Harry Potter and the Physical Adept
Chapter 25: Ferryman
Losing control of the Astral power in his body as he tumbled through the air, Harry felt it rush out of his nerves and into his muscles, organs and skin, filling them with magic.
He didn't feel the impact as he crashed into the wall, his body hardened against the blunt force trauma, and he slid down the stone and landed on his rear, feeling no worse for wear than after failing to dodge the attack the basilisk successfully landed.
Growling in pain, the shadowrunner rose unsteadily to his feet; he could feel the cracked ribs, a leg fracture and the onset of a concussion, familiar sensations from when his cousin used to beat him daily, and he battled the cobwebs at the edges of his consciousness, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as he fought to stay awake and upright.
Then, adrenaline rushed through his body, and pain faded to the background.
It was time to rock and roll.
The basilisk was swinging its tail around in a looping blow once more, and the boy didn't have time to dodge.
The Hermetic mage quickly pushed Astral power through the trio of Celtic shield knots tattooed into his forearm. Instantly, three translucent black disks of pure magical force formed an inch from the back of his arm, stacked one after another. The first disk shattered into a thousand tiny pieces as it absorbed the brunt of the attack while the second disc cracked, before it and the disk closest to his arm dissipated a moment later as he flushed the Astral power from the tattoos to avoid accidentally injuring himself as the basilisk drew its tail back.
Having a broken wing felt indescribably weird; it took a moment, but he dissolved the magic that had grown them from his shoulders, and they melted back into his flesh.
From the corner of his eye, the boy saw the Beast of Slytherin coiling up, readying for another strike, mouth agape as it prepared to attack with its fangs.
His every muscle felt full of vitality and more powerful than they had ever been before in his life, his heart beating steadily despite the familiar sensation of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and the entire world felt like it was going a half-step slower than it was before.
The basilisk started to lunge forward, mouth open and fangs bared, and he just reacted, faster than he ever thought humanly possible; each step took him much further than ever before, and when he sprang off the ground, he found himself soaring through the air in a floating arc, giving him enough time to reach into his pocket and drew his monoknife, flipping it open with a practiced motion as he decided where to strike his target.
Dropping out of the air as his flip completed, the shadowrunner aimed the point of his knife at the basilisk's side, letting gravity do its work as the blade penetrated the basilisk's hide, dragging it downwards as he slid down the side of the serpent and pulling it free as he landed in a crouch.
The blade had sliced through the Beast of Slytherin's hide, and a bead of thick red blood oozed out of the wound in a thin line. Clearly, though, the monoknife was not going to create a wound channel large enough to incapacitate the creature; the blade just wasn't long enough.
He was off again before the basilisk could properly react to its new injury, darting swiftly away from the serpent as he sought a moment to regroup.
Somehow, he was faster, stronger and tougher than he had ever been.
The only change was now his muscles, organs and skin were saturated with Astral power.
Maybe that was the difference between being a normal person and an adept?
He didn't have time to think about it more, as he could see the basilisk turning, trying to reacquire him as a target.
In the moment, he realized Dungeons & Dragons did not have basilisks.
It did, however, have three physical damage types: bludgeoning, piercing and slashing.
Piercing and slashing were clearly ineffective, so that left him with one option.
Flipping the monoknife closed, the shadowrunner dropped it casually into his pocket, sidestepping the lunging serpent and cocking his fist back. Swinging with full force, he ripped into the creature's body with a vicious, hooking elbow.
He felt flesh crush and bones crack as his forearm dug into basilisk's hide with enough force to stop it dead in its tracks and send it reeling backwards in true pain, and he quickly followed up with two more forearms into the creature's belly, each pulverizing flesh.
Then, he slipped away again, just out of the basilisk's reach.
At the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw the specter of Tom Riddle point the fallen girl's wand in his direction, and he immediately dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way of a neon red bolt that flew right through the space where his body had been a moment before.
With the specter joining the fray, the shadowrunner was suddenly at a numerical disadvantage, dodging strikes from the basilisk's fangs and tails along with spells slung by Tom Riddle, and though doing so wasn't physically difficult with his suddenly improved athletic abilities, it was mentally demanding, requiring him to perceive every incoming threat and process it in a split moment before deciding how to respond and executing the strategy, all while in the chaos of combat.
He should have been run ragged by now, and yet, his breathing was not labored, his heartbeat had remained steady, and though he had been sweating, he did not feel even the beginnings of fatigue despite the adrenaline coursing through him and the extreme physical exertion he had sustained through in the past few minutes of intense action.
Still, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going at that level of activity, and he needed to even the odds.
Ducking, dodging and weaving through pillars for cover as he sprinted across the Chamber with the basilisk hot on his tail, feet pounding the stone below him and splashing water onto the legs of his trousers, the shadowrunner drew the Beretta 92FS from the holster inside his waistband, as the erratic movement he was engaging in made his rifle a subpar choice for the moment.
Time seemed to suddenly slow as he took aim, calmly drawing a bead on the wand in the specter's hand before carefully squeezing the trigger just once. He felt the pistol kick in his hands as the bullet flew out of the barrel and the slide slid back from recoil, ejecting the cartridge casing as it did so; he had forgotten to pass Astral power into the handgun.
In Riddle's hand, the Gryffindor's wand exploded into a rain splinters, and the Hermetic mage shoved his Beretta back into its holster as he cut a quick turn, using a pillar to shield himself against the Beast of Slytherin, whose tail slammed into the stone, shaking the entire Chamber as part of the snake motif shattered in a cascade of broken rocks.
He dodged the avalanche with an ease that surprised even himself, slipping just between the debris as it fell from up high; however, it turned out to be a trap, and the basilisk more cunning than he had given it credit for, as the Hermetic mage emerged out of the downpour of tumbling rocks to find himself face-to-face with the Beast of Slytherin, poised to strike with its mouth agape, its fangs dripping a transparent, yellow-tinted fluid that he could only guess was venom.
Raising his left arm and generating his shields, the shadowrunner braced himself to receive the attack, but it never came; instead, the serpent suddenly reeled as a grenade collided with the side of its head and exploded, raining down shrapnel in all directions, the boy's black shields protecting him from the falling metal fragments.
"Miss me?"
Harry quickly glanced in the direction the grenade and the voice came from and spotted the dragon-in-girl's-form, assault rifle in one hand.
"Are you limping?" asked the dragon, concerned masked by the jest in her demeanor. "I didn't think you'd cock it up this much."
"Buy me thirty seconds?" Harry asked, as the dragon's words reminded him of something he had once read in a book.
"I'll get you five minutes," Liv called back confidently.
Slinging her rifle onto her back, she darted towards the serpent as the shadowrunner made a break for it, taking cover behind a pillar, the dragon quickly closing the distance until she was close enough to engage the Beast of Slytherin in close-quarter combat, her first strike, a haymaker winged with the worst of intentions, landing with such force that it knocked the basilisk upwards and backwards. Before it could recover, she was in the air, twisting and flipping and landing lightly on her feet to continue her attack at another angle, landing a series of fast punches that made the creature reel and hiss.
Hidden behind stone, the Hermetic mage retrieved three test tubes from the pouches on his belt—mercury, gum arabic and smoke—and formed the tattva mudra in inverse, palms downwards, thumbs resting against the base of his fingers, which he held together, pointing outwards from his body and towards the centerline.
"Muto terram, creo vim," he whispered, the incantation to this iteration of polymorph any object.
Astral power rushed through his nerves, filling one of the large chunks of stone that had fallen in the conflict as he touched it; just like in his mind's eye, it began to shift form, softening and growing feathery as it became a living creature.
The moment the rock-turned-bird realized it was alive, it opened its beak and crowed.
At the sound of the rooster's cry, the King of Serpents toppled over, stone dead.
"Well, that was an anticlimax," Liv said. "Why didn't you do that earlier?"
"I was being chased by a basilisk," responded the Hermetic mage as exhaustion from casting the spell washed over him, sliding down the pillar onto the floor in a seated position, legs splayed outwards. "Also, I just remembered when you said 'cock'."
Slow applause echoed through the Chamber, and the two turned towards its source, the specter of Tom Riddle.
"So, you defeated the Beast of Slytherin," Riddle said. "Still, it makes no difference. Soon, I'll have consumed all of her soul, and then, I'll be whole again, and there's nothing a second-year student like you can do to stop me.
"It's a shame that I couldn't get her to say more about you."
"Not sure why you'd care about little old me," the Hermetic mage said, slowly getting back to his feet.
"Do tell me, how is it you managed to gain wings, and to summon that rooster?" Riddle asked.
"I'm filthy rich," the shadowrunner said, a half-truth. "I pretty much just buy the best gear I can afford, and magic wings were one of those things I thought might come in handy when I decided I was going to go basilisk hunting. As for the chicken, I had it in my bag, I just forgot about the blighter, with that damn snake chasing me."
"So, how is it that you, who have no discernable magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort, with all his power, was destroyed?"
"I actually have no fragging clue, but everybody keeps asking me," said the Boy-Who-Lived. "What's it to you?"
"Voldemort is my past, present and future…"
"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?" the dragon suddenly interrupted.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," snarled the specter, irritated.
The Norwegian Ridgeback snapped her fingers in realization. "I get it now. It's an anagram."
"Of course it is," said the shadowrunner. "Care to enlighten me?"
"If you jumble up the letters in 'Tom Marvolo Riddle', you get 'I am Lord Voldemort'," revealed the dragon-in-girl's-form.
"Good job, Rook," the Hermetic mage praised. "Way to figure it out that fast."
"You know me, I love a puzzle," the Norwegian Ridgeback said, beaming. "It's too bad anagrams are just damn basic."
The shadowrunner turned his attention back towards the specter. "With those spells, what are you, a sixth year?"
"Fifth," said Riddle, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why?"
"You know, you're probably right," said the Boy-Who-Lived, as he surreptitiously winked at the dragon-in-girl's-form. "Not only are you a fifth-year, you also managed to create a soul-sucking magic diary, while I'm a second-year can't use any magic, and she's a first year, so I'm not sure what we could do to stop you after you come back to life."
"That's right," the dragon agreed, guessing her dad's intentions. "I mean, we might have guns, but that's got nothing on magic."
"So, maybe you could answer a few questions, just to indulge our curiosity while you finish sucking out that girl's soul, then come back to life and kill us both," said the Hermetic mage.
"I suppose a couple questions couldn't hurt," said the specter agreeably, clearly flattered.
"I'm kind of curious, how does one breed basilisks? All I could find on the subject was that breeding basilisks was banned, but nothing on the methodology."
"That one's simple," said Riddle. "You simply need to hatch a chicken's egg under a toad."
"Is that any old chicken egg, or does it need to be fertilized first?" Liv asked.
"I don't know," said the specter, looking thoughtful. "You know, I don't think it's ever been specified before."
"That's a shame," said the Hermetic mage, looking genuinely disappointed, before his expression suddenly became curious again. "How many people have you killed?"
"I had the Beast of Slytherin slay Myrtle Warren," Riddle proclaimed.
"That's it?" asked the dragon, looking surprised.
"What do you mean?" the specter demanded.
The Hermetic mage and the Norwegian Ridgeback shared a look; then, they started to chuckle.
"What are you laughing about?" Riddle demanded angrily, unsettled.
"We thought we were talking to a real, legitimate hard case, but you're just a poseur," said the shadowrunner, the mirth suddenly gone as his eyes hardened, stalking forward and flexing the fingers on his left hand. "I'm what's known in the biz as a 'ferryman'; I've dropped so many bodies, I don't even keep count anymore.
"That's why it's easy for me to do this."
Electricity crackled along the skin of the Hermetic mage's left hand as he channeled Astral power into the tattoo at the heel of his palm, electricity suddenly arcing around his hand and up and down his arm. He reached down, pressing his hand directly over the left side of the unconscious girl's back, and under his touch, she convulsed violently, then suddenly jerked stiff and ramrod straight, before once more going completely limp.
"What have you done?!" screeched the specter, horrified.
"What you couldn't imagine I could," answered the shadowrunner simply.
"No!" Tom Riddle screamed, as his outline dimmed, slowly dissolving away into nothing.
"All right, we got less than six minutes before she starts suffering brain damage, if I haven't already fried her brain," said the self-described ferryman, as he rolled the motionless girl over and started chest compressions. "Can you do something about the diary? Maybe melt it?"
"I could try, but it would probably take a very long time," the dragon said, as she examined the book in question, turning it over in her hands. "It's got more layers of magic on it than I've ever seen on any magical item before, and some of them look like they might even be trapped, so I'd have to be extra careful with it."
"We'll deal with it another time, then," said the Boy-Who-Lived, coming up for air after exhaling directly into the motionless Gryffindor's mouth. "Get the five-minute epoxy and be quick about it; we'll glue the fucking thing shut so no one can open it ever again. And get me some epinephrine while you're down there."
The dragon disappeared into the boy's haversack, returning a moment later with a syringe of clear liquid she tossed the boy—who caught it with one hand—and two jars, which she quickly poured contents of into a half-size hotel pan, mixing them together before smearing the concoction onto the pages of the diary with vinyl gloves on. Once she finished, she sat down on the diary, stripping the gloves from her hands—turning them inside out as she did so—and placing the first two fingers on one hand on the fallen girl's neck, feeling for a heartbeat.
"C'mon," growled the Hermetic mage, as he tore open the flame-haired girl's blouse and jabbed the needle into her chest, injecting the contents directly into her heart before resuming chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on the Gryffindor.
A long silence followed as the Hermetic mage continued to work on the unconscious Gryffindor.
Then, suddenly:
"Got a pulse," the dragon announced. "Erratic, though."
"I'm going to try and shock her back into rhythm," said the Boy-Who-Lived. "Be ready with the mend wounds."
"Wilco," Liv said, pulling her hand back.
Electricity crackled, then again met skin; once the Hermetic mage pulled back, the dragon checked for a pulse again, nodding before waving a hand over the unconscious girl.
With a sharp intake of breath, the ginger's eyes snapped open, then she sat bolt upright—the needle falling out of her chest—eyes wide in terror as she frantically looked around, her breathing shallow and ragged.
"Where am I?" she gasped, voice shaking in panic. "I thought I died!"
"You did die," said the shadowrunner matter-of-factly. "We brought you back."
"What?" the Gryffindor asked, confused, then seemed to realize something and pulled her torn blouse close over her exposed chest. "And why is my blouse torn open? Why am I bleeding?"
"You were clinically dead for about four minutes," the Boy-Who-Lived explained. "Heart stopped, no breathing, the works. We used CPR along with an adrenaline shot straight to your heart to bring you back to life. You got lucky; I've heard only about fifteen percent of people whose hearts stop are successfully brought back to life, and even then, I wouldn't count my blessings yet, because epi can cause brain damage even if it does restart your cardiovascular system."
"Why do I feel so cold and empty inside?" she asked.
"That would probably be from having part of your soul eaten by Tom Riddle," said the dragon.
"You might know him better as 'You-Know-Who', or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'," added the Hermetic mage.
"Tom… Tom was You-Know-Who?" gasped the girl, horrified. "But, but, I thought he was my friend… I told him so much!"
"And all while you were doing that, he was siphoning off your soul, a little bit at a time," Liv said.
"That's horrible," the redhead said. Then, "Where's the diary?"
"We epoxied the fucker shut, so it'll never open again," Harry said. "All those protections against magic, and all it took to deal with it was just a bit of glue."
"And duct tape," said the dragon, as she wrapped the diary in matte silver adhesive tape.
"We're keeping the diary, though; consider it payment for saving your life."
"I don't want it anymore," the redhead said, trying to stand, but wobbled from side-to-side and promptly sat back down. "I don't feel so good," she whimpered, laying down and curling up into the fetal position. "Everything inside hurts."
Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over the Hermetic mage as he felt the adrenaline coursing through him dump out of his system; teetering on his feet, the blackness at the edge of his vision, which he had pushed aside with gritted teeth in the preceding fight with the Beast of Slytherin, rapidly rushed inwards on his sight.
"Well, fuck," the ferryman managed as felt his consciousness rapidly fade.
Then, he toppled over, head bouncing off the ungiving stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets.
The Norwegian Ridgeback checked her unconscious dad; his breathing and heartbeat were steady, so his health was in no immediate danger, and she had other priorities to worry about.
What really worried her, though, was the glowing red light in the abdomen of the redhead curled up in a ball, whimpering and shivering; even though it was weak, dark tendrils she could not identify had begun to intertwine with it.
That was a problem for another time; right now, she needed to secure the basilisk carcass, remove the memory of the basilisk carcass from the redhead's mind with the magic she had just seen Hermione Granger use earlier on Penelope Clearwater, and transport herself, the redhead and her dad out of the Chamber of Secrets and back into Hogwarts proper.
It was in her hurry to achieve all these things she forgot one small detail, even if it was of no great import.
And that's how the Chamber of Secrets briefly became home to the cock that slew the Beast of Slytherin.
Author's Notes: The primary reason why I ended the previous chapter on a cliffhanger was because it led directly from Harry being just human to being superhuman, which itself is a bit of a genre shift, and I felt a new chapter was appropriate for that reason.
Sometimes, when you can't figure something out, it takes a happy accident to make it happen. Given how Harry usually is able to figure things out on his own, I wanted at least one incident of him discovering something to be be accidental.
Liv telling Harry she could buy him five minutes is completely in-character for a creature that's been an apex predator the entire time she's been alive, and it wasn't like she was wrong.
This was the way Harry would have wanted it, since it would leave the least physical damage on what he's trying to harvest, but he's not perfect, and honestly, it'd be hugely anti-climatic if the final battle of Physical Adept was him walking into the Chamber of Secrets, pulling a rooster out of his bag and forcing it to crow after what was a somewhat suspenseful hunt.
It'd make sense a super-genius like Liv would almost instantly figure out Tom's secret identity, and I feel like her undercutting Tom revealing his secret really sets the tone for the rest of the interaction.
Harry drawing Liv in to pull a fast one on Tom is a situation where he knows he has the upper hand but he also knows his opponent thinks they have it themselves, so it's a great way to gather a little intelligence before finishing it all off, all running a very, very short con.
"Ferryman" is slang taken from Cyberpunk 2020, used to describe an expert killer, and is derived from Charon ferrying the dead across the River Styx.
For Harry, ending Ginny's life was always going to be an easy decision; she wasn't somebody he knew, so all she would have been was collateral damage in a war against an enemy who probably still outclasses him in certain aspects. That said, he's still ultimately sympathizes with victims, so since he had the chance to try to bring her back to life, he was going to try it, but if she didn't make it, he wouldn't have felt any remorse. Not to mention saving her life pretty would make her feel indebted to him.
Having only a part of a soul when she comes back to life is a really interesting angle for Ginny's character to take.
I like mundane solutions for magical problems. Also, epoxy and duct tape are awesome, and even if it doesn't "solve" the diary problem, it at least puts it on hold for until they can deal with it properly.
Once again, many, many thanks to my long-suffering editor, Romantically Distant, for all their efforts in reading and proofing my writing. And now you've read this chapter, feel free to leave a review or just PM me, and, with the WARS pandemic still on-going, stay safe.