Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 22

A/N: Hope you enjoy this little duel. It's been the most interesting part to write so far!

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Albus Dumbledore watched as the energy of his Imperius Curse diverted in midair and went careening off, crashing into and destroying one of the large bowls of lemon sherbets on a side table.

Albus didn't stop even though his pulse was racing far above what was safe for a man of his years.

"Diffindo."

That one careened off toward a table filled with little squares of fudge that had been painted red, orange, and blue.

"Lacero."

It dipped down toward the floor and created a massive crater.

"Reducto."

It seemed to arrive nearly at where Harry was now standing before diverting almost perfectly backward and flying toward Albus himself. It was only Albus throwing himself to the floor that kept him from a massive blast of magical energy.

Harry pulled a wand out of his cloak with decent, but not frightening speed.

Albus pulled himself to his feet again and responded by summoning his Fire Whip. He was nervous about what this Harry Potter would do now. With the flick of a wrist, he sent the whip slicing through the chair Harry had been occupying thirty seconds earlier.

Harry held up his wand and smiled. And then, Harry, too, was holding a whip. But it wasn't fire or ice or any other variation Albus had ever seen. It was silvery, shimmering, it was of an indeterminate length. It was a whip of pure magic.

Albus was stunned for a second, then he examined the whole thing carefully, even as the extruded coil of magic was hurtling toward his own hand. He watched, helpless as a child, while the magic whip coiled and coiled around the Fire Whip. The pure magic quickly extinguished the fire magic that Dumbledore had poured into the whip.

Harry retracted his own line of tightly coiled magic, too. Albus watched it disappear and felt sad at its vanishing – sad, even though that magic whip had just destroyed one of his most powerful offensive weapons.

Albus then studied the wand in the boy's hand. That was when Albus noticed that the wand wasn't a wand. His charmed glasses saw that it had no core at all.

"That's not a wand," he spluttered, before sending a binding curse toward Harry – silently. He didn't even care that he had just seen a magic whip emanate from a nonmagical piece of wood.

Harry shrugged as the curse seemed to evaporate in midair. Then he let the stick drop to the floor and proceeded to smile fully. "Let's see if the Leader of the Light knows all three of the Unforgivables. I haven't had a good duel in years, Dumbledore."

With that, Albus' own massive beard began attacking his face. Some of his hair braided itself and then flew up to cover Albus' face while it merged itself into Albus' hairline.

He pulled and tugged at his decades of growth before he started shearing off his own locks.

He had a second to point and shout out, "Gargamel," a dark Persian organ-rotting curse, before Albus found his own robes – blue and silver with little moons and planets spinning round and round – attacking him now. One moment he was bound up like an Engyptian mummy. The next, his garments were tearing and binding themselves around his head as if they were a suffocating variety of turban.

On and on his clothing went, attacking Dumbledore, until he starting burning his own clothing. At that, Dumbledore's fingernails, and toenails, began to grow at a rapid pace. It was becoming beyond his own ability to hold his wand in a duelist's precise grip without risking that his nails would sever in half the slender piece of mahogany.

A half-naked, scruffily shorn Dumbledore resorted to holding his wand like a toddler clutching a stick – badly, laughably. He was now trying to duel when he couldn't even aim his spells.

Albus decided on wide-area effects.

He sent a massive surge of wind toward Harry, strong enough to knock the boy end over end for a good couple of rolls. But the winds seemed to part around Harry as they drew close to him.

Then Albus flooded Harry's portion of the cottage with the Starlight Curse. It was strong enough to disintegrate vampires and was, ordinarily, strong enough to temporarily blind even shielded human beings. Albus, of course, closed his own eyes before calling forth the energy. As soon as it was safe, he opened his eyes and send a Disarming Hex toward Harry, only to remember that Harry didn't seem to carry a wand.

"Stupid," he shouted to himself, but meaning the insult for Harry for some unknown reason.

But even that simple piece of magic didn't reach an unblended Harry Potter. The boy had somehow countered with a Visual Darkness Charm, useful for treating light sensitive patients in hospital. How did this wisp of a boy know medical spells like that one?

Albus gritted his teeth and went back to sending out powerful banishing and burning curses. But none of them arrived.

He then summoned a fire wraith and commanded it to destroy the building. Albus was quite aware of his own abilities to resist fire spells, but he was sure that this Harry Potter wouldn't have such skills. Death by fire was a bit further than Albus had planned to go – honestly, Albus had been considering making Harry Potter Minister of Magic in a couple of decades. But this creature had been befouled beyond all recognition; he was simply too cunning, too smart, too well versed with the facts to survive.

But when the proto-demon arrived in the room a few seconds later, shrieking in pain after it had been pulled from another world, it found itself mostly bound in place. And it couldn't ignite anything. It howled and shrieked – almost as loudly as Albus himself – and struggled against his invisible cage.

When it disappeared from the room, Albus pivoted and tried to find his target. There, there, in the corner. Albus lifted his wind, with his loose club-fisted grip, and tried to send the Cruciatus Curse at Harry. That boy would pay. Accusations, attacking like he had. Albus was no one's fool, he would be obeyed. Everyone else had learned this – some through the 'hard way.'

The torture curse crashed into a wall a few feet from Harry. It blew a massive hole out of the side of the building. Albus watched as some sort of white frosting seemed to drop down through the open hole and cover and seal it. A candied house indeed.

Where one curse had done something, but not to Harry, Albus decided quantity was better than quality. Albus sent another five of the Cruciatus. All five veered off and crashed into different objects.

Harry responded by somehow enchanting all the bowls of candy in the room to attack Albus. The one filled with Mars Bars simply hucked them at the aged wizard. The bars transfigured into rather sharp spikes as they flew through the air. The ones filled with spherical candies aimed them underneath Albus' moving feet, so as to trip him up. The one filled with gooey fudge aimed for Albus eyes and ears, to blind and bind his senses.

One of the chandeliers made of nonpareils flew apart. Each of the small chocolate confections began melting as they zoomed toward Dumbledore. The man felt his body begin sagging underneath the weight of oozing, sticky chocolate and sugar.

He shook it off, vigorously scrubbed himself with a watering and a cleansing charm and reassessed his situation. A few of the transfigured Mars Bars had scraped or pierced his flesh. He staunched the blood flow quickly.

It seemed utterly hopeless and Albus Dumbledore had no idea why that was.

So Albus used his final option. He leveled his chocolate-covered wand at Harry and said, "Avada Kedavra." The green energy sparked out of his wand and ran the entire length of the room very quickly. In the last fraction of the second it took, the green energy transformed into yellow and turned upward and detonated part of the ceiling. One of the chandeliers made from lemon sherbets came crashing to the floor.

"I guess you do know all the Unforgivables, Albus. But I know a lot of magic, too."

For the first time since this bastardized duel start, Harry spoke aloud a spell. Albus turned white in fear as he saw the energy arc toward him.

The ancient Greek spell translated into "kill off the living magic." When it impacted though, it didn't drain Albus of his magic. No, it struck his mahogany and basilisk scale wand. His dearest magical companion – far dearer than his supposedly now-fled phoenix, Fawkes – crumbled to ashes in his hand.

Albus uttered a groan as deep and inhuman as anything ever heard. All was lost.

That was Steiner Grindelwald's wand – a wand he'd reputedly killed another wizard to claim – and it had been in nearly continuous use for two hundred sixteen years, growing more and more powerful the longer witches and wizards had used it. It had been far more compatible with Albus' magic than Albus' previous wand had been. He'd kept it as a token of victory and begun using it immediately. It had been his dearest friend for so very long.

And it was destroyed now.

Albus was severely weakened with this setback. His wandless abilities were mostly parlor tricks, such as flickering candles on and off. But, he could apparate with the best of them.

So he tried.

And then he tried again.

Damn. Anti-apparation wards. He hadn't sensed any when he'd first come onto the property. And he hadn't felt any wash over him afterwards. Albus thought for a moment about how someone could erect them without those in the immediate vicinity not feeling them. But he had insufficient time to really consider the problem.

He was inside a duel he'd started. And he didn't like running or losing, but he'd run out of other options.

Well, save one.

Albus Dumbledore transfigured himself into his unregistered animagus form: that of a powerfully muscled mountain goat, an Ibex, with long horns that curved behind his head. He leapt onto one of the tables, then onto the top of a bookshelf, then to one of the exposed beams far above the floor of the place. He pushed himself into a dark corner and began battering at the wall with his rear hooves, kicking and tearing away as he could.

He would be leaving this madhouse. And no Harry Potter would be able to stop him.

Albus Dumbledore was so caught up in his goat-like work that he noticed Harry Potter disappear from the floor below. Harry, also, was waiting for the end of Dumbledore's efforts.

Finally, the goat Dumbledore kicked his way outside. He jumped from the top of the structure and didn't even look to see where he was going. So, when he landed, he was shocked to see that the view of the sea he'd expected was gone. In its place, Dumbledore found himself in the middle of a massive sort of jungle. He awkwardly turned around in his Ibex body to look for the cottage he'd just kicked his way out of. But the cottage was gone, too.

Dumbledore felt sick to his stomach. What had he done?

He'd obviously walked into a magical home. But had he walked into a portal of some sort? Or a home that could apparate to another locale? Because he was no longer along the coast of Britain any more. The sea-smell was gone. Now it was the decomposition of the jungle that assaulted the Ibex's nostrils.

And where had the damned home gone? He'd just kicked his way out of it and now it was missing. He tried apparating. But, even in this jungle, apparition was impossible. Then he tried walking into the underbrush, but something underneath him caught his attention…

Dumbledore's goat-like body roared in pain.

Something had just bitten him. Something small.

A mongoose or something like a ferret, long and slinky, ran out between Dumbledore's legs and vanished into the dense cover of the forest. Dumbledore could feel that he was bleeding just a bit. But he hadn't seen Harry yet. So he was going to stay in his stronger, more agile body so long as he was without a wand.

It wasn't but a moment before Dumbledore tried to turn toward a sound. He spent little time in his animagus form, so the rapid motion unbalanced him. Dumbledore's ibex-body tumbled to the ground. He was in the full bloom of pain when he pushed himself back up. He lifted his head just in time to see a massive silver-tinged lion emerge from the underbrush. The animal's massive paw descended and swiped at Dumbledore's face, drawing even more blood. The goat tumbled to the ground under the aggressive attack.

When he stumbled back to his feet, the massive, unusual cat was gone. But he heard a shriek from the air. A hawk of gruesome dimensions was bearing down on him. Its talons raked along the length of his goat-back. Dumbledore brayed and blurted in pain.

What were these animals? And how had they found him in this jungle?

Dumbledore took a few halting steps toward the underbrush. He'd didn't even see the massive jaws of the serpent close over his right front ankle. It was the pain that was the first and only warning.

His concentration was fully broken. Once the serpent released, Dumbledore found himself ejected from his goat body and back into his enfeebled human form.

"What have I done," he shouted. "I'm an old man. This isn't fair. You don't attack fairly. I'm too important to die in a jungle like this."

For nothing and no one ever bested Albus Dumbledore. And he didn't even see his attacker any longer. He panted on the grassy floor then heard a branch break in the near environs. He twisted around to see what was coming to attack.

It was that demon Harry Potter. The boy still carried no wand, but Albus realized that the boy knew more than a few wandless tricks. He could even command animals to attack, it seemed.

Albus thought about his dwindling options. Surrender. Sue for peace and negotiations. Attack (but with what?). Force the boy into killing him. Or, his final wandless skill, as apparition didn't seem to work in the jungle either, legilimency.

Albus looked the boy in his eyes. And he willed every ounce of his skill into peering into the boy's mind, into crippling him for an hour or a day. For long enough to escape from this horrifying place.

Albus felt his conscious mind leave his body and begin racing toward Harry Potter. He felt himself enter inside the boy's body. He felt himself enter into the boy's rather unprotected mind. And then he started ripping and tearing. He started grasping at every memory he could find and shoving it back into the kid's mind, to force him away from the present, to force him into a loop of reviewing his own past memories. Albus spent what he imagined were hours pouring through Harry's mind pushing and tearing and ripping.

But he didn't once examined a memory or look to see if he was filling up the boy's central core. No, he just kept pushing and tearing. He was attempting to cause as much damage as he could.

Finally, Albus' mental projection concluded its efforts. He was still surrounded by millions of memories, but he hoped he sent enough to Harry's central core to immobilize him for a good long while.

That was when Albus discovered the flaw in his half-baked plan.

He'd entered Harry Potter's mind without a problem, and stayed for as long as he'd wanted. But, now that he wanted to leave, Albus' mental projection found it was completely stuck inside Harry's mind.

He tore and tore at whatever he could find. Where it had been clear sailing into this mind, there now appeared to be a perfectly smooth wall in all directions. There was no indication at all as to how Albus had made it inside here.

He glimpsed at one of the memories for just a moment. It was of Albus arriving at the cottage.

Then he plucked up another one. It was identical. He searched the entire room, sampling more than a hundred. Every single memory in this place was identical. It took many sickening minutes before Albus realized what this place was. It wasn't Harry's mind. No, it was a prison he'd conceived of inside his mind. It was designed to lure in mental attackers, to lure them in and never let them out again…

Albus Dumbledore knew he had just been destroyed by a boy ten time younger than he was. He felt deep, awful hatred filling what he had brought with him of his consciousness. He felt loathing deeper than he had felt even for Grindelwald, even for the adult Tom Riddle. No one had ever beaten him like this. He had been fought to a draw before, but never humiliated.

Albus screamed inside the shielded room inside of Harry Potter's mind. He screamed and screamed and hoped he would be let out before his own body fell victim to some kind of animal or other inside that damned jungle.

It was only then, after Albus mentally conceded defeat, that the images inside the room began to change. He saw the mongoose again – and it transformed back into Harry. Albus watched as all his animal attackers transformed back into Harry. The scrap of a boy was a multi-animagus, a thing only possible in theory, but never before seen in practice. Harry had inflicted each of those painful wounds on his body. Harry had beaten Albus over and over again. Magically, physically, mentally.

Then Albus felt his mind being forcibly ejected. He felt himself flying out of the prison inside Harry's mind.

And into the prison of his own mind. His own body was completely trussed up and stunned. Albus couldn't even wiggle his little finger.

He was staring right into the eyes of Harry Potter. And then he felt his own mind invaded. All his plans of recent months flipped past his observation: his agreement with the Ministry of Magic to take down the Potter Emporiums especially seemed to interest young Harry. But Dumbledore felt everything stripped out of his mind, all of his ideas for the greater good.

And when Harry left his mind, Dumbledore was aching everywhere. He could see only part of his own body. He was a bloody mess. His belly looked like it had been bitten by a rat. And he could see the damage to his leg and ankle.

The last words Albus Dumbledore heard, once Harry was touching his temple, were "Memoria Evanesco." And, with that, the strongest form of obliviation took hold inside Dumbledore's mind. All the day's activities were destroyed from his memory.

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Albus Dumbledore woke up when someone started roughly shaking his arm. Then someone shined a bright light into his face. With bleary eyes, Albus tried to figure out where he was.

He determined a few things immediately. He smelled awful, or something around him smelled awful.

He also hurt like he'd been through one of Molly Weasley's meat grinding spells. His upper chest, which was mostly naked to the elements, was quite cold.

He managed to croak out, "Where am I?"

The bobby who was attempting to roust him from behind a garbage dumpster outside Bristol's only lesbian bar had to keep from frowning. It was also so sad to run across the elderly homeless. This one had obviously fared very poorly in the last few days. He showed signs of fighting – and being clawed at or nibbled on by rats or other animals. His body was covered in dirt and melted food of some sort. His beard had been hacked at, so he looked terrible. And his clothes showed signs of burning – burning and tearing. Who had attacked this elderly man?

The only thing in the man's favor was that he didn't seem to be intoxicated or strung out on any kind of illegal substance.

"You're in Bristol, sir. Two of that bar's more amorous patrons discovered you behind this dumpster, sir. How long have you been living rough now?"

Dumbledore was quite confused. He was a wizard. He owned a rather magnificent manor. He was the headmaster of the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in Europe and beyond. He did not 'live rough.'

Albus reached for his wand, but discovered it wasn't on him at the moment. Blast!

"I'll have you know I'm a very important person in my world, sonny. I'll need just a bit of help then I can get back on my way. If you could just ring up the Ministry of Magic in London. Ask for Cornelius Fudge…"

The bobby rolled his eyes. There was nothing worse than a psych case who'd slipped through the National Health Service. The man obviously needed medication. 'Ministry of Magic.' The bobby did enjoy hearing tall tales, but not from such obviously sick individuals. He decided to forgo the trip to the station house with this one. No, he'd be shipped directly over to St. Margaret's…maybe they'd recognize him. A forty-eight hour psychiatric commitment was the best thing for this obviously distressed elderly man.

"Sir, yes, we can take care of that once we've cleaned up your wounds. If you'll just stand up…there you go, sir…now we can go and get you all mended. Were you in a fight today, sir?"

"No, not that I recall…"

"Well, these bruises and cuts appear fairly fresh. Did you partake of any alcoholic beverages today, sir?"

"No, but I do occasionally enjoy a nice firewhisky."

The bobby felt terrible again. 'Firewhisky.' It was probably the man's name for some home-distilled rubbish guaranteed to drive him blind or rot out his guts in a few months.

The bobby put the man into the back of the police carrier. They'd get him to hospital in twenty minutes. Perhaps he'd be better in forty-eight hours. Or perhaps they could arrange for a longer commitment if he didn't seem to recover once on medication.

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Dolores Umbridge was having trouble falling asleep. Since Dumbledore had first dropped his idea about harassing the Potter Emporiums, she'd never had so much fun reading over daily reports. Those Aurors could surely be creative in the things she'd done. But nothing could top what was to occur on the morrow.

She tossed and turned for several hours before she managed to fall unconscious. But even while her massive snores rocked the walls of her room, her mind was filled with the visions of power – the Aurors under her control, the well-crafted writs allowing them to do as they wish, and a smile that just wouldn't disappear from her face.