AN: new chapter up, enjoy.
Chapter 56 - Oracle
It was late in the evening yet the Prime Minister was still sitting at his desk in his office. Most of the employees had already gone home for the day and the only other people present were his bodyguards; security had become much tighter ever since the-
"Bloody Apocalypse!" the Prime Minister suddenly yelled and slammed his fists on the desk, his nostrils flaring from anger.
But then, he fell back on his leathery chair and buried his face in his palms.
"Of all things, to think that the world was going to end like this."
He was boiling with helpless rage. How were they supposed to stop such a pandemic? Thousands of scientists all over the Globe were working around the clock to create a cure or to at least find out what was causing the dead to rise back and go berserk but weeks had passed and they did not seem to get any closer to a solution. There was no scientific explanation for this phenomenon.
The population was terrified and many workplaces had been completely shut down. The government had not even needed to force people to wear masks and latex gloves, people were doing it of their own volition, trying everything in their power to protect themselves from the unknown and deadly virus.
In truth, after the first few days of chaos and death, the government had stabilized the situation somewhat. Unlike in most Muggle movies out there, countries didn't collapse overnight. Once all the military and police forces had been mobilized, the gross of the horde of undead had been eliminated.
However, the unknown plague seemed to have no end. New corpses were rising every day, more people were infected constantly and the Prime Minister was looking at the long-term effects of this catastrophe. If nothing changed, the government would become unable to function in a matter of months. The world and civilisation as they knew it would collapse.
"It has to be them! There's no other explanation!" he said agitatedly.
Standing up from his seat, he stomped furiously towards the large portrait of a short and thin man wearing a silver wig. Not for the first time over the past few weeks, he found himself shouting at the unmoving painting:
"I demand to speak with your Prime Minister!" he shouted and gesticulated wildly, spittle flying out of his mouth everywhere. "I just know it! I know this is your doing! Is this, actually, a way for your kind to purge us? Do you think we'll just lay here and take it? You want war with us?!"
The tall and sturdy men outside the Prime Minister's office were silently shaking their heads at the sound of his screams. It looked as if the Prime Minister had gone insane. They had never heard the mild-mannered man raise his voice, let alone scream himself hoarse like that at an empty room. But then again, it was not just the Prime Minister that had gone insane. The whole world had been turned upside down. Living corpses marching down the streets and attacking every living being in sight, children turning against their parents and ripping their throats, parents being forced to kill their children in self-defence, entire families being massacred and turned into living corpses, not allowed to rest even in death.
"I need an answer! Mark my words, wizards!" the Prime Minister screamed. "This is the last time I'm calling for you. Don't think you can hide away forever. There are ways for us to find your lot! Don't be surprised if tomorrow you'll see military jets carpet bombing the entirety of Scotland Highlands!"
The Muggle Prime Minister was still in the middle of screaming at the portrait when green flames suddenly roared into the fireplace and an old man stepped into the office. Only a moment ago threatening with war and screaming his lungs out, the Prime Minister abruptly turned mute.
"Good evening," the newcomer said and fixed the Muggle Prime Minister with a cold look, all the while softly brushing away the ash on his dark green coat's sleeves.
Hearing a foreign voice coming from the Prime Minister's office, the bodyguards outside burst in through the door greatly alarmed.
"Who are you?!" "Freeze!" the two men shouted, their handguns pointing straight at the intruder's head.
When the intruder suddenly flicked his hand and a thin and long brown stick appeared in his hand, the two guards reacted by instinct and pulled the triggers of their weapons at once.
The noise made by the two handguns in such an enclosed space was deafening. But the three Muggles in the room had barely even registered it. They could only stare in shock at how their bullets had been stopped in their tracks, floating in mid-air, merely a foot away from the man's head. It was a scene that would not look out of place in a superhero comic book.
Before they could make sense of the situation, the man pointed his stick at them and, one moment later, the two sturdy bodyguards collapsed on the hardwood floor as stiff as a log, paralyzed.
As if he had not just been attacked with deadly fire a second ago, the old man casually sat on the Prime Minister's leather chair and crossed one of his legs over the other while leaning against the cushioned backrest.
"You wanted to talk to us, Minister, didn't you? Let's have a chat. Take a seat."
Still frozen in disbelief, the Prime Minister did not move from his spot. But when the man in front of him raised his stick and pointed it in his general direction the Prime Minister scrambled to one of the chairs in front of the desk reserved for guests.
"I don't have all day, Minister. If you have anything to say, do it fast," the wizard coldly and rudely urged him.
Although inwardly trembling at the thought of how easily the man had dispatched his security, the Prime Minister gathered his wits quickly.
"Are you the new Minister of Magic?" the Prime Minister asked, hating himself for how feeble his voice sounded.
"Minister Bones is too busy right now. She is in the middle of an international summit in Italy. I am Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the Department of Magic and Law Enforcement. Think of me as the leader of our police forces or military."
The Prime Minister involuntarily swallowed his saliva. A mane of wild grey hair, a wrinkled and scarred face, steely yellowish eyes, and a cold demeanour that sent chills down his back. The man in front of him gave off the impression of an old but fierce lion. Nevertheless, the Prime Minister was at his limits. He was desperate. The UK was on the verge of collapse and hundreds of people were dying every day. He could not afford to be intimidated now that he had finally managed to get the wizards' attention.
"What is going on? What is this plague? What...WHAT ARE THESE CORPSES THAT ATTACK AND KILL EVERYTHING AROUND THEM?! the Prime Minster said, breaking into a yell towards the end.
All the pent-up rage and helplessness accumulated over the past few weeks erupted at that moment, giving him a dose of courage that he himself had not known he could be capable of. "No matter how I look at it, it's not natural! This has to be your kind's doing!" he shouted, gasping for breath at the end.
"I suggest you keep your voice down and stay civil. Prime Minister or not, you are only a Muggle," Scrimgeour said cooly, his yellow eyes boring into the Prime Minister's tired ones. "The current plague that you are speaking of is, indeed, not natural. It is probably the work of a group of dark wizards and witches. We call these corpses Inferi. And, before you ask, no sane man would create something as revulsing as that. Dabbling with such dark magic is a one-way ticket to prison for life or even the death penalty. We don't know who did it or why."
"Tell me you can stop them! Tell me you have a solution to this!" the Prime Minister said.
"If we had a solution, do you think we'd let it get to this point?" Scrimgeour said.
"There has to be something!" the Prime Minister argued. "You have magic! You can bloody stop bullets just by looking at them for God's sake! If you can't do anything, who can?"
Scrimgeour interlocked his fingers and leaned on the desk on his elbows, his face as chilly as ever, unchanging.
"The usual ways through which the infection spreads don't work on us as it does on people that have no magic. We are not completely immune but we have medicine and elixirs that can cure the symptoms. But they don't work on your bodies," Scrimgeour explained, knowing from the Prime Minister's expression what he was about to say. "We've tried. Our Potions are no different than a deadly poison for Muggles."
"So that's it? You're just giving up? You don't care that over 30 million people have already died across the world? That dozens of thousands more are dying every day?" the Prime Minister said incensed, slapping the desk with his palms.
It was unlike a politician to wear their emotions on their sleeve like that but the despair and terror at watching the world slowly ending with his own eyes had stripped the Prime Minister of much of his calm and self-control.
"You have to do something!" the Prime Minister said, a tinge of ruthlessness appearing in his eyes. "You have to! If you just sit and watch as our world goes down, we'll-"
"You will what?" Scrimgeour suddenly interrupted him.
Deafening silence descended in the Prime Minister's office as the politician appeared to have choked on his words.
"You seem to be under the delusion that your position matters," Scrimgeour said, his voice barely louder than a whisper now. "You seem to believe you can pose a threat to us, that you could even destroy our world with your weapons and technology. Let me show you something, Minister. Let me give you just a small taste of what my kind is capable of."
Pointed his wand at the Prime Minister, the old Auror said:
"Imperio."
⁂
It was the last week of January and classes at Hogwarts were going just like always. While Muggles were struggling to survive and died by hundreds every day, British and Irish wizards and witches were largely unharmed. Apart from a few dozen who had been caught unprepared and suffered some bites and scratches in the first few days from the start of the Inferi outbreak, most of them had not had too much trouble dealing with the Inferi in their immediate vicinity before Apparating away, to the safety of their homes. At the very least, the Ministry of Magic was not aware of any casualties among the magical population.
Now that nearly one month had passed, it was starting to become obvious to most people that whoever had triggered this cataclysm was actively targeting the Muggles only. Inferi had not been spotted anywhere close to wizarding settlements not only in Great Britain but in other countries as well. The hordes of undead all seemed focused on the large cities of the Muggles but they were slowly and steadily encroaching on the Muggle countryside as well.
Regardless, the average wizards and witches were still tense, afraid of what was about to come. The Ministry of Magic was doing anything in its power to reassure and educate the population on how to protect themselves from Inferi and they had even declared that while underage wizards and witches' wands were still going to be tracked, they would no longer be punished for casting magic outside the school as long as it was done for the purpose of self-preservation. Unlawful use of magic and deliberately breaking the Statute of Secrecy would still be punished as severely as before though.
As Fleur looked over the purple pamphlet printed by the Ministry of Magic and distributed alongside any copy of the Daily Prophet she let out a sigh. While the Ministry seemed to be doing its best to protect the magicals, the Muggles had been left to fend for themselves.
'If only I could do something about it...' she thought. But it was just wishful thinking. She was not a Healer, nor was she a Potions Master. She wouldn't even know where to start from to create a vaccine for Muggles.
Putting the pamphlet away, she turned her attention back to her breakfast.
'It's getting late. Where is Harry?' she wondered.
Normally, she and Harry would go for a run around the Black Lake and the castle every morning but that day he didn't show up. She couldn't find him in his bedroom when she checked either and now he was skipping breakfast too.
As if to answer her question, a few minutes later, Hedwig flew into the Great Hall together with the rest of the owls to deliver mail. She smiled at the sight of the beautiful snowy owl and, after untying the rolled piece of parchment strapped to her leg, she put a plate with several pieces of crispy bacon in front of her.
While the owl was happily tearing into the bacon, Fleur unfurled the piece of parchment and began to read.
Dear Fleur,
If it's morning when you're reading this, then it means Hedwig was a good and clever girl and delivered the letter at the time I asked her to. Give her a few extra pieces of bacon and tell her it's a reward from me.
A smile appeared on her face as she read that. She knew how much Harry cared about Hedwig.
Ugh, there's no easy way of telling you so I won't beat around the bush. By the time you're reading this, I'll be nearly 3000 miles away. I am in Nigeria, Africa.
Fleur could not believe what she was reading.
"He's got to be joking!"
You're probably thinking that I'm joking. I'm not. I'm serious. I have to see one of the Shamans who had helped with my initiation into Shamanism in my past life. I don't know if he's alive or if he is even the same type of person as the guy from my past life, but I have no other choice. I really need his council.
Too many people are dying every day. Too many innocents are losing their lives, and it's all because I didn't finish the job properly last time. Because I didn't kill Voldemort for good. I know we've had this argument before and you don't agree but, trust me, I'm sure he is the one who started this. I can't let this go on any further. I have to kill him before he plunges the world into destruction for good. I can't sit on my ass and wait for him to come out in the open. I don't have the luxury of time. None of us does.
If everything goes according to my plans, I should be back by the end of the week. But if things don't work out... ...it will be a little more complicated. I'll have to travel all the way to Central America.
I'm sorry I didn't tell you this face-to-face but I knew you wouldn't give it a rest until I caved in and took you with me. And I can't have that. It's not because I think you're weak so don't start going in that direction - I haven't forgotten how you saved my arse two times already, I know what you're capable of.
Despite the anger building up inside of her, she almost broke into a smile at the last sentence.
The reason why I didn't take you or Bellatrix with me is that you care too much about me and would get in the way of my choices. You wouldn't accept what I might have to do, the sacrifices I might have to make.
I hope you don't kick me in the shin when I come back and welcome me with a warm hug instead. I promise I'll bring you souvenirs.
Love,
Harry.
PS: I've also sent Bella a letter for her to excuse me from school but you should know the pretext too in case someone asks about my absence: I've gotten Dragon Pox. I'll have to stay in quarantine for a few weeks at home to "heal". I won't be going to St. Mungo because I've gotten only mild symptoms so aunt Andy can treat me by herself.
"Hmpf, warm 'ug my ass! I'll definitely break your legs, just you wait! You will wish you 'ad gotten Dragon Pox for real instead!"
Huffing in indignation, she ate the rest of her breakfast with a scowl on her face. Once she was done, she grabbed her backpack and went to her mentor, Professor Flitwick's office, to ask him to let her borrow his fireplace for a Floo call. She hoped Bellatrix had not left for the Ministry yet, she wanted to talk to her about what Harry just did.
⁂
In truth, Harry had always had a "last resort" method of locating Voldemort in his past life - by appealing to Ekwensu, the God of Tricks and Mischief.
Although, originally, Ekwensu had been a benevolent god associated with craftiness and trades in the Igbo people's religion, that changed after the beginning of the Colonial Era. As a spirit born from people's faith, beliefs, and imagination, Ekwensu's character and attributes changed as centuries passed by. In the beginning, Igbo people did not believe in good and evil in the same way that Christians did. There was no God and no Satan in their religion, there were no angels and no demons. However, the Europeans' arrival and their Christian missionaries' efforts gradually changed their belief. In time, the Igbo people started associating Ekwensu with evil, with Satan, with the Devil.
In the present, Ekwensu was no longer a benevolent deity. That was the reason why Harry had to pay a toll in blood every time he wanted to activate Ekwensu's totem that prevented magic from being cast. And that was also why Harry could not appeal to Ekwensu in the past.
"Your request is not impossible. But I must warn you that the price that my god usually demands is not light," the Shaman said.
Unlike the way Shamans were depicted in Muggle movies and photos - wearing all sorts of coin ornaments, bones, and painted masks - the man seated across the table in front of Harry looked like a normal black old man. A very old man with short trimmed grizzled hair and deep wrinkles on his forehead. Though the dark red robes he was wearing gave him a solemn air, it was hard to see at a first glance why Harry would travel several thousand miles just so he could meet him.
After several years spent in this world, Harry had long since come to terms with the notion that people from his previous life could be completely different in the present - the two closest people to him, Fleur and Bella, were proof of that. Nonetheless, he could not help feeling nostalgic at the sight of the old man who had taught him Ekwensu's lore and had guided him in carving his first totem. But in his past life, Harry had not been particularly close to him - he had not gotten close to anyone after the Weasley clan's death, he had been too obsessed with vengeance - so he did not dwell on sentimentalism for long.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"I do not have an answer to that question yet. We shall both stand in Ekwensu's presence and await his judgement. If you would follow me-"
Standing up, the old Shaman made a gesture towards the door for Harry to follow him.
Walking behind the old man, Harry involuntarily breathed out a sigh of relief when he arrived in the basement - as far as he could recall, it was identical to the one from his memories. It was a circular room (alluding to Ekwensu's identity as a lunar deity), about 30 feet in diameter. As for its height, he could not measure it because the entire room was covered in a semi-darkness, the only source of light being 7 palm-sized candles burning on the stone floor. In the middle of the room, there was a thick and tall wooden pole covered entirely in Ancient Runes.
Unsheathing a silver ceremonial dagger from his waist, the Shaman asked for Harry's hand. The old man quickly cut open the flesh of Harry's palm and then proceeded to cut his own palm with the dagger too before saying:
"Place your hand on the Ekwensu's Totem and close your eyes. Do not interrupt me until I say it is done."
Once they both placed their hands on the totem and closed their eyes, the old Shaman chanted a mantra in the Igbo language. Although Harry did not understand his language, after a few minutes he picked up the fact that the old man was chanting the same incantation on repeat.
At some point, the Shaman unexpectedly stopped his chants and opened his eyes.
"Ekwensu has spoken. He demands an offering in blood. Ekwensu demands your main arm. Your left arm."
Harry's face stiffened at the old man's words. He studied the Shaman's facial expression with great attention for a few very long seconds, looking for signs of deceit. Accurately reading people's faces was a passive skill that most masters of the mind arts picked over time.
The old Shaman inwardly trembled, greatly unnerved by the young man's intense stare. Unlike ordinary wizards and witches, his attunement to his deity gave him a greater degree of sensitivity to all things related to magic. He had realized from the first sight that the young man in front of him was wearing a disguise...and he had also sensed the incredible magic power slumbering within his body.
"Ekwensu is a god of Tricks and Mischief but he does not cheat those that form a contract with him. The contracts are sacred. They are the lifeblood of his faith, they-"
"I understand," Harry replied calmly. He believed him because - 'It's the same as in my past life.'
The reason why he had not been able to make use of Ekwensu's Oracle and find Voldemort's whereabouts quickly in his past life was that back then the deity had also demanded his left arm... however, at the time, Harry had already lost his right arm in his previous battle with Voldemort. Losing his other arm too would have been suicide.
It was different in the present though. Now, he was whole. Losing one arm would not be unbearable. If sacrificing one arm meant he could find Voldemort and end his existence for good, Harry was more than willing to make that trade.
⁂
Half an hour later, Harry and the old Shaman were sitting cross-legged in front of Ekwensu's totem in the basement, a wide circular stone bowl filled with a crystal clear liquid between them. The Shaman's eyebrows shot into his hairline when he sensed the filthy and evil magic oozing from the object that the young man had taken out.
For the ritual to work, Harry had to provide the priest with a sacrifice - his left arm in this case - and an object belonging to the person that he wanted to locate; the more attached was the target to the object, the more accurate would Ekwensu's prophecy be. Knowing that, Harry had taken with him Voldemort's sole Horcrux with him before leaving, he had taken Tom Riddle's Diary. No other object could be any closer to Voldemort than his very Horcrux, a portion of his soul.
After placing the Diary Horcrux at the base of the Totem, he grabbed a piece of fabric and stuffed it in his mouth. He bit on it hard before lifting his left arm above the bowl too. Closing his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled loudly through his nose a few times in an attempt to calm himself. One moment later, a muffled scream of agony rang in the basement.
As the Ancient Runes covering the Totem of Ekwensu started glowing, a fire suddenly engulfed the diary and the severed arm lying in front of it. An inhuman scream came from the Diary as it was consumed by the divine fire, drowning the muffled sounds of pain coming from Harry.
While the offerings were being incinerated, a spark of fire also fell from the totem and engulfed Harry's shoulder, cauterizing the wound and stopping the bleeding. His cries of pain broke anew.
But he steeled his resolve and tried his hardest to clear his mind. Occlumency was not all-powerful but it did help lessen the feeling of pain. He had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse enough times in his past life to realize that. Even as he was huffing and sweating a river, his eyes never left the bowl in front of him. Slowly, several images started appearing on the surface of the clear liquid in the scrying bowl.
AN: for those who do not know, most people in Nigeria can speak English. The locals have so many unique languages that English had become a common language for everyone, a way for them to communicate with each other easier.
