The tunnels seemed to go on for miles, but in the heavy darkness it really was impossible to tell.
All Harry knew was that he'd never walked this far in one direction before. Even the loop of London's Tier Six ... the largest habitable level of the city ... was nothing compared to this distance. Harry realised that he'd never truly understood just how much earth there was on the bare Earth, and he felt rather foolish for the limited manner in which he used to look at things.
And this internal chagrin was now also directed firmly at himself. He pored over Amelie's revelations, as they walked along in relative silence, speaking only to warn each other about hidden obstacles they stumbled over in the dark. The solitude gave Harry plenty of time to think, and his thoughts dwelled largely on his own stupidity.
For it seemed absurd to him now that he'd managed to overlook the fact that he had little memory of his past, be it his recent past or that other, more ephemeral one that he was only now learning about. It was almost as if his life had began with the death of his parents and kicked off from there.
And that led to some even more awkward questions, ones that left a dull ache in Harry's heart. For he had to wonder now if those people, who he had thought of as Mum and Dad, really had been crushed in The Big Tilt after all, or if they had ever even existed in the first place? Was the whole thing just some big ruse, to stop him from making too many enquiries about his origins and how he had come to end up as an orphaned Apprentice to the Historians Guild of London?
Don't ask too many questions, let the past show you the truth ... that was one of the mantras for a quiet life as an Historian, and Harry had followed it faithfully for seven years.
Only now he was beginning to see that history was only as reliable as the source it came from. It was often said that history was written by the winners, coloured and edited to pass on a message that would promote a certain doctrine or ideology. Harry had never understood that concept quite as clearly as he did now, had never seen how woefully limited his formal education had been. He had been taught what others wanted him to know, been force-fed a history that was almost completely fabricated.
Well, there was only one thing for it ... Harry would have to find out the truth himself, first-hand, uncorrupted by outside agendas ... it was the only thing he would believe in now.
Then that led to thoughts of Hermione, of course. Harry trusted her implicitly, knew that she was the only source of truth in his life that had any validity now. But there was also a little niggle about her that he couldn't shake. She had been created first ... there would have been plenty of opportunity for her to be enlisted into this scheme against him, whether she was part of it knowingly or not. Valentine had taken her, whereas he had merely discarded Harry, left him to die. That meant Hermione carried more importance than he did.
And Harry was left to ponder why. The simple answer was that they had this magical tool of hers, this wand, and that maybe something they found in the tomb would enable her to wield it again. Harry's wand had been taken, traded, could have been used for firewood for all he knew. The uncertainty could have made Harry expendable, a risk not worth leaving to chance. Valentine could have decided to terminate this 'experiment' prematurely, now that he had what he wanted.
Which led to Harry's most shuddering thought yet ... would he, at some point down the line, be brought into direct conflict with the girl he loved? And, more importantly than that ... what would he do if he did? It was a heavy topic that Harry didn't feel anything like ready to face up to quite yet.
Luckily for him, it was a this point that Amelie called back to him to stop walking.
"We are about to enter the village of Godfrey's Hello," Amelie explained. "Take a few moments to prepare yourself. Once we are out into the light you might find it a bit of shock. You'll need time to adjust."
"Adjusting to the pitch dark was bad enough," Harry huffed. He took a deep breath or two. "Alright ... I'm ready."
Harry heard three dull thuds, as Amelie knocked on what sounded like a heavy oak door, then there was a jarring sort of grating sound, as a panel was clumsily yanked open in the door. Harry saw, against a backdrop of weak, flickering firelight, a pair of beady eyes emerge into the gap left by the sliding panel.
"Who goes there?" asked a voice in gruff Anglish.
"I am Amelie Flamel, Mistress of the stranded town of Axleminster. I am here to turn myself in."
Harry barely had time to register what Amelie had said, when the door was flung open fully. The sudden burst of light rendered Harry inert a moment, leaving him unable to respond as a pair of muscular arms snatched around him and dragged him through the door, which slammed hard behind them. Harry squinted hard against the light, but a new problem arrived a moment later when he was thrust bodily against a ragged wall, robbing his lungs of what little hadn't been squeezed out by his captor.
"Flamel! You are the heretic who besmirched our sacred land!" the door-guard cried out angrily. "You will hang for your crimes! And who is your accomplice?"
"He is no accomplice, Crabbe," Amelie retorted. "He is Harry Potter of London!"
Xbox Crabbe, who rarely had this much excitement guarding the door to the village, scoffed derisorily at the claim.
"Impossible," Crabbe spat. "We all saw The Boy-Who-Lived-Before burn up in that expensive airship out by the Mausoleum."
"I rescued him before the flames totally gutted the ship," Amelie argued. "This is Harry Potter."
"I don't think so," Crabbe shook his head.
"It isn't your job to think," Amelie fired back. "Take us to someone who does ... I offer you a Penny for the Guy."
Crabbe faltered a moment as Amelie, who was unrestrained, held out her hand. A shiny bronze disc was sitting in her palm. Crabbe eyed it hungrily.
"A genuine, English penny from 1982," Amelie whispered temptingly. "Our toll for a meeting with Guy. I heard you were an avid collector of antique coins, Xbox. This one would make you the envy of your peers, or rich beyond your wildest dreams."
"I would never sell this!" Xbox Crabbe hissed, snatching the penny from Amelie's hand. He held it up to the light, admiring it the way a lover might admire his sweetheart's visage. "Alright, I accept your terms. But why do you want to see Guy?"
"I think he might want to see us," Amelie replied cryptically. "Or, more specifically, to see him. Let Harry go."
Crabbe nodded to his equally thickset colleague, who released Harry from his death-bind. Harry slumped to the floor, gulping greedily at the air he'd been denied for the past few minutes. Then he got up, glowered at the human gargoyle that had been pinning him to the wall, then followed Crabbe and Amelie along yet more tunnels.
What surprised Harry deeply was that Godfrey's Hello was an underground village. Vast, sprawling, but completely subterranean, Harry had no idea such places even existed. It made sense to him that they did, though, for static towns and villages were constantly under threat from Traction Cities hungry for resources, and Traction Towns looking to press-gang workers or acquire slaves to sell at trading clusters. Being hidden out of a sight was a logical first line of defence.
But Harry was stunned by the literal depths that this village had gone to in order to stay secret. There was just that something about the quality of the air that made you feel that the surface was a long was away. Dank and thick, it sat heavy on the lungs as the group walked along. Harry was very glad when they left the narrow passageways and opened up into a network of much larger and loftier caverns, where the villagers lived and went about their business.
Crabbe led them up a set of crude earthen staircases until they reached a sort of circular hut, set at the top of a tall column of stone. This was where the mysterious village elder, called Guy, resided. Crabbe spoke to someone through a gap in the door of the hut, returning a few moments later with a cross expression, which he directed straight at Harry.
"Guy will see you, but you," he pointed bluntly at Amelie, "will stay here. He will decide what to do with you later. You, boy, can go in ... do not make him wait."
Amelie nodded in encouragement, so Harry took the few steps up the slight incline and entered the hut.
It was dim and gloomy inside, and stiflingly warm. Harry put his fingers into the collar of his Guild tunic, pulling on it to let some of the dry air pass over his sticky skin. Then he sensed movement to his left and snapped around to face it.
"My, my I never thought I would see your face again ... Harry Potter."
The voice which had spoken was soft, ethereal. It came from the shadows at the back of the hut and Harry couldn't make out the speaker at all.
"Again?" Harry asked to the gloom. "Have we met before, then?"
"We have ... many, many centuries ago," came the reply.
"How is that possible?" Harry pressed.
"The answer is tied in to the reason that I am currently hidden from view," said the voice. It was so soft ... the very tone had a calming, elixir-like quality. Harry felt oddly relaxed by it. "The villagers out there wouldn't understand if they saw me. Only someone like you, might."
"Like me?"
"Yes, like you. Someone touched by the fantastical, by a sort of nature that is very much an alternative to the norm."
"I'm not sure I know what that means," Harry frowned.
"Then let me show you," the voice replied. "I am going to step into the light. Try not to be too alarmed when you see me."
Harry steeled himself as best he could, expecting perhaps a grotesquely disfigured man to step into the half-light, cast by a candelabra burning on a table at the heart of the hut. He thought of Tom Natsworthy's new friend, Hester, wondering if she felt the same requirement to warn people before allowing them to set eyes on her. He felt a pang of pity for the poor girl, and angry at whichever villain caused her to be so horrifically mutilated.
But then all such thoughts were driven from Harry's mind, as the mysterious speaker stepped into the light.
Or rather, hopped ... for it wasn't a man that Harry was speaking to ... it wasn't even a human.
It was a giant bird.
"You're a ... a ..." Harry tried gasp in his shock.
"I am not a mere bird, if that is what you are about to say," the creature cut in with a sort of grimace. "I would take such a comment as an insult."
"Then what are you?" Harry asked. "For you very much look like a ... a ... a 'b-word'."
"I am a phoenix," the creature announced, proudly. "And you may call me by my real name ... Fawkes."
Harry frowned in his confusion. "Fawkes. But why do the others call you 'Guy'?"
"That is the name I have taken in the past, when I have needed to spend time in my human form, which I do not enjoy," Fawkes explained. "But you may use my phoenix name, as you did the last time our paths were intertwined."
"And this was centuries ago, you say?" Harry asked, perplexed. This was all very mind-warping.
"Yes, though you look as if you have barely aged a day," Fawkes observed. "Remarkable, really, the technological ingenuity that your Guild of Engineers is able to employ."
"Frightening, I'd say," Harry frowned.
"Yes, quite," Fawkes agreed, grimly.
"So can you explain any of this?" Harry asked, slightly desperate. "How did we know each other so long ago? How are you still here? How have I been brought back ... and for what?
"And can you also tell me how a creature like yourself is able to talk?"
Fawkes sang out a laugh, and Harry was calmed by the resonance of the sound as it passed through his body. It made him pliant to accept all that was happening, despite how bizarre it all was.
"I can answer all of that and more," Fawkes assured Harry. "And I shall start with myself. I am a phoenix, Harry, an immortal creature. When each of my bodies dies, I am reborn from the ashes in a continual cycle. It has allowed me to see many Ages of this world, to witness times of famine and plague, of destructive wars, times of ice and times of fire. And through all this, I have gained much wisdom.
"It was this wisdom that originally led me to you."
"How?" Harry asked, fascinated by the story already.
"Eons ago, when humankind first became self-aware enough to begin to think in abstract ways ... to create art and poetry, to commemorate their dead, to allow higher forms of consciousness and symbolic thought into themselves ... they soon learned that they could manipulate natural energies of the world, to turn the mundane into the arcane.
"This new power they named magicka, which contracted to become the magic that you might be familiar with from your story books. It is the ability to control things in ways that may defy conventional expectations and laws of how such things work.
"Early proponents of magic could inspire combustion in things that could burn, by using their mere will alone. This is simply one example how easily these early adepts could utilise magic. But as society developed, and thinking became yet more convoluted, many links to these natural origins began to get lost. Humankind lost the ability to control their own magic without deep study and tools to help them."
"Like these magic wands that I've heard about!" Harry cried.
"Exactly," Fawkes confirmed, nodding his scarlet and gold-plumed head. "Initially, it wasn't just wands ... there were staffs and staves, swords and sceptres, rings, amulets and trinkets of all manner of design. But by the time you and I first met, wands were very much the order of the day."
"And how did we meet?" Harry pressed.
"Society had very much changed from what it had been," Fawkes went on. "Civilisations began to be centered around the accumulation of wealth, of land, and of power over others. And magic and her users, once so revered, began to be distrusted and feared.
"This led to increasing marginalisation of those who could still use magic, and their numbers dwindled to make them very much a minority. Some even saw them as an abhorration and sought to wipe them out entirely. There were witch-hunts and executions, purges against all forms of magical society. The survivors were driven to the extremes of hiding their true nature by using their magic.
"In order to keep their society alive, they had to organise their own, alternate social set-up. Institutions were established to teach magic to those gifted in the art, with Hogwarts school being an example of one of these. One student who passed through the halls was unusually powerful, and it was foreseen that he could bring a sort of balance and stability to the magical world.
"But he needed guidance, to be shown down a path of Light. I was asked to assist, and donated a feather from my tail to be placed inside a wand designed for this young wizard. For that was the only way that humans could now control magic with any sort of focus ... to link with a powerful magical creature, whose essence was fused inside a wand during its construction. Dragon heartstrings, unicorn tails, basilisk claws ... all such ingredients were used to aid the dwindling power of human magic."
Harry stared open-mouthed. "And this wand ... it was made for the original me?"
Fawkes sighed in a melancholy sort of way. "Alas, no. It was made for another. But when it was discovered that the boy, who was called Thomas Riddle, was already corrupted beyond redemption, I felt a personal sense of responsibility, to make amends. I consented to give another feather ... just one other ... for a brother wand to be made, in the hopes that it would come into the hands of a Knight of the Light, one who might counteract and defeat the evil of this Dark Lord.
"And that young wizard, Harry Potter, was the original you."
Harry blinked in shock. "I ... I read a little about that. Or Hermione did. She told me that the original me killed a tyrant. It was this Thomas Riddle person, then?"
"Yes, though he didn't go by that name then, but the title of Lord Voldemort."
Harry heard the name and something sparked inside. He didn't know why, but the very name made him tremble.
"The connection of your wands was key," Fawkes went on. "Brother wands will refuse to fully fight against each other. Neither could kill the other, and in the end Lord Voldemort was killed by complete accident. A vicious magical spell he cast was deflected by the other Harry's defensive spell, and rebounded back to kill Voldemort.
"Harry became a hero, but he shunned the lime-light. He wanted a quiet life, which led to a divorce from his first wife, who very much yearned for the celebrity lifestyle. Harry reconnected with the original Hermione a few years after they left school, rekindled a romance with her, and they went on to have a family and a life of travel and adventure away from the prying eyes of the world."
Harry smiled warmly at that. He imagined how his earlier self must have revelled in such a life. After all, it was the one this Harry dreamt of crafting with his Hermione in the modern world.
And that led to the imperative situation at present.
"So ... why have they brought us back?"
"My guess is that you were the most powerful wizard of all time, and Hermione Granger was known as the most powerful witch of the age," Fawkes replied. "If any witch or wizard was to be revived, who not revive the best?"
"That makes sense, I suppose," Harry huffed. "But what does London want us to do?"
"That much is obvious, they want you to be a weapon for them," Fawkes declared. "But now, what I think you should concentrate on is, what are you going to do to London."
Harry blinked hard gulping at Fawkes firm tone. "What does that mean?"
Fawkes took flight, circled Harry three times and landed on a perch near the door. "London has embarked on a very dangerous road, Harry. Thaddeus Valentine has unearthed a terrifying weapon from the time of the Sixty Minute War, one he has presented to Mayor Magnus Chrome. We can only shiver at what London intends to use this weapon for, but it isn't hard to guess."
Fawkes sighed weightily again, closing his great amber eyes.
"I was there, Harry ... I was there two and a half thousand years ago ... when the original London, and other great cities, tried to use these weapons to destroy the world during war at the time. Thankfully, they failed.
"But, they knew what they were doing with these weapons. They were called nuclear bombs, and quantum lasers ... the Ancients designed and built them. Traction London did not, and your Guild of Engineers is only guessing at what this inherited tool of terror can do. But they intend to use it nonetheless.
"And if they mis-use it, Harry, Traction London may succeed where Ancient London failed ... it might actually destroy the world."
Harry felt a cool shiver of fear trickle along his spine. "Then something must be done to stop it! Can anything be done, or are we too late?"
"Only time will tell about that," Fawkes replied. "But I am heartened to see you so keen to do the right thing. Your predecessor self would be proud of you."
Harry was oddly swelled by that. "Then let me make him even prouder. Tell me how I can help stop this disaster before it happens."
"It might involve you doing something you wont want to do ... it might involve you bringing about the downfall of London," Fawkes warned.
Harry swallowed a steely breath. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. London will have brought it's downfall on itself. Just tell me what to do."
"You must travel to the surface," Fawkes began. "Head into the forest nearby and find a holly tree. Bring back a sturdy, strong branch."
"Then what?"
"Then I will give another feather ... one which will be fused into a new magic wand for you," Fawkes declared. "It will re-establish your connection to magic ... and to me. Then we will ignite your natural adroitness to elemental Fire Magic. You were born under the sign of Leo, the sign of the Sun ... fire is in your very fibre. Then we will turn you towards London, where you will go with our hopes and prayers, to destroy that abomination hidden under the dome of St Paul's Cathedral on London's Tier One.
"We shall call this The Gunpowder Plot, and hope that, one day, we will have a world left to celebrate this day. People will forever remember the fifth of November."
Harry puffed out his chest, stirred by Fawkes' speech. "But how will I reach London? My airship was destroyed."
Fawkes turned his head to Harry. "My dear boy, if you are able to reawaken magic, nothing that has been broken will be beyond your repair. We will start with your aircraft ... then we will fix the broken world. We will fix our home together."