Darcy Lewis - Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. or How I got a High Paying Government Job without even Trying
AN- This chapter will start to detail a lot of the differences between Darcy's new world, and Darcy's old world, as well as start to create plot that will be used to fill in Darcy's life both before and between Marvel movies. Later portions of the chapter may be disturbing to sensitive readers, so discretion is advised.
Chapter 6: Homecoming or How to cope with Disappointment
I should have realized sooner that nothing but pain and disappointment awaited me in England. If nothing else the run of good luck I had on my journey there should have been a fairly obvious sign of bad things ahead. But like a hopeless fool, I ignored my misgivings and went any way; I would end up regretting the trip for years to come.
The first sign that things were going to well came when I went to get my passport, the very next day after arranging all my other identification. The fact that I was able to get a passport without needing to use any magic at all should have told me things were going to well, but I just wrote it off, assuming I was due a bit of good luck.
The second sign that things were going to well came on the day of my flight, when upon opening the curtains and looking out the window, I saw not the predict storms that were all set to play havoc with departure times, but rather sunny, blue skies, with not a cloud to be seen. Once again I wrote it off as being due some good luck.
I was able to ignore the taxi I booked to take me to the airport arriving right on time, and even the fact that we somehow got nothing but green lights all the way there, but I really should have gotten uneasy when I was told my flight had been overbooked and instead of getting kicked off the plane I was bumped up to first class. Unfortunately for me, I was so overcome with excitement to be going home that I was still quite happy to board the plane.
After a long, though quite comfortable flight, we touched down in Heathrow, and I immediately hailed a cab, jumped in and directed him to Grimmauld Place. It was there that I would get my first taste of my new reality.
Stepping out of the cab on the corner of Grimmauld Place, I quickly walked down the street eager for my long awaited view of my home at number twelve. When I got said view, in hindsight, I'm willing to admit that my first reaction was, admittedly, denial. Complete and utter denial, after all, regardless of the proof before my eyes, there was absolutely, positively no way in hell, that in the seven years I had been gone, number twelve Grimmauld Place had turned from my big, cosy, dark, Gothic styled house into a big, open, brightly colored day care centre. The very though was ludicrous. I mean even if, somehow the wards had fallen in my absence to the point where the house was visible to non-magicals, and that's a big if, the other wards would still stop anyone from entering, or being able to damage the house. Therefore there was simply no way it could have been both found, and renovated into a day care centre. In my denial, I then reasoned to myself, that the only way number twelve Grimmauld Place could be a day care centre is if I was at the wrong Grimmauld Place. Realizing this I mentally reprimanded myself for catching a cab there, when upon arrival at Heathrow, I was at a close enough distance to be perfectly capable of apparating to my home. Deciding that I might as well do so now, I walked to the small park across from the fake Grimmauld Place that looked remarkably similar to the park across from the real Grimmauld Place, and attempted to apparate home. Only to arrive after said apparition at the exact same spot I had just tried to leave. This was the moment my denial, turned to the beginnings of panic.
"Ok, so my home's gone, but I'm sure there is a perfectly good explanation…maybe the wards hiding it from non-magicals failed, and rather than deal with cost of putting up new ones, the ministry of magic decide to just sell it back to the non-magicals, I'm sure if I just go to the ministry this will all be sorted out…yeah that's what I'll do, go to the ministry."
With a new plan in mind I once again apparated, this time to appear on a fortunately empty back street in London, next to an old, disused phone booth. Stepping inside I quickly dialled the numbers I remembered from my experience in fifth year "6-2-4-4-2, come on, come on…" my hopes for a speedy resolution to my housing issues were dashed when instead of a voice asking me to state my name, and the purpose of my visit, I got…nothing. No voice, no dial tone, no wrong number please try again, nothing. This was the moment the beginnings of panic, turned into fall scale desperation.
"Ok, ok, ok, so the phone isn't working, maybe the ministry of magic had moved its office? Yeah I bet that's it, after all the old offices were attacked by Voldemort. It makes sense they would move. Let's see now, I'm close to Saint Mungo's, I'm sure if I go there someone can tell where the new ministry offices are." And with that thought, I set off on a short walk to the fake department store window that hid the entrance to Saint Mungo's. Upon arriving, with nary a thought I tried to walk straight in, only to find that instead of finding myself in the reception area of the hospital, surrounded by magical maladies ranging from the weird and wacky to the downright terrifying, I instead found myself with my face flattened against the glass of an apparently very real, and very operational, department store. This was the moment I realized, that for all my desperation, and denial, my excuses for the lack of known magical locations were starting to run thin. But despite everything I wasn't ready to give up yet. So hailing a cab I made my way to Charing Cross Road, and the Leaky Cauldron.
As turned out, while I had made my way to Charing Cross Road, I had not made my way to the Leaky Cauldron. Rather, in the spot where the Leaky Cauldron should have been, was a rather nice, though a bit overpriced sporting goods store. Running to the alley behind the store and tapping bricks also availed me nothing. No matter where I tapped, and no matter how much magic I pumped into the wall, Diagon Alley did not appear.
After the disappointment of finding neither the Leaky Cauldron, nor Diagon Alley, I began a mad spree of apparitions around England trying to find some trace of the magical world, but alas found nothing. Where Luna's house should have stood I found not the beautiful, eccentric, tower like house I knew and loved but rather an open field. Nearby, where the Burrow should have stood, was now a copse of trees. The house I was born in Godric's Hollow was now apartments; the Gaunt Shack was a local pub, and the Riddle Manor a small bed and breakfast. The seaside cave where Voldemort hid his locket was still, there but not trace of magic was in it. Finally in desperation I made my way to Hogsmeade, where I found, not a small magical community, but forest, with not a magical dwelling in sight. So with heavy heart, I went for my last hope, and began the walk from Hogsmeade, to Hogwarts, slowly coming to the realization that not only had I travelled forward in time seven years, but also somehow travelled to a new dimension. After all it was the only reasonable explanation. No matter how I tried to deny it, there was no way that all of British magical society simply vanished without a trace in seven years. My theory on having travelled to a new dimension would be satisfactorily proven when I arrived at the sight of Hogwarts.
Hogwarts, as it turned out, proved to be most bitter disappointment. Unlike the other magical sights I had visited that simply didn't exist, on the sight of Hogwarts there still stood a castle. Only instead of the beautiful, old, majestic castle full of masterful stonework and flowing arches that I knew, this castle was little more than an old ruin, decayed and crumbling. Trying to ignore the tears that welled in my eyes as my last hope was dashed, I turned away, ready to leave, and only then did I noticed something that gave a brief flash of renewed hope. A tingle, beginning at the base of my spine flowing up and out until it suffused my whole body with a thrum of magic.
"THE WARDS!" I thought excitedly, "The wards that keep non-magicals from seeing the castle are affecting me; all I have to do is walk through them."
This, as it turned out was much easier said than done. Each step I took towards the castle felt harder. The closer I got the more I wanted to turn and leave. I would at later time's wish that I had.
Finally, after several minutes of pushing my through the wards, I breached the final layer and looked upon a castle that was no longer crumbling and ruined. A castle that was definitely Hogwarts. But a Hogwarts that could not be my own. For a start, my Hogwarts was a school, a school which at this time of year should be filled with eager students ready to learn. The windows should be shining with fire light, and the doors should stand closed, tall and proud.
Even at a glance I could tell there was no life in this Hogwarts, the windows were cold and empty, as the fire places inside would no doubt reflect, and the doors did not stand tall and proud, but bent and broken, and thrown wide. The door on the left side was pitted and scarred, barely hanging on to rusted and bent hinges, and the door on the right had been ripped right of its hinges, barely identifiable lumps of rust the only sign of them. It lay broken, in the centre of the entrance hall, and as I approached, I was horrified to see what looked like the scars left by great claws gouged deep into its wood.
"What…what the hell happened here?"
Slowly, cautiously, I made my way through the broken door way and looked, in growing horror at the entrance hall. Where once suits of armour stood guard, shining brightly and ready to defend against attackers, now remained only torn and bent scraps of metal, tarnished by the years. The living portraits that once lined the walls were now empty, faded and void of life. The thick layers of dust that covered every surface, told me, more than anything else that I would find no house elves in this Hogwarts, ready at a moment's notice to cook a veritable feast for any hungry student who asked. All that remained of the once bright and cheerful entrance hall was dust, and ruin, and as I progressed through the castle, it would only get worse.
Making my way through the castle, I saw sign after sign that something terrible had happened. Statues and paintings had been torn down and destroyed, doors smashed and ripped of hinges, the very walls scarred with more of the claw like marks I had seen on the front door. It was on the second floor that I began to realize the true scale of what had happened at Hogwarts. There, only a little ways away from the bathroom that marked the entrance to its home, lay the sixty foot long skeleton of snake, only a bones and a few scraps of skin remaining of Slytherin's pet. It seemed that whatever had attacked the school, not even the mighty basilisk was able to stop it. The third floor once again yielded nothing in my search, the only site of note being the burned out remains of the once renowned Hogwarts library, once again adding to my discontent.
"Has nothing survived...?" All I had found thus far, was destruction, signs of a battle fought and lost, in this now decrepit castle. The only consolation was that I had yet to stumble upon any human remains. However that changed when I reached the fourth floor.
On the landing at the top of the main stairway between the third and fourth floors, there they lay. Three skeletons, the broken wands still clutched in bony fingers evidence that they were once wizards or witches, who died fighting to protect their home. The higher I climbed the castle, the more skeletons I found. Many of them had been so broken and scattered that it was impossible to accurately count the numbers, but by the time I reached the landing of the seventh floor stairway, I estimated there numbers to be over two hundred. It had become eminently clear, that Hogwarts, rather than being a centre of learning for young witch's and wizards, had become instead a last stand against a vicious enemy.
Following the trail of death and destruction it was with mounting horror that I came to the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Where once a painting of the Fat Lady had hung, ever vigilant to warn off intruders, and scold students out after curfew, now stood a gaping hole in the wall, the only remains of the painting some splintered wood and a few scraps of canvas in a heap on the floor. Entering slowly, I laid eyes on the place that those who had tried to hold against the attackers had fallen. Everywhere I looked in the common room I saw bones. Instead of being a bright cheery room, lit be a fire, full of students laughing and talking and doing homework, the room now resembled a mass grave. The bones of hundreds lay scattered around the room, the walls bearing the marks of spell fire showing the fight they put up. A fight that they would never win. Climbing the stairs to boys the dormitory's I was hesitant to look in, fearful of what I would find, and in the seventh year boys dormitory my fear was realized. There, huddled at the back of the room, were remains too small to be adults. The remains of the last magical children, who died huddling together afraid of what was coming. In front of them were the remains of five adults, who had died wand in hands facing the doors, a last, desperate attempt to protect the children.
Struggling against tears, my eyes were drawn to one of the adults in particular. By his position he had taken the duty that none wanted. He lay facing the children, wand still aimed at them. My only guess was that when it became obvious that all was lost, he did the dark duty of giving the children a quick death, so they would not be torn apart by whatever monster was attacking.
Stumbling out of the room, I lost the fight against tears, and sank to the floor racked with sobs. My tears fell, not just for myself for being torn from my world, likely never to return, but for those nameless children, dead before they ever had a chance to live, killed by someone they no doubt knew and trusted. And I wept for that man, who had taken the darkest duty, sparing the children the torture that would come, at the cost of his own soul.
I don't know how long I sat there, on my knees, crying for the dead, but by the time I got a hold of myself the sun was begin to peak over the mountains to the east. Having come this far, I was committed to finding out what happened to these people, so rising to my feet I continued up the stairs towards the head boys room. Unlike the other rooms, the door to the head boys room was torn and broken, but simply open swung back against the wall, and in this room there was only one skeleton. The skeleton was not like the others scattered around the place, but rather seemed to be, for the most part, in one piece. He sat on the floor leaning back against a large desk, and were it not for the right leg which was missing half way up the femur, you would be hard-pressed to tell that he hadn't simply sat down for a nap, and not woken up. The only other sign of its violent end was the familiar sword at its side, still shining, rubies embedded in its hilt glinting in the morning sun, that made its way through the open window.
Upon the desk however, was something that proved far more important than any skeleton. On the desk, open with a quill and ink pot next to it was a diary. Moving to it I gently blew away the dust leaned in close to read the small, flowing hand writing and read.
March 29th, 1282
All our research, all our hopes have it seems, been for naught. No matter what we try nothing can seem to slow down the creatures that mad man unleashed upon us. Of our once great people that numbered in the tens of thousands, a scant six hundred remain. We have gathered here, at what was meant to be a bastion of learning, but is to become little more than a grave for us. We know we cannot hide, for all our magic's; nothing can remain hidden from our enemy. Even the most powerful spell of concealing we know of, the Fidelius charm, is not sufficient, for with it in place, they still smell us, still they hunt us, as they have hunted all that contains magic. All we can do is wait and pray, yet even as I write this I can hear them approaching. Not even Slytherin's mighty basilisk could slow them for long. Its screams as it died echoed throughout the castle, they shall haunt me for what little remains of my life. The children, of which seventeen remain, have been taken to one of the dorms, guarded by five of our best and brightest, among them Antworth Black, my oldest and dearest friend, who tearfully volunteered for that darkest of duties. When the enemy breaches the tower, he shall turn his wand on the children and grant them a quick, merciful death, sparing them the torture the enemy would visit upon them. I can hear them, they approach the tower and I must now end this entry, and prepare. Though my life is drawing to a close, I will not go down without a fight, and I shall send as many of them to hell as I can before I die.
To whoever is reading this, may your life end more peacefully than ours. The only consolation I take with me in death, is that the contract signed by that wretch Malacore will only allow these fiends to remain in this realm so long as us wand wavers do, the muggle folk at least, will not pay for our sins.
Signed, Professor Caius Gryffindor, Last Heir of the Gryffindor line, fourth and last Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Once again, I found myself blinking back tears, this man; this wizard knew that his end was coming. He did not face with false hope or fear, but rather with courage and pride. A lesson I would take to heart. Returning to the diary I flipped back a few pages looking for information on who Malacore was, and what was the true nature of the enemy. I found the answer to my first question some twelve entries back from the last entry, it seemed that Caius only wrote in his diary events he deemed of importance or that required further thought, leaving his day to day life for me only to be able to guess at.
September 31st, 1281
As a new school year begins so to do new challenges. Usually the challenges revolve around setting time tables, and helping the students settle in. The worst challenge is normally telling the sorting hat why it can't sing a song about the founders less honourable traits, like Slytherin's regular visits to the brothel, and the rumoured relationship between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff that went a little ways beyond friendly, or worse, my own ancestors fondness for drinking and song, despite his inability to hold either his drink or a tune. However this year's challenges are already shaping up to be somewhat different. There are rumours that Malacore, I spit the name, may be preparing to return to these shores. Twelve years it has been since Antworth Black and I did battle with that foul necromancer, and while his power was too great for us to be able to kill him outright, we were most certain that we wounds we caused him would not be survivable. Had we known better, we would never have allowed him to escape, but rather would have died to assure his death. Alas, the mistakes of the past are not so easily remedied. While the rumours of his return are at the moment just that; rumours, I have still begun contacting old friends so we may be ready to confront him should he return. I have grown stronger since my last battle with him, as has Antworth, and I have no doubt that should Malacore return, we will be able to stop him.
Signed, Professor Caius Gryffindor, Heir of the Gryffindor line, fourth Headmaster of Hogwarts.
While this entry shed some light on the question of who Malacore was, as well as providing some interesting information about the four founders, it still did not tell me what the enemy was, and more importantly, did I need to worry about so turning the page forward I skimmed through the next few entries until I found that seemed to have the information I required.
January 18th, 1282
The rumours of Malacore's return were not, as it turned out, just rumours, he truly has returned, and more powerful than ever. While Antworth and myself were prepared to battle the Malacore we knew, even a more powerful version of Malacore, we were not prepared for, could not prepare for his followers. Never before had he trusted any but the revived dead to serve him, yet when we confronted him he had a small army, over a hundred strong, loyal and ready to die for him. Fortunately, for all their loyalty, they lacked in skill, and the support Antworth and I had brought with us was more than there match. This quickly became evident to Malacore, for once his followers numbers had whittled down to some thirty remaining, he, in a fit of madness, performed a spell the likes of which I had only heard tales of. In a single stroke he killed his followers and used there very life essences to tear open a hole in time and space itself. Into it he screamed at some unknown force "Hear me oh evil one! Give me an army to serve me as long as any goblin, centaur, dragon, merfolk and wand waver still walks this earth! Let they, and all of their magic's burn! Let them be hunted by your soldiers until none remain, and in return you may have my soul!" For a moment after he finished there was naught but silence, as if the very world awaited an answer, and then, without warning from the portal poured wave upon wave of demon! Foul misshapen creatures from the depths of hell itself come through into this realm at the bidding of a mad man. Antworth, I and those who followed us fought as men possessed, but only our most powerful spells could fell the demons, and as soon as one died, two more seem to take its place. Eventually we had no option but retreat. The only bright note to the day was that moments before I fled, I saw a great hand extend from the portal and tear Malacore's soul from his body, apparently choosing to take payment now rather than at the end of his bargain, may his soul burn for all eternity.
Signed, Professor Caius Gryffindor, Heir of the Gryffindor line, fourth Headmaster of Hogwarts.
So that was it, a mad man, bent on conquest or destruction or something, started a course of action that doomed all the sentient magical races to extinction, and the demon he made the deal with didn't even let him stick around to see it happen. When put in those terms, it all seemed so pointless.
I would spend the rest of that day learning to use a wandless digging spell, and burying all those who fell defending Hogwarts. While I knew that no one would ever see the grave, I somehow felt they deserved better than to just lie where they fell for all eternity. After placing the last of the bones in the grave and covering it up, I took a stone that had fallen from the castle, and magically carved an epitaph on it, and left. I would come back another day to see what remained in the castle, but for now I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and I needed to sleep. I refused to sleep at Hogwarts after what had happened there; it seemed to me like it would be disrespectful, like sleeping in a tomb.
A/N- Just quickly, to avoid confusion. Magic does still exist in this world, just not the type of magic Darcy knows of. The basic idea is that the creature Malacore made a deal with, got it's instructions less from Malacore's words, and more from his mind. While Malacore said destroy all magic, the intent behind the words was focused only on the magical species, creatures, plants and items that Malacore knew of. This extended to anything fuelled by the same type of magic as the aforementioned. This means that people like the Sorcerer Supreme, and his enemies can still exist and use magic, it's just a different type of magic coming from a different source.