A lot of excellent name suggestions for the Earth-version of Unobtanium. I'm partial to a few but have thrown it open to a vote. Feel free to exert your power either at the poll on my bio or included in your comment below.
Earth
It wasn't raining.
Standing at the once-site of Stonehenge, now a bustling business district under a sunny clear sky, Harry hunched his shoulders with a frown.
It felt wrong.
He'd been here once before, almost two hundred years ago for a school trip. He remembered great green stretches of fields behind knee-high stone fences, clover scattered amongst dew-heavy blades of grass and a towering structure in the distance that even then had made his skin prickle with what he now knew had been magic. Not rich and full like at Hogwarts or focused like the spell from a wand, no. It had been… twisted. Folded? Tucked down and away. Clogged. Buzzing like a powerline in muggy weather. He didn't really remember the rest of the trip but that moment, clustered at the fence that kept people safely away from the ancient monument - that moment was clear and burning.
He remembered being afraid of it, glad that they weren't allowed to walk any closer even as Dudley threw a screaming tantrum in the background because he wanted a bit of it for himself. He'd ended up picking up a bit of regular rock from the ground and telling everyone it was from Stonehenge anyway. Harry remembered, with a slight smile, being so angry that everyone had believed him. He'd known, even back then, that it wasn't true. Partly because his cousin was just a big fat liar but mostly because the rock hadn't contained that horrible, tight, scratchy feeling.
There was no such feeling now. A display had sprung up in the place where he'd been found, the local council making a profit off of what had essentially been an unintended side effect of eco-terrorism. A giant mock replica of Stonehenge had been installed - an imagined 'completed' version rather than the one he'd known - around the dark opening leading down into the earth where the real one had been sunk.
People flooded the site, stopping to watch and listen to pre-recorded holographic experts give lectures on history and mythology. Kids ran in and around the giant fake stones, screaming and playing and not giving a single crap about any of it. He stifled a grin as a father tried fruitlessly to explain to his kids the significance of the heel stone as something other than a great thing to climb. Pop-up stalls were everywhere selling everything even vaguely related to the iconic stone circle and several things besides. He caught a glimpse of something that might have been a replica person inside a tiny glass coffin and steadfastly ignored it, pulling his baggy cap down as he made his way towards the cave entrance.
Yuki slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow, playing the part of a girlfriend as Amazon trailed behind, a reluctant chaperone. Amazon's security directive had become Yuki's but unlike the killbot, Yuki specialised in communication. When he needed to go unnoticed she changed a dozen little things in his and their clothing and body language and suddenly… he was all but invisible.
A wave of his gauntleted arm had the entry fee paid for all three of them and they walked leisurely into the curling, well-lit tunnel. The history lesson continued as they descended, attracting tourists to the sides and making it easier to see the space at the end. Large indentations showed where giant bluestone slabs had once resided, projected holograms filling the spaces. It looked like a giant had reached down from the sky and just pressed the ring of standing stones into the earth, folding the edges over the central altar stone like a closed flower. The few remaining lintel stones had been shifted, bracing against each other to 'close' the opening. He could see why it had been such a mystery when it was discovered. There was no way the stones' movements could have been accidental and their reconfiguration was clearly purposeful.
They walked through the holograms and up to the railing installed around the central pit below. The Altar stone had been sunk lowest of all and several people were leaning over to gaze at the sight below.
Harry took a deep breath and followed suit.
There it was. Half-cleaned, half still coated in white muck and dirt, an inconspicuous rectangle of glass placed over a crude slab of stone. His prison for almost two hundred years. There was no lifelike replica body inside but for half a second, like an out-of-body experience, Harry could have sworn there was. Could have sworn he was looking down at himself, drugged into living death and sealed away by shadowy figures. Betrayed. Imprisoned. Stolen.
A nudge at his side made him blink, the phantom vanishing. He shook his head, dismissing Yuki's concern without looking, turning his attention instead to the rest of the room. He was here for a reason. He knew his companion bot would be recording everything she saw for him to review later but there was something only he could search for and so he closed his eyes and looked for it now.
Magic.
There was none. But… He frowned. Like the stones had left imprints in the earth and rock around them, magic that had been here had left an imprint he could sense. It felt like a bubble of still air. The taste of it was… was…
He grunted in irritation, unable to get much more from something that wasn't there anymore. Logically, he could assume the magic had been designed to keep magic in a bubble around him, to ensure he was preserved for as long as possible even as the rest of the world drained away. It would have become an enormous task, like a balloon in a vacuum chamber, constantly pulled and stretched until it finally broke at its weakest point and the whole thing collapsed.
It might have never happened if not for the Weyerhauser bombing and wasn't that a frightening thought? Maybe the Muggles would have carried on poisoning their own planet, everyone would have died and then there he'd be: alone on a spinning dead rock in space until finally even the magic powering his isolation faded away and he woke just long enough to suffocate to death, trapped in a cave below-ground with no magic to get him out.
He shivered, chilled by the very idea and tore his gaze away. He moved on throughout the exhibit, paying closer attention to the walls and even descending into the lower chamber to look for runes, secret areas or even just a sign from the people who had buried him.
Nothing. If there'd ever been anything, it was gone now. There was no point lingering. Whatever this place had once been, it was just a tourist trap now.
"Take me to the museum holding the originals." He ordered Yuki softly. If nothing else, he wanted to check on a theory he'd been harboring for a while now.
Earth
"Gotchya." He muttered victoriously. The genuine stones of Stonehenge were on display before him. Even from behind bomb-proof shielding, he could feel them scraping over his magical nerves.
They were smaller than they used to be. Degraded, eroded, like they'd been forced to stand against an unstoppable tide for, say… 197 years?
"Sir?" Yuki tilted her head, following his gaze and trying to work out what he was looking at.
Hana, the rain-scarred researcher who'd been investigating the wealth of stone circles throughout Europe has been more right than she'd known - and yet oblivious at the same time. Because yes, he had come to believe that she was 100% right that the stone rings had once been used as convenient portals to each other or other planes of existence - but that wasn't all they could do. They were like… computers, in a way. Capable of multiple things, if you knew how to make it happen.
Stonehenge in his own time had been broken. His books outright stated that it had been deliberately done - by Wizards no less - in order to reduce the amount of magic it drew without denying them the use of it outright. Situated over a small but strong intersection of ley lines, it had once acted like a tap inserted into the keg of energy running under the skin of the world. A man-made wellspring of power, enriching the land and the wizards living upon it until Britain had become the epicentre of wand-waving magical might. Other inferior copies were swiftly erected in neighbouring lands, hence the European trend towards wizardry, but Britain's had been one of the first and undeniably the greatest.
Constructed at the behest of an ignorant king who just wanted a glorious monument, Stonehenge had been orchestrated by the man who would become Merlin. Stonehenge had been the start of separation from the Muggles, of elevation beyond the supernatural and into the impossible.
Until the magic went away. Until the Dark Ages, when Stonehenge had changed from a wellspring to a sinkhole. Harry's personal theory was that the Aubrey 'holes' - a circle of narrow chalk pits ringing the inside of the larger standing stones - had once been a ring of thin, fine-control pillars - likely drained to dust before ancient wizards had managed to break the circle and plug the hole.
That was his theory, anyway. Just as unobtanium changed properties the more he drained from it, it stood to reason that any Earth-based substance that could store magic would as well. It was entirely possible that the mighty stones of Stonehenge had once, long ago, been something quite different than what even he'd known.
And there was only one way to find out.
"Keep watch." He instructed his bots. "And get me to a security blind spot."
They obeyed, Yuki dragging him off to a space beside a vending machine and crowding in close, just another amorous pair of teens. Amazon folded her arms and looked anywhere but at them, conveniently blocking the line of sight of another camera as she did so.
Between the two, they knew precisely when no one or thing was looking. A tiny nudge and Harry summoned a crumbling piece of Stonehenge to himself, bending the protective casing out of the way with a surge of will and power.
The pebble landed in his hand and the unpleasant scraping, like a tin spoon against the inside of an empty can, told him everything he need to know. He pulled, drawing the last vestige of power from what had once shaped an entire race of people.
Magic sung up his arm like a long-lost pet come safely home even as the ancient stone crumbled into brittle chalk in his palm.
He'd found it. Earth's Unobtanium.
Earth
Footsteps echoed down the almost empty street, wet cobblestones flanked by mass-transit moving sidewalks making the place seem almost like home. The street was nothing more than a facade memory of what once was but Harry didn't care. He took the treacherous road with a smile, even as he argued with the GLF's research team back home.
"No, by the time it becomes dolerite, it's too late." He said flatly. "That's what the scraping sensation was, even when I was a kid. It's like… like a straw trying to suck up the last bit of water in a glass, getting more air than water-yes, I know it originates in- would you just?!- No! I don't know if the crystalline structure makes a difference. Heineken. Heineken. Heineken, would you just listen? I think that Stonehenge as we know it now, as I knew it back then… I think it was already drained. They're bloody huge, and they support each other, so the dregs left over were still pretty potent- what? I don't know, you're the scientist. What might bluestone have been before it was bluestone? Yeah, thanks, lava's not helpful. I don't know, I- No! No, I didn't try feeding magic into Stonehenge. Because it's Stonehenge and I didn't think switching it on was the best idea in the world. No. No, Heineken. No, I won't be back any time soon. Once I'm finished here I've got some theories I want to test in Japan. Yeah. I know, but if I'm right… It could change everything. No. No. Goodbye Heineken."
He hung up.
"Any news from Roux?" He asked Yuki, the whispering hum of moving, empty sidewalks helping to keep their conversation semi-private.
"Yes sir." A tap of a slender finger and the inside arm of his gauntlet lit up. He turned it slightly to read the projections, Yuki linking in to his ear piece to provide an audio summary at the same time.
The news was good. Having been focused on analysing his entire magical plant supply since day one, the GLF had already made hundreds of discoveries and breakthroughs. Their focus had been on repairing the planet but potential medicinal uses had been noted as habitual sidenotes. Thank god for scientists and their science-y ways. The group assigned to working out how to fix Mike had plenty of base information to begin with and their outlook was positive.
"Time frame?"
"None, sir. Non-human testing may speed their research, however."
"Non-human… animal testing?"
"Yes sir."
"Forget it."
"Yes si-"
"Wait." Harry drew to a halt, gaze drifting over dingy storefronts. He closed his eyes. "…How much faster?"
"Difficult to judge at this time."
"…Never mind then." He kept walking. It wasn't much further to the apartment Yuki had reserved for him and he'd need a good night's rest because tomorrow…
Tomorrow, he was going home.
Earth
Hogwarts had been easier to find than it should have been. The once-bustling King's Cross Station had been turned into a luxury apartment building with sealed internal gardens. All of the old train tracks had been torn up, paved over or turned into 'features'.
All but one.
One solitary set of tracks still struck out from the old station, roads going under or over it like the construction workers hadn't been able to fathom doing anything else. Even the mass-transit moving sidewalks began and ended on either side of ancient iron that hadn't seen a train running for well over a hundred years. Closer inspection had revealed runes carved all the way along it, simple interlocking ones linked to more complex arrays carved into every sleeper. Only his recent study of the subject allowed him to identify their general purpose.
The sleepers pulled magic up from the earth to power the rune chain which in turn preserved the enchantment upon the tracks. He didn't know if it had always been like that or had been added later but it was a godsend. It gave him hope. Why preserve a path if there was nothing at the end?
Amazon piloted a small personal air transport and Yuki obtained a temporary license to fly at any level in any zone to enable them to follow the twisting tracks for as long as needed. It was a long journey despite the fact that the transport could fly faster than the train would have run, in part because only Harry could even see the tracks.
The closer they got, the less development could be seen. The high-density sprawl and migrant slums fell away to countryside that struck a nostalgic chord. Just as Harry began to sense something on the horizon, Amazon set the transport to land.
"What are you doing?" He asked. As they neared the ground, he could swear he recognised the surrounding area.
"My systems have detected multiple aberrations in peripheral systems." The killbot replied calmly. "Self-repair and quarantine has been initiated but it is not safe to continue flying."
Harry stared at her, barely daring to hope. Muggle machines didn't work near Hogwarts, after all.
"You'd better wait here then." He heard himself saying. Amazon shook her head before he finished speaking.
"Negative. I will accompany you on foot. Should the aberrations affect my capacity further, I will signal for emergency evacuation and engage in sentinel mode."
Sentinel mode removed her higher processing completely. The bot would shred her form, wrap physically around him and fire upon anything and anyone that approached without the correct codes. What it wouldn't do, was get him to Hogwarts.
"Fine." He said shortly, fingering the weary chip of unobtanium in his pocket. "Stay here." He added to Yuki. His assistant bowed acknowledgment and moved to sit seiza-style under a nearby tree.
Harry and Amazon continued on, the wizard keeping a close eye on his guard. As expected, the 'aberrations' continued, eventually growing bad enough that the bot reported complete failure of quarantine and an imminent transition to sentinel mode.
Harry promptly petrified her and stuck the chip of unobtanium between her unnecessary bra strap and her skin. Hopefully, the chip would keep the spell powered until he returned - or would crumble away and eventually release her. Even if it didn't do anything, he just needed to get further than she could functionally follow.
He walked the tracks alone through a deep and winding glen. Pheasants ran and called through the undergrowth, scuttling away from the sound of human footfalls. The fast stream at the base of the valley rushed a soothing backdrop to singing blackbirds. Every so often, mournful hoots and burring barks cut through the air and his heart clenched for Hedwig's absence.
He trekked on, the rails often overgrown but never lost, until finally he emerged from between two neighbouring mountains and Hogsmeade lay spread out before him.
Dead.
The narrow stone buildings, built almost a thousand years ago with heavy use of magic, had collapsed in absence of it. Buildings whose insides were bigger than their outsides had imploded once the expansion charms failed, mounds of rubble all that remained.
Numb, he followed the tracks to the lonely platform of Hogsmeade station. From there, he could see all the way down mainstreet. Small bushes had broken through the cobblestone road and every window he could see was broken or missing. The Three Broomsticks was nothing but a burial mound of grass and stone, a rotten stump all that remained of the painted sign by the road and behind him…
Was nothing. Not the ruins that a Muggle would see, not the castle that a Wizard should see. Just a stretch of still dark water before a rise of thick forestland. The land where Hogwarts should have stood was nothing but brilliant purple heather and sharp juts of natural stone. If it weren't for the ruin of Hogsmeade behind him, he'd question his own memories of the school ever existing at all.
But there must be something, or else why had Amazon begun to suffer errors? Even now he could feel a prickle against his skin, a string wound tight humming below hearing.
He headed for the Shrieking Shack. If it was still accessible, the path under the lake was shorter and might be exempt from whatever was keeping Hogwarts hidden. Luckily the shack had never been magically expanded and so suffered only the damage wrought by years of storms and uncontrolled overgrowth. The roof had partially collapsed and the front door required a solid kick to crack open but most of the downstairs was fine. Dirty, covered in blankets and wind-blown leaves, but fine. So was the secret path running under the lake, despite a lot more leaks than there used to be. The other end didn't open up under the whomping willow anymore though.
It opened into a wide stone hallway.
He slumped, breathless with relief. Despite everything, he hadn't actually dared to believe…
It was still here! Somehow. Cold and quiet and pitch dark but still here. Lighting up the tips of his fingers with a wandless lumos revealed open boxes of candles and rows of candelabras. Whoever had been here last had been prepared and he thanked Merlin for them as he lit enough candles to see by. Then he lit a few more, just for the company.
Dust coated the ground, no footprints disturbing it. Old spiderwebs hung limp and dirty from the ceiling. Paintings lined the walls but instead of people, the frames were filled with immobile images and words. Carefully, he wiped a layer of damp muck away from the nearest one and read. It was a combination message board and tally. Names of those residing in Hogwarts. Reports of survivors in distant, hidden enclaves. Lines were marked through many of the latter.
The next painting listed the rules of residence within Hogwarts. Wands were to be handed in. Any surviving House Elves were to be destroyed. Cursed or enchanted objects were to be added to the furnace. Those found in violation of the rules would be executed.
He crossed the hallway to the other wall which was heavier with pictures. It was a eulogy, stretching over multiple canvasses. It told of the brilliance of Hogwarts at its height, a beacon of knowledge and learning that had burned ever since the Dark Ages. A school and a fortress that had withstood dozens of Dark Lords and outright wars. The genesis of thousands of stories.
It told of the approach of another Dark Age. The fading of magic. The fall of Hogwarts from school to shelter - and the closing of its gates to stop a flood of refugees. The violent end of Hogsmeade gave Hogwarts enough time to prevent a similar disaster but restricted their capacity further. The relocation of government from London to within its walls. The cessation of magical births. The re-opening of the gates, as the young and elderly died. Communication with the continent lost, with Ireland, lost. Secrecy wards, anchored deep within the Castle's most magical core, beginning to fail.
It told of the last great act of Wizarding Britain, sinking the castle below-ground while there was still enough magic to do so. All wards, disabled. The Furnace - a runic array that consumed the magic of anything thrown within - made permanent and tied to the spell needed to raise it again, so that the castle might be returned by future magicals who lacked the knowledge needed. A desperate hope that something of them all would be born again, like the phoenix who'd once resided within the castle's walls, if and when the magic came again.
A false hope, Harry couldn't help but think. After all, Camelot, Avalon and Atlantis had all been hidden away at the start of the last Dark Age too. Not a one had ever been found again.
At the end of the line of paintings was one with no words. The image was more skillful but the frame itself was separate from the rest of the story. There was no indication of what it meant, no instructions for a future people.
It was a painting of Stonehenge, wrapped around a source of light that blazed through the gaps between stones and lit the edges of the painting with brilliant colour.
He turned away from it and made for the door at the end. Nailed to the door was a crude map drawn on parchment - proper stuff, not the paper they used to call parchment in school. It was warped, shrunken in some places and bulging in others but the label on top was clear. It was a map of Hogwarts as it was now, painfully small and simple. It was probably the original castle that had been built, so long ago. The Great Hall remained and the general outer walls seemed to be the same but there were many less levels now and the great moving staircases were just gone. The courtyard was existent but smaller and not accessible (seeing as how it was now filled with stone and earth) and all the towers were now only big enough to serve as single bedrooms layered on top of one another rather than entire dorm rooms. The kitchens were to the side of the great hall instead of underneath and many of the more magical spaces or exterior buildings such as the quidditch pitch or greenhouses were simply gone. The once-majestic school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, just another relic of a bygone age cluttering up the British landscape.
Albeit one sunk deep underground.
He didn't bother to bring the map with him. Compared to Howarts as it was, it was nothing to find his way and remember his path. The library still existed - or rather, had been relocated into a smaller room full of boxes storing the books. He'd opened one but a casual glance was all that was needed to see that the books were irrecoverable. Either their protections had failed or those storing them just hadn't known how quickly old leather-bound books could deteriorate. Wizards relied on magic for the smallest things and without it those smallest things - like moisture, insects and inherently acidic paper - bested them. Where had Hermione been? Already dead? Caught outside the gates? What kind of snarling political monster had ruled in those last years of fear and blame? Just how far had Hogwarts truly fallen?
He moved on. It was tempting to set up burning candles everywhere he went, for the illusion of life , but he didn't. The candles weren't ever-burners and he'd already had to go back for refills.
He made his way to the Gryffindor tower. It had been converted to storage, narrow winding stairs the only surface not full of tapestries, desks, dead portraits and all the other accumulated junk that would have once lived in expanded sections of the castle.
The kitchens were empty and silent. Most of the room was neatly packed away, only small disruptions hinting that people had continued to use the basic facilities after their servant race had died and their own numbers dwindled.
The Great Hall was full of corpses.
Most of them were barely more than decomposing skeletons. A few still had scraps of dried leathery skin under rotted clothing. Their bodies must have fed the insects that fed the spiders until finally, there was nothing left to feed on. Some had been laid out in lines, others were curled up like they'd been sleeping before they died. Still more were wrapped around each other like they'd fallen dead from a standing position - suicide? Or murder? At least one nearby had a caved-in skull and another was loosely cradling the tiny remains of what must have once been a baby. Only bits of the skull, pelvis and legs remained bu the skull… the skull was facing the wrong way around. Harry found himself unable to look away from the tiny body. Magic children had stopped being born before the end, his history books and Hogwarts' walls told him. So then why…? How..?
It must have been Muggle. Born without magic. Had they had hope, the day it came wailing into life? Had it been celebrated? Or had they known immediately that it was worse than even a squib? Had it been killed in anger or grief? Or maybe the mother had known that they were dying and she - or someone - had seen to it that the baby died with them. Murder or mercy? He'd never know and that was so fucking unfair.
Hot wax spilled onto his hand and he snapped out of his almost fugue state with a curse. The candles had burned half-way down since he'd entered the room and he backed out of it now, carefully forcing the door closed on the hall of the dead. He felt sick and floaty. The castle was wrong - too different from before. It wasn't Hogwarts, wasn't home. It was a tomb. A monument to loss. To inevitable, lonely death.
Swallowing, he forced himself to continue. If he just made himself check every nook and cranny, then he could leave and never return. God, he never should have come. Hogwarts had been the best thing in his life, a place of wonder and joy and like a fucking idiot he'd gone and replaced it with this desecrated nightmare.
In the last tower, in what would have once been the Headmaster's office, he found a small stone box with his name carved on it. The same runes on the box in storage back home were repeated on this one. This was what he had been looking for. The curdled twist of his gut told him it hadn't been worth the price.
He opened it anyway.
Letters. Photos. Messages and trinkets of friends and family, everything that had been missing from his resting place had been stored here. Like the books and photo album at home, these too began to age before his eyes as he removed them from storage. He'd have to be quick if he wanted to save them.
For a long minute, he simply sat and watched. It would be a bitter sort of revenge, to let these last messages crumble to dust. They'd left him, forced him to wake up to this future alone. Taken the choice to die with them away from him. To let the last memories of them fade away, unread, was like the only way he could do the same thing to them.
Except, he wouldn't, would he? He was too weak. Too needy. Whatever part of him that had responded to the Dursley's cruelty with repeated attempts to be better, to be loved, wouldn't let him. He hated it, hated himself, but he couldn't let these last pieces of his friends go even if he also couldn't bear to look at them.
His gauntlet wasn't shielded against magic but like Amazon, only the more complex functions were affected by the remaining background levels. It could still take photos in much the same way that Colin's camera once had, under much more magic-intensive conditions.
He recorded all the letters and the photos, letting them fall to the ground one by one from numb fingers. The meaningless trinkets were pocketed and when the box was finally empty, he picked it up in both hands and focused, tearing the meager magic from the runes to add to his own supply. He wondered who it had been crafted by. Hermione? Ron? Their children? He didn't feel closer to them as a result of consuming the magic they'd spent to leave him this last message. He just felt finished. His longing, his search, his grief.
All over. All done. He was done.
He left the castle to moulder in its obscurity. Maybe one day, far in the future, a new breed of magicals would find it. More likely, the lake would eventually break through the tunnel and flood the place, leaving only stone walls and failure behind.
As he stepped out of the Shrieking Shack and into the dying light of dusk, he forced his mind towards to the future.
He would never, ever look back again.
Earth
Don't forget to vote for your name preference, if you have one. Not long now until Pandora.