Chapter 6 : The gravity of the situation

The new reforms flowed so quickly and smoothly during the first few weeks under the new administration that one could almost think that they had been carefully planned and prepared well in advance. Such ideas were only entertained in whispers though, as no good and well-meaning member of society could conceive that anyone would have predicted the death of Minister Fudge. If one lent an ear to those conspiratory whispers, however, they would also hear tales of disappearances, and of aurors drastically increasing their numbers as the Ministry's flying memos took longer to arrive and looked as if they had already been opened.

Very few had the time to spare to consider such tall tales, however, as most magical citizens of Great Britain were far too busy focusing on more important matters. One of those was this strange concept called "taxes". Some of the more ignorant of the ways of the world spoke of it like a concept borrowed from Muggles, but those in their right mind knew that the new administration would never stoop so low as to sully their society with such things.

As such, these "taxes" on shops and businesses could only be a perfectly well-meaning innovation, meant to strengthen their rebuilding economy. And fortunately for the important people of this country, they were implemented in such a way that only the most recent establishments were obligated to pay exorbitant amounts, and those were almost all owned or frequented by those of less fortunate magical parentage. The older shops had long proved their use for society after all, and should not be troubled by considerations which could interfere with their vital activities. Those who could afford it even had the opportunity to be exempted from these monthly impositions by donating a substantial amount to the ministry's brand new Integrity and Stability department.

Some dissidents were far from sharing those views on the greatness of the new reforms, however, and the topic sparked many heated discussions in Neptune's orbit. It was during one such talk that Voldemort's plan finally became clear to Harry. For months now, he had rooted out any opposition in the Ministry, either by getting them fired or outright murder, while steadily making the life of muggleborns harder. And now, he had managed in one fell swoop to centralise the wealth of his richest followers, while putting the few shops that were still selling or employing muggleborns out of business.

It was only a matter of time before the desperate and angry masses decided to take the matter in their own hands and take a stand against the Ministry... Only to be crushed by a brutal and bloody retaliation in the name of peace and stability.

The novel experience of knowing what hardship awaited them did nothing to wash away the bitter taste of helplessness and doubt from his mouth.

In the middle of the night, three masked figures draped in dark robes appeared in the deserted alley in front of a renowned wandmaker's shop. Without a sound, they advanced as one and closed its metal curtains with a flick of a wand, hiding the many wands on display from view as the door opened without a sound.

Two of the figures disappeared in the shop, and could soon be heard making their way to the apartment above while the last stood guard outside. His gaze surveyed the alley for any undesirable, unperturbed by the muffled sounds of a struggle coming from the door left ajar behind him.

When his two companions came back, it was with an unconscious man marked by age and blows, several bags filled to the brim with wooden boxes floating behind him. With but an inquisitive look, answered by a faint nod by the guard, the two turned on their heels and disappeared with a cracking sound that seemed deafening in the dead of the night, taking their prisoner and bounty with them.

The last masked figure raised his wand to the door, watching it close and lock, before pointing it down the alley, toward a business owned by a woman well known for her distasteful views. A dull orange light flashed from the wand and blasted through the door. The store front exploded in white flames as the figure disappeared like his accomplices had before him.

Windows up and down the alley lit up, fearful eyes peering through the gaps of their curtains. The fires roared and burned, climbing to the apartment above and its helpless tenants as none of the onlookers gathered the courage to come out and help, knowing all too well that they risked being next if they did.

Those of them deprived of morbid curiosity were quick to turn off their lights, and to go back to huddle in their beds for another sleepless night. Those were the ones who never saw the disparate group of colourful youngsters and grizzled veterans appear in the street and fight off the fire. One of them braved the flames without hesitation to bring back a burned, but living, apothecary out of the collapsing building. And as quickly as they arrived, they were gone, leaving behind them the charred remains of a life's work.

Such nights had become an awfully common sight amongst the wizarding settlements of Great Britain...

The nauseating feeling of being squeezed through a spinning straw stopped as his feet touched the carefully waxed floor of Dumbledore's office. Repressing the urge to hurl, Harry leaned on the nearest bookcase and avidly took in great gulps of air. He stood there for an instant, shivering in disgust and soaked to the bones, before the heat of the fireplace burning comfortably in the corner washed through his beaten and freezing form.

"Next time, we're taking the bus, sir."

Next to him, Dumbledore chuckled before bringing out his knobby wand in a wide motion and Harry could feel his clothes peel off from his skin as they promptly dried up.

"I'm afraid we will be hard pressed to find a stop quite near that particular place. Though it might be for the best I suppose."

Harry humphed. That was one way of saying it. The cave carved in the face of the tide-beaten cliff was lost in the middle of nowhere. Why couldn't Voldemort hide his Horcruxes in the middle of London or something? At least they wouldn't have to climb down a damn cliff under a downpour. Though knowing him, they'd still have to smear blood on something, like they had to in order to open the cave.

Bloody creep.

Inside, they had made their way in the dark until they reached a lake filled with hundreds of inferies and a small isle smack in the middle of it. They'd used an invisible boat to go across, only to find a very familiar locket bathing in something that was definitely not water.

They had spent a good while inspecting the pedestal and the potion protecting the locket, trying to extirpate the locket from its aqueous prison or to drain the potion. Conjuring animals to drink it, emptying the goblet on the ground or trying to catch the locket's chain in it... nothing worked. Dumberlore's insistence to confirm the duplicate's nature was met with Harry's firm rejection of drinking whatever cursed potion Voldemort had left here, doubly so if it was to retrieve a fake. They had finally agreed to give up their attempts for the night and to come back with Snape to investigate further at a later date.

All in all, the night could almost have been called bearable if the boat hadn't failed them on the way back, plunging them into the freezing waters filled with undead abominations. Getting out of there had been messy.

"I hope our failure tonight did not discourage you from joining me for these little outings." Dumbledore said as he pocketed his wand and took place at his desk. His soaked beard and hair and his torn mint green robes brought back memories of him driving back the hordes of undead as they ran for the exit.

Despite his tiredness, Harry shook his head vehemently, sending droplets of sea water around him.

"Never. I haven't come this far to stop now."

"Of course." Dumbledore said with a smile, his eyes full of mirth and pride. "I'll leave you to the careful arms of Morpheus then. I dare say you look like you dearly need it."

With a nod, Harry excused himself from the headmaster's office and began his descent of the tower. He felt the excitement of the night drain from his muscles with each step, leaving only a sore tiredness behind. When the gargoyle stepped back to let him out in the hallway, he felt miserable and aching all over, but these feelings paled in comparison to his rebelling stomach. The light dinner he had wolfed down in a hurry before going to see Dumbledore was nothing more than a distant memory by now.

He couldn't wait to get back on the ship, or better yet, to the castle's kitchen. However the idea of going down the entire castle in his current state, only to go back up later was unappealing to say the least. Fortunately for him, he was a wizard, and if he couldn't make his way to the kitchen, he could make the kitchen come to him.

A smile came to his lips as memories of his early years in Hogwarts came to mind. Ron would be so proud of his progress.

"Dobby?" He asked hesitantly, his voice resonating in the empty corridor.

With a crack, a house elf dressed in brightly colored clothes far too big for him, with his large bat ears covered by gigantic mismatched socks appeared at his side, seemingly unsure if he should look worried or overjoyed.

"Harry Potter has called Dobby? It be very late. Students shouldn't be-" He stopped, as his bulging eyes went from the cut on Harry's cheek to his damp hair and singed clothes. "Heep! Is Harry Potter hurt? Dobby will warn-"

"Calm down Dobby, everything's fine. I was on a trip with the headmaster and we got caught in the rain, that's all."

"Is Harry Potter sure he is alright? Does he need a towel or a blanket or-or-"

"It's ok, I'm fine really." Harry said, lowering himself to Dobby's height. "But I could kill for supper right now. Could you bring me some leftovers from dinner, please?"

Dobby looked him in the eye, wringing his hands, before nodding. "Dobby can do that, Harry."

And just like that, he was gone with a crack, leaving Harry alone in the corridor once again. It was not to last, however, as Harry barely had the time to drop to the floor and prop his back against the wall before Dobby reappeared with a tray in his hands. On it was a mug of steaming hot chocolate and an enormous sandwich filled with ham, lettuce, eggs, sausages, beans, carrots and a dozen other ingredients.

Any other day, the combination would have turned his stomach, but tonight Harry was just too hungry to care. Giving his thanks, he took the tray on his knees and wasted no time as he brought the mug to his lips, letting the chocolate goodness spread much needed warmth inside of him. When he put it down, he realised that Dobby was still looking at him worriedly.

"Now that just won't do. Why don't you get yourself something to drink too and join me down here so you can tell me what you've been up to since last year." He said, tapping the spot next to him on the floor.

Finally, a tentative smile grew on Dobby's face and, after another quick trip to the kitchen, he sat down next to Hatty with a mug of his own.

Being here, chatting with Dobby about nothing and everything, catching up on his life in the castle, offered Harry a much needed break. It reminded him of life before everything went south, before this same little elf told him about the room of requirements and every waking moment turned to the war and how to survive it. It was hard to think that it was all just a few months ago, and staggering to think of all that had changed because he had bumped into Dobby in the kitchen. They had been searching for a place to hide their training from Umbridge and ended up uncovering mankind's greatest discovery since magic itself...

His mind came to an abrupt stop as he was about to take another bite out of his sandwich..

A place to hide?

There's no way it could be this easy, could it?

If you needed a place in the castle to hide something and make sure no-one would find it... It had been the D.A. for them, but other students could have found themselves with the same problem and end up with the same solution. Voldemort had hid his Horcruxes in places important to him, and if there was one thing Harry knew and understood all too well about him, it was that for him, no place was as important as Hogwarts. What better hiding spot could he have found than a room that didn't exist until you specifically asked for it? And in his hubris, he was probably convinced no one else would ever find it.

Harry quickly finished his sandwich and, interrupting a tale about missing gloves and feral books in the dungeons, gave back the tray to Dobby with an apology and a promise to see him soon. The elf only nodded before waving him goodbye enthusiastically. He really didn't deserve a friend like Dobby.

He scurried himself up and started running, ignoring his aching muscles as he darted through the corridors. The following week, after days spent searching the room with the help of Ron and Hermione, Harry came back to Dumbledore with a sapphire encrusted diadem locked in a box of pure silver.

And if they also sent a few pieces of furniture and knick knacks to the ship so they could conjure duplicates later, no one had to know...

Far from the boring preoccupations of less interesting people, things were going as usual in the office of Weasleys' Wondrous Innovations. Plans were concocted, inventions were brought to life and candies were made and savoured with relish. The only notable exception that particular day was the absence of Fred's better half, who had no doubt gone to wreak havoc and laughter somewhere else.

His absence, however, did not mean that Fred was stumped in his quest for new gadgets and gizmos to devise for the D.S.F. As someone or other probably said at some point, nothing and no one shall stall the march of progress! And speaking of progress, he had just finished the calibration of his newest marvel. Fred put on a pair of protective goggles with hands covered by comically large latex gloves, before he pressed a small button on the side of the egg-shaped device and threw it at a wind up toy in the likeness of a Death Eater across the room.

Today was Saturday, and like every Saturday, Ernie was going around the station, collecting the past week's reports from each division. As he made his way through the section of the ship attributed to engineering, he could not stop himself from frowning at the sizable pile of rolled up parchments under his arm, as if doing so could make them disappear somehow.

While they kept discovering amazing things with every day spent studying alien technology, he couldn't help but think that this part of his job was one big waste of time. After each weekly collection, he spent a non-negligible time skimming through the reports so he could bring the most important or urgent of them to Harry's attention. And while it could be a bit boring at times, learning everything that had been discovered by the crew wasn't a bad way to spend his Saturday nights. No, the real problem was Harry himself.

If he hadn't come to know him last year, Ernie would have sworn the man was devoid of any ability to trust other people. He was not satisfied with just hearing Ernie's summary, and insisted on being informed of every little detail of everyone's researches and discoveries, supposedly so he could supervise and direct them as he thought best for the crew. But in truth, Harry rarely ever gave them such directives, letting them research whatever they fancied or needed as long as they didn't put the integrity of the station and its inhabitants at risk. That was one of the things everyone liked about having him as a captain.

No, Harry trusted them to know what they were doing and not to push their enthusiasm too far. And although accidents did happen sometimes, they were always minimised by the security measures they had put in place. It had taken him some time, but Ernie had finally understood the real reason for Harry's obsession with the minutiae of everyone's occupation. He was burying himself under an overwhelming mountain of work to give himself an excuse for not being out there fighting.

Even after he had fled to the stars, and despite trying all he could to distract himself from it, the war and its weight had caught back to him. Whether he did it consciously or not didn't matter, as it seemed everyone but him could see it eating him up from inside. The worst part in all of this was how pig-headed he was about it, not letting them help him, or even outright ignoring their advice. Despite his friends' and Ernie's reprimands, Harry slept a lot less these days, trying to catch up on his work and to draft plans for their future. Gone was the peace they had seen him find on the ship.

Well, if that's how he wanted to go about it, fine. Two could play this game. If he won't let them help him, then they wouldn't give him a choice in the matter. He'd have to talk to the division chiefs about it, but maybe they could find a way to reduce his workload without him noticing what they were doing. Perhaps under the pretence of consolidating the divisions' internal organisation and reducing administrative time that could be better spent?

Ernie never managed to think his plans through that day though, as he heard a muffled crackling sound nearby just before the lights across the entire corridor began to flicker. He stopped and looked around in confusion until he noticed the thin smoke coming out of the Weasley twins' lab down the hall.

With apprehension, Ernie made his way to the garishly painted door as if it was the gateway to hell itself. He did not fancy finding himself in the middle of one of their jokes gone wrong, but these did not usually affect the station itself. Either something was really wrong or it was about to be and he'd better shut them down before they unpressurised the whole section or something.

With a press of the control panel, the door began to slide open, only to stop halfway, leaving a diamond shaped opening from which thick puffs of black smoke came out. Ernie took a step back, coughing as the smoke got in his lungs. He dropped the parchments as he brought a hand to his mouth and twisted his other wrist to take out his wand off the suit's integrated holster.

"Ven-" He tried, only for his throat to betray him with a cough. "Ventus!"

A burst of wind blew past him and dispersed the smoke, revealing the unconscious form of Fred Weasley. He laid on the floor, behind a worktable while a clearly malfunctioning egg-shaped device flailed around across the room, sending arcs of electricity everywhere. A light fixture exploded as it was hit, sending burning fragments in every direction and causing the ones in the corridor to flicker with renewed vigour.

"Crap."

While it was true that, in spite of a succession of incompetent teachers, every member of the crew had received some self-defence training during their D.A. days, Ernie would be the first to admit that he was at best a mediocre duelist. It's not like he didn't try, he really did, but he just didn't work well in the heat of the moment. He was more of a peaceful charms kind of guy. Ask him to turn a coconut into a porcelain ballerina, and he'll have it dancing across the room in no time. Charging head first toward a crazy machine that zapped and exploded everything around it, however? Not quite his thing.

That's why Ernie surprised himself when, instead of running away to get help, he followed his first instinct and dived into the door's opening, taking cover behind a scorched desk. Trying to stop himself from trembling, he began to throw stasis charms in the direction of the offending object. However, as he dared not raise his head above his shelter to aim, his spells all missed their mark by a long shot. He had to bring his arms up to shield himself as another stray bolt of lightning arced above the desk and struck the wall behind him, sending sparks and melting bits of metal all over.

Hissing in pain as he felt the heat of the burning pieces penetrate right through his suit, Ernie swirled and swished his wand in a complex motion before taping the desk, turning it into a large rubbery umbrella. He picked it up and tried to make himself as small as possible as he ran awkwardly toward the second desk. Once again behind cover, and with the added protection of the umbrella overhead, Ernie ventured a peek above the desk. This time, his spell struck true while sparks washed up on the rubber above him. The blue light impacted the contraption, but failed to do anything to stop its rampage, however.

Swearing, Ernie ducked back behind the desk as another bolt struck the floor near him. He chanced another glance at the machine, and now that he was closer to it, he could see the silver and gold inlays swirling around the device's sleek frame.

"Had to make it resistant to magic. Of course he did."

He took a deep breath and brought the umbrella closer against him before rising to his full height, his wand slashing the air in precise movements fuelled by desperation. The debris laying on the ground near the egg-shaped device gathered and fused themself in a gaping maw with sharpened teeth.

A sharp cry escaped his lips, and his grasp on the umbrella failed him as an arc of electricity shot across the room and impacted his non-wielding arm. He could feel the skin of his arm blister under his suit and his nerves alaze as his legs collapsed under him and he fell onto the desk.

Sprawled amongst parchments, broken inkwells and half assembled gizmos, Ernie pained to raise his shaking wand for an abrupt upward swish, sending his steel trap to envelop the machine. With a sound of folding metal, the Weasley doomsday device was covered in a sheet of crumpled steel. He had merely bought himself a short respite, however, as he could already see the metal turn red with heat, menacing to melt away in several spots.

Out of ideas and with every movement bringing lancinating pain to his left arm that dangled limply at his side, Ernie looked around for something, anything that he could use to finally put an end to this madness. His eyes finally found a large hammer, laying on the ground with every other item that fell when he transfigured the desk they were resting on.

When magic fails...

Ernie summoned the hammer to him, and let go of his wand to catch it with his good hand before it could crash into him. He dragged himself to the now glowing ball of metal trembling on the floor, and fell on his knees before it. Gritting his teeth, he raised his last resort high above his head before slamming it down with all his strength, repeating the motion with reckless abandon until only scraps remained under him.

He stood there for maybe a minute, clutching his left arm and waiting for his strength to return. When he finally got back up, his limping gait brought him to Fred's side, and a quick check reassured him that his pulse was still beating, albeit a bit weekly. Ernie gave a deep sight as he sat on the floor, and brought his hand to his communication stone to call for medical help. This had been entirely too much excitement for his taste.

In retrospect, he really should have known not to drop his guard in this particular room.

Above him, the lights flickered a last time before settling back to their normal state, and a small square of the ceiling retracted to let out a tube that spewed a blob of rainbow colored foam. It grew and spread as it touched the floor, putting out the small fire that had started in the device's remains and quickly beginning to fill up the entire room.

Swearing like a sailor and with his suit already covered with the stuff, Ernie pushed himself back up and struggled to extirp Fred from the self-replicating bubbles. Outside, a crowd of onlookers were gathering at the door and some hurried to help them through the opening.

As if pursuing them, the foam began to spill out in the hallway, ruining the reports forgotten at their feet. After an uncomfortably soap-filled minute that left many with damp ankles, the foam finally stopped its advance and began to shrink as an over-enthusiastic recording could be heard coming from the room.

"Thank you for choosing WWI's unpatented emergency fire-suppression system! We hope you'll be more careful next time."

It was a good thing Fred hadn't died in the accident, because it meant Ernie would be able to kill him himself.

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Harry asked, making no effort to hide his grumpiness as he'd been woken up at the ungodly hour of eight o'clock a Sunday morning for this.

"Because I wanted to see if Seamus's crazy muggle stories about training under a heavier gravity were true." Ron answered way too cheerfully while busying himself with the control panel near the room's entrance. "And because you need to get out of your room more often."

They were both standing in the station's training room, dressed in nothing but their suits, which still stuck to them far too much for Harry's comfort, and had left off the armoured plating. Soon, the door closed smoothly, making a loud clicking sound as it sealed itself, and the walls began to shine of the soft blue hue of the protective shield.

"You're turning into a muscle brain."

"Hey! It's my job. The one you assigned to me, need I remind you." Ron exclaimed with a grin. "And at least I'm using my brain. That's got to be an improvement."

"Sure is." Harry muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Did you at least check if it was safe with Hermione? Or even Lee?"

"Well... I didn't really get to ask." Ron said sheepishly. "I tried to bring it up last night but we kind of started arguing about...It's not important" He shook his head and turned to examine the room, as if he suddenly found it fascinating. "Anyway, we can just try it out ourselves and see if it works."

"I suppose...What do we need to do then?"

"Just normal training stuff, for a start." Ron said before tapping his communication stone. "Ernie? You're ready up there?"

"Yep. Just waiting for your signal."

"Ok, let's start small. Could you give us like...ten times the normal gravity here, please?" Ron

"Ten times? Are you sure that's a good idea?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"We have to start somewhere."

"Well, yeah, but why not two? Or five?"

"Relax, mate. From what Seamus told me, they go up to a hundred or something in what he saw on the tilly-vision." Ron said, trying out the unfamiliar word.

"Wait, he saw that whe-"

Before he could finish, Harry suddenly felt as if his limbs were made out of lead. He couldn't move, let alone lift them, and he quickly found himself on his knees before he crashed down hard on the metal floor.

"Me...and my...big...mouth." He heard Ron spit between gritted teeth.

Harry tried to turn his head and catch a glimpse of Ron, but the crushing weight kept him pinned down. His entire body felt like Hagrid had decided to take a nap on him, and he could feel his bones pushing down against the rest of his body. Drops of sweat came down his brow, crashing on the floor like bullets. Black spots began to appear in his sight as he struggled to drag a hand to the communication stone uncomfortably pressed against his chest.

"Er...nie...stop...now!"

He felt his consciousness start to slip, the pressure in his skull becoming unsustainable, when the gravity shifted again, freeing them from the prison of their own weight. Harry rolled around on his back and just stood there for what seemed like hours, his gaze lost in the ceiling and savouring the feeling of the air coming in and out of his lungs without them being crushed. He could hear Ernie's worried questions through the room's speakers and Ron's own laboured breaths, but his brain refused to acknowledge them, preferring to focus on the knowledge that they had both made it.

"Next time...you have a brilliant idea like that..."

"Yeah...you better...hex it out of me"

"Without question...but still...run it through Hermione first."