Chapter 16:
Ashes of the Phoenix
Arthur stared at the newspaper sadly.
For nearly a year now he spent his mornings glowering at the cheap paper displaying both Muggle and wizarding news, dwelling upon the obituaries above all other stories. This week the muggle papers were abound with news on the micro black hole that was passing just outside of their solar system.
The muggle astrologers going on and on about how a black hole the size of a semi-truck shouldn't possibly exist and how this would surely rewrite their understanding of physics was only slightly less annoying than their constant assurances that the mass and trajectory both guaranteed that it was in no way a threat to earth. Most annoying of all was that the existence of such a cosmic object's existence was so obviously magical that it pissed him off that there wasn't even a peep about it in wizarding news was an absolute sham.
Then again, the massacre of several dozen "Men of the law who served the make the country safe" by "the infamous terrorist Harry Potter" seemed much more pressing in everybody's minds as of late. Even those who recognized the euphemism for the wretches known as Snatchers, and what they really did for a living, couldn't help being disturbed by the brutality of the massacre and the images of six dark marks above Muggle London in broad daylight.
"What are you hoping to accomplish with this stunt Harry?" He asked the presence that had been standing behind him for two minutes now. "Are you trying to break the statute of secrecy?"
"Hello, Arthur." The barely recognized and muffled voice of a young man answered. "Most people's situation awareness leaves much to be desired, but I am proud that you are so attentive."
Arthur sat up straighter in his chair, folded the newspaper, and set his face into a neutral expression. Others had warned him. Told him of what might be coming to visit him soon. A quick glance at the clock showed that, strangely, the hand for Harry Potter marked him as being "Lost" when he should be marked as being "At Home". He was there, standing three feet behind him, the feeling of his eyes on Arthur's back all-encompassing. Like an entomologist examining a particularly interesting bug.
"What is it you have come to ask of me... Harry." He asked, barely able to say the name that did not, could not, belong to the presence in his home.
Harry Potter, in lieu of answering, closed the distance between them and sat next to him at the table. He poured himself a cup of the tea Arthur was enjoying.
Tired. Thats the only word that his appearance brought to mind. Tired of it all, eager to die. He'd met such people before. They did not last long. He removed the dark respirator from his mouth to reveal an ugly black mark crawling up his neck and chin, like fresh tar on a newly erected powerline.
"Ahhhh. Chamomile." Harry sighed as he breathed in the steam from his cup. "Where is Molly?"
"Visiting Charlie. The war is much hotter in Romania than here, and the Dragons are being trained for battle." Arthur explained. "Presumably against You-Know-Who, but in time they will surely fall into his hands as well."
"That doesn't seem like something Charlie would want to be a part of." Harry commented between sips.
"It isn't. That's why he and dozens of others have resigned in defiance. She'll be bringing him back here." Arthur explained. "So you find me available to help without her around to worry about the dangerousness of it. I do not approve of your recent activities, but I am open to working for you if the mission is just and doesn't lead to anybody dying."
Harry nodded and seemingly agreed to his demands.
"If I have it my way, nobody at all will be dying during this next mission. And all I need from you is to enchant a vehicle with all the bells and whistles of the Ford Anglia." Harry explained, before windlessly banishing his cup to the sink where the enchantments therein washed it.
"That's it?" Arthur asked.
"That is all. Although, it is a much larger vehicle. What will you need?" Harry asked before redonning his respirator.
"Time." Said Arthur. "Days. Maybe even weeks, if it's something like a ship or submarine."
"That I cannot give. What would allow you to get it done within mere hours?" Harry asked.
"A team of people to carve in the runes?"
"Done. What else?"
"Well... If I had an already enchanted vehicle, I could just transfer it over. So, I would have to start enchanting the engine itself now and install it at the event."
"That won't be necessary." Harry waved away the suggestion. "I will make retrieving your old Anglia a mission priority. Hopefully, by the time I personally retrieve it for you, you will be finished with the rest of the work. Anything else?"
Arthur hesitated.
"Please. Take your time, sir. I only have a dozen more people to meet with today."
Arthur snorted at that one. It was good to see some humor, some humanity, from his dying son. One already on his way out of this world so soon after Arthur had just lost another.
"I need a power source to fuel the invisibility. Everything else can be easily powered by sapping a miniscule amount of magic from the riders, but invisibility is another matter. Without the time necessary to charge the invisibility enchantment slowly, we need a permanent, magical fuel source.
That conundrum gave Harry pause, at least. He leaned back in his chair and glared at the ceiling. Strangely, Arthur got the distinct impression that he wasn't mediating on if he could provide such a power source, but if he should. His instinct proved correct when, moments later, the dark man reached into his cloak and produced a folded piece of cloth.
It was the most beautiful and elegant invisibility cloak Arthur had ever laid eyes on, and as Harry passed it to him it proved softer and lighter by an even greater magnitude.
"Harry... a mere invisibility cloak is not up to the task." Arthur chided lightly, offering it back.
Harry blocked the gesture with an outward palm.
"It is not a MERE invisibility cloak, but one of legend." said Harry. "One your own wife once told of in fairy tales to your children. Look closely and see the symbol sewn into its fabric."
Arthur understood, instantly, the insane claim Harry was making, but knew from experience not to doubt the impossible when it came to this boy. He did as instructed and looked closer at the cloak. Amongst the shimmer star and wavy patterns another glistened in the light as he turned it in his hands. A line, within a circle, within a triangle.
He could only stare at Harry as if he were insane. Not only for willingly handing over such a powerful artifact, but for letting somebody else know what it was.
"I trust you, Arthur. More than anybody else amongst the living. You will keep it secret and use it to save more lives than I ever could." Harry confessed. "In my hands it only serves to protect my life, in yours it could conceal hundreds from deaths vision."
It was him! It WAS Harry Potter. He hadn't changed, not where it mattered. He cared, cared so much for others than it hurt him more than the deadly curse that was obviously consuming his body.
"I will follow you Harry... just, please. Don't descend any deeper into that dark place." Arthur promised and pleaded in a single breath. "I can see the changes in you, everybody can. Superficially, you are starting to resemble him, but I know it's only skin deep. Keep it that way."
Harry stared at him as he spoke, and aged decades before his very eyes. Tired. he looked so very tired.
"I am trying, Arthur. But I've always been an angry person. And I grow hateful towards the evil that threatens those I love, and towards myself for my failure. I don't want to feel this way, but I have seen the things you and everyone else have only come to suspect." Harry told him. "It's sooo much worse than you imagine, and I am trying to not let it get to me. We all are. But there's only so much fight inside all of us. I pray this war ends and I die with it before your fears become a reality. For they are my fears too."
Arthur gulped at the confession and wept internally. For he recognized the honesty and sorrow behind the words.
"It was our job to ensure you wouldn't have to fight such demons." Said Arthur.
"Wassssss!" Harry damned near snarled at him as he stood up.
Arthur flinched away at the malice in those green eyes, the rightfully directed resentment. He strongly suspected it turned into actual parseltongue at the end there. He didn't try to stop him as he made to leave. He did, however, follow him out the back door and to the fields behind his home.
His guard stood out there, waiting for him. A masked woman with frizzy hair and a pale, freckled man. He was taken aback by the woman's uncanny resemblance to Hermione. Same height, same hair, same posture, even the same paleness on the arms and neck. He was even more taken aback by the freckled man, who stared at him longingly in a way that was far too familiar for somebody Arthur was absolutely certain he'd never met before.
The wind was strong and blared in his ears, so he couldn't quite make out what he said when Harry spoke to the mysterious man. Said man glanced between Harry and Arthur, then with that same look of longing, shook his head.
Harry put a hand on both of their shoulders and with a loud crack they apparated away.
And Arthur was left with nothing but confusion, and a strange sense of loss.
Luna sat quietly in he temporary room at Shell Cottage. That was all she did these days.
Sure, the bruises and scars had faded. But her time in that dungeon with Ollivander and Griphook had changed her. Her usual cheery demeanor was lax now. She didn't feel sad, or at least she didn't think so. But every time she caught her reflection, she looked sad.
Griphook tried to cheer her up, in his own gobliny way. Reminding her of how fortunate she was and how thankful he himself was to be both free and alive. This did not comfort her. Fleur tried to comfort her in her own French way. And while she knew her food should be excellent, the croissants and onion soup all tasted bland in her mouth. Bill kept his distance, fearing the wrath of a jealous Veela wife. Ollivander kept his distance, staring off into space as sadly as she would. She enjoyed his company.
The wards dinged. A welcome guest? They didn't get many of those, save her father who occasionally visited to keep her informed of his efforts to smuggle her out of the country, or at least find a safe home to hide her in. Besides Shell Cottage. The Lovegood Roost was still in ruins.
Luna, mustering the mental strength to stand, made her way to the window to see who the guests would be.
A dark angel, his face concealed by a hood and respirator of some sort, was flanked by... Ron and Hermione? That can't be right. They were supposed to be dead, but she was as sure as she was of the identity of the disfigured angel that they were standing right there.
Had she hallucinated their deaths? Had that been part of the Death Eater's torture? Was she hallucinating this now? Had they simply... faked their deaths?
She smiled. The world didn't make sense, and that was okay, for she was certain of three things. She was alive, this was real, and her best friends were alive and real too. Even if Ron looked like a completely different person and Hermione was wearing a creepy clock mask.
Life finally returned to her mournful soul and so barefoot and giddy she sprinted down the stairs two steps at a time. She made it to the back door just as Harry entered and leapt up to envelop him.
He went stiff as a corpse at the unexpected contact and remained so as she dangled from his neck and burdied her face hinto his robes.
"Haaaaarrry." She squeeked. "I missed you."
He relaxed somewhat and returned her hug, holding her emaciated frame with ease.
"You too Luna. Bill. Fleur." Harry greeted the young couple behind her while still holding her.
She let go as he swept past to speak with them and turned her attention to the doorframe. Ron and Hermione weren't there.
"We missed you too, you know 'arry. Come here." Fleur demanded.
Luna watched as she gave him a much more sterile hug, a hand on the small of his back and one on his head. Luna only assumed she didn't go for a kiss as well was because the respirator blocked it. Que usual manly handshake with Bill and he made to the table to sit and talk.
Luna ignored them and approached the back door. Looking out she saw Ron and Hermione, the new Ron and Hermione, stare passionlessly from their guard at the ward line. Luna smiled and waved. The hesitancy with which they waved back brought back the ever-present sadness.
"I am here to activate you two." Harry informed Bill and Fleur as he lowered his hood.
Luna whirled around.
"Just them?" She asked, offended.
"Indeed. Just them?" Came the dour voice of Griphook.
The goblin stood at the bottom of the stairs with Ollivander behind. The false sword of Gryffindor clasped in Griphook's hands as always.
Harry chuckled; it was an alien sound with the respirator obscuring his voice.
"I did not think you would still be here Griphook, nor did I believe Ollivander in decent enough shape to be ready for a fight." Harry told them. "And Luna goes without saying. She is always handy in a fight. After a good meal, that is."
He very pointedly grabbed the bowl of biscuits that sat in the middle of the table and held it out to her. She stepped forward and took the bowl, and ate an entire roll in an exaggerated bite.
"My inroads to a new identity, documentation and facial surgery are slow and meandering." Griphook told him as Luna mockingly made a pig out of herself. "And I am still eagerly awaiting the day you give me a price for what I asked of you."
Harry shook his head.
"My price, you cannot pay. At least not yet. The day will come when you may have the ability, but I doubt the will." Harry told him.
Even for Luna, this was rather cryptic and odd.
"Then I shall follow you until that day. Then we shall see." Gripook told him.
"And I have been feeling rather useless lately. Surely you have need of a wandmaker for your bloo-soaked war, mister Potter." Olivander added.
Harry considered them all carefully.
"Very well. I'm sure you all heard the announcement on Potter Watch yesterday.
"Indeed." Said Bill. "What will you have us do during the assault on Hogwarts?"
"Not an Assault." Harry said. "And you will be joining your father in a project that will acquire us a flying fortress for the remainder of the war. It requires a great deal of knowledge on enchanting and disenchanting. IT goes without saying that Garrick would be an invaluable addition to your team. But I think I know a better task for you, Griphook. Luna. Unless you prefer enchanting while under pressure?"
Griphook shook his head.
"Never had a knack for it. Always was better with numeracy and astrology. I like the girl's company though. What will you have of us?"
And so he explained their missions.
Percy marched down the empty hall of the department of records.
The echoing of his dress shoes on solid granite was his only companion in this increasingly dreary place. Between the Dark Mark decorating every banner and permanently dimmed lights the place was unwelcoming enough, but ever since that weird fubar where M.O.M went haywire, and those workers disappeared into the floo network never to be seen again. The place just seemed... different.
Documents kept going missing. Doors, automated security points, and the lifts all seemed to stutter or stall. To take ever so slightly longer than it should. And ever so slightly longer still when you were alone. Few people spoke about these feelings openly, especially so close to the Department of Mysteries. But they whispered. They all felt it. They all knew.
Something was watching them.
It was a constant, niggling feeling of being watched. Not the usual eavesdropping and catty reporting of wannabe KGB-esque assholes that everybody in the ministry had become. Always on the lookout for any evidence that their coworkers might be less pure of blood than they claimed. So that they might share such information and get a raise, or else avert suspicion from their own loved ones.
No, this was different. It made them all feel like a fish in a bowl placed in a pen full of cats. Like prey. It felt strongest near the lifts or the courtrooms, so they all tended to avoid such places. Hence why Percy was taking the stairs.
He still felt it. It was always there at the Ministry. Those unseen eyes. Staring at him. Watching him. Hunting him. Him, more than others, and he couldn't figure out why.
He picked up his pace and nearly sprinted up the last two flights to the atrium, taking a deep breath and correcting his suit before exiting to the large room. It was late enough that only a few people milled about, most of them on their way to the floo exits at that very moment. Save for Jerry the guard. He stood at his post diligently, as usual.
"Goodnight mister Weasley!" Jerry waved cheerily.
"Goodnight Jerry." Percy offered back and walked as fast as he could to the nearest fireplace without seeming to rush.
He reached the fireplace and stepped right in. Taking a deep breath he flashed his ID, which allowed the automated floo system to send him directly to his home. Closing his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief to be free of this terrible place.
He needed to have a long talk with Penny about quitting and fleeing sooner than they planned.
With that thought in mind, he pressed the button to release the floo powder
A flash of green, the heat of the flame, and he knew nothing more save for pain.
He vanished into darkness. His body, on fire, or maybe splinted? It felt like both. Flashes of reality reached him as he faded in and out of consciousness. Mostly of a dark room. Occasional beacons of red or blue LED lights in the blackness illuminated what looked like people. Twisted, or dying.
Occasionally, he would hear that cool, robotic voice of M.O.M. The AI that controlled the facility.
"Occlumentic resonance: Six-ty, percent. Conclusion: Insufficient. Directive: Disposal."
He opened his eyes to try and see, but only saw a vaguely humanoid shape floating in the air. Then fire, of the red kind, from a furnace. And the body was gone, and so was his grip on consciousness.
"Occlumentic resonance: Five, percent. Conclusion: Catastrophically Poor." He heard her voice again.
This time, he ignored the feeling of drills in his neck to look up and saw it. Strung up and naked, held aloft by wires and pipes that pierced her breast and thighs like marionette strings, his coworker Alice Bellbottom. Then M.O.M declared her fate.
"Directive: Study to determine cause of such poor resonance."
And she was whisked away by what must have been a ceiling conveyor belt, the kind that managed the lifts. Pecy stared, horriied at the other bodies around him. He couldn't recognize most of them, too rotted or mutilated. Metal where flesh should be on bodies that had been dead for some time. And yet, he was alive.
"Aaaaaaah!" He screamed as he finally caught sight of himself.
His arms, chest and neck were flayed open like an anatomical display dummy. Metal and wire grafted to his bones and nerves. where they had no business being. The horror of his own flesh mutilated to such an extreme was only compounded by the feeling of grit and grim upon what skin was left uncut, and the smell of decay.
The disgust at the unsanitary conditions making his wounds feel all the viler. His screaming caught his captor's attention
"Subject: Perceval Ignatius Weatherby." M.O.M declared him. "Occlumentic resonance: ..."
She paused as the sound of electronic and magnetic devices whirred and beeped. Some unknown calculation being made. The next words to come from her were less robotic, almost excited.
"Ninety. Five. PERCENT!"
Percy shuddered at the last word, and the pleased manner with which she said it. As he did so, he felt his body go into shock s blackness once again took over his vision.
"Conclusion: Very nearly sufficient. Directive: Store for the eventuality of no better host being discovered."
And with her last declaration, he knew nothing more. Just cold, and darkness.
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