I own nothing. Least of all this.
Important Note: The only exotic armor Harry prefers to wear is Crown of Tempests for the wow factor. Oh, and his own version of the Bones of Eao. Everything else is just: black duster, black boots, black gloves…you get the idea. One thousand years hasn't made him any less emo. Or less appreciative of the Witch-King of Angmar's fashion style.
12) ME? I'M ALLOWED EVERYWHERE
"So…how long's it been for you? You know; since Atlantis?"
"…Approximately three thousand years. And for you?"
"Oh, I'd say it's been…about five hundred since Ess told me what she did. I had just enough self-preservation to avoid asking if she didn't think it was a bit overkill."
"A most terrifying woman, indeed."
"You shoulda seen her fighting Atheon. Legendary. Be glad she's on humanity's side."
"Ah, so she's still around then. I did wonder…"
"Yeah, kinda hard to kill a Dredgen. Or an Exo, for that matter. Last I heard, she was kicking around on Mercury, helping with the evacuation."
"Evacuation? Of an entire planet?"
He waved it off. "Long story; and suffice to say its not the first time any of us have done it."
"Us? Just how many are you?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether the Man with the Golden Gun's around or not."
"Your enemy?"
"Our best enemy. But not our worst friend. It's complicated."
"It always is, with you Dredgens." Alucard's head twisted suddenly to face down at the small rock Harry had retrieved from the rubble. "…Is that what I think it is?"
"Probably. Lemme just make sure real quick…"
He twisted the Stone three times…and the specter of the Vex Mind once more appeared. Funny; no matter what time Harry seemed to end up in, it remained the one spirit he could summon without fail. Probably something to do with how it was kind of outside Time when he killed it, but that was more Osiris' or Ess' area of expertise than his.
"Yep, it's exactly what you think it is."
If Harry didn't know better, he'd say that Alucard was in shock. "…The last time I saw that, it was being separated from its brothers by a family determined to keep the world from repeating the mistakes of their homeland."
Harry held out his hand. "And now I'm doing the same. Take it."
"…What."
"I've already got my timeline's version; and I think I can trust you enough to actively avoid becoming the Master of Death. Helsing would be tempted to use the Wand, and the Cloak should probably stay where it is. At least this way, you might be able to say some of the goodbyes you've missed in the last few millennia."
"…I never imagined I'd hear a Dredgen offer me a kindness."
"Trust me, its not kindness. Goodbyes are always painful; and, well, let me just say there's some things possibly coming down the line I'd rather not have to deal with."
"…I understand. So…you mentioned something about slaughtering quite a large portion of the Goblin population?"
"I did. Should be more than enough blood for the both of us to get back to full strength. Only one thing I do want to make perfectly clear, though."
"Yes?"
"The Ragnok is mine."
Alucard grinned. "Naturally."
"Excellent. Just have to make a quick detour to deal with some bones in a graveyard, and then we can be on our way."
"…If that was a euphemism, I'm not sure I want to know what it was for."
Andromeda just barely resisted the urge to strangle her sister. "Bella, I swear to Morgana, if you say one more word about how regal or powerful he looked, I can promise you I will make your life a living hell until you graduate."
"But Andyyyyy…" Bella pouted. "That outfit of his was just so dashing."
"And tight." Andromeda muttered under her breath. "You do know da suckered him into dressing up like that on purpose, don't you?"
Bella waggled her finger. "Ah, but my Harry is more than clever enough to have known exactly what father was doing, and why he was doing it. That he went along willingly just proves he really is interested!"
"Oh?" Andy raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, Bella, where exactly, during that entire hour-long lunch, did he ever divulge a single detail about himself that wasn't positively shrouded in secrecy?"
Bella opened her mouth…and shut it again.
"Every single topic of conversation he brought up related to us, to you and me, in some way, shape, or form. Our passions, our hopes, our worldviews. If he really is as clever as you say, he must've been willing to do a lot in order to make up for any perceived slight he'd delivered to our family. And that includes treating you with the utmost respect to make up for the attempt he made on your life."
"Harry would never!"
"Bella, you may know that, and I may know that, but our Head of House won't. And neither will the Dark Lord. Harry is playing a game of thrones, now. And as powerful as he may be, his head is just as susceptible as any others to the chopping block of public opinion."
"So…all that…him asking all those questions…he was just…pretending to care?" Bella's voice wavered.
"Now did I say that? You ought to know better, Bella. I have no doubt he actually did care, at least about some of it. Your feelings on Hogwarts, politics, your former DADA professors, all of that was invaluable to someone in his position. But he could have just as easily gotten the answers to those questions from me. That he chose you to focus on quite clearly indicates he views you as the potential future of the Wizarding World. A future he apparently wants very much to be involved in."
Bella's eyes lit up in hope. "You mean it?"
"Of course. You're going to have to work to keep his interest, though. I'm sure quite a few families will be throwing their daughters at him eventually, and I have a sneaking suspicion Uncle Charlus has already started in on him about his niece."
Bella's face twisted into a snarl. "I'll kill her if she tries anything."
"Darling, Blacks do not merely 'kill' people. We 'disappear' them. And besides, can you really see Selene of all people caring about the future of the Wizarding World?"
"Well…no."
"No. She doesn't have your drive, Bella. Your hunger to prove yourself." In reality, all Selene Malfoy wanted was to get as far away from her family name as possible. Much like Andromeda herself; they'd watched the backs of each other's boyfriends for long enough at school.
"Capitalize on her lack of ambition. Perhaps you should suggest a Dueling Club to Harry once you get to Hogwarts; it would certainly give you an excuse to show how you wish to become better at your passion."
Bella's gaze turned thoughtful. "Yes…a Dueling Club…and maybe a Debate Team to go with it…"
Andromeda knew that tone of voice all too well. Bella would sink into a never-ending flood of ideas for some hours to come, only emerging when she couldn't possibly hold them all at once anymore. She would then work herself to exhaustion scribbling it all down, and fall asleep somewhere between additions to the Code Duellem for younger students and a detailed explanation as to exactly why Ministry-funded greenhouses were needed.
She gave one backwards glance at her sister as she left the room. If Harry ended up rejecting her…she wasn't sure that either the Black or Potter families would be left standing in the aftermath.
She needed to speak to Harry; alone. To ask him straight out what his intentions were with her sister…and to find out just how much he knew about former Hogwarts' Head Boy Theodore Tonks.
Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood was shaking in his boots.
He'd found it. He'd found it all.
The only possible explanation for just where the Hell this Zarathos had come from…and what he'd come here to do. And if his calculations were correct, the odds of anyone in the whole of Magical Britain surviving were somewhere south of zero.
Perhaps it was time to consider changing sides…
As if sensing his thoughts, the hidden Mark on his arm twinged in pain. No; there would be no changing sides. Not after he'd seen what had happened to Yaxley. He was in far too deep as it was; playing double-agent for any side would merely stick his neck out even further.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to have an escape plan on the side.
Which was what he'd been in the process of planning when Head Unspeakable Croaker called him into his office.
Well, the nominal Head Unspeakable, anyway. Anyone who knew anything knew that the real Head Unspeakable didn't officially exist. No name, no position, no documentation of any kind. Just how much power the shadow of "Unspeakable Zero" held, no one knew. And no one much cared to find out.
At this point, Rookwood could care less. All his concentration, all his focus, was now on two very important things: surviving Zarathos…and surviving his boss.
"Let me get this straight…I give you access to the deepest, darkest corners of our archives, places that not even I am allowed to look into without being held accountable…and all you can tell me…is that the current bane of my existence, is a Potter."
"Sir, you misunderstand me. I stated that he was a Peverell."
"Oh come off it, Rookwood. You know as well as I do that the Peverell family died out centuries ago, absorbed by other Houses like the Gaunts. And of those Houses, the only one left standing after Grindelwald was the Potters. Ergo, QED, and thusly, that must be what he is. Something I already bloody well found out from our sources in the Diagon Alley!"
"Be that as it may, sir, I have undisputable proof that Magic itself has made a distinction between the two."
He was playing a dangerous game here, but he really needed Croaker off his back. The Dark Lord would not be pleased he had been forced to reveal this much, but he hoped very much that what he'd left out would make up for it.
"Enlighten me."
"During his second altercation, just at the end of the fight, if you look closely, you can see this symbol be burned into the ground at the epicenter, and then be swallowed up by the new green growth." No need to mention he'd first noticed said symbol in Zarathos' eyes during a Pensieve viewing of his first altercation; no need at all.
Croaker grabbed the file from Rookwood from across the desk, and began to read. As his eyes moved down the page, they began to grow wider and wider. By the end, he bore more than a passing resemblance to the amphibian that had granted him his nickname.
"…Bloody hell."
"That was my opinion as well, sir."
"Death magic. Real, actual, proper death magic. Not just cheap tricks and shoddy necromancy. Bloody, bloody hell."
"You said that already, sir."
"…Well, the good news is you just gave me an excellent excuse to bury the real reason I called you in here for an update."
For some reason, Rookwood's stomach decided it would be an excellent time to start heading south. "…Oh?"
"Our detectors went off again. Popular opinion was that it was Zarathos again, right up until we actually arrived on the scene. For one reason, the case didn't match his usual M.O. at all. Casings for enchanted bullets left everywhere. And for another, I doubt he'd be stupid enough to commit political suicide by dispatching eight vampires and then incinerating the remains using a combination of lighting and Fiendfyre. The actual stuff this time, not his signature Light version. Only other explanation I could've given the Ministry would've been…"
Rookwood finished the sentence. "Helsing."
"You got it. And I'm sure you can imagine how well that would've gone. The Daily Prophet would've had our heads, right after the Minister had our asses. Fortunately, since you've managed to draw connections between the Peverells, the vampire clans, the Gaunts, and Zarathos, we can make a pretty convincing case it actually was him…and then bury it with the rest of his files."
"…Sir, you've mentioned the Gaunts twice now. May I inquire as to why?"
"Didn't I mention? Place where it all went down; shack belonging to the Gaunt family. Near the village of Little Hangleton. Not so much as a stone left standing; and whatever magic was used to get there was eaten by the Fyre."
He just bet it was. Oooo, his Lord was not going to be happy. He could only hope he took out his displeasure on others before he was forced to make his own report.
"…Will that be all then, sir?"
"For now. Keep digging, Rookwood. Now that we know where his spells came from, I wanna see whether or not we can use 'em ourselves. Having a Light version of Fiendfyre would be damned useful; and if we can find a way to put down a Dementor permanently, even better."
"Understood, sir."
He'd get back to digging, alright. Right after he went out and drowned himself in Firewhiskey, and then dragged himself in front of the Dark Lord. Neat little tidbit: the Cruciatus hurts a lot less when you're good and sauced.
Harry grinned as he shoved the Account Manager from his first visit up against the wall.
"REEEEE! Lemme go! Lemme go; it wasn't me, I didn't do it!"
Oh, but he loved this part of aggressive negotiations. "Now, you are going to tell me exactly what happened in that meeting, or I am going to remove a pair of somethings very near and dear to you, one right after the other. Slowly. With a cheese grater."
"Cheese grater, huh? Never heard that one before." Alucard drawled.
"Yeah, I have a standing bet with someone to see which of us can use it the most in a threat." And that was one bet with Ikora he had no intention of losing. Not after what happened last time.
The Account Manager whimpered. "Please, oh great and mighty Dredgen, I beg your mercy! I tried to warn the Ragnok, I swear! I told him to reveal nothing, but he didn't listen!"
"…I don't believe you."
"PLEASE! YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME!"
"…No, I really don't."
"You have already executed everyone else who could have conceivably inconvenienced you; why would I risk my own life by lying?!"
"I dunno, why would you?"
Alucard circled behind him. "Perhaps he is more afraid of the Ragnok than he is of you."
"Hmm, maybe. What about it, Goblin? Are you more afraid of him?"
"NEVER! NEVER, I SWEAR!"
"…Alright; I believe you."
"…You do?"
"Sure. That's why I'm gonna let you go."
He dropped the Goblin to the floor. "I'm gonna give you to the count of three to get your lousy, lying, low-down, fore flushing carcass, out that door. One."
The Goblin ran.
"Two."
He pulled out his Tommy.
"BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! Three. Merry Christmas, you filthy animal."
BANG!
"And a happy New Year!"
BANG!
"…Do you think you got him?"
"Nah, just wanted to scare him off. We're gonna need someone to run this place when we're done, aren't we? Who better than a Senior Account Manager?"
"Golg."
"I beg your pardon?"
"His name is Golg."
"…Well I'm sorry about that, but I don't think there's anything I can do. Well, beyond giving people a reason to start calling him Ragnok instead."
"…That'll do it."
"Yes, I thought so. Come on, then; time to express our displeasure with the head man himself. Unless you have a few more targets to cross of your own list?"
"I'm afraid we got them all. I must say, I've never seen a blade like yours before. I was under the assumption you were being metaphorical when you referred to using blood to get your strength back."
"Well, not so much strength as energy. Strength is for melee, everybody know that."
"What?"
"What?"
Alucard gave him a sideways look. "…Moving on…do you intend to use the same weapon on the Ragnok himself?"
"Nah; Dark-Drinker's all well and good, but I got something a little more…esoteric…planned for him. Why do you ask?"
"Because there is a very popular belief that once the Ragnok dies, all of his knowledge and memories pass on to his successor. Including those from the Ragnoks that came before. It is further rumored that if one were to utterly destroy the spirit of the Ragnok, then Gringotts, and all the enchantments that hold it together, would fall."
"…I'm getting heavy Odin-force, Avatar, All-Father, Ragnarök kinda vibes here, so let's just assume that's a fairly bad idea and leave the soul-eating sword out of things."
"That would perhaps be for the best."
Barely had the door swung closed behind his subordinate before Croaker was throwing up every single ward and charm he could think of, and a few more he made up on the spot. he usually counted himself lucky to receive a message from his boss once every five years; to receive two, in the space of three days' time? He could explicitly state that such an occurrence was extremely un-lucky.
He swallowed as the runes in front of him began to glow. As a general rule, he tended to agree with the Muggleborn that came into their world. Having the majority of the power and the gold in the hands of a few select families was an extraordinarily bad idea in most circumstances; amongst wizards, it was an even worse one. But the fact could not be denied that sometimes, there were just certain Houses that were better at certain things than anyone else could ever hope to be. The Bones had their necromancy, the Lestranges had their ties to the Underdark, the Longbottoms were top herbologists. And for dealing with the paranormal, the supernatural, and the downright unexplainable, there was no one better than…
"You orders have been carried out, Sir. Helsing has been cleared of all suspicion. Your operative's presence has been completely overlooked in the records."
…the family that ran the deadliest organization in the entire world.
Unspeakable Zero, the man known to the outside world as Sir Arthur Helsing, smiled down at him. "Excellent. You have my congratulations, Croaker. I'd tell you to pass them on to the rest of your Department, but, well…"
"I understand, Sir."
"By the way, Croaker…were you aware that the perfect time for a certain ritual passed by just last week…and less than a few hours later, your current scapegoat made his grand appearance?"
"…I was not, Sir. What ritual might that have been?"
"I suggest you ask the subordinate that just left your office. When he's sober, that is. I imagine he's going to have to drink a lot to forget what he found today."
"…I'd imagine you'd be right, Sir."
"Good day, Croaker."
"Good day, Sir."
