XII. Sympathy
Today will mark one of the most important discoveries in Harry's trip to the stars. This story is so genuinely exciting to write and plan oh my gosh
"We what?" Mr. Weasley asked, his face paling.
"We fall. Downwards." Harry indicated down towards earth- which was admittedly a little harder to find when you were in zero gravity. Harry had turned off the engines- they weren't gonna get any more power out of the engines at this point, leaving them completely without a reference point, a direction to call down without actually checking to find Earth.
"And crash?"
"Hopefully not- we'll just use the engines to stop." Harry shrugged. "But we've got a bit till then- for now we can just enjoy the zero-g." With a grin, Harry got out of his seat and floated- there wasn't a ton of room to be drifting around, but it was enough to get the feeling. And what a feeling it was!
Harry couldn't help but laugh as he rose form his seat and gave himself a bit of a spin, and for a few moments he just spiraled through the air of the cabin. Sure, he eventually bounced into something- the spaceship was a little too small not too- but he was curious if he could eventually make something a little bigger, with space to exercise. Somewhere really massive, hopefully.
He was almost tempted to take out his wand- would the Trace even apply up here, so high up above England, if they were even above it anymore? Sirius beat him to the punch though, pulling out his wand and conjuring a little stream of water, which flew through the air, as straight as an arrow, before striking the wall of the ship. Of course, the water did not stream to the floor (without gravity the floor was little more than another surface), but instead bounced off, dozens of little droplets floating in the air, shimmering like the stars which dotted the skies outside of the ship.
Harry had to fight the urge to start testing everything he could think, or maybe even start taking notes; he'd probably need a normal pen, he couldn't imagine inkwells would work well in zero gravity. Unfortunately, they were working on a limited time scale: Harry could already see on the altimeter that their ascent was beginning to slow. For a single moment they would be at standstill, hovering miles above the earth's surface, before they fell.
Still, they had a bit of time, so if he stole a few awestruck glances out of the window between checking to make sure everything was functioning fine… well, there was no harm in that, now was there?
Admittedly, Harry was a little worried about reentry, as things would be… unfortunate if that didn't work out. Still, there wasn't much he could do other than make sure the engines were tucked in- so they didn't get melted- and try to orient the ship in a way that would hopefully keep them from tumbling end over end or something silly like that- the heatshield would be of approximately zero use if it wasn't between them and the heat, after all.
Sirius and Mr. Weasley seemed to have caught onto his worried mood- Mr. Weasley was gripping his wand so tightly that his hand was white. Maybe he could do that that teleportation trick that some wizards could do? Seemed like a real feat, especially if it could be used to say, teleport to space stations or something.
Harry shook his head. Focus! He calmed his breathing and looked out the window, watching the great whisps of something- plasma, maybe?- which glowed brilliantly as it passed them by. Sirius was watching with interest too- it was definitely a novel sight, the sort of thing that stunned you into silence even with the threat of immolation souring your mood.
On the bright side, even if everything went horribly wrong, Harry would have a decent claim on fastest wizard ever- unless you counted apparition?- which had to be worth something. Mr. Weasley wrapped a hand around Harry's arm as they plummeted, the drag pushing them into the seat with a force that was even greater than normal gravity.
Even when the air around the ship was no longer glowing, the force pushing them into their seats didn't let up, especially after Harry fired up the engines. Thankfully, the engines did not melt during reentry, so they got to enjoy the experience of being pushed into their seats as Harry watched their descent, their fall slowing.
As their altitude fell into the double digits, Harry got them descending relatively slowly, so that they would hit the surface at a speed that hopefully wouldn't be too jarring- before they splashed down, and immediately started sinking into the chop.
"We're sinking." Sirius commented, looking out the window, where the the sky was quickly swallowed by sea water.
Harry stayed calm and collected, before immediately pushing the engines up to max- sending Mr. Weasley tumbling down to the floor as Sirius gripped the side of the ship. Thankfully, they escaped the water, as Harry wasn't entirely sure that his runes would work out well underwater. It just wasn't something that Harry had expected in space, but kind of obvious considering how much of the planet was water (and the fact that Britain was famously surrounded by water in every direction).
After a moment they went into a bit of a hover, which let them swing the door open to look out over the sea, which expanded to the horizon in every direction.
"You wouldn't happen to know any navigation spells, Mr. Weasley?"
Flying home to the Burrow was fairly unremarkable- Harry followed Mr. Weasley's directions, and after a few fairly boring hours of babysitting the thing's speed so it wouldn't tear its way through a forest when they tried to land, they returned to the clearing they launched from intact. It was honestly a pretty fun trip, but there was an unfortunate fact: Mr. Weasley didn't have the time to spare to be doing this very often, and Sirius… well, Sirius had enthusiasm, but he didn't have a wand.
Harry wanted Sirius to have a wand, for rather obvious reasons, as it would mean he had a magical adult who could help him pursue his projects full time, even if they had to work around the Trace. Of course, there was the problem of where they could reasonably acquire a wand.
Sure, they might be able to say, pilfer a wand from some unknowing wizard, but that might draw some unwanted attention onto Sirius, who was, according to the government, dead. Technically, he was no longer viewed as a mass murder and was no longer subject to kiss on sight rules, but he was an unregistered animagus, and they would be sure to ask him all about it- and what he did after his escape- if they got him in court.
Ideally, for the best possible wand, they would go straight to the source in Ollivander, who would probably be able to provide one of passable quality- Harry wasn't sure what his policy on repeat orders was, or if two separate wands could pick the same wizard… but maybe the Sirius who left Azkaban was sufficiently different to the one that entered that some other wand would call him? Who knew, Harry wasn't a wand scientist.
Harry had already started cooking up an elaborate scheme to get them into Ollivander's that involved disguises and subterfuge, and went to Sirius to get some more ideas. "So… what do you think about getting a wand, Sirius? So we can do stuff without getting Mr. Weasley's help?"
"I can grab one from Grimmauld Place," Sirius did not seem particularly excited about that.
"Grimmauld Place?"
"My family's home- the problem is that Cissy might be there…"
"Cissy?"
"My cousin." Sirius sighed. "You probably don't know her, she's married to Malfoy..."
For some reason, the first thought that came to mind was Draco being married to a woman that had to be several years his senior, although Harry quickly realized it was probably more likely that Narcissa was Draco's mom or maybe an aunt. A bit more mental processing led Harry to a worrying conclusion.
"Everyone's going to think that she's the proper owner of the place, right?"
"Yep." Sirius groaned. "Malfoy's probably snatched up most of the stuff, but hopefully he didn't feel the need to grab the wands or all of the books."
"The books?" Harry was interested, definitely- who didn't want more books? He supposed he couldn't begrudge the Malfoys gathering more knowledge...
"Most families have a few books they keep hidden to themselves- keeping some secret magic up your sleeves gives you an edge." Well, gathering magic to keep it hidden kind of sucked.
"Do the Potters have magic like that? What's it like?" Harry was curious- and he almost wanted to share it. Sure, it was the ancestral legacy of his family or something like that, but if it wasn't combat oriented and had actual utility, why wouldn't he share it far and wide?
"Probably, and I wouldn't know- the Potters weren't quite generous enough to share that." Sirius chuckled. "Maybe it's just some books on pottery?"
"Or maybe it would be something cool."
"Hey, who says pottery isn't cool?"
"I mean, it just sounds a little plain?"
"Magic surprises you sometimes- there are a fair number of books in the Black library about carpentry, if you'd believe it."
"Carpentry?"
"Yup." Sirius popped the 'p'. "Back in the day, we made our fortune crafting cabinets and doors and such- magical, of course."
"What does a magic door even do- close behind you?" The muggles had automatic doors for decades at this point, didn't they?
"Oh, anyone with a few years of charms can do that, but Black family magic is sympathetic."
"Sympathetic?"
"I'll talk about it when we get there." Sirius grinned. "I think you'll like it."
Number 12 Grimmauld Place was smack dab in London, hidden away from more… mundane individuals by means of magic, because of course it was. Apparently, the average person thought it was just a strange quirk of the neighborhood that the houses skipped straight from 11 to 13, which Harry had to admit was an interesting use of magic, hiding something in plain sight.
They marched up to the doorstep, but Sirius stopped Harry before he could touch the door. "I need you to stay here for a bit, Harry- I need to open up the wards so you can come in. Be sure to stay on the doorstep- the spells that make muggles avoid the house extend to there."
While Sirius went inside, Harry watched people walk by- not many, because it was pretty late, but the occasional person did appear, and they all walked by him, not even sending him a sideways glance, not seeming to notice that the house was there at all. Admittedly, it was a pretty small thing- in fact, a lot of people probably wished their house was invisible to everyone but them- but it certainly wasn't the most important thing magic was hiding. How much better would these people's lives be if wizards could just…
The door opened behind him, and Harry nearly jumped of the doorstep, barely managing not to pop out of nowhere directly in front of a muggle. Turning, he saw Sirius with a weary grin on his face. "Come on inside, to the ancestral home of House Black!"
Harry was surprised to hear shouting when he entered: the voice of someone female, and someone who was very irate. "Who's that? Is someone here? Is it Narcissa?"
"I wish." Sirius said. "It's my mother. Well, a painting of her."
"Can I talk to her?"
"You wouldn't like her."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "I mean, how bad could she be?"
"Very." Harry gave him a questioning look. "The painting's just as much of a bigot as the genuine article was."
There was a popping noise and a house elf appeared- although Harry noticed it was notably older than Dobby- and it immediately leapt to the defense of Sirius' mother. Presumably, this was the Black house elf, although Sirius certainly didn't seem to think of him as a helpful household assistant.
"Kreacher…" Sirius let out a groan, and it took Harry a second to realize that was probably the name of the house elf, and not just a groan of general agony.
"Master Sirius…" The elf grumbled, sounding particularly resentful. Apparently, not all house elves were completely content- interesting. Well he supposed that Dobby was already proof of that, kind of? Still, how widespread was this discontent?
Sirius gave Harry something like a tour, his commentary interspersed with orders to Kreacher, telling him to shut up, go away, or similar- Harry was almost tempted to defend him, but Kreacher was more than happy to send vitriolic glares his way as well. The first stop was a sort of basement like room- it seemed like it had once been used as a sort of general storage, which had only been reopened recently. There were clear footprints in the dust that covered the floor, and the sharp outlines where boxes and crates might have sat once.
It seemed like a majority of the room's contents had been taken, and Sirius frowned at first, at least until he spotted a pile of small, narrow boxes in the room's corner. Harry followed- the boxes were elegant, made of some dark wood (ebony?) with intricate inlays in silver, each box with a tidy label, listing a name, the dimensions of whatever was inside (presumably, a wand), the wood, the core type, and a general impression of 'temperament'.
Harry couldn't bring himself to say anything as Sirius knelt down and picked through the boxes, occasionally pulling out a wand to wave around for a moment- he stared at a box labeled Orion Black for a long, quiet moment before setting it to the side- before eventually picking one near the bottom of the stack.
The label was faint and faded, the name practically illegible, but the core was of dragon heartstring and the wood was live oak- opening the box revealed a distinctively curved wand, to the point where it almost looked like an old fashioned pistol, and fittingly enough it let out a spray of brilliant orange and red sparks when Sirius lifted it.
Sirius chuckled. "Oh, this'll do nicely." He stood up, wiped a bit of dust off his robes, and smiled. "Let's see what we scrounge up around here, huh?"
Sirius had spent some time looking through the library and gathering the books that hadn't been taken already- Harry was admittedly a little unsettled by a half empty library. It was sad, in addition to making him wonder what sorts of books Lucius Malfoy or Narcissa decided were worth taking. Of course, he focused on finding a certain type of book.
"Sympathetic magic focuses on linking two objects- in which two similar objects can effect each other. Effigies or poppets- although I suppose you might be familiar with the idea of a voodoo doll?"
"I think? The ones you stick pins in?"
"Curiously, they're not actually related to Haitian Vodou or Louisiana Voodoo- trying to screw over somebody else is pretty universal though." Sirius shrugged. "As long as humans have had magic, we've understood that basic symbolism: things done to one object will impact another."
"Why don't we learn about this in Hogwarts?"
"You don't learn about a lot of things in Hogwarts, and these books-" Sirius slapped the pile that he had gathered "-are a carefully guarded family secret."
"Could you share some of it with the public now? Would it be used?"
"Sweet Morgana, no- the stigma around some of the more suspect magic…" Sirius shuddered.
"Like what?"
"Suffice it to say, there are a number of things you can do to someone with sympathetic magic if you can get a drop of their blood… nasty, nasty stuff." Seeming to sense that he might be scaring Harry away from his family's magical tradition, he changed subject. "But all sorts of stuff can be done without getting into that messy blood nonsense- two way mirrors that let you communicate with someone over great distances, or Vanishing Cabinets…"
"Vanishing Cabinets?" Harry asked.
"Yeah- the Blacks used to produce them. Put something- or someone- in one closet, close the door, and voila, they're in the other closet!"
Harry's smile grew broad. "Perfect." His brow furrowed, and he scratched his chin. "Wait, if they're so useful, why aren't they used everywhere? Why even take a train to Hogwarts at all? Why floo?"
Sirius sighed. "Production's banned now- for good reason."
"What good reason?"
"Someone sneaks a cabinet into the house of some high and mighty pureblood lord when it's getting built, and uses the other cabinet to slip straight through the wards, slit the lord's throat, and steal all his stuff. That's the trick: they ignore wards."
"Oh." Harry gulped.
"Oh indeed." Sirius said. "The techniques are still here," he gestured towards a few of the books he had collected, "it's just illegal to make new ones. There are some floating around, I think- the sort of thing you search for when buying a property, apparently."
"Could you make more?"
Sirius scoffed. "Harry, you know that the production of these objects is a crime worthy of extraordinary punishment by the Ministry… of course I will!" He chuckled. "What do you want it for, anyways?"
"There are a lot of things we could do with that, when it came to space- we wouldn't even have to live on a ship full time." He chuckled. "What do you need to make one?"
"Preferably? A tree."
"An entire tree?" Harry sputtered. "Couldn't we just hop down to the the hardware store, grab a few planks?"
"No no no, that won't work- you can't guarantee that all the wood comes from the same tree, it's important for guaranteeing the sympathy. The best cabinets were made from the same tree- things don't get much more sympathetic than literally being part of the same object."
"So…"
"We go and cut down a tree." Sirus said. "Well, after we finish looking around here- we don't want to get caught, do we?"
It wasn't like finding a tree for their sympathetic magic project would be hard- the Weasleys lived near a great expanse of forest, and with the power of magical suitcases they could transport whatever lumber they found fairly easily, giving them a massive range. Or at least, that was the plan- Sirius was concerned about the Trace, and that meant he would go out to pick out an appropriate tree alone.
Harry did get to spectate as Sirius picked out a bunch of books on carpentry which Narcissa hadn't taken, and Harry would admit that there seemed to be spells for almost anything you needed (at least, for the needs of a chap from the 18th century). For an example of this surprising utility, there were a number of spells which circumvented metal parts- why use iron nails when you could reinforce a splinter of wood to be as strong as a nail, or even just meld the pieces together?
Hinges were a bit more of an issue, but spells for reducing friction existed- Harry took note of that, as it sounded way too fun not to mess with- meaning that the entire piece could be made of wood if you were determined enough. The major issue was the simple fact that Sirius wasn't a trained carpenter, even before getting sent to magical prison; however, Sirius would have plenty of time to look the books over, considering that they planned on stealing them- if such a term applied to items that belonged to the thief.
Sirius wanted to give the impression that Grimmauld Place had been robbed- which was possible, even if magical robbery required significant skills to break the wards. Honestly, it kind of seemed like an excuse on his part to go around wrecking the place, which was… understandable, considering the way Sirius seemed to feel about his family, if not perfectly justified. It was his stuff to ruin, after all. He also made sure to screw with the wards- they couldn't let the place be visible to muggles, but they could give the impression a ward breaker had gone wild.
Of course, a cover up also required removing witnesses, in the form of paintings- Harry had talked him down from doing anything stupid like burning them (still too close to murder for Harry's taste), but Sirius got a downright terrifying look in his eyes when Harry suggested stealing them away as well (totally not because Harry wanted to interview them about how they were made). When it came to the painting of Sirius' mother, who was stuck onto the wall with powerful magic, Sirius transfigured some horrifyingly ugly troll-leg umbrella stand into a sledgehammer and just removed that portion of the wall.
Harry found out that trying to start a conversation with Mrs. Black was downright impossible without her going on a massive rant, but the others were a little more open to conversation, if they were in the frame in the first place. It would really suck if Harry only had one painting of himself to work with, as he thought a kind of net consciousness between a number of them would be really cool.
Sirius had taken the liberty of hiding away the painting of that Phineas guy- the one who was apparently a headmaster- because it could apparently sell them out to Dumbledore. Harry pointed out there was no way Phineas just missed Sirius bungling around in Grimmauld Place, but he could agree that not giving Phineas too much information about their space adventures was probably a good idea.
If a few days passed and there was no big announcement in the papers about Sirius Black being alive- which Dumbledore certainly could have done if he felt the need to- Harry thought talking with the paintings would be safe. Of course, he'd keep his questions about the nature of paintings and magic that wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. (Could you memory charm a painting? Did it have a mind that those spells would recognize?)
It took a bit of time in 12 Grimmauld Place for Tom to realize something was up; admittedly, part of that was because of the urgency of the situation- depriving Narcissa, and through her, Lucius, of resources was genuinely important for their survival. Still, he eventually caught onto a malignant presence within the house, something more familiar than the rare dark artifact lying around (presumably the Malfoys had nicked all the really notable ones).
There was a feeling of familiarity that seemed to scream Horcrux, very specifically another part of him, of Voldemort, and that part was waiting somewhere in the house. Tom longed to be reunited with the other piece of himself- another piece of that terrible whole. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of searching Tom could do lodged inside of Harry's scar, other than urging Harry to action.
Tom had faint memories of his Horcruxes- the diary was right out for obvious reasons, as was the diadem. Hufflepuff's Cup was locked up far too tight for it to be a reasonable candidate, as far as he knew, leaving the ring and the locket. Hopefully, it was the latter- Tom couldn't have his ticket to a new body dying of a withering curse- and it could be absorbed without much issue, other than the obvious question of how it was spirited away to Grimmauld Place.
Still, he urged Harry onward until they eventually found a glass cabinet holding a locket. Perfect. The locket, Harry.
The locket?
I recognize it, Harry- do you think Rowena was the only founder to make powerful magical relics?
Considering the stylized S made of emeralds on the locket's face, it must have been… Slytherin's?
Indeed, Harry. And it could be just as great as Rowena's…
As Harry reached out to open the cabinet, he jumped away when Kreacher popped next to him. "No! Don't touch it!"
"Why?"
Kreacher was starting to shake now. "The locket needs to be destroyed- but Kreacher can't open it!" He moaned. "Kreacher has failed Master Regulus, yes he has..."
Tom had to stop himself from laughing in Harry's head- Regulus Black, you glorious bastard! Was Tom probably tainting the man's legacy a little by using the Horcrux Regulus had presumably died to collect as a power boost? Yes, but here it was, just waiting to be devoured…
Take it, Harry- I think I can handle it.
You're sure?
The magic seems similar to what was infecting the Diadem- I think I can handle it.
Really? I mean…
Please Harry, indulge me here- or if not, think of that poor elf, driven mad by his inability to do anything.
Harry sighed, and opened the cabinet, before taking the locket in his hand. No mental assault or sudden bout of unconsciousness- just a locket, and Kreacher crying.
Try opening it. Tom whispered. After a few vain moments of trying to pry it open with no real results, Tom spoke again. Speak to it, Harry.
Speak?
Slytherin spoke Parseltongue, did he not?
With that in mind- and after a bit of time spent imagining the delicate curling pattern of the emeralds as a snake- Harry whispered "Open" and the locket did, revealing an eye, doleful and terrible… before the eye slammed shut, as if flinching.
The eye seemed to fade away as Harry stared into the rich depths of the locket, before it opened one last time, panic terribly visible in the eye as it grew more and more transparent. It flicked around the room in a panic, staring for anything, anything that could possibly save it…
It vanished, and after a moment, Kreacher let out something that might have been a cheer.
Once the locket was cleaned of whatever foul curse had been placed upon it, Kreacher seemed a lot more chipper, knowing that his late master's work was finally complete, down to the point that he took orders from Sirius (and Harry) without any real complaint. The locket itself was a curious little thing- there were supposed to be powerful enchantments on it, but whatever they were, they were subtle enough that Harry couldn't immediately feel them. The Diadem was supposed to increase your wisdom- that was probably super noticeable, but nothing immediately noticeable from the Locket. It was something to look into at a future date, although Kreacher derived a great deal of satisfaction from simply holding it and verifying that the Regulus' legacy wasn't tarnished, so Harry was happy to let the elf keep it.
After giving the house one final once over, they left, piles of books and paintings hidden away in their trunks, along with a few of the more conventional valuables (who snuck into a house and just stole the books?), but they also had a new member of their group: Kreacher. He followed them doggedly, and they both knew leaving him to Narcissa could reveal what happened, not that there was much reason to object to his presence anymore once the Locket was done with. (Was it some sort of complex, borne of not being capable of fulfilling an order?)
They returned to the Burrow while it was still dark- the question of where Harry and the dog had gone was much easier to avoid than answer- but before they could get some sleep they informed Mrs. Weasley about Kreacher, who was happy to accept the help, as long as he stayed invisible. An elf just appearing one day would raise a lot of awkward questions, not to mention the fact that Harry kind of wanted a house elf to help with their eventual space projects, even if the morality of the whole thing was kind of questionable. Still, Kreacher's survival raised some interesting questions about how long a house elf could hypothetically stay around for- were there some Potter house elfs waiting for him somewhere?
He'd definitely take note of that once he got around to actually visiting some of the Potter properties- if there was some cool Potter family magic, he wanted to learn it, and maybe even share it. Maybe he could start compiling some database of magic- that would be pretty neat.
On the subject of family, during the initial search of Grimmauld Harry found a number of paintings of his relatives- distant ones, perhaps, but they were surprisingly amicable once the family trees had been sorted out. Other than raising some thoroughly disturbing questions about the rate of inbreeding in the wizarding world, talking with family was a pretty positive experience. Some niggling part of his mind pointed out that these paintings weren't technically real, they were illusions or pale replicas as surely as those figures he saw in the Mirrors of Erised… but at the very least, Harry wanted to respect the paintings as their own beings.
"Well alright then, how did the muggles do it?" Sirius asked- he was genuinely curious about how the muggles managed such a feat as going to the moon and coming back again, and it was a fair question to ask while they planned out their own mission.
"They had to throw something behind them to get moving- they used burning rocket fuel."
"Could we…"
"I don't think we could manage to strap a muggle rocket onto the bottom of the ship, unfortunately."
"Well, are there any other options?"
"In theory, anything you can throw behind you would work- rocks, sticks, air, anything at all. Of course, manually throwing pebbles behind us wouldn't be efficient…"
"Why not?"
"I think it's… well it's one of Newton's laws, I think. Every action causes an equal and opposite reaction, or something? When you throw something small, you're pushed back just a little bit, while if you throw something large..."
"So… we want to throw the biggest stuff we possibly can as efficiently as possible?"
"Exactly." Harry nodded. "And I think I've got an idea."
At first, Harry had entertained the idea of using small containers- tuna tins or soda cans or something- and then using magic to grow them and fill them with water. Once filled with water, they could be shrunk, and would have a lot of water in an amount of space that was frankly not enough, meaning the water would try to exit through a hole, creating thrust. At least, that was his first idea, and he took note of it- a soda can turned fire hose could actually be pretty useful- but he realized there was a much more direct way to do this whole thing.
Why not just cut out the middleman and just use a vanishing cabinet (or barrel or something) to attach an ocean to the back of his ship? Admittedly, they would probably have to work something better out long term, but it was a short term solution that let them get a lot of thrust for practically zero effort, once the bucket was made and dropped down into an appropriately deep and isolated portion of the ocean.
Could they have done something similar with an Aquamenti spell, or some other form of conjuration? Probably, but it was what Harry settled on, and Sirius was more than happy to create a pair of linked barrels which would serve as their propulsion. Admittedly, they needed to do some charm work so it could be opened and closed remotely, but once that was done… all they needed to do was a attach the bucket to the bottom of the ship before going on a quick broom trip over the ocean.
It was possible that removing the heatshield might improve their chances a little by decreasing their mass, but at the same time an increased chance of success wasn't worth loosing the entire ship in the case of failure. If they were really that much of a drag they could be removed once they were in orbit, once Harry had figured out how to work in vacuum. With a vanishing cabinet installed on the ship, they didn't need to bring the ship itself back to earth- it was completely obscene, felt like cheating, and Harry loved it.
If they could manage to avoid getting busted for the Statute- assuming this was before Harry eventually figured out a way to bring that thing down- then they could probably make a killing by delivering things to space. Other than figuring out how to make sure their magic didn't ruin any fancy equipment, the labor involved was little more than moving a package around, meaning they would undercut any mundane method of delivering things to space by a frankly obscene margin.
That reminded him- he wanted to do something before they took their flight. Sirius would probably be the best person to talk to about it- as much as he appreciated Mr. Weasley, he would probably be a little less open to what Harry was going to suggest.
The Prime Minister had an odd envelope on her desk- her security had been rather worried when they first saw it, considering how it just mysteriously appeared over the course of the night. What little she could see before it was taken away to be thoroughly looked over was how old fashioned it seemed to be, down to an honest to goodness seal of dark red wax with some sort of pattern or design on it.
Of course, she wasn't just going to open a letter that had appeared on her desk overnight, no matter how appealing the envelope may have looked.
When she received the letter back- opened somewhere far away, as to avoid any sort of potential attack on her person- she had to take it from shaking hands. What had gotten him into such a mood? There was a letter, written on fancy, very old fashioned parchment, and then there were a few loose photos…
She took a look at one of the photos and nearly dropped it to the floor- the figures in the photo were clearly moving, children in thick black robes having a snowball fight. Looking at the photograph revealed it to be nothing more than that, as far as she could tell: it was as thin as a piece of paper, a bit glossy perhaps, but there was no way that it could be a screen, and the motion was far too complex for some sort of holographic illusion- the only logical conclusion was that it was a moving picture, in a very literal sense.
There were more of them, more pictures that defied explanation just on a simple circumstances level. What sort of strange place, perhaps a school, made children wear robes like this? Many of the photos were more candid- sometimes they would wearing normal clothes, sometimes they would be walking down the halls of a castle, actively laughing and jesting as they moved. Was this some sort of weird tech demo? If so, there was an awful lot of data stored in the paper- it wasn't just some basic loop of actions that repeated, the photos were almost organic.
She took the letter and read, hoping to find some sort of explanation.
Prime Minister,
If you're reading this, I'll assume our little plan worked. If you're not the Prime Minister… well, I suppose there are things we could do to stop you from reading, but we're not going to.
Anyways, the photos inclosed are what we hope is fairly conclusive proof of magic. Analyze it anyway you want- it's just like a normal photo, although developed in a special potion. This is assuming that you don't somehow know about magic already- I hope the Minister of Magic is courteous enough to inform you of his existence, at the least. Cornelius Fudge is his name by the way, if he hasn't.
Parts of this letter will be absolutely pointless if Fudge keeps you well informed about everything… but we'll tell you anyways. Better safe than sorry. There's a whole magical community in Britain (and elsewhere in the world) that are living their lives under your noses, courtesy of the Statute of Secrecy. In large part, wizards are insular, most of the time- other than the whole mess with the Dark Lord about a dozen years ago. Take that as a potential explanation for any mysterious deaths around that point, I guess.
I'd like to think that you would want to be prepared for any future magic shenanigans, hence the purpose of this letter: I want your help in tearing down the Statute of Secrecy- or at least in handling the consequences when it falls apart. Personally, I think that modern technology makes keeping this whole thing secret impossible, so the best we can do is just plan for the inevitable.
Of course, you're the Prime Minister and obviously have a busy schedule, so we'll leave the date and location of any potential meeting up to you. Just write it down on the blank space of the bottom of this paper if you'd like to talk- if you're curious about how I'll receive it, magic. Feel free to cover any nearby roofs with snipers or whatever.
Sincerely,
Harry Potter
The Prime Minister set the letter down. Of course, she had known that both magic and Fudge existed, when he slipped inside her office the day of her election. It gave her quite a fright, on top of the incredibly obvious security breach inherent in a magician just being capable of just popping into her office. Technically, it just happened again, given that a wizard would have had to drop by and place the letter on her desk…
It sounded extremely suspect, but the wizard writing this letter was willing to meet her on her terms, and it seemed like they were open to cooperation. Other than concerns for her safety when it came to actual, honest to God magic- surely, this Potter fellow could get her in contact with some sort of wizarding security if he was genuine- there was a sort of curiosity there. Who wasn't at least a little interested in magic, especially when someone was actually willing to share more information than just a few cryptic visits over the course of years?
The first portion of their second mission was rather similar to the first, although they had a bit less room compliments of the closet they had installed inside the ship. It did mean they could cut down on mass- why pack surplus meals when you could just hop back to the Burrow for a home cooked meal complements of Molly?
After the runic engines began to fail due to the vacuum (or near vacuum) Harry reached for the toggle that would open up the bucket… and with a shudder that they could feel through the ship, they were pushed back into their seats by the force of the water blasting out behind him. They could shrink the size of the hole, which would hopefully limit the outflow, but he wanted to go as fast as he reasonably could here. If they reached orbit, they were clear.
Unfortunately, Harry didn't have any rear facing windows- he really wanted to see what the spray of water looked like in space, if it would be like some fantastical spray of stardust…? Still, it seemed like their speed was growing pretty quickly. Harry had to bite back his giggles- he wasn't sure of the exact speed he needed to reach for orbit, but he thought it was quite a few kilometers per second, and they were definitely approaching that speed- acceleration got pretty crazy when you weren't actually carrying the fuel with you.
Harry wasn't really on expert on space travel quite yet, but he understood that it was a little different from how broomflight was. At the moment, they were standing sideways when compared to Earth- instead of 'burning' or accelerating straight up, they boosted in the direction of their motion, which had become sideways. Horizontal movement was how orbiting something worked, after all. If he wanted to land on the earth at some point in the future, he would just turn the ship around and 'burn' in that direction, slowing it down enough for it to fall..
Hopefully, they would just never need to return- they could an appropriately high orbit and just hide out up there, preparing for an eventual trip to somewhere even further- like the moon. He would probably need to get a computer or at least a decent calculator, because Harry was positive that he couldn't handle the complex maths of orbital mechanics by himself.
Ideally, they would eventually get caught up in the moon's sphere of influence, and from there they could stage a landing, where it was really just off to the races. The lunar service would provide an awful lot of resources to be used, if they could get there, and then they could make a bigger ship. Looking around, Harry came to the sudden realization that he was already planning the replacement for a ship that he hadn't even named yet. Was an unnamed ship or mission bad luck?
"I think the ship needs a name." Harry mused.
"A name?" Sirius was looking out of one of the windows, staring down at the earth below them. It wasn't small- that would have to wait until they were much closer to the moon- but it was very humbling to see everything so small beneath you.
"A ship should have a name." Harry answered. "Like Gemini or Apollo, or Enterprise… something cool."
"Were those the muggle ones?" Arthur asked.
"Yeah- Gemini was docking and spacewalks and stuff, Apollo was landing on the moon, and Enterprise was one of the shuttles."
"Spacewalks? I can go out there?" Sirius certainly sounded interested.
"With proper equipment, I think so- we'd have to do a lot of work first, though." Harry said. "Work that we can do once we have a name."
"Endeavour?"
"Pretty sure that's taken already."
"Muggles beating us to the punch yet again…" Sirius mumbled, before smiling. "What about James or Lily? A reminder of where you started?"
Harry had to admit those were good ideas, and from what Harry heard, his mom would definitely like some great mission of scientific discovery and exploration named after her. Still… "I dunno… I mean I want to make a bigger ship in the future- I don't want to toss a ship named after my parents to the side… feels wrong."
"You're planning another one?"
"You're happy with this one?" Harry shot back.
"Fair point…" Sirius scratched his chin- immaculately shaved complements of a few spells he insisted on teaching Harry- and thought some more. "Well, if it's the first… maybe Primum or Primo?"
"Literally just Latin for first?"
Sirius shrugged. "Simplicity has its own value."
Harry supposed that it wasn't the worst name, but if not, they could still just call it the ship or something. Until they got to the moon, where there were enough resources sitting around to actually make another one, it was the only ship that they had.
Thankfully, it seemed like the only ship they had was doing fine- after a while they reached a downright terrifying speed of some seven kilometers per second, and Harry decided that was enough to call it quits. They'd probably have to stay onboard for a while, just to make sure that the orbit was stable, but for now, it seemed like their propulsion worked.
He absolutely wanted to take a space walk though- the question was how to make robes airtight, if they even decided to use robes at all. Would muggle clothes be better? He wanted something sleeker than an actual spacesuit.
Technically, I'm not sure if the communication mirrors are like a commercial product or what… but them being a Black family magic works out better for the story I'm trying to tell so whatever. Sympathetic magic focuses on a link between two things- the stereotypical voodoo doll attempts to harm one through the harming the other, and it was attached to Voodoo, as in the African Diaspora religion, thanks to that good old fashioned American fear of African traditions.
Those photos Harry got from Colin did in fact come back- if you don't remember Colin visited Harry in the hospital after the Lockhart arm incident, and didn't get petrified because the basilisk wasn't running wild, and Harry asked for some photos. Chekov's camera or something
There's nothing about live oak- at least, that I can tell- on Pottermore, which I used for wand research, possibly because it's an American tree. Sturdy and dense, yet at the same time naturally curving (you may know live oaks as the trees near Savannah, the ones that arc beautifully over the roads and have Spanish moss hanging from them).