Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter Twelve: A Messenger From Beyond the Grave.
Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).
Hogwarts
Astronomy Tower
Nagini's body lay on a soft mattress, hastily conjured by Harry. He had discarded his Spectre guise, but kept on the aspect of an adult Harry. In a way, it was liberating to know how he would have looked if Riddle had not murdered him back at the Cemetery. On the other hand, knowing he would never actually grow into that adulthood weighted heavily on him. Jim Corrigan still looked exactly the same as he did when he was murdered, back in the late 1930's. About the only concession the man had granted to the passing of time was the cut of his tie. Apparently, he even kept on wearing a hat.
Harry lowered his eyes, the Maledictus's body had recovered the appearance of a beautiful woman of Asian descent. Her hands rested peacefully over her belly. A modest green dress covered her body. The long mane of black hair had spread around, framing her head.
Her face in peaceful rest after all her suffering, relaxed and peaceful, almost smiling; contrasted sharply with the storm that raged in Harry's heart.
He knelt beside her, and took her hand in his. "Sleep, Nagini, sleep and dream," he said. Softly, he caressed her hair.
A shadow intruded on his thoughts for a moment. And then retreated respectfully. An unknown man held his white-gloved hands up, both empty of any wand; signaling no hostile intent.
Harry turned to face the intruder. "Who are you?" he asked, cold fury in his voice.
The figure wore an unusual combination of clothes; certainly eclectic, but far from the absurd and ignorant eccentricity of wizards and witches who had never been to the Muggle world. Harry had seen enough examples of that back during the Quidditch World Championship.
He observed his uninvited guest, the tall man wore a sharply pressed black suit, a white turtleneck jersey, a high-collared long cloak, a fedora of the same colour, and a golden medallion hanging from his neck. Somehow, despite the dawning sun's light, the man's eyes were hidden by a deep and disturbing shadow. To Harry's changed senses, the man's silhouette screamed Magic at a level that was hard to imagine. But he couldn't sense a magical core, as was the case with wizards and witches.
The man bowed his head, and a deep voice answered softly, "Men call me the Phantom Stranger. I wish not to intrude in your privacy, yet I must speak to you about very important matters. Whenever you are ready, just call for me and I will attend."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. When you took the mantle of the Spectre, with all the might it carries with it; you accepted duties and responsibilities you may not be aware of at the present moment. I am familiar with the last incarnation of the Spectre, and several others that preceded James Brendan Corrigan. For a long time, it was decreed any new host of the Spectre Force would start their tenure ignorant of those who preceded them. Now that said decree has been lifted with the passing of Jim Corrigan, I can and will answer your questions as best I can."
Harry snorted, "Yeah, sure."
The Phantom Stranger looked at Harry with a peculiar expression on his face. "I am well aware of your Headmaster's habit of keeping important information to himself, for far longer than it is prudent. I myself have fallen in that same trap in the past. However, I promise I will do my best to answer you, although there are some matters I am not allowed to discuss, or that I simply lack knowledge of."
Harry looked at the Phantom Stranger for a long time before deciding. "Very well. I will call on you later today. I have matters to attend to myself."
The Stranger nodded, and gradually vanished, as silently as he had arrived. The noise of Apparation or a Portkey completely absent, just as Harry's own travels had been absolutely silent since returning to the world.
Harry sat down over the edge of the Astronomy Tower, pondering his lot, until the light of the sun spread all over the landscape.
'A new day, full of promise and hope. For everybody else.', he thought grimly. With a wave of his hand, Nagini and Harry vanished from Hogwarts.
Left behind, the mattress would be, a few hours into the future, a source of aggravation for Argus Filch, Hogwarts caretaker. He mumbled and ranted about brats and their nocturnal proclivities for a whole five minutes.
Until he realized two very interesting things.
One, the mattress was quite good, it looked nothing like the hard mattress he had been using for 30 years. And two, being a forbidden object left on a place where it had no right to be; well… he could simply claim it for himself.
Azkaban Prison
Two jailers walked leisurely through the dreary and dark halls of Azkaban Prison. One guided a floating cart, full of trays with bland and tasteless slop to feed the prisoners. The other kept his wand ready in his grip. Should anything try to attack, be it a prisoner or a Dementor, he was ready and willing to attack them back.
As soon as they entered the cells hall, his hair stood on end. He looked around, not finding anything out of place. "Jensen? There is something…"
His partner nodded gravely, as if not daring to disturb the place, in case they woke a hungry beast. Somehow, it felt as if they had stepped into Death's house.
It took them only four steps into the hall to realize why they felt so strange. Both stopped at the same time, trying to find the anomaly.
It was the silence.
Normally, the prisoners taunted the guards, howled their madness, or rattled the bars of their cells.
Not today. The silence was so deep and oppressive they could almost hear their own frantically beating hearts.
After a shared look, they reversed their way, one still guiding the cart, the other even more ready to defend, holding his wand so tightly his knuckles were almost white. The pair left the cart in the kitchen, and walked as fast as possible to the warden's office, to inform him and to ask for reinforcements.
Ten minutes later, a group of six hardened Aurors stepped back into the cells level, all had their wands in hand, looking around, ready for anything. A break-out, an ambush, an attack, an invasion.
Anything except for the legitimately happy laughter coming from the very last cell.
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Staff Room
"So, in short, the muggle doesn't know who brought him here, nor why."
"No, m'am. According to him, he was mugged by two hoodlums, who stabbed him in the stomach several times, and left him to die. The green robed man simply appeared, did something to dull his pain, and brought him here. He lost consciousness then. He barely remembered being given something to drink, and then awakening on a bed. As a matter of course, he has already been Obliviated and sent to his job. It would be useless interrogating him now."
"Of course. In any case, I doubt he knew something else about this… Spectre." Madam Bones sipped a bit of her coffee. Certainly not the traditional tea; at this hour, she needed the caffeine to stay awake.
"The Welcome Witch wants to lay charges against him." Auror Mandrake added.
"Really?"
"Really. The man threatened her, and brought a muggle to St. Mungo's; the other witnesses corroborate her narrative. That includes a Healer and a Medi-witch, and the two wizards who were waiting for their turn."
"Hmm… It seems our mystery man really wanted to save Mr. Green. I wonder why?" Bones tapped her fingernail on the table. Idly, she wondered if the muggle's surname had anything to do with the strange man's choice of attire, or viceversa. She discarded the idea almost immediately, that would be grasping at straws.
"No idea, according to Green, he had never seen the man. We got a partial description out of him, just approximate height and body type, not much in the way of his face or hair. From the other witnesses, we do know he wore round eyeglasses and was clean shaved. No one could see the colour of his eyes. Old style robes, the cut was one that was popular about 20 to 30 years ago. That, and the fact he called himself 'The Spectre'. I don't know what kind of street name is that, but is seems to show an inclination for the Dark."
"Saving a Muggle would seem to contradict that, especially as said Muggle had not been harmed by a magical. Though I must admit his threat to the medical staff was very direct. Have a Junior Auror or two check the muggle newspapers today, and for the next week," she paused, "even the disreputable ones that The Prophet gets unfavorably compared to. If this Spectre delivered on his threat against the men who tried to kill Green, there is a chance it will be reported. I want them to look for violent or suspicious deaths in a radius of…" She thought for a moment. "Just where did Green say he was attacked?"
Mandrake checked his notes, "Three blocks from here."
"Very well, ten blocks around St. Mungo's, everybody knows Muggle criminals tend to stay close to their bolting holes, lacking the ability to travel instantly." She stood up and barely contained a mighty yawn. "I'm going home. Send me a message when you have something."
"Yes, boss." Mandrake put his notes away in a secret pocket of his robes, and resumed his watch over Harry Potter. The kid had not even stirred a little since he had been brought to St. Mungo's.
Hopefully, he would recover.
Deadman listened to the Aurors. Normally, he disliked getting into the minutiae of police procedure, but seeing the way magicals worked was strangely fascinating. Even if they actually did their jobs in a way quite close to their mundane counterparts.
Meaning, as boring as possible, and keeping their asses covered.
"Or arses, as this is England." Deadman chuckled, smiling to himself.
Hogwarts
Great Hall; Gryffindor Table
Hermione Granger awoke with a start, the night had not been kind to her. Her dreams had been plagued by nightmares. She kept watching as an immobile witness as Harry fled desperately, closely followed by the Man in Green; until her friend burst into flames, screaming in unbearable pain, while the Man in Green smiled cruelly.
She would have called him the Banshee, but as banshees were female spirits, she didn't.
Tired to the bones by both worry and lack of sleep, Hermione dragged her feet to the Great Hall.
The last few remaining classes had been suspended, while the DMLE investigated the events of the Third Task.
Her eyes were closing when the mail owls entered the Hall like an aerial stampede. All of them bearing black envelopes with the Gringotts seal.
Almost all of them landed on the Slytherin Table.
Paling, the students took the envelopes with trembling hands. More than a few Slytherins paled even more as they read the letters. The rest had calculating expressions on their faces for a brief moment.
Hermione looked at the Staff table, to find Dumbledore 's face reflecting a deep sadness.
Turning back to the green and silver table, she noticed a pattern. All the students who had received a letter had prominent bonds with the Pure-blood supremacists. With a gasp, she realized that the deaths of Karkaroff, Snape, Moody, and the Slytherin students had not been an isolated incident.
Whatever had happened, it had struck at the very heart of the Deatheaters.
All the students who received a black envelope had relatives who were confirmed or suspected Deatheaters. Parents, uncles, brothers, and even grandparents.
Except for one.
Draco Malfoy had not received an envelope.
The pale blond face was pinched in deep thought. His usual bodyguards and thugs stood silently from the table, leaving him almost alone. Crabbe and Goyle walked rigidly to the Staff Table, letters in hand. Soon, a line had formed in front of Dumbledore's throne.
All the students who had received the black envelope, all of them from Slytherin, along with a single Hufflepuff and three Ravenclaws, asked for the same thing.
Permission to go home for a funeral.
Or several.
Their faces set into neutral masks, probably due to either Pure-blood or Slytherin House customs. Still, they looked dazed, as if the most solid mountain in their worlds had crumbled to dust in a single moment.
Seeing that, not even Ron Weasley was in the mood to comment.
He preferred to stuff his face anyway.
Azkaban Prison
The only still occupied cell at the Deatheater level held Mrs. Adrienne Del Rey, an elderly witch, who had been sentenced to a week in Azkaban for some potion related accident. Nothing really grave, but for some reason, Madame Umbridge had insisted that Mrs. Del Rey was to be put in the same level the Deatheater were.
And this was the day for her to be finally released.
"Glad you came here, boys! You missed the show. The most fun I have had in years!" The witch cackled happily. "You should have seen them writhe and scream!" Her eyes practically sparkled with glee. "Those bastards got what they deserved at last!"
She paused, stood up, rubbed her hands together, and smoothed her prisoner clothes. "Now, where is the food, boys? I want to go back home and tell my sister our families have been avenged, once and for all." Her laughter echoed over the silent cells. "I may even rent a pensieve to show her! Ow, that will make her day! Nay! The year!"
The Moon
JLA Watchtower
Batman stood alone in the observatory. The rest of the JLA had returned to their places, once the meeting had been adjourned. The blue globe of Earth floating serenely in the black space. The blue eyes hidden behind the white eye-slits of his mask betrayed no emotion at all.
Next to him, the Martian Manhunter watched his adoptive planet with both worry and hope.
A long time passed before one of the two chose to speak.
"I think it would be reckless to go." The martian said softly.
The human didn't answer.
"I am sure the Phantom Stranger has things under control."
Silence.
"So far, the Stranger has not led us awry."
The Batman turned away from the window, without answering. His almost silent steps soon were just a memory.
J'Onn J'Onzz sighed. Batman was hard enough to deal with in the best of times. The man simply didn't like to lose. And whenever he was about to lose, he managed to do something else to achieve a victory; and most admirably, never compromising his ethos. The Manhunter mused that might be the reason he had survived, and thrived, for so long, in the company of gods.
A moment later, J'Onn went immaterial, crossing floors and walls, until he arrived at the transport room.
Just as he knew, the Batman arrived a moment later. Still silent.
"If you insist on going personally, I will go with you." The green Martian said, pushing the button that opened the door to the teleporter tubes. And then inputting a series of coordinates ha had memorized a long time before, before the JLofA's (1) satellite had been destroyed. "I even have a secret identity in England that will help with red tape. And I have also dealt with the Spectre before. At least with Corrigan."
Finally, a reaction. Batman nodded, before stepping into the clear tube.
Before they were sent down to Earth, the Martian Manhunter thought that Batman's stubborn ways might not do very much against the Spectre, unless he himself managed to soften his friend's abrasiveness.
Author Notes:
(1) It has been brought to my attention that there is an apparent error in nomenclature about the Justice League acronyms. Back during its original run, firn in The Brave and the Bold and then later in their own title, the team was known as the "Justice League of America", abreviated as either JLA or JLoA. after the title ended after the Crisis in Infinite Earths, it was reborn after the Legends event, this time simply as the Justice League, or JL for short. a few issues later, the team was granted international status by the UN, and was officially know as the Justice League International, or JLI. Still later on, the team got enough members to justify forming two teams. So the JLI was divided in the Justice League America (JLA) and the Justice League Europe (JLE).
Since then, the team lost its UN sponsorship, and reverted to just being the JLA. At this point of the timeline, the JLA has a base on the Moon, the Watchtower, and a good number of members, and although they are not officially sponsored by the UN, many countries all around the world still welcome the JLAers' help in emergencies.
Especially, the Martian Manhunter's, as it was shown in his own title, some years later, that he was active all around the world. He is specially popular in Brazil, where he is know as "El Hombre Verdad". Personally, I think it is a mistranslation, as it would be more appropiate to call him "Homem Verde" (Green Man).
"Hombre Verdad" is actually Spanish for "Truth Man".
In the Martian Manhunter title, during the Ostrander-Mandrake run, there was a loose miniseries called "Revelations" (Martian Manhunter, Issues 20 to 24; cover dated July to November 2000), showing J'Onn's interactions with several heroes, long before he even revealed his existence to the world. According to his backstory, the Martian Manhunter arrived to Earth sometime before the 1970s (I don´t have the issues at hand at the moment), assuming the identity of a murdered detective, John Jones.
However, J'Onn did also assume several more identities along the way, always somebody who had died before their time. Those identities were spread all over the world. Some male, some female, young, old, of any descent, and any occupation.
He used most of these identities sporadically, keeping John Jones as his primary identity. The other identities were also useful to keep an eye on the metahuman community, starting with the just arrived to Earth Kal-El, better known as Superman. Using a couple of his identities; a black farm worker, and later a school teacher in Smallville; J'Onn watched over the young kryptonian, and eventually put him to the test when he started his Superman career, taking the appearance of Jor-El, Superman´s biological father.
The series also chronicled J'Onn's first encounters with Green Lantern (Abin Sur, long before Hal Jordan), Batman (at the beginning of his career, when it was npt clear to the public at large if the Batman was a hero or a monster), the Spectre (plugging a hole in continuity), and a tale about the JLI (and addiction), that might very well be apocryphal, but it is still very funny.
I am keeping this background as part of my other story, Stranger Visitations. J'Onn has not yet shown his green face in Tokyo-3, but he is still around.
Ah, from a purely geeky point of view, I really loved the "Revelations" subheading in the MM covers. Each one was different, and incorporated a relevant image into the text. The Superman chapter had the "S" sigil at the end. In the Batman and Green Lantern chapters, the "O" was replaced by a Batsignal and the GL symbol, respectively. In the JLI chapter, the "O" was replaced by a chocolate cookie (you'll need the context to get the joke, and though originally, the chocolate cookies were identified as Oreos, eventually DC changed the name for the generic "Chocos"), and in the Spectre chapter, the text was done in a similar style the Spectre´s book had.
Mrs. Del Rey is an original character, an homage to Lester del Rey, a Science-Fiction writer, and very influential editor, founder of Del Rey publishing house. He wrote one of my favourite ever novels, Nerves, a tense story about a nuclear catastrophe. Is you can find it, check it out! Although the science is a little funky (superheavy isotopes!), it is a great yarn. It has nothing to do with the Spectre or Harry Potter, but it is very well done.
The scene is also a reversed homage to a very tense moment in the Ostrander and Mandrake run in The Spectre. Basically, the Spectre walked into the death row section of a prison, examined the souls of the prisoners, and executed them in gruesome ways, mostly out of frame. Only one prisoner survived, as he was actually innocent, not only of the murder he was sentenced for, but of any murder. Still, the fact he was not killed by the Spectre wasn't legal proof of innocence, so the state wanted to proceed with an immediate execution!
Luckily for him, the Spectre decided to witness the execution, just to mess with the legalities of the case. And even more luckily, the convicted man´s lawyer was very quick witted.
Now, about the title of this chapter...
I began reading comic books with the Mexican reprints of several series, most frequently their DC titles. Novaro had a very idiosyncratic way to translate their texts. Some names were translated literally, some others received a tag to make clear the meaning of the name, and in some other cases, the names were completely replaced.
The best examples of this are precisely Deadman and the Phantom Stranger. The first one's name can be literally translated as Muerto, Fallecido, o Difunto. Neither of these names were acceptable, so, to keep the "D" in Deadman´s clothes, they used the name "Dantón"!
What relation has Deadman with a French revolutionary? None, but it sounds impressive.
The Phantom Stranger is an unusual case, as usually, Novaro shortened the names to reduce the space the dialogues needed to fit in their globes. however, "Forastero Fantasma" was not used, and instead, they changed the name to "El Mensajero de Ultratumba"! Now, that is impressive! the title of this chapter is that name translated to English.