Disclaimer in Chapter 1.
Chapter XX: The Last Resort.
Ginny Weasley was having a very odd day.
This in itself was not uncommon, as she was a witch, and the youngest in a family of wizards and witches. She and 'odd' had become firm friends at an early age. The odd part was something she couldn't quite grasp. She couldn't remember certain things about her day, no matter how hard she tried. Every time she thought she'd hit on it her mind would suddenly slip, leaving her feeling rather weightless. She'd been staring into her shepherd's pie for the last ten minutes with little to show for it, except that floating sensation.
Rather than being intrigued at this oddity, she was very rapidly approaching a panic. It reminded her too much of her first year at Hogwarts, when she'd been possessed by the diary of Tom Riddle. She wouldn't just dismiss this, she wouldn't let it go; she couldn't allow herself to be used like that again. Was this Tom's next trick, then? What had she done during those times she couldn't remember? And where the bleeding hell was Harry Potter?
"Excuse me, students. May I please have your attention," Albus Dumbledore's voice was soft and grave, but it still managed to resonate clearly across the Great Hall. Within seconds, the din and chatter died as heads rotated towards the head table.
"Due to circumstances outside of our control, Harry Potter has withdrawn from Hogwarts. He would like me to thank each of you for making his time here special. He will remember all of you fondly. That is all." With a tired sigh, Dumbledore sank into his chair again and pulled a large treacle tart towards him.
Instantly the buzzing resumed, and promptly doubled. No doubt a hundred different rumors were now circulating about the Houses.
"That can't be right... he didn't even tell us he was leaving. What d'you think happened?" Ron wondered morosely.
Hermione shook her head, "We can't know for certain, but perhaps there's trouble brewing? I hope it's nothing like Voldemort this time. I'll bet he just had too many demands on his time. He can't be everywhere at once, right?"
"This is Harry Potter, 'Mione," Ron explained, "he had demands on his time when he came to Hogwarts, nothing's changed. It has nothing to do with trouble brewing, so don't fret about that, okay? He's probably just sick of doing homework."
"Don't you try to blame this on homework!" Hermione shot back, scandalized. "I keep telling you, if you'd just do it regularly instead of always saving it for the last minute, you wouldn't have any problem keeping up with it!"
Ginny didn't hear a word they said as they bickered back and forth, she was still staring at her shepherd's pie. Harry was gone? He'd left the school for good? Something had happened–something big–and she was missing something critical. What was going on?
Her older brother snapped her out of her reverie. "Ginny? What on earth are you doing?"
Ginny's eyes went wide. She hadn't realized she'd been so obvious. "Nothing, Ron. Just eating."
"You haven't touched your food, and we've been trying to get your attention for a while now. Are you okay?" Ron's voice was tinged with worry.
"I'm fine, really. I just spaced out a bit."
"We were asking you if you had any idea why Harry would leave Hogwarts." Hermione said helpfully.
Ginny shrugged. Her body felt weightless again, and her train of thought floated away blissfully.
Ron gave an exasperated huff. "Ginny! You'd know better than we would, I mean, it's not like either of us were on snogging terms with the bloke. We just expected a bit of warning before he disappeared. So can you tell us what happened?"
The redhead just continued staring blankly at her pie. What had they just been talking about? She got the feeling it'd been important, but she couldn't think about it. If she thought about it, then surely...
Ron was about to berate his younger sister for ignoring him, her elder brother whom she should deeply respect, when quite suddenly her eyes went out of focus. He stared curiously at her, waving his hand in front of her face and getting no reaction whatsoever. He glanced at Hermione for help.
"Ginny? You're acting awfully suspicious, you know," Hermione said gently. "It's not like we're accusing you of anything, but you're being quite calm about this whole thing, and we expected you to be... I don't know, a little more emotional about it."
Just as suddenly as they'd lost focus, Ginny's eyes snapped onto Hermione with a scowl. "How do you want me to act, then? Do you want me to cry? To swear that I'll never love again, or some tragic rubbish like that? Look, he made his decision; you both need to respect it and let it go. We'll miss him, of course, Merlin knows I'll miss him, but his destiny is bigger than this," She gestured around the Great Hall with a careless swipe of her hand. "He's getting on with his life, and we should be getting on with ours."
Without touching her pie at all, Ginny stood up and walked stonily out of the Great Hall. Hermione glared at her boyfriend rather meaningfully, but Ron shrugged it off and kept eating. "She's a big girl, 'Mione. Let her have some space."
Nymphadora Tonks was not exactly the most feminine of Aurors. She preferred to wear thick, clunky boots that did nothing to help her abysmal balance, and she'd rather be caught completely starkers than in a dress. She'd worked hard to gain respect–however grudgingly–from her male co-workers, of which there were many; she always bragged about not having a motherly bone in her body, usually while she was throwing hexes at one of her teammates in dueling practice.
It was logical, therefore, that she'd been quite shocked when she felt a very firm twinge in her chest at seeing Harry Potter come into her cousin's office. He'd looked so distraught, so completely lost, that she'd had a strangest urge to hug him.
She'd often thought about the young prodigy, but it was always amazement at how incredibly skilled he'd been, ever since she'd first met him. He seemed to have a plan for everything, and even the most difficult magic came so easily to him that she'd been halfway to cursing him for it on more than one occasion. She'd been jealous of his power, maddened by his natural magical ability and thoroughly impressed by his incredible courage in the face of staggering odds.
But never once, since the day she'd first heard of the Boy who Lived, had she thought him a boy. This was the invincible Harry Potter, after all, who defeated the darkest wizard since Grindelwald twice, who defended himself with lethal force at the tender age of 8, who'd beaten the course record on the Simulator at the Auror Academy at 13, who'd been awarded no less than eighty-six certificates of commendation in his short career...
Underneath all those accolades he was still a 16-year-old boy. He was still just a child. And that realization shook her quite spectacularly. Despite her best efforts, she'd finally felt a twinge of motherliness. And it was for the absolute least childlike boy she'd ever met.
It was that realization that had brought her to her cousin's office once more. Not only was she concerned about Sirius' recent bedside vigil for Harry, she now felt the most dismaying need to ensure that the Boy who Lived was properly cared for. If her co-workers ever heard about this, she'd never hear the end of it...
"I'm taking good care of him, Nymphadora. He is my godson, after all." Sirius looked almost indignant when she'd asked how the Boy who Lived was getting on.
"You haven't called me that in years. That wasn't my question, either." She rubbed her spiky, violently pink hair in quick, frustrated movements. Her cheeks were tinged with embarrassment. "I just want to know how he's doing. You know, is he eating enough? Is he feeling any better than he was yesterday when he got back from Hogwarts? He looked dreadful..." She pointedly refused to make eye contact with Sirius, whose eyes had taken on a rather mischievous glint.
"Why Tonks, I didn't know you cared," Sirius said in a manner that clearly stated the opposite.
"I don't," she insisted quickly. She knew it was a mistake to ask her cousin. He just couldn't be trusted to take something seriously.
"Looks like Tonks has a bit of a soft spot for my little prongslet!" he said in a sing-song voice, his grin widening.
"It's not like that, okay? I just..." she exhaled sharply, finding a scuff on the toe of her leather boot incredibly interesting. "I just have this mad urge to give that boy a hug..."
Sirius nodded knowingly, all traces of humor gone from his face. "He does do that, doesn't he? I don't think you've ever spoken more than a few casual sentences in a row with him, but once you find out what he's been through... It's sort of impossible to know him and not want to hug him half to death. Even you, the perennially pitiless. It's my fault, you know," he said, regarding her critically.
Tonks's confusion must've shown on her face, because her cousin didn't wait for a response.
"I made a decision fifteen years ago: I would avenge James and Lily, whatever the cost. I would make Voldemort pay for destroying my best friend. He was the brother I wish I would've been born with. And he made me Harry's godfather. But all I could see when I looked at Harry was that damnable prophecy. This was the Boy who Lived, the one who was going to be Voldemort's downfall. So I trained him, I did everything I could to make sure he'd survive a second brush with that snake-faced bastard. All for the Wizarding World. All for the 'greater good'," Sirius spat the last words out as if they were a curse.
"And this is what happened. This is what I did to Harry Potter. I trained him to fight, and to win. And that's all he knew. He'd never kissed a girl, he'd never had a birthday party, he'd never done something for no reason at all. Sirius Black raised his best friend's son, and never once let him live. I never once allowed Harry Potter to just breathe."
Sirius wasn't frowning, he wasn't sad at all, he just looked hollow. Like he'd just spent a year in Azkaban. "That's what Hogwarts was about. It was about finally letting my godson learn how to breathe. And he can't do it. Instead of going back to school, he's going to be put back on active duty as soon as our medi-wizard clears him. He thinks Hogwarts dulled his edge, and he's back to thinking of himself as nothing more than some tool of war. I'll bet James would be thrilled."
"Sirius..." Tonks frowned at her cousin. He seemed so tortured, how had she not noticed this before? "You can't blame yourself. You did what you had to. You did what needed to be done. And Voldemort's gone. You made the right choice. Harry Potter is alive, and that's what counts. We can work on the little stuff bit by bit, but he needed to survive. You helped him survive, cousin. I'm sure James would agree with me when I say that the alternative would have been to let Harry die." That mad urge to hug Harry Potter had doubled during their short conversation.
The Auror in Charge of Executive Protection smiled softly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Logically, I know you're right. Logically, I know that raising Harry the way James would've raised him may have been the death of him, when Voldemort came back to power. He needed to win that fight to ensure his own survival."
His mirthless smile vanished abruptly. "But I dare you, Tonks. Live with this guilt for even one day, and then come tell me that again. How could I possibly have made the right decision, if it left such bitter guilt?" He stared out at her, searching her face.
Tonks met his gaze in silence, reaching out and squeezing his hand reassuringly; it hadn't been a question.
Harry swung the large black kettlebell out and upward in rhythm with the metronome. It was set at 80 beats per minute, for 40 swings. Without stopping to regain his breath, he switched to a single-arm curl and kept his tempo up for another full minute, then transferred the kettlebell to his other arm. His entire body was on fire with the strain of the exercise, his eyes stung with sweat and his breath came in ragged, labored gasps. It hurt in a way he hadn't felt in months. He'd been able to complete this circuit easily before he'd started attending school, and focusing on that thought spurred him on.
After finishing the circuit he set the kettlebell down lightly on the rubber mat, walking a lap around the gym to regain his wind. Unbidden, a sense of disappointment rose up inside of him. He'd gotten soft and weak out there. He'd let his senses dull, let his body waste away. It would take precious time to regain his edge, and he needed it by tomorrow's physical with the new medi-wizard on the base, Theophilus Pestle. If he couldn't scrape by with a clean bill of health... if Mr. Pestle relegated him to light duties such as 'access point control', a glorified gate guard, for even one more week... Harry didn't think he could stand it.
He needed to get out there and start doing his job again. Even as dull as his senses were, he could feel the urgency in the air. That sudden heightened pressure around him that smelled like ozone, it was his body reacting to some subconscious stimuli that his conscious mind hadn't yet picked up on. He'd learned long ago to trust his instincts, and though they were far from razor-sharp they were starting to scream. A storm was coming, something big; he needed to be in top form when it hit.
"Harry?" a voice cut through his thoughts. "All right?"
The Boy who Lived stopped walking and turned towards Samantha Cameron, who was holding out a towel and a water bottle. She'd been moved to the base after Draco Malfoy spotted her in Hogsmeade, for her protection. He'd noticed that she possessed a keen sense of where he would be at any given time, and she tended to find him at all hours of the day when even his godfather resorted to paging him over the intercoms. For a civilian, it was very impressive. He accepted the towel and bottle with a curt nod and wiped his face. "Thank you, Ms. Cameron."
"It's nothing, Harry. I just..." Samantha bit her lip, a nonverbal cue that told him she was nervous. She needn't have bothered, the worry was practically radiating from her. "I don't understand why you're pushing yourself so hard. I mean, none of the other people here are doing such... intense things. It would be bad if you hurt yourself right now, wouldn't it?"
The black-haired boy shook his head. "My body has sufficient kinesthetic resilience. I require this level of intensity in my workouts to better train my nervous system to cope with massive traumatic stress, such as gunshots and cutting curses. It is not a problem."
He uncapped the water bottle and drained it dry. "Thank you again, Ms. Cameron. Be sure to check in with your security detail at 0900, or we'll have to lock the base down again."
Samantha nodded distractedly, and then watched him jog back to those strange, misshapen weights he used in the morning. She had no idea what he was trying to prove, she wasn't even sure there was anything left on earth that Harry Potter had to prove, but something drastic had changed. He'd been acting very odd since he left Hogwarts; he didn't laugh or smile anymore. He didn't talk to her or sit with her... or anyone else, for that matter. He didn't do anything recreational at all. He just ate and worked out and went about his business and then powered down for the night on that rock-hard bed of his. It was like someone had killed him and replaced him with this mechanical shell. He was even purposefully training his body to better deal with getting shot or cut. How terrible.
Her heart broke at seeing him like this. He was the Savior of the Wizarding World; everyone loved him. Everyone wanted to be near him, or just be him. And yet he led this incredibly stoic, lonely life... It just wasn't natural.
"I haven't been able to get a straight answer out of her, either. I don't know what's wrong with her, but nothing's wrong with her. Did that make any sense at all?" Neville asked with a frustrated sigh.
Hermione frowned. They'd been trying all week to figure out what had happened to Ginny. "I think I understand what you mean. She really does seem perfectly normal. I haven't seen her crying, and she doesn't even look sad. Maybe that's how she deals with this sort of thing, just shoving it under a rug and forgetting about it, but there's no way she could do that so easily. She's not sociopathic. Something's terribly wrong with her, I just can't figure out what it is. It's like she's... too normal."
Ron nodded grimly. "I've never seen her act like this before. It's like she's forgotten about Harry entirely. She was really broken up about that MacMillan bloke who broke her heart, but now she's getting on with her life like it didn't bother her at all. And Harry... how could he just leave us like that? He disappeared, Ginny forgot that she loved him... it's so weird. Like we're the only ones who feel anything at all over it. We're not overreacting or anything, are we? I mean, we're the healthy ones and they're the crazies, right?"
Neville and Hermione both nodded their assent. Hermione spoke up, "I'm not sure what's going on in your sister's head, but it isn't healthy. If anything, we should be taking her to St. Mungo's right now. I mean, they were getting pretty close. He left so suddenly, it couldn't have been mutually agreeable. Who would just shrug and get on with life after something like that? No, we're right to pursue this. We just need to take it a step further. I think we should see Dumbledore about this."
Ron blanched, shaking his head vigorously. He'd only been to the Headmaster's study a few times in his career as a student, mostly to be reprimanded for some prank or another that he'd done, and he had no desire to go back so soon. "Look, I'm all for figuring out what's wrong with my sister's head, but bothering Dumbledore about something petty like this? I think he's a bit too busy for this sort of thing."
Hermione leveled a glare at her boyfriend. "She's the Minister of Magic's only daughter, and whether or not wants to acknowledge it, she's connected to Harry Potter. And she's my friend. I'm not going to let this lie, Ron, and I'm not going to hush it up. I'll tell anyone who'll listen until we get some bloody answers!"
Her mind made up, she grabbed Ron's hand and stomped off towards the Headmaster's study. Someone would listen to her. She'd make them listen.
As Harry finished his morning run, at the ridiculously early hour of 4 o'clock, Samantha was waiting for him. She knew that this was her only chance of speaking to him without anyone listening in, and she was starting to realize how incredibly alone Harry was all the time. Surrounded by people most of the time, but effortlessly avoiding all but the barest of contacts with them. A curt nod here, a crisp salute there. How did he survive like this? What had happened to the uptight, but impossibly cute boy she'd met at Hogwarts?
"Harry, a word please?" she asked with an encouraging smile.
"Of course, Ms. Cameron. How can I be of assistance?" he replied evenly.
She twined her fingers together nervously, trying hard to word this in a polite and positive way. "It's like this, you see... I know you've been under a lot of stress lately, and I know that you ... in Hogsmeade, it was a rough time for you, but really, you don't have to push yourself this hard. You were so much more relaxed at Hogwarts, you know. I just wonder... can't you try to take it a bit easier on yourself? Who are you trying to catch up to, anyway? You don't talk to your teammates, you don't talk to me... I mean, can I help at all? Seeing you so alone... I just want to help, okay?"
Grimacing slightly, she appended, "You're so different from how you were at Hogwarts. So hard and detached. It's like you don't even see people anymore, like there isn't anyone worth your attention. It's like you... died, or something. It seems so... sad."
Harry pondered her words for a short while, and then replied, "You have a unique perspective, Ms. Cameron, in that you only knew me as I was at Hogwarts, and only in the last few weeks of my mission there. I was... dull, at Hogwarts. The noncom you knew me as... I was not myself. What you see me as now is what I have been since I was old enough to remember. This is what I've always done. I train, and I minimize my distractions. It is not sad, it simply is. Thank you for your concern, Ms. Cameron, but it is unnecessary. Do not concern yourself."
Without waiting for a response, he nodded and turned, disappearing around the corner in a matter of seconds. Samantha stared mutely after him, a sad frown on her face.
As Harry shut himself in his room to recover from his second workout of the day, he thought about Ms. Cameron's words. He was ... alone? Certainly, he had no constant companion anymore, not since... Ms. Weasley. But Ms. Cameron's words insinuated something deeper. Something far more pervasive than just the effect of a single person's repulsion.
What she was suggesting, he found, was that he separated himself from everyone consciously. That he felt he was superior to the other soldiers, and to her. Certainly, he was well trained. In terms of an individual's ability to accomplish a mission, he was positive that nobody was more capable than he was. But he didn't feel that being better than the other soldiers at fighting a war made him somehow superior, did he?
Whenever he thought about it, he could feel this hollow ache in his chest. An ache he usually filled, however briefly, by going on missions. It closed the gaping cavity up for a short while when he performed his duty to the best of his ability. Every time he was with Ginny, it numbed the ache better than even the missions had. And even though the ache had always returned just as soon as he was without her presence, it had gotten less and less painful with each passing day he'd spent next to her. Now that she was gone... it was more jagged and painful than ever.
He'd always wondered what the ache was caused by, and Samantha's words had resonated so deeply with him that he knew he had found his answer–She'd asked who he was trying to catch up to, and in actuality, he was searching for someone that could catch up to him. He had been aching for someone like him, someone who understood him. An equal. A partner. And no matter how many missions he went on, he never found one.
But Ginny... Ginny could have been that someone. He had felt the ache growing smaller the longer he stayed beside her... would it have gone away completely some day? Could he have woken up one day feeling no pain at all, and never thought about that ache again? She was not his equal in a physical sense, being much smaller, weaker and less skilled, but there had been some deep connection between them that marked them as equals in a different way. A way he had not yet discovered a name for.
He was lonely, Harry realized with a start. He was completely alone in the world right now, without a single person who could soothe this ache in his chest. He was without an equal.
And now that he knew the ache could be quelled, after the catalyst had disappeared, he felt it even more fiercely. So the ache had a name now: it was called 'loneliness.'
It was why he was so eager to get back to full active duty, he reasoned as he laid down on his bed for a post-workout recovery nap: so that this pain would leave him, even if only for a moment. Because for that fleeting moment, he wouldn't be alone in this world.
"I don't quite understand what I'm doing here, Professor," Ginny Weasley finally said when she could no longer stand the silence. She'd been asked to come to Dumbledore's study, but after asking her to sit and offering her a lemon drop, he'd simply sat there and stared at her, his fingers steepled in front of his face. After at least a minute, she'd grown quite uncomfortable with the Headmaster's scrutiny.
Dumbledore nodded, expecting this sort of reaction. "Your friends are deeply concerned about you, Ginevra. They've asked me to ascertain the nature of this shift in your attitude, and I admit I am curious myself. So, Miss Weasley, is there anything you'd like to tell me? Anything at all?" His eyes never left hers as he spoke, but his soft smile reassured her.
Ginny thought for a moment, suddenly very confused. What could she tell Dumbledore? She couldn't think of anything, except that she missed Harry... No sooner had she thought his name than her thoughts drifted away. What had she wanted to tell him? It must not have been important. "No, Headmaster," she said quietly. "I'm just fine. Please tell my friends not to worry; I'm as well as I've ever been."
He didn't answer; he just maintained his silent eye contact and nodded encouragingly.
Taking in a breath, she figured she'd have to say something, at least. "Well, I've been working out a lot more this year; it's helped my flying quite a bit. I got moved back to Seeker, but I'm not sure why. I'm probably not fast enough at reading my teammate's plays; they've been playing together for years, so I've had to work really hard to keep up with them. Other than that, everything's great. I wish I knew what they were so worried about..."
She ran a hand through her hair nervously. "That's all I can think of, I'm sorry..."
With a wide smile, Dumbledore finally said, "That will do nicely. Thank you very much for speaking with me; I'll assure them that you're in perfect health." Inclining his head to dismiss her, he watched her leave with growing concern.
As soon as the door had closed behind her, he said, "You may come out now."
Ron, Hermione and Neville had been listening from the Headmaster's bedroom, and they poured into the study immediately. Hermione, her face lined with worry, asked, "Well?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his mouth a thin line. "I see what you mean. Her thoughts are entirely her own, but when they turned to Harry Potter, they immediately vanished. She cannot even remember that the reason she was moved back to Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team is because their previous Seeker, Harry Potter, has withdrawn from school. I could not sense any curse or potion within her, but her behavior is incredibly curious."
Hermione's face lit up in triumph. "So we were right!"
"You very well may be," Dumbledore agreed reasonably, "however, I would caution you against taking any action at this time. Whatever has happened to her, it is surely more than some casual affect. It must not be taken lightly. For the time being, I ask that you simply go on with your lives and pretend as if her behavior is perfectly normal."
The trio's faces betrayed their reluctance towards this course of action. Ron was vehement, "But Sir... It's not normal. And if we don't tell her so..."
"Then you will not alert whoever has caused this. You must remember, children; we have no idea who or what we are dealing with. We must tread carefully. I will look into this, so I ask you to leave it with me and try your best to behave as you typically do."
The three shared heavy looks, but resigned themselves quickly. Ron spoke quietly, "If you think it will help Ginny, Sir, of course we'll do our best. Thank you, Headmaster."
After murmuring their thanks, the trio left in dampened spirits. If even Dumbledore didn't know what was wrong with her, then who on earth would?
Sirius Black was deep in thought. His godson was, as usual, the focus of his musings. He hated playing the 'what-if' game, since it never really changed anything, but he indulged himself as he sipped at a finger of cheap scotch that he kept in his cabinet. The alcohol helped him think about things he'd usually dismiss out of hand. Like what would've happened if he hadn't had free reign to ruin Harry Potter. What if Sirius had died that night in James's house, fighting against Voldemort? What if the Unspeakables hadn't accidentally stumbled across residue from the horcrux that Voldemort had created that night?
Or–and this was the scenario that always haunted him–what if Dumbledore hadn't discovered that Peter was the traitor? For all anyone else knew, Sirius himself was the secret keeper, nobody had any idea that Peter had been in on the Fidelius charm. If they'd simply arrested Sirius first, if Peter hadn't been so easily discovered... if Dumbledore hadn't been such an accomplished Legilimens...
It could've just as easily been him rotting in Azkaban all these years, and Peter walking free. Dumbledore had readily admitted that if he'd gone to Azkaban, Harry would've been left with Lily's sister Petunia and her husband. Sirius had never met a more impressive example of why the Statute of Secrecy had been instated than the Dursleys. They hated anything that wasn't as suburban and mundane as they were. Sirius was sure that Harry would've been mistreated there, if not starved or outright abused. The very thought of leaving his godson in the care of those foul people for any length of time caused his heart to twist.
And what's worse, he wouldn't have received any training whatsoever at the Dursley's. He wouldn't have known a single thing that could've stopped Voldemort. He would have been crippled when he faced down Tom Riddle, because he'd lost out on over a decade of hard training. He probably would have died the day Voldemort came for him, if he didn't starve to death at Petunia's house first.
It could've been an even more tragic existence than his life already was, but at least he would've grown up around people. He was an incredibly likeable boy, he would've had friends. At least he would've grown up feeling something, even if it was sometimes painful. At least he would've been a human being, instead of this cold, stoic automaton.
He sighed into his hands, rubbing his face tiredly. Who was he kidding? Anything was better than being raised by the Dursleys. Scotch made him so melodramatic...
A knock on his door broke him out of that particularly depressing train of thought. "Come in," he answered automatically, draining his glass and grabbing another tumbler for his visitor. He hated drinking alone.
"I've come to a conclusion, Sirius." David Cameron stepped into his office. He saw Sirius's raised eyebrow and nodded, sitting as he poured them both a generous helping of the amber liquor. He drained it dry in a single swallow, and it worried Sirius deeply. This wasn't good news.
"My official conclusion, as the head of this investigation, is that Dr. Lucas Winters is a ghost. There is no trace of him, period. His father was a ghost, too, and we found him through a mistake, a typographical error that we detected before it could be erased. His son was there; his son knew what had gone wrong. He's not going to make the same mistake.
David let out a long, tired sigh. His eyebrows were permanently creased from his exertions over the past month. He'd been working incredibly long hours, always looking for the slip-up that would lead us to our quarry. He was the one who'd found the accounting error that had eventually led us to the late Dr. Winters, and it was only through arduous, mind-numbing tasks like checking dental records and tax information, city by city, region by region. He'd pored over reams of paper, mountains of it. Lists upon lists upon lists. Searching for the proverbial 'needle in a haystack' at night, touching every piece of straw individually and hoping that it would poke you. And we didn't even know if it was in this haystack, or another one.
And now David Cameron was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that there was no needle at all.
David continued his assessment. "Honestly, I don't think he's going to make any mistake at all. Matthias Winters was only a smart wizard with high aspirations, but his son... his son is special. He's an entirely different creature, a demon in human skin. He was the beginning of a new breed; we assumed that he would be sterile, unable to pass on such unique genetic material, remember?"
Sirius nodded grimly, his heart sinking faster by the moment. "But I don't get it. Nobody can disappear entirely. That's what you told me when I hired you the first time. You said there's always a mistake, always some bread crumb that will point the way." His protests were half-hearted, though. If David Cameron couldn't find someone, it had always meant they were dead.
Mr. Cameron shook his head, a thin smile on his face. "I'm glad you remembered my mantra. But the whole thing goes like this: 'Nobody can disappear entirely. No matter how clever criminals are, they're only human.' Humans make mistakes, Sirius. Dr. Winters hasn't made one in at least a decade, and it's my professional opinion that he never will."
He met Sirius's eyes with a level, intense stare. "What I'm trying to tell you is that I've already gone far beyond the normal limits of a criminal's conscious ability to conceal themselves. Literally, nobody can be so focused all of the time that they never make mistakes. People get tired, people get impatient and careless; people have hiccups in the neural circuitry of their brain that keep them from ever repeating precisely the same action."
Shaking his head in frustration and letting out a long, sharp sigh, he continued, "The idea of a human who can be 100 percent attentive to 100 percent of the details 100 percent of the time... It's an anomaly that doesn't happen anywhere in nature, ever. It's above the bell curve's 100th percentile. I can't even begin to judge his cognitive capacity, because there's simply no forensic test I've devised that he has not already passed with full marks. I don't think... I am sure, as sure as anyone will ever be; Lucas Winters is not human."
Sirius's mouth compressed into a thin line, a scowl apparent on his face. David actually looked scared. And if David Cameron was scared of this wizard... "So what does this mean for Harry? He's the key, here," he reminded him.
David nodded gravely, expecting this question. "Get him ready to fight as soon as possible, and keep him ready. That's all I can think of. It's a waiting game, now; Dr. Winters is waiting for something. But honestly, I haven't the slightest idea what he's waiting for. A specific date, a certain sequence of events, the alignment of the cosmos... it could be anything. It could be any time between now and the next decade, or maybe even longer. All I know with any certainty... it will be a very hard day to be Harry Potter when that time finally comes."
Sirius washed down his last mouthful of grilled steak with a large gulp of water, thankful that his work load had been exceptionally light today. He'd set this Friday night aside as family dinner night, hoping that a bit of forced social interaction would help snap Harry out of his strange mechanical melancholy.
He'd decided to keep it small, since throwing his godson into a group setting could potentially backfire if something reminded him of whatever made him revert. So he'd kept the group small, just him and his cousin Tonks, and Samantha Cameron and Harry. He'd warned Samantha to tone down the groping, and so far she'd been acquiescing with remarkable grace.
He'd grilled up the marinated steak himself, and thought he'd done a very decent job of it, although the baked potatoes tasted incredibly bland, and didn't feel quite soft enough. Oh well, he couldn't be expected to be a chef with all the training he'd focused on that involved putting boot to face. Couldn't be good at everything, after all.
"So, Sirius, what's the latest on Harry's recovery profile?" Tonks, who had always been a faster eater, was pushing her plate away already. She grinned at him and snuck a glance at the Boy who Lived, checking him for new injuries.
Sirius crossed his knife and fork with a slight shake of his head, glad for an easily answered question. "I know I should be immune to surprises by now, but the Doc says he's got a week left in the original accelerated profile estimate, and he's already exceeded his final recovery benchmark. He's not supposed to be doing this well, even at full strength. It's like every time he gets hurt, he gets stronger. The Doc has no idea what to make of it, but says it's a good thing. Kid's pretty much amazing." He reached over and rubbed the top of Harry's head, grinning widely in remembrance of the praise that Doctor Pestle had heaped upon his star patient.
Harry nodded, continuing where his godfather left off. "My adjusted recovery profile is scheduled to be complete by next Friday, if my rate of recovery continues increasing at its current slope. My adjusted maximum capacity is now calculated to reach a peak of 208, a 16% increase from this time one year ago. It is unexpected, but very agreeable." Harry's monotone had taken on some slight coloration again. It was unnoticeable to most, but Sirius had spent far too much time around his godson not to notice when his pitch started varying.
Sirius didn't understand much of the math behind the base's standard calculations for
'maximum capacity', but he knew that some of the variables they used to determine 'maximum capacity' were lactic threshold, maximum O2 absorption per minute, and an aggregate strength-to-weight ratio based on 12 common exercises. It left magical capacity out of the equation entirely and was weighted more towards endurance than brute strength, to encourage soldiers to look like fit, normal people instead of muscle-bound freaks who couldn't run marathons... or climb stairs, for that matter.
The head doctors found that having a single test that compiled all of a soldier's physical capabilities into a single combined score improved their motivation to increase their individual scores in all areas of the physical test. In other words, the all-around 'test of maximum capacity', with bonuses for higher scores, made all-around fitter soldiers.
Sirius knew his own score–evaluated a little over a month ago–to be 142, which was one of the top 5 best scores on base.
Tonks sighed heavily and muttered, "Damn, my maxcap's only 110..."
"That is very good, Auror Tonks. Academy students only need a score of 75 to graduate; you are well above the accepted standard," Harry replied, nodding supportively.
"Well thanks, Harry," Tonks replied, "looks like Doc Pestle will have no choice but to sign you up for full active duty again. You get your wish."
Sirius grimaced. He hated thinking about his godson going back to full duty again. It was so dangerous, and so many things had come so close to ending his life over the years... It was torture, knowing that he had to sign off on Dr. Pestle's physical. He had to give his consent to send his godson back to war. He already dreaded the day.
"I anticipate it greatly. I... feel very eager to get back to work," Harry said awkwardly, stumbling a bit over the last sentence. He looked uncomfortable, but determined.
Everyone's heads whipped around to stare at him. Harry Potter just talked about his feelings. "Why are you so eager, Harry?" Sirius asked, his mouth suddenly dry.
Harry set his fork down and concentrated silently for a long moment, and then said, "I mistook this eagerness as weakness, even as recently as last week. Feelings in general, I misunderstood them. I thought they were a limitation, but now... looking at my teammates, looking at the people I protect out there... I feel so much stronger now. I'm not just doing this because it's my job anymore. I'm doing this because I want to defend those people. I feel very protective of them. It is an incredibly empowering emotion; it motivates me to push myself harder. I... want to keep feeling this."
He kept his eyes downcast, not moving or saying anything further. Was he embarrassed?
"That's... great, prongslet. I'm really happy for you," Sirius said, emotion constricting his throat as he rubbed his Harry's head again. Hope had swelled up in him, filling his chest as he listened to his godson. It wasn't the answer he'd been looking for, which was 'I want to go back to Hogwarts, find a nice girlfriend to snog and never fight again', but this was an incredible step. Harry Potter had just talked about his feelings. Harry Potter had feelings, and he just talked about them.
This was at least ten steps in the right direction; the direction that led to potential grandkids. Sirius felt like picking out names already, and Tonks was equally thrilled about this unexpected outburst.
Samantha just grinned from ear to ear, patting Harry's shoulder supportively. "Well said, Mr. Potter."
As Harry dodged another seemingly-endless barrage his Godfather's exceptionally accurate curses, he knew that he'd finally regained that elusive 'edge' he'd missed. His razor-sharp reflexes felt natural again, with no frayed edges and no twitches. Smooth, lean and fast, just as he had been before Hogwarts. His body felt like it was straining against his skin from the inside, from head to toe; he felt warm and compact and balanced and precisely at his peak.
It had taken nearly a month of grueling effort. It was glorious, and a thrill of achievement shot up his spine as he pushed himself to his feet. Without sending his mouth a conscious directive, he felt a small smile pulling at his lips.
Perhaps smiling is not a trait one can unlearn, he reasoned, and for some reason, the thought was comforting. Despite the incredible pain that his emotions had caused him, there were several feelings that were immensely pleasing to him. He felt... satisfied. Yes, that was an adequate description.
He raised his wand to salute Sirius and call an end to their training session. "Sir, I'm ready. I feel... natural. I feel whole again."
Sirius smiled sadly at him, nodding. "I can tell. If anything, your magic is faster than ever. Honestly, I think that those accidental discharges weren't the result of your magic starting to go haywire; I think they must've been a growth spurt of sorts. You haven't had any since you got back, and they appear to have signaled some sort of increase in your magical core. I can only hope this means that you've stabilized for good, but who knows? Maybe you'll be the next Merlin, once you grow a decent beard." He sat down on a wide stump nearby and patted the space next to him.
The corner of Harry's mouth curled into a smirk as he sat next to his godfather. "I've heard that before, you know. I wonder if my name will be a common-usage euphemism someday, as well? For example; 'What in Harry's name is that?' or, 'Potter's baggy Y-fronts!' It could be the start of an entirely new era in Wizarding colloquialisms. I'm sure my father would be proud."
Sirius's thoughts stumbled over themselves for a moment as he reeled from the shock. Harry never, ever spoke of his parents. And as clumsy and awkward and not-particularly-humorous as it was, Harry had just told a joke. That was...
"Sir, are you all right?" Harry asked inquisitively.
That was brilliant. Sirius's throat tightened as he enveloped his godson in a fierce hug from the side. "I'm just peachy, prongslet. Everything's good. Really good. Brill." He suddenly felt so light that his shoulders shook with silent laughter. The weight of the guild that he'd been shouldering for so long had started to evaporate, and he'd forgotten what it was like to be so light and genuinely happy. It was euphoric; it almost felt like he was floating.
Even after all that Harry'd been through... maybe you couldn't forget how to breathe, after all. Thank Potter for that! Hm... it did have a ring to it.
Harry brought his arm up to awkwardly pat his godfather's shoulder. He could feel him shaking silently with mirth, and his smile widened.
Wake up, Ginny. It's time.
Ginny's eyes flew open as she sat up in her bed, startled. Her master's voice reverberated in her head, and she suddenly understood what he meant. She shuddered with the excitement that she felt sympathetically through the bond. Quietly, she slipped into her trainers, walking over to her trunk. She pulled out a fist-sized paper-wrapped package tied with a thin piece of twine, and placed it neatly on her bed. She turned the tightly-wrapped sphere until the lettering was facing the hallway door, and then smoothed the sheets around it.
She quietly put on her sturdy fleece jacket, her mittens and cap, grabbed her wand and opened the window. A gust of cold air buffeted her, causing one of her dormmates to wake with a startled shriek.
Katie threw open her drapes and scowled at the redhead. "Close the damned window, Ginny! Merlin!"
Ginny just stared for a moment, smiled blissfully at the blonde and whipped her wand in a semicircle.
Katie watched with wide eyes as her dormmate flew out the window on a cloud of smoke. She raced to the window to see Ginny soar over the gates and disapparate in midair with a crack that rang unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn stillness.
"Dammit, Albus, I don't know how you can stay so calm at a time like this!" Arthur Weasley was pacing in front of the heart; his voice was nearly an octave higher than usual due to the sheer terror that had wrapped itself yet again around his heart. His path took him through a patch of morning sunlight that filtered through one of Hogwarts ubiquitous stained-glass windows, causing his balding head to flash in multicolored hues.
"And I don't know how you can sit there with a straight face and tell me that this is still the safest place for my daughter! That madness in her very first year with the 'you-know-what' in the 'you-know-where', now being kidnapped for ransom and then kidnapped again, within months of each other!"
"Please sit, Arthur," Dumbledore repeated placidly, "and she has not been kidnapped."
The Minister of Magic glared at Dumbledore and ran a hand over his balding head nervously. "So you say, but it's happened before on your watch."
"Of course you are right," Albus inclined his head, "but the wards have been modified for your daughter's protection. The wards would not have let her pass unless she truly wanted to leave. I made the modifications myself, and I assure you, they are without flaw. So I suggest we focus on finding your daughter first, and then we may ask her why she chose to leave the school grounds unattended."
Arthur sank heavily into the seat across from Dumbledore, his lips compressed into a tight line. "So that's the plan? Sit here and wait for my daughter to show up? That sounds about as effective as your 'round-the-clock Auror bodyguard' proved to be."
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly at the Minister. "Of course that's not the plan, my dear friend, and I hold Auror Tonks in the highest esteem. Your daughter will be located and brought back to us as quickly as possible, but the best thing we can do right now is stay calm and go over what we do know."
Once the Minister had nodded glumly, Albus continued, "Auror Tonks locked Ms. Weasley's broom up each night, and none of the other occupants of her dormitory possessed a broom. One of them stated that she saw Ginny 'fly off on a cloud of smoke, with no broom at all.' I have never taught such advanced magic in any of my classes, nor would I expect any student at this school to be capable of such a thing. That is why no further security measures were taken for her dormitory. We must assume that she has been changed in some significant way, if she is able to perform such magic silently. What else do we know?"
"She left that package, of course." Arthur stabbed a finger towards the paper-wrapped sphere on the Headmaster's table, as if blaming it personally for the recent disappearance of his only daughter. "It says 'For Harry Potter', and it's got no magical signature at all. It's like one of those 'glow snobes' that muggles are so fond of. Useless."
"Although you are correct in stating that there is no magical signature inside of this package, my opinion is that the contents will be crucial to finding your daughter." Checking his strange watch and comparing the relative placement of Jupiter and Venus, he smiled faintly. "I'm going to meet with Sirius Black now; he will be able to give this package to its intended recipient. That will be good news, indeed."
Arthur let out a frustrated huff. "You're so damned optimistic, Albus. It doesn't even cross your mind that she could be dead already, or worse!"
"My friend, I believe this situation will be fully resolved before the sun sets. Please, go home and wait with your wife. She will need reassurance. I will send word when your daughter has been safely retrieved."
The angry scowl on Mr. Weasley's face slid off slowly as he stood, replaced with a look of abject desperation. "We're trusting you with this, Dumbledore. Our daughter... please..."
"Not I, Arthur," Albus said pleasantly, walking to the fireplace and offering the cup of floo powder to the Minister, "Put your faith in Harry Potter. This is his battle, now." He smiled pleasantly as Arthur Weasley disappeared into the green flames.
He stared silently down at the ball he held in his hand for a long moment, a thousand thoughts whirring inside of his mind. Shaking his head, he gathered a handful of floo powder and whispered, "The Last Resort." In a blaze of emerald fire, he vanished.
Harry woke from an afternoon recovery nap to the words, "Harry Potter," uttered over the intercom. No other words at all, no location or purpose or orders. Just his godfather's voice saying his name with such urgency, such intensity that he bolted out of bed, dressed, grabbed his broom and flew out the door in twenty seconds.
He dismounted in front of his godfather's study in another minute, and he was shocked to see more than just Sirius waiting for him. Why is Albus Dumbledore here? Their faces were strangely guarded, as if they had been speaking of a secret that he was not to know. "Sir!" he said firmly, shrinking his broom and pocketing it, and then snapping smartly to attention without bringing it up. They hadn't issued him curiosity.
"At ease, Harry," his godfather said grimly, "we've just received word that Ginny Weasley has gone missing from Hogwarts."
The Boy who Lived felt his chest tighten painfully. He fought to keep his face schooled, even as panic welled up in him. It had to be Draco, he'd promised to go after Ginny next. "Sir, I'd like to volunteer for this mission."
"You haven't even heard what the mission is, Harry." Sirius felt a stab of pride at how readily he'd volunteered to risk his life for the woman who broke his heart.
"All the same, Sir..." Harry said quietly, "Send me." He stayed rigid as both men studied him.
His godfather chuckled softly, "About that, Harry, there's nobody else to send. This one's actually got your name on it, after all." He motioned to the brown paper-wrapped sphere on his desk. "Ginny left this for you very conspicuously. We believe it is a portkey that will recognize only your specific magical signature. So the briefing is simply this: take the portkey, find Ginny, and bring her back here safely. We have no idea where you're going, what you'll find there or whether or not this is a death trap, but we have no other options. I'm sorry, Harry."
"I'm glad it has to be this way, then. I'll do it." With no uncertainty at all, Harry stepped forward and saluted.
Sirius hesitated for a moment, shooting a glance at Dumbledore. Albus nodded and stepped forward, addressing the Boy who Lived directly. "Before you go, Harry, I'd ask a favor of you: may we duel?"
"Sir?" Harry asked, taken aback. He'd never once considered fighting the Headmaster in any capacity, whether magically or physically. What possible reason could a man like Albus Dumbledore have for wanting to duel with him?
"Make it an order, Sirius," Dumbledore said to the Auror.
Sirius sighed, nodding reluctantly. This was for the best. "Harry, fight the man. This will be a Wizard's Duel; no seconds will be chosen, and no lethal or dangerous curses will be used. Jinxes only. Winner is the first one to disarm or stun. Draw your wands."
Harry remained still. How could he fight the man in front of him, even with these restrictions in place? Even with orders from his superior? He had to know. "Why, Professor?"
Dumbledore nodded approvingly and smiled at the young man in front of him. "Of course, Harry. I meant for this fight to happen before your fight with Tom Riddle, but I was weak. I had grown attached, addicted. I couldn't bear to see my pride in another's hands... especially one so young! And what would have happened if you had lost that day? It would have fallen to Lord Voldemort. 'How could I have lived with myself if that had happened?' I reasoned.
"So many excuses, all entirely logical... It is the greatest failing of a mind as brilliant as mine, I am ashamed to admit, that I can produce as many reasonable excuses as necessary for any given occasion. But the simple truth is that I had far too little faith, Harry. I can no longer deny, however, that this was meant for you."
Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height, steeling himself and drawing his magic to him. This fight would require him to hold nothing back; one could not lie to a wand, especially his. Albus only hoped that the wand would be satisfied with his inevitable defeat; he would not scar Harry Potter's soul by demanding a fight to the death, not even for this.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts stared out at his opponent, the 16-year-old boy who was arguably the most dangerous wizard alive. "There have been precious few people in the world who have been capable of helping you at any age, Harry Potter," he intoned proudly, drawing his magic into his wand until his aged bones trembled from the strain of it.
"I am still one of them, fortunately. Defend yourself." With that warning and a heavy grunt of effort, he twisted his wand in a flash and shot a blood-red stunner at the Boy who Lived.
Harry whipped his wand out and raised a shield in a fraction of a second, and the impact of the stunner shattered the shield with an ear-splitting peal. He dropped to the ground as the deflected stunner shot over him. The hair on the back of his neck raised as the light passed by, and the air carried the sharp, cloying scent of ozone. His heart hammered in his chest as he heard his godfather's bookcase explode behind him. Flicking his wand, he banished several dozen of the falling books at Dumbledore, shooting two stunners reflexively as he leapt to his feet and began moving to the side.
Dumbledore battled the stunners away with two deft flicks of his wrist, shooting the disarming charm at Harry and another at where he was about to step. Harry stepped beyond the first and dived over the second beam, shooting three stunners at Dumbledore in a fraction of a second. He swatted one away quickly but conjured a magical shield for the other two. The shield glowed a brilliant gold, it was completely opaque.
Harry conjured his own shield; a steel one polished to a mirror finish. Albus nodded, grimacing as he continued pumping as much magic through his wand as he could. A dizzying array of jinxes shot out, and Harry had to focus hard to block and dodge them.
Gripping his wand tightly and pointing it at his opponent, Harry shot four full-power stunners while progressively angling his wand downward. He shot them at very specific intervals that, from Albus's view, would allow the bottom three to remain hidden from view by the top stunner. Dumbledore's shield, which had been at waist level and certainly sturdy enough for at least one more of those incredibly powerful stunners, had not been adequate for three at the same time. It shattered in a shower of golden sparks, and the last stunner passed through the glittering sparks and hit Dumbledore squarely in the stomach.
Expelliarmus! Harry stabbed at Dumbledore's wand hand, wordlessly summoning the wand to him as the wizened old man flew backwards at an astonishing rate of speed. He conjured a mountain of squashy black pillows behind the Headmaster of Hogwarts before he could damage himself on the unforgiving granite. Ennervate! He woke him from his induced unconsciousness. And then he finally reached up and snatched his opponent's wand out of the air.
The wand accepted its new master without question as its previous owner crashed into the black heap of pillows, instantly bending to his will.
Authority–raw and primal, the likes of which Harry had never felt–surged into the Boy who Lived. It hit him like a lightning storm, shocking him numb and flooding him to capacity. He couldn't even measure the passage of time while the wand acclimatized itself. Incredible heat bled out of the wand, pulsing in time with his own heartbeat until the air around him rent with a crack! This wand was... He stared at it like he'd never seen before, like he'd had another set of limit shackles removed—a pair he'd been wearing his entire life. This wand was power.
Harry turned to look at Dumbledore, who had regained his senses. His chest was heaving from the exertion of the fight and his eyes were twinkling sadly as he watched the Elder Wand entwine its fate with another. "Truly remarkable, Harry. You are the rightful successor to the Wand of Destiny. Use it prudently."
Sirius had watched the match with wide eyes, feeling how strong the magic in the air had been as the two tore his study apart with their duel. He'd been skeptical when Dumbledore said there was something that Harry needed, and he'd been even more skeptical when the Headmaster spoke of his wand as if it were a living thing, and not just a tool.
But he'd heard the stories about the Elder Wand his entire life, and if there was one person in the world that could have proved the old story true, it would have been Albus Dumbledore. All this time, he'd had the most powerful wand in the world... Sirius wondered how he'd never seen it before. And more than that, he wondered how on earth Dumbledore had ever worked up the nerve to give it up, even to his godson. The Headmaster's sacrifice could mean the difference between Harry winning and losing.
A sudden, sharp crack made him flinch, and he realized instantly that it came from the air around his godson. The deep, powerful magic that had given Dumbledore's old wand the nickname, "The Deathstick" had acknowledged its new master.
The Elder Wand now belonged to Harold James Potter, the Boy who Lived.
And God help the enemy that stands against him now.
The intense anxiety inside Sirius's chest eased noticeably. Surely, not even Lucas Winters could stand against his godson now; he had the allegiance of a wand so powerful that it shaped history around it.
But it hadn't saved Albus Dumbledore, had it...
Picking up the brown paper-covered sphere on the table, Sirius walked over to his godson and held the package out for him. "Good luck, Harry. Be careful." He managed a weak, but supportive smile.
Harry's eyes had never looked more clear and triumphant. His entire body was radiating heat. "Yes, Sir!" He gently set his holly wand down on Sirius's table, tucked the Elder Wand into his holster and unwrapped the sphere; it was a smooth crystal ball with a simple snowflake etched into it.
Sirius nodded as the crystal came into view. He'd been expecting it, ever since he saw an identically-sized object at the edge of the island prison of Azkaban. "That's Lucas Winters, alright. He's got Ginny, there's no doubt." Godspeed, Prongslet. You're in for one hell of a tough fight.
Rolling it around on his hand, the Boy who Lived wondered what would activate this strange device with no apparent magical signature. It was addressed to him alone, so obviously it was meant for him alone to use. Whoever had taken Ginny had meant for him to hold this, just as he was now. But how would it know that he was holding it, if it had no magic to detect such a thing?
Of course, Harry thought as he slowed his pulse. He felt the ice injecting into his veins, felt that same heady sense of purpose that he always felt before a mission. I'll just have to tell you, won't I? I am Harry Potter.
The moment he thought the words, he felt a quick tug behind his navel. The crystal ball dropped to the floor of Sirius's study with a loud crack.
The world shifted suddenly, and no sooner had he blinked than he was somewhere else. What a strange portkey; it hadn't traveled with him.
With a start, he recognized the area immediately; it was his private training area. His eyes widened in surprise. How had Dr. Winters found out about this place? A note was pinned to the tree directly in front of him, and a thick bundle of cloth was secured beneath it. He scanned the message quickly, searching for his enemy:
Harry Potter,
Throughout history, single combat has been regarded as the pinnacle of battle; glorious, personal and enduring. In medieval times, an entire war would start with a contest between their best warriors, their champions, and the fates of their respective lands would be determined by the outcome of that fight. We have all heard the names of these warriors; names like Achilles and Hector, David and Goliath, Menelaus and Paris, the Horatii and Curatii... names that still ring clearly, centuries and millennia later.
These champions all had the weight of their worlds resting upon their shoulders as they fought to the death; the weight of everything that they held dear, everything they knew. And so it is this day.
As a warrior, as a champion, I challenge you to single combat. Upon your shoulders now rests the fate of your world. Deny me, or lose, and everything you have ever known shall be consumed.
Bring only your wand and the clothes I have prepared for you; leave everything else behind. I won't bother telling you what will happen if you fail to comply. As soon as you are done, use the portkey I've left for you inside your new clothes and it will bring you to me.
I have been waiting my whole life for you, Champion. I look forward to finally meeting your strength on the field of battle.
With the greatest respect,
Lucas Winters
Harry wordlessly ripped the bundle of cloth off of the tree and began undressing. He didn't understand why Dr. Winters had instructions at all, but he would oblige him. There were no questions in his mind, only a single thought so immense that it consumed him:
No matter what... this ends today.
"Where are we now, Master?" Draco asked curious, looking around at the colossal, perfectly smooth expanse before him supported by bizarre, twisting arches. There were no apparent windows or doors in the entire place, which gave a distinct feeling of vertigo. The enormous ceiling had to be a hundred feet up or more, but it was hard to tell for sure. Distance was very hard to judge in this place. It was so different from anything he'd seen before, it was impossible to even gauge the size of it.
The entire structure was made from some smooth, impossibly black material that gave no hint of its size or weight. That strange material was so dark that it absorbed the radiant light that was reflected by the countless tiny points of actinic light that were embedded chaotically in every surface. Though the lights were individually very small, it was bright enough inside the structure that every feature of the people next to him could be made out as if it were daylight.
The building itself reminded him of a clear, moonless night sky. And this architecture, with its thick, strangely curved supports ... he'd never seen anything even remotely like it.
Dr. Winters, looking around every bit as eagerly as his disciple was, answered calmly, "This is the land that my family has owned for a thousand years. It's been unplottable since 1138; nobody's ever registered it and nobody knows it's here. My father passed it on to me when he died. This is where generations of my family have lived. There was a house here, along with our family's mausoleum and various other buildings, but I leveled them all to build what we now stand in."
Draco stared at the man as if he'd gone mad. His family, his history, all swept away to build this twisted structure? What sort of man would cut ties with everything that brought him into being?
Lucas continued speaking as if he hadn't heard the blonde's thoughts, "This, Draco, is my grandest achievement to date. I designed, transmuted, enchanted and warded it myself from the foundation up as a single unbroken piece; there are no doors or windows, no seams, no edges... no flaws. The only way in and out is through these keyed portal balls," he pointed to a small crystal sphere with a simple snowflake etched onto it.
"I've included quarters for each of us, along with our young friend here. It will be our new home after today. It's taken me three long years to complete."
Breathing in and exhaling slowly, he whispered, "I intended for it to be a bit larger, but this will have to do for now. It will serve as the arena for my battle with Harry Potter today, and also as a symbol of your power for ages to come. This will be your throne room, Draco, from which you will rule over every nation we have conquered.
"I have already given you a dozen rings of your own, which should be more than enough to take over the Ministry of Magic. If it takes more than three rings, I'll be disappointed in you. You could take over the entire population of Great Britain within the week, wizard and muggle alike, and with two dozen more rings you could take over the whole of Western Europe, perhaps with enough left over to send to your new acquaintances in the United States?" Dr. Winters grinned conspiringly at his student.
Walking forward with Draco, Lucas motioned to the far corner of the vast main room, where a bright white throne sat on a raised dais. "Surely, we should be able to find someone among all those people worthy of my attention. You can have the entire world, Draco, so long as you bring me a challenge. Seek out the champions of these countries, the most powerful among them, and bring them to me. I will ensure that you survive for a thousand years, if you can find me another who has been touched by greatness; another like Harry Potter."
Draco's ambition burned and swelled within him. He had been subjected to the incredible authority of those strange rings of Dr. Lucas Winters. Complete obedience, absolute control; no thought or secret was safe in the mind of one who wore the ring. It was undetectable by any muggle or magical means, permanent no matter the distance, and provided unfettered access to the entire mind of the subject.
Any memory, any emotion was mere clay in the hands of his master, and the scariest part was that the ring was unnecessary. Dr. Winters had first learned how to control people through touch, something as simple and innocuous as a handshake, and designed the rings afterward. The rings had only been created so that he could gain control over someone without ever having to meet them.
Now Draco had been given a dozen rings of his own, keyed to his own magical core. With these rings, he could control the most powerful people in the country directly. The Minister of Magic, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, even the Prime Minister himself. And he had no desire to sit on his laurels. There were dozens of powerful countries, ruled by a very small number of powerful people. With these rings... he could rule the world.
All he had to do was find exceptionally talented wizards and bring them to his master. Having seen firsthand what his master was capable of, he had no doubt in his mind that there wasn't a single man anywhere who could possibly be a match for him. He truly was peerless.
A dark, intensely pleased smile split his face as he nodded to the handsome, but thoroughly ordinary-looking man in front of him. Who would have known that such incredible magic existed, or that he would be the right hand and the mouthpiece of the most dangerous man in the entire world?
For what good was strength or cunning or even magical ability, if the mind that controlled your every action belonged to someone else? And all it took was a touch, or a ring placed on a finger. Dr. Winters was indeed the most brilliant wizard who had ever lived.
Ginny, who had followed them quietly over to the raised dais in the corner, had begun staring off into space with that glazed expression again.
At Draco's questioning look, Dr. Winters smiled. "She has to remain still and silent for this. I will allow her to see and hear the fight, of course, but nothing will register in her mind until after I reconnect her. I've just temporarily suspended the neural bridge between her sensory perceptions and memory centers. Think of it as a muggle television that's still on, except nobody's watching it. Nothing difficult to fix.
"I have to keep her like this; I think that allowing her to be mentally present during the fight could send a sympathetic shock through our bond that might distract me. I will take no chances today," he shrugged; turning and pacing in front of the dais. Draco could tell that he was getting impatient.
Suddenly, for no apparent reason that Malfoy could see, Lucas Winters stopped and smiled. "Harry's taken the first portal ball. He's at his training area now."
"What is he doing there?" Draco asked curiously.
"Preparing." Dr. Winters had closed his eyes, the ghost of a smile on his face as his magic unfurled from him like a surging tide. He had waited so long for this day, so many years...
"Preparing for what, master?"
"For battle, Draco. He will dress, and then he will come to me. And then, at long last, we will fight. I've selected a suitable outfit for him to wear; he will need to look presentable for such a momentous occasion. I want this day to be perfect. It must be perfect."
Draco snorted, shaking his head. He was well-accustomed to his master's penchant for theatrics. He turned the most mundane things into these carefully prepared, momentous events. "You know, it's almost obscene the way you think about him. You talk about him all the time, you think about him whenever you're not talking about him. Your whole life revolves around this boy. It's obsessive. It's like you're in love with him or something."
Lucas glanced at his student, surprised, and then smiled. "You know, that's very nearly the truth."
Malfoy's eyes widened in shock.
"Oh, don't be so pedestrian, Draco. It's much more than mere attraction. This is not dod... this is ahava. It is a true and deeply-rooted respect; an enduring love for an equal, not a physical lust. I'm doubt that I'm even capable of lust. There isn't a woman on earth who is my equal; they are as inglorious as ants compared to me. How could I possibly be attracted to such creatures?"
Flexing his arms and feeling his magic pulse alongside them, Dr. Winters stared gravely out over the vast, strange expanse before him. "You treat this situation so candidly, as if it were commonplace to fight such a miraculously powerful man. You can't possibly imagine how I've yearned for this battle, how much pain I have suffered to get to this precise point. I don't expect you to understand the importance of this day, but I do expect you to humor me."
Draco snorted, "Humor you? Humor me, then; this bond can show me your feelings, why haven't you shared them? You keep trying to explain it with words, when all it would take to illuminate every single facet of your pain would be you sharing it through our bond. Let me feel this pain that torments you, Master. Make me understand."
Dr. Winters smiled patiently at Draco. "No. I refuse to share these feelings with you through our bond because allowing you to truly feel my pain would lessen it, and this pain needs to remain unbearable. My triumph will only be as great as the pain I have endured to achieve it.
"Now be silent, Draco. The time is almost upon us."
He squatted down and flattened his hand against the ground, feeling the cool black marble beneath him. He'd meticulously transfigured every flaw out of the metamorphic stones and fused each piece to the next, forming a perfect black mass that was unbroken throughout the entire estate. It was transmutation at an elemental level, and as arduous as any task he'd ever undertaken, but it was worth it. He would accept nothing less than perfect for his fight with the Boy who Lived.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose, smiling widely. He wanted to clearly etch into his memory every single detail of this day, every scent and every cherished emotion. It had been so long since he'd felt anything but an aching, indelible boredom; every one of his senses was sharper and clearer than ever before—enhanced by the anticipation of an incomparably furious battle. Do not disappoint me, Harry Potter.
Straightening once more, he felt his heartbeat thumping madly against his chest in heady expectation. Indeed, what he felt for Harry Potter was a form of love; the highest, most profound form. An old muggle, of all people, had written a poem about this exact feeling that had resonated very clearly with him.
Surely, there was no better time than just now to recite that surprising work. In a low, husky baritone saturated with the effort of containing his rapidly swelling emotions, he intoned:
"I shall not die alone, alone,
but kin to all the powers.
As merry as the ancient sun
and fighting like the flowers.
How white their steel, how bright their eyes!
I love each laughing knave,
cry high and bid him welcome to
the banquet of the brave.
Yea, I will bless them as they bend
and love them where they lie,
when on their skulls the sword I swing
falls shattering from the sky.
The hour when death is like a light
and blood is like a rose–
You have never loved your friends, my friends,
as I shall love my foes."
The words Dr. Lucas Winters speaks at the end of this chapter are from a poem by G. K. Chesterton, called "The Last Hero."
One chapter to go, then an epilogue taking place several years afterward. Please let me know what you think in a review, and how you think I can improve as a writer. I greatly appreciate all the feedback I receive; it's both an instructional tool and a great motivator for me.
As per your requests, I've roughly outlined both the muggle Harry Potter story and the full version of We Sort Too Soon. Look for the first chapters of each of them to come out in the next month or so. The full version of We Sort Too Soon is looking to be even shorter and more well-defined than the muggle Harry Potter story, so I'll probably be working harder on that one. I plan to alternately write chapters for each of them, but we'll see how it pans out in reality.
Thank you again for all your support, and please look forward to the climax of this story. It has been years in the making, and I have a heady sense of anticipation about it, myself. (:
Best of luck to you and yours, and you'll be hearing from me again soon.
~Ben