Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter 20:

What Do We Have Here?

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I am doing wrong (to correct it).

Undeterminable Place in London
Time in a Bottle Pub

"Batman, allow me to introduce one member of our merry rogues gallery, Distinguished Gentleman. Gent, meet Batman." Squire basically pushed the well-dressed man down on a chair. He wore an oversized trenchcoat, black vest, dark grey shirt, dark grey striped pants, black leather shoes, secured with old-fashioned buttons, a simple domino mask on his face, and a gray top hat, exaggeratedly tall. Squire sat down, always keeping a hand on her reluctant prey. She continued, "Gent here is a white-gloves thief, Batman. He never attacks anybody, but manages very interesting jobs and escapes."

The thief tried a conciliatory smile, that fell down immediately, followed by two more tries, each one weaker than the one before, until he gave up. Batman's face might as well be sculpted in marble. "Um… er… ah… n-nice to m-meet you, Mr. Batman, sir." Batman's eyes studied the man as he removed his ludicrously tall hat, revealing short, gray hair.

The Batman's formidable mind began to analyze the villain, 'Mid-thirties, affluent childhood, not suited for heavy work. Outdated dressing style, approximately 1930s London upper class; almost certainly an affectation, as the fabric itself shows little wear. Unusual accent, certainly British, unknown region. Physically weak, yet skilled. Fast movements, agile fingers. Gloves wear and tear is heavier in right hand, especially at the base of the thumb, points of all fingers except index. Wear is clear between first and second joints.' His eyes narrowed behind the mask. The Weather Wizard, an old foe of the Flash, had a similar pattern of wear in his gloves. This man was used to wield a tool similar to a baton or a wand. 'Secondary observation, the wrist area of the right glove is especially softened by wear. Left glove shows less wear. Subject gesticulates with his right hand. Consistent with the use of a wand or baton activated or directed with somatic components."

Batman leaned back, to ease the psychological pressure on the man, he nodded to Squire, who signaled the publican for a beer and water jar. Not really the usual order, but he was used to Stranger requests. He signaled Squire he would carry the order to ther table in a moment.

"We can speak freely, Batman. The privacy area is on." She said.

The dark night detective barely nodded, noting the sweat forming on the Distinguished Gentleman's brow. The beer and water arrived. Squire served two glasses of cold water, and pushed the beer tankard to the thief. "This one is on us, Gent."

He nodded with a jerk. "I… I have been good, Squire." He didn't take his eyes from the Batman.

"Sure, Gent.' She smiled. "It's just that, just as you heard, my friend here needs some information, and you have your ear to, let's say, some very interesting walls."

He nodded again. Squire continued. "So, what do you say if you keep those nice ears of yours to the walls, and let us know if you hear something interesting on your side of things, uh? Just as friends."

Batman noted a very small jerk on the man's right hand, the kind made for crooks trying to not pull out a gun. Interestingly, there was a similar move on the left arm. 'Wand or baton use, confirmed. Stored inside left sleeve. He is used to conceal it. Probably reserves its use for emergencies. De-escalate. I want him nervous, but not enough to flee.'

Batman allowed himself to relax. He finally spoke. "I have no quarrel with you, Gentleman. All I want is information. Squire has detailed the characteristics on the murders I want to investigate. As long as no lives are threatened, I'll… overlook minor criminal activities. I have no wish to interfere with the regular activities of the British metahuman community." He took a sip of water. According to the conditions Merlin himself had imposed during the founding of the pub, the place was a completely neutral area, fighting other guests was not simply forbidden, it was impossible. That included poison and mental commands. J'Onn was able to use his telepathy to skim surface thoughts, but not use it to attack or impose behaviour on the other guests.

Squire hid a look towards Coffin Dweller; the disguised Martian simply sat in his place, looking at the bottom of his mug. For all the world, he was just there, mildly depressed, thinking and moping. Actually, he had been reading surface thoughts, looking for clues about the new Spectre. No one knew anything useful. But as it happened, Distinguished Gentleman had a very unusual mindscape.

It was very guarded for just a gentleman thief. J'Onn was about to go deeper; but was expelled from the mind.

Hogwarts

"A new ghost?" The Fat Friar chuckled, "And with a very unusual aspect, I say."

The Bloody Baron sneered at Deadman, the Gray Lady studied him with curiosity, while Sir Nicholas paced in the air. It was disturbingly alike to Boston's own habits.

"Well… not exactly new, new. I've been around since… well… as a certified ghost, since 1967 (1), so… 27 years."

"My dear fellow," Sir Nicholas commented, "you are the youngest ghost in Hogwarts! Poor Myrtle Warren has been a ghost since 1943."

"Wow, since World War Two!" Boston whistled. "Okay, i stand corrected."

The Baron sneered again, "World War Two? What kind of wizard dresses like that and calls Grindelwald's War 'World War Two' like a mere Muggle?"

"Wo-wo-wo!" Deadman shook his head, "I'm no wizard, buddy. I was an aerialist! You know, Circus artist! The trapeze!"

"A saltimbanqui (2)." The Baron said, glacially. "A Muggle saltimbanqui. Preposterous! Muggles can't become ghosts! Everybody knows that!"

"Knock it off with the bigotry, man. I don't know much about that Muggle stuff you blab about. Anyway we are all dead here anyway. And now, to my point. As far as I knew a week ago, the only wizards and witches around were either frauds, superheroes or super villains, and I happen to know a few of them, okay? I had no idea this society was hidden behind the courtain, and I only got here because my boss decided to throw you guys a bone." Very deliberately, he didn't mention Harry Potter or his current status.

"Your boss? Who is your boss?" The friar asked.

"Pale skinned gal, dresses in black, very elegant, has a weakness for Egyptian make-up an jewelry. You must have met her once."

All the ghosts paled. "H-h-her..?" The Frair croaked.

Boston nodded, "Her."

Sir Nicholas was the first to recover his composure. "And, Ahem, what did your boss sent you to do, if I may be allowed to ask?"

"You guys are stuck, right? I can get you to the other side, if you want. That's my job, after all. I'm a part-time psychopomp, not that I like the word, mind you."

"Friar?" Sir Nicholas whispered. "I wonder if you would be so kind to get Miss Warren here? I'll go and find Professor Binns. This is a matter of utter importance and shan't be discussed in the absence of any Hogwarts ghost." The Friar nodded genially, and went out a wall.

Saint Mungo's

"Professor Dumbledore?" The Healer examined the just arrived patient. According to each and every diagnostic spell at their disposal, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was in perfect health, even considering his age.

"His body is fine, his soul is intact, his mind is working. The closest condition in record I can compare his condition to is an Occlumancy locked trance."

"Like the Longbottom couple?" The second Healer asked, worried.

"No, their minds broke down and sealed themselves in an attempt to escape the unbearable pain. Their readings show little mental activity. Professor Dumbledore's mind is working very fast. So fast, that if he is even aware of the world, things are very slow for him. He could see a drop falling in what would be, for him, hours. (3)

Spectre's Mind Plane

"I… oh… What have I done…?" Dumbledore broke into sobs, burying his face in his hands.

The Spectre spoke with a furious hiss, "This is what you have done, Dumbledore. You have allowed Evil to flourish. You have sent good people to die. You have extended the hand of friendship to poisonous vipers that should have been caged and forgotten. And for what? To redeem the unredeemeable you have sacrificed the innocents." The avenging ghost raised a hand, and the place changed, from the dirty floor of the Chamber of Secrets, to an almost featureless plain. The only thing breaking the ground was a long, wide road. Dark bricks extended from one side of the horizon to the other.

"I thought… I thought… it was for the Greater Good, I…" he croaked. "You must believe me, James!"

"James is dead. I am the Spectre." The glasses shone white inside the impossible darkness of the hood. "And I believe you. And yet…" he kept silent for a moment, "I cannot judge you as I judged Voldemort and his Deatheaters…"

"It was you!" Dumbledore pointed a crooked finger at the Spectre, "You killed them!"

"Yes. And I made sure they suffered a painful death, earned through torture, murder, and rape. Not a single one of them worthy of a new chance, much less redemption. They died reliving their actions." A cold smile creased the cadaverously pale face, "Each Cruciatus, each Imperio, each Killing Curse. They relived them all. From the other side."

Dumbledore paled. "But they could have earned redemption." He managed to say, barely a whisper.

The Spectre's cloak flared as if in a hurricane. "THEY DIDN'T WANT REDEMPTION! REDEMPTION MUST BE EARNED, NOT SIMPLY GIVEN BY SOMEBODY ELSE! THEY LAUGHED AT YOUR SECOND CHANCES! THEY LAUGHED WHILE SIRIUS BLACK WAS SENT TO HELL WITHOUT EVEN A TRIAL! HE WAS INNOCENT! WHAT ABOUT HIS SECOND CHANCE, DUMBLEDORE?"

After the thunderous accusations, the Spectre tamped down his fury. "I cannot judge you like I judged them. Your hands are clean." The disgust in his voice was deeper than the ocean, "You have committed no murder. You haven't taken a life." A nasty smile appeared in the shadows, "Yet… you wade in a river of innocent blood."

Startled, Dumbledore looked down, to find dried blood covering his feet, his robe stained well above his knees.

"I shall leave you to your thoughts, Professor. The exit is at the start of the road. You have a long walk in front of you." He extended his arms wide, pointing at opposite sides of the road. "Chose wisely."

"What's at the end of the road?"

"You only need to look where you put your feet to know." The Spectre's green cloak flared up, wrapping the ghostly man, tightening around him, until the apparition vanished.

Dumbledore choose a way to go, hoping to have chosen the right way.

Undeterminable Place in London
Time in a Bottle Pub

"Time to go?" Squire asked, watching as Distinguished Gentleman crossed the door to get out. The door opened to a different part of London if the person crossing asked nicely.

"Yes. We have done everything we could do here. There's no need to stay." He put several notes on the table, which were promptly scooped up by an invisible hand.

The two emerged back at the same place they had entered the pub.

The pair boarded the black car that had brought them to the pub, and waited. Seven minutes later, John Jones entered the car. Squire started the powerful, yet discrete engine. "To the castle?"

"Yes." Batman answered. "We must monitor events and wait for a clue. The Spectre is unable to resist his mandate. Somewhere, soon, a murderer will meet a bad end at the Spectre's hands. We must find him soon." He turned to his companion, "Did you find anything, J'Onn?"

The bodyguard changed back into his green-skinned form. He was more comfortable showing this aspect of himself. "Yes. I skimmed the surface thoughts of everybody present. No one has heard or seen anything related to the Spectre. But Distinguished Gentleman poses an interesting possibility."

Batman raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"

"He does, indeed. He is part of an extremely insular society. There is a whole country hidden inside England. All its citizens are magic users. And there are similar societies in the continent, maybe the world."

"Do they pose a threat?"

"They have the capabilities, yes. But from what Gentleman knows, they tend to be happy in isolation. Though there are some elements that get their jollies from torturing and killing, not only other magicals, also regular humans."

Squire asked from the front seat, still paying attention to the traffic. "Did you get details?"

"Not many. They were active mostly in the late sixties to late seventies. They seem to be active again (4), if I'm correct in my reading of Gentleman. His mindscape is quite structured for defense. Similar, but not as strong as yours, Batman. I was about to delve deeper when he shut me out."

"Squire?"

"I'll have to ask the Knight. Maybe he knows something. I'll check the archives while he comes back."

Batman leaned back in his seat, "We must consider the possibility that the new Spectre could be a part of this secretive society."

Squire groaned.

Author Notes:

To Weary Curmudgeon. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out and to answer your review. It resisted a lot! I appreciate your encouragement.

(1) Deadman debuted that year.

(2) A kind of acrobat, though they are more of a ground-level act. Literally, the word means something like "bench-jumper". In recent years, Cirque du Soleil used the word to name a show.

(3) I took this bit from several sources, the main is an old SF story, Alien Earth, by Ed Hamilton (1949). A potion slows the bodily functions of the subjects, allowing them to interact with the slow moving plants. Worth mentioning that the plants are quite hostile. A closer version is in Holy Terror, an Elseworlds story (1991), where Batman meets several unfortunate victims of human experiments, one of them has accelerated thought processes, but his body moves at normal speeds, making him a prisoner of his own body. A more recent version is from the movie Dredd (2012), with the drug Slo-Mo, that accelerates perception to a similar degree.

(4) Distinguished Gentleman is not up to date. He knows about the attack at the Quidditch Championship, and has heard rumours about the disappearance of a few individual, like Bertha Jorkins. I thought it would be interesting to have a Wizard as part of the British meta community.