the video-sharing was opened. It needed a lot of work.
"I've got an idea!" he exclaimed all of a sudden, startling both Luna and Colin. And in a startling accurate imitation of Hermione, he rushed off to the Library, fully forgetting the Room of Requirement which could do just the same.
The same sources he had used when Sirius was contacted were brought out en masse. And they found a clutch of charms that could be used before running into the next problem. There simply wasn't enough Arithmancy known that the job could be done without help. Charms being non-matter magic, their combinations needed a lot of work, and that was NEWT level stuff. They also needed to be renewed periodically. So it was back to Runes and heavy inspiration from Scott Summers' protective eyewear.
Four hours later, a pair of completely unwieldy glasses with a very heavy and thick frame, were ready. They were able to do everything the Spectrespecs were able to do, technically. It was augmented by the discovery (or rediscovery) of the runic bit – the lock rune. When placed at the start of any sequence, depending on whether or not it was "locked" it worked as a '1' or a '0'. So it was easy to use it with much the same logic as that of a computer program. This allowed the 'Looking Thing' to have a zoom function, memory selectivity and retrieval (in the Spectrespecs mode after selection; there was an attached test-tube-like thing). Sharing of the memory through (obviously) the Protean Charm and its connector symbol also was now possible.
Creating a new thing is not easy as it seems. It is unappreciated if people are unaware of the months lost trying to find things that exist and understanding how they work and the scores of dropped plans and dud ideas. Most people only count the time taken by the last breakthrough.
"We need to demonstrate this..." Colin excitedly started, but words failed him as far as the naming went.
"Bad-looking, highly-useful, bulky pair of not-Spectrespecs?" completed Luna, describing it completely and literally.
"Yes."
They spent the rest of the time grabbing videos of every place around Hogwarts, after slipping Harry-2 a note to add an interface if he could.
Harry-2 came into existence thirty minutes (the minimum amount of time that the Time Turner could turn) later. It was a Deus Ex Machina of epic proportions, he realised. If he already was wearing a time turner and then decided to go back to a time he was wearing a time turner, there would be two of him and the time turner as well. He wrote a note to Harry-1. Now if each temporal version of Harry that existed at a given time travelled back in time simultaneously, they were introducing many mountains into the time stream as it were, and destroying the safe use theory. In essence, unlike that time when they rescued Sirius, their past selves were also their future selves, perhaps, or at least the two coexisted and were communicating. Anyway, they were all versions of a time turned Harry, and he wasn't supposed to be real.
In other words, Harry intentionally destroyed his understanding of reality as it existed, so that a particular 'he' would not know whether or not he existed. If he did, then he made some concrete notes which were real. There was no way anymore to know which Harry's future self or past self he was. If he didn't, he would still remember doing something like that and remember it anyway.
The good part was that the first Harry – the Dragon – would be the only one to exist at the end of the day. One Dragon and 'n' others would be awkward. He was sure that not even Hermione or Sirius could stand more than five of him, though the latter would be over the moon just imagining the amount of trouble his godson could get into, probably with far too many alibis.
Of course, one of the Harry's had to trust this, because the one who was the dragon had turned back in time to go to Gringotts and was now Harry-1, but he had already lived through the whole thing.
Years later, this landmark day of confusion would be renamed the Inception Day instead of Invention Day after the Christopher Nolan film, as the lone surviving Harry at the end of the day was required to believe that everything was real and he was real.
Harry-2, on his part, decided that he would do the transmitting, once Dobby had come with a note from Harry-1 about what he was doing.
As things stood, there already was a unidirectional transmission system existent – Dumbledore's Hogsmeade Monitor. However, it had both limited coverage scope and it also needed to be expanded for public broadcasting.
The solution, as compared to the 'Looking Thing' was pitifully simple. Repeaters, just as they are in wireless communications. All it took was enchanting things as they were on the mirrors, something that Sirius had since taught him to make. Two birds in tandem with their respective monitors would simulate the stereo vision. The monitors would be mounted on a plate, the linked backside of which would work on the principle of the mirrors' transmission. This increased signal fidelity, really. It was only then that the need for checking the signal just before the last point occurred. Transmission losses occur everywhere along the line.
So this Harry had to reverse the process of videography to take samples. It was a good thing that the video storing thing was now in place. It was not the job of one person. Two of the multitudinous Harrys came over to help.
"Which one are you?"
"Who cares? We already know we are doing something like this, so we already know that we will meet ourselves several times over."
"Fair enough," muttered the first. "That Looking Thing is the starting point."
"Along with the camera," reminded the third.
"And how should the correlation be?"
"Computers use colours."
"So Colour identification with a microscopic lock rune?"
"Size?"
"As small as possible."
"That's stupid."
"As small as we can possibly shrink the combination?"
"How small?"
"Let's try."
It was a good first try. But it was also a spectacular failure. None of the Harrys knew how the RGB thingy worked. Their colour dictionary consisted of the twelve colours available in the basic crayon box.
The problem was that they were assuming the theoretically known things – without any idea about the background work regarding setting up the antennae, for that was what the things effectively were. They might as well have been inventing the stone wheel for all the sophistication that was imagined for the most pessimistic cases – again, in spite of the Garnarukran reprimand about non-magicalising everything. Leylines, magic rich structures were what caused the interference. But as a start, it was decent. More than Rome was being built in a day. It would be improved over years.
Now they were not actual engineers, and they had not exactly read so much as to actually know things. So this went into the 'ask for help' bin. There really was no true long distance transmission. The mirrors worked, but that was probably because they were a closed network consisting of eight mirrors, and even they were not all connected to each of the other seven. Magic helped the trade-off.
So, eventually, they just settled for increasing the range.
Twelve years later, Media Mogul Luna and Bathsheba Babbling brought forth the coded magical message transmission before expanding the same to include protected signals from non-magical sources, thereby bringing the TV to every magical home.
People praised the advent of communication technologies. Most people assumed that entertainment and the message that the shows gave helped reform beliefs and foster lasting peace and brotherhood. That was hippogriff dung.
Far too many people wasted their time glued to the thing or discussing about the shows to harbour thoughts of becoming a Dark Lord or Lady.
The rest of the Harrys were on call, and therefore since they had nothing better to do, they had the little problem of Voldemort to consider.
One of the best and worst things in any project is the group work. If the people click together, sparks fly, and wonders happen. If people don't click together, sparks fly, and people keep wondering what might happen. In a group of many ones, it was rather difficult to not get along with another one of the same. And many minds of the same mind were thinking on several parallel tracks, and each other mind was instantly be to keep track. The crowd was the company of many ones which were in a manner indistinct.
Electricity would come. But as it stood, it needed a lot to go from proven possibility to production. In other words, he didn't know the smallest bit about it.
There was a weird moment when there was contemplation about building a single passenger capsule and launch him off into space. But then all the pesky physics stuff would come into picture. It was again a matter of not knowing enough, and not having enough time to know it.
Plus, matters originating on Earth should be dealt with on Earth. There was no need to dump garbage into space, even though at the rate that it was created and would continue to be created, would eventually require that solution about a century later. Moreover, beyond just a technomantic gimmick, it would not mean much in the long run, when, as with all technology, it got adapted for commercial use.
The magic of Voldemort had to be used up for something meaningful. It had to be a message, and the message had to be immortal. Voldemort – Tom Riddle – had symbolised Death to thousands of people. But his magic had not been bestowed upon him for that – it was not bestowed upon anyone for that. Magic was supposed to be for a higher purpose, to find that which those without it could not, and to cooperate and grow in harmony with those things that magic could not accomplish.
It was beauty. And it was life.
And in that was the answer hidden.
When it came to one of them, the answer seemed so absurdly simple, that it was almost dismissed out of hand.
"That's rather brilliant!" exclaimed one of the others. "It solves all the problems!"
"All? How does it solve the problem of wind and fire?"
"It's not wind, really, is it? It is air!"
"Ah, yes of course! But fire?"
"We will call in a few materials through the ministry, such that I am pretty sure that the prospective sources will be probably very happy for us to take of their hands."
"And so will burn the flame of life!"
"Quite so indeed."
It was written down. The room duly provided a map of England and of the old Death Eater properties. There was the Malfoy Manor, the Carrows' place and several more such places. There were also a few known abandoned small industrial sites. And then there was of course space in both the Diagon and Knockturn Alleys.
Some places were close to abandoned coal mines. Some were close to other areas of interest. There would be quite a bit of work needed, but if this worked, the death of Tom Riddle would work to perpetuate life.
And that would be the greatest gift of all.
A list of requirements, a bunch of sources, a note Neville, another to Professor Sprout, and one Harry running off and returning from the Library later, the groundwork was done.
So it was put in front of Luna for her to judge.
She looked through it thoroughly, looking at the maps, making a small correction here and there. But it was all done with a growing smile on her face. When she was finally done, she gave off a big, big smile. She then hugged him hard.
"Sometimes I fear you might end up doing the wrong things. And then you pull out something like this, and that tells me that I have the best big brother ever!"
It was all proceeding like any project. The sheer number of about-turns and back-and-forth, iterative, dropped plans would drive most people mad. Sirius said as much when he was told of the inability for the Riddle-Electric project to start by the Solstice. And just like in any project, there is sometimes a light at the end of the tunnel, particularly when one is expecting a train.
Exactly a week after the day of many Harrys, a very unexpected, but as it turned out a very welcome pair of guests turned up to meet Harry and Sirius in Dumbledore's office – because it was the most convenient place to do so.
One of the people was known – it was Shri-Kulapati Patil, the father of the Patil twins, Parvati and Padma. He however, shuffled in the background, as a very small, old, crumpled man dwarfed everyone else in the room. He seemed as benign as a lotus in a pond, yet, however, he seemed a reservoir of power, wisdom and knowledge so ancient, that it was enough to intimidate anyone. As it was, it was very obvious that Dumbledore too had not dared to sit, as he looked upon the fair, green-eyed, saffron-clad man (who was taking in the sights of Hogwarts with just a smile) with such respect that people doubted he was capable of according to anyone. The two younger men just stood transfixed in bewilderment, unsure what to do.
Thankfully, Mr. Patil gestured frantically at the two to join their palms and bow in greeting.
It was then that the man's expression changed. He gave the two a look that went beyond the piercing look that the Headmaster used when he seemed to try and intimidate someone or as a mask for his Legillimency. This was neither. It was a feeling of being judged. Somehow, being deemed not worthy by this person would seem like a devastating failure. The man just smiled again. He beckoned to Mr. Patil who came forward and stood a little behind the man deferentially, and said something to him in the ancient tongue, thought to be dead in daily use. Then again the same was thought of Latin.
"He says that you are in equal parts human, demon and divine as all are supposed to be, though the last has been suppressed a lot. You have done things both good and bad, with intentions of great purity to those of great cruelty. And you have sought to embrace both, an attempt that will end in disaster. He advises that you learn to control the unsavoury part of your nature, for it has the ability to overshadow what good you can do, sullying the great gift you were given," the Wizengamot member informed the teenager.
To Sirius, there was another message. "You have yet to know what you are and what you were. In the gift given to the child, you were given the greater gift of life. Use it well. Your paths take you farther, though how far that will be, is something only you can decide. This though you should know – the path of knowledge and peace will serve you better, as the child's father in heart. Chariots have horses and chariots have wheels, but it is the charioteer who has the ability to truly chart its course. The reins are in your hands, and in the hands of another. Know when this other has to be the charioteer and when you have to be the one. A dog is loyal. A dog also gathers straying flock."
Just a simple nod of their heads wouldn't have sufficed. The old man knew exactly who they were, what they had done and what the gift was. Unlike others, he knew what to do with the knowledge. So they joined their palms and bowed again. It wasn't the traditional way of paying obeisance, but it seemed to have passed muster for the time-being.
But then he turned to Dumbledore and continued, "You have been given a gift as well. You have the greatest gift anyone can have – freedom from regret. You yearn for a path that was never yours. Your time has passed. Revel in your freedom and in the forgiveness that is not always spoken. Do not wish for something that you will wish you had never wished for, my boy. Many paths have led you here. Those same paths could have corrupted you into something you would be ashamed of."
Dumbledore looked stricken for a moment. But even he knew to take the advice.
There was a moment of eternity, when the brick and stone and all the magic they thought they had known, was meaningless, as they ruminated over what they had been told.
Then the man laughed a clear laugh that would have suited Tom Bombadil, as he struck the ground with the end of what had seemed to be just an old, unadorned branch working as a walking stick, letting of a tone similar to bells that had Fawkes happily warbling. He then sat cross-legged on a rough cloth that appeared. It was obviously only functional. Sirius eyed that oddly. He received a toothless grin and some words, which Mr. Patil translated as, "There is never any need to waste magic on things that are unnecessary. A silken seat will seat me only as well as this cloth. It then serves no greater purpose."
Sirius flushed and nodded. The being, for calling him an old man, though true, was just thoroughly an incomplete description.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Lord..."
"Please. Please call me Harry only. This is not the place for my titles. I have been taught a lesson as Harry, and in the here and now that is what I ought to be."
"The same for me," both Sirius and Dumbledore agreed.
"Indeed. Albus, Harry, Sirius, it is my great honour to introduce you to Mahacharya, which means the Great Teacher. That is all we are allowed to call him. The Mahacharya is a legend in our country, older than Merlin, to compare with this country's records. They belong to a branch of magic that is tied to the very magic of life, nature and the very Universe, and hold no true adherence to any land, or people or anything else, bar those that need their help. It is said that the Mahacharya and his disciples, and the succeeding members of the branch brought magic to the subcontinent. The greatest honour was for him to come to us himself. It is rarer than rare. He ordered my brother-in-law to bring him here. I have not the slightest idea what it may be about."
Having experienced the same, there was little doubt that the legend was not a myth.
The man beckoned to Harry and patted the small seat that appeared next to him. It was set slightly higher. This was recognised as a test. If indeed the seat was taken, then the words Sirius had heard were not taken into account. By extrapolation, then, the advice he had received would not be headed either. So he simply took off his shoes and socks, and sat barefooted, facing the Great Teacher, his robes covering his feet, on the floor. He then placed his wand on the seat.
The Teacher smiled widely. In a voice more ancient than anything they had to compare, he spoke without opening his mouth, "A lesson applied is a lesson truly learnt. Respect this gift of magic. You have made many mistakes and stumbled many times. Any gift is never to be squandered. If it is abused, it must be bestowed on those more worthy. When your people came asking some time back, they had not yet realised the fact that magic cannot be simply released. It is an energy that must be put to use. The purer the use, the greater will its potency be.
"I have known of this great evil that your people have been troubled by. They fear the power that this evil wields, yet they do not stand against its true manifestation – the thought. It has been the bane for my people also. This means that they do not want to be helped. Then I knew of the blessing you received, and I saw you wasting it in fear of all that could be."
Harry almost opened his mouth to ask how, but then thought better of it.
"The Great Spirits talk to us, child, just as they do to the little girl you call a sister," the Teacher answered.
Harry simply nodded.
"I was not happy with what I saw then," the Teacher continued. "That which destroys the harmony and peace of the world must be remedied. Evil must be vanquished, destroyed. The bad must be punished. There is that difference that you did not see – not until seven days ago. You were trying to use the magic of your enemy to punish him, and to kill.
"Tell me, child, do you wish to harm this enemy once you had done that? Do you wish to seek revenge, after he was rendered without magic?"
When it was put that way, the idea made Harry wince in shame. What difference would be left between him and Voldemort, if he did, as he wished, kill Voldemort in the most painful way possible, when he was powerless and essentially a mundane?
"I never thought of it that way."
"Do you still wish to do so?"
"No." It was with complete clarity. "I don't know whether you will believe me, but truly, no."
"I do. You had already veered from that course when you realised that you had to accomplish magic's true purpose. You have chosen to divert the magic onto the path of new life. As I said, I have been watching. I knew when your thoughts changed, even though you hadn't realised that they had. It was when I knew it was time to help. The Great Spirits of the Universe, or as you call them, the elements, will be requested for their help. We can only pray that they acquiesce."
A sigh of relief was released by everyone in the room.
"Thank you, Mahacharya."
"Something troubles you still, my child."
"Yes," admitted Harry. There was nothing to hide. "All along, it has been expected that I should shoulder this burden. This I have borne. It will be expected again. I do not want that."
"The secret to not bearing unwanted burdens is to not think of them as such, child. It is a fact people routinely forget. You shall be nurtured and protected. Your ways might not be like Albus, but nurture and protect you will. So you should not make the mistake that he made. Remind the people of their duties and responsibilities. Initiate change. Don't force it. As I have learnt, nothing shames people more than learning from a child." As he said so, a twinkle that far outstripped Dumbledore's glittered in his eyes. "Take care of your people, and your people, child. You will never think of all in the same manner, but it is not required from you."
The Teacher took his leave soon, after making arrangements to meet with them on the nineteenth of June. For the first time, the ones in the office had more answers than questions.
An internet cookie to anyone who recognises the solution. It was also the reason why I was absent. It was very rewarding. Few things in life are.
