Chapter 6:

The Hidden Enemy

The bowling pins clattered as each and every one of them came tumbling down, signaling Dumbledore's eighth strike.

"I swear." The shade of James Potter muttered. "You must be using magic to cheat somehow."

The old man was impossibly skilled, but the fact that he was in the body of the young pizza delivery boy meant they couldn't blame magic for their losing streak. The man had been playing the game for well over a hundred years, though his skill would make it seem as if he'd been doing it since its inception in 3000 BC. Or so Sirius' shade joked.

"Alright, my turn! Allow me to show you scrubs how it's done." Peter demanded as he switched places with the headmaster.

Harry waved his wand and reset the pins for the traitor as Dumbledore's shade sauntered over to where Harry sat with Moody, cleaning the magical eye bequeathed by him with a sponge and polishing solution. Together they, along with Sirius, Regulus, Ron, Hermione, Regulus, Peter and Harry's own parents sat discussing the latest developments.

The basement-turned-bowling-alley would be overcrowded if they were all flesh and blood. As it was, only Harry and the Pizza Tepee (TM) employee had blood running through their veins. Or veins at all, for that matter.

"Now. Are you absolutely certain that you witnessed this being transform? It didn't instantly change from one shape to another, but instead morphed slowly, reshaping itself?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded as he inserted the eye back into the lubricated rubber rings used to cushion it from the metal interior of his Snitch Horcrux. A bit of manhandling later and he shoved the eye, rubber rings and all, back into its home and filled it up with contact lens fluid. His other half closed up around it and fluttered away.

He had another job of spying to do.

"It morphed like a supercharged metamorphmagi. My earlier statement that it was like a boggart made of flesh was off." He explained calmly.

"That doesn't mean what you encountered wasn't peripherally related to boggarts in some way." Hermione chided as Pettigrew made his fourth strike of the evening, proving himself once and for all to be the second-best bowler present.

"Its transformations were imperfect, correct?" The shade of Lily Potter asked.

Harry nodded.

"Then it wasn't anything like the boggart. The boggart is illusory. It does not physically transform, for it has no physical form. It merely creates a visual representation of what it sees in your own mind." His mother explained.

Dumbledore gave the older redhead a nod of approval.

"It was like..." Harry said, inventing a better description as he went. " If you took flesh and bone and shaped it like clay into the approximate form you wanted, that's what this creature would be."

Regulus swapped places with Peter and lined up for another shot.

"You know." The turned Death Eater offered. "I might be biased because of how I died, but it sounds like a shape-shifting inferi."

That gave them pause. Peter was the first to break the silence.

"Indeed. If I were trying to recreate what you described I would make an inferi out of a metamorph. Some ritual involving bone and flesh softening potions before killing them might do the trick."

Everyone present gave him similar looks of disgust and intrigue.

"What!? The Dark Lord didn't recruit me just because I was friends with so many Order members." He explained. "I have an inborn talent for necromancy, and the Dark Lord recognized it during the battle of Dublin."

Hmmm. He'd always suspected there was much more to the story of Wormtail's betrayal than mere cowardice, and this piece seemed to paint a much more complete puzzle. He had to wonder about the inferi in that cave and how much of a hand - pun intended - Wormtail had in their creation.

"You know Scabbers. The more I learn about you the creepier it is that you hid as a rat in a dorm room filled with underage boys for three years." Ron commented.

"It was seven. Percy, remember?" Wormtail corrected. "And I was a resident of the Weasley household for another five years before that. And don't you dare start hurling accusations of pederasty or other unbecoming things! I have to put up with enough of those insults from fellow Death Eaters, thank you very much."

The glare he gave Ron was so impressive that Harry couldn't be bothered to correct his use of present tense. Reminding him that he was, in fact, dead and that he need not speak to any Death Eaters ever again seemed unnecessary.

"Then tell us, Peter." Sirius pleaded, the venom he spat dampened by the blatant hurt and compassion bleeding into his voice as he asked the question. "Why did you hide with the Weasleys? Out of all the wizarding families out there, why them?"

Everyone's attention was turned fully to the rat animagi. Harry was glad that his wasn't the only face to show the deep curiosity and need to know why a man would commit such a betrayal.

"I did it as a favor to Fabian and Gideon." Peter told them.

"Huh?" They all asked at once.

Harry wasn't the only one who couldn't muster a more eloquent response to that bombshell.

"Fabian and Gideon. I was there when Voldemort staged an attack on them to try and force the sword of Godric Gryffindor to manifest. Which it did, by the way." Peter told them.

Harry and Dumbledore shared a look. There was another theory confirmed. Voldemort had planned to use Harry's death to turn the final founder's object into a Horcrux. And to think he'd nearly succeeded with the sword that would later save Harry's own life.

"They had actually known about my turning sides long before that. And they had kept my secret." Peter continued. "They didn't condemn or condone my betrayal. But they understood, and that meant the world to me. It's why I dealt the killing blow. Spared them suffering in death."

"But why would they keep your secret?" James asked. "Fabian and Gideon were Dumbledore's men, through and through."

Wormtail took on a pensive look, staring off into space. They all waited patiently as he organized his thoughts.

"I think I'd rather keep that personal information private. If it's all the same to you." Peter pleaded.

Harry considered dismissing him and simply summoning Mrs Weasley's twin brothers to answer in his place, but he wasn't that cruel. Furthermore, he was done wasting time.

"Very well. We can put the Legend of the Mighty Wormtail on hold for now. Dumbledore." Harry said, turning to the eldest soul present. "Are you satisfied that we've wasted enough time trying to figure it out for ourselves, or are you going to make us wait a little longer before telling us what this creature I encountered was?"

Both of his parents actually snorted at that direct and disparaging remark. The humor behind it even brought a twinkle back into the old man's transparent and grey eyes, despite his frown.

"I'm not positive what this shape-shifter was, all I have is a hunch." Dumbledore pre-empted. "But..."

"Your hunches tend to be right." Every single person in the cellar-turned-bowling-alley chorused.

If possible, the twinkle in the shade's eyes grew brighter.

"The signs are obvious, if hidden." Began the headmaster. "The attempts by Walburga within this very home to create artificial life are based on a field of magic which shares a discipline that could create such a creature. Alchemy."

This was most definitely not the revelation Harry was expecting.

"Alchemy? Seriously?" Ron voiced. "I thought alchemy was just transfiguration, but at the chemical level. Like turning lead to gold."

"A common misconception." The headmaster lightly corrected. "In reality alchemy is a much more vague - and to some dark - field of study with many more uses than simply changing matter. It is the manipulation of the natural attributes, of perfect forms and inherent natures. Transmutation, the field Mr Weasley just succinctly described, is the art of changing the chemical nature of metals. It's all based on the Platonic idea of perfect forms."

Harry was lost, and it must have shown on his face because Sirius took over the explanation.

"It's actually really simple to understand. Here, let's do an exercise. Describe a dog to me. In your own words, define what a dog is." Sirius asked.

"A quadrupedal mammal who barks out of anger, growls to intimidate, sniffs out of curiosity, licks out of affection and wags its tail out of joy." Harry responded without hesitation.

"Good description." Sirius nodded. "You used both physical and behavioral traits to describe it. Now, if a dog lacked one of those traits, say, lost a leg in an irresponsibly placed bear trap. Would you still recognize it as a dog?"

"Of Course." Harry said.

"And if it was mute and unable to make any of those sounds, would you still recognize it as a dog?" Sirius asked.

"With ease." Harry said.

"If it lacked a tail to wag or tongue to lull, would you still recognize it as a dog?" Sirius continued.

"With a great amount of pity, yes." Harry said.

"And if I transfigured it to remove all of its fur and replace it with scales, would you still recognize it?" Sirius asked.

"Barely, but yes." Harry confirmed again.

"Okay. And if I did ALL of those things to a poor mutt and showed it to you, would you then STILL be able to recognize it as a dog?" Sirius finished.

Harry could only nod, if with a grimace at such a hypothetical concept.

"Don't you find that strange? That you can change absolutely EVERYTHING that makes a dog, a dog, and you're still able to recognize it for what it is? To the point that a person who has only ever known chihuahuas and never seen any other breed of dogs, not even in photographs, can be introduced to a Tibetan Mastiff and instantly recognize it despite being as different from a chihuahua as physically possible? Why do you think that is?"

Harry had to actively ponder this question. It was a mind-bender, but one easily solved by process of elimination. There was only one answer he could come up with that he couldn't dismiss.

"The nature of what it means to be a dog is wholly divorced from any physical or behavioral description." He concluded.

"Exactly! And not just dogs, but everything. From a desk to a tree, to a human being." Dumbledore explained. "Most people would attribute this to the limitations of language, but the platonic ideal is best simplified as the belief that there is some spiritual realm or existence of perfect forms separate from the physical world."

"Put more simply, lawmakers can't define what porn is, but we all know it when we see it." Regulus added to much snorting from James, Ron, Sirius and Peter.

"Fair enough." Dumbledore pressed on. "And what this means alchemically is that you are spiritually manipulating the nature of things around you to change them physically. It's very abstract, and the processes for accomplishing this are impossibly complex. But that's the theory."

"Then there's the secular theory which is pure nihilism and universal subjectivity, that nothing can be defined at all and you can claim any lie is true." Lily pointed out.

"But down that path lies insanity and death, and nobody actually believes reality isn't real. They just pretend to believe it as an Alinskyite tactic." Peter argued. "That or they're in padded rooms where they belong smearing the walls with their own feces and are incapable of expressing such an opinion."

Harry ignored their brewing argument and tried to apply what he just learned about alchemy to the thing he fought just the night before.

"So, this creature. What was it doing? Alchemically re-defining its nature to that of other animals?" Harry asked. "But physical reality couldn't match the redefinition, so it morphed in those horrific ways?"

The answer sounded wrong as it came out of his mouth, but the nod of approval from the headmaster told him his feelings were wrong in this instance.

"This is called imperfect transmutation, which is much easier than perfect transmutation." Dumbledore explained. "It's the equivalent of deliberately transfiguring something incorrectly, but making sure it's good enough to perform the task at hand. Such as fly. What concerns me is that this creature seems to be able to do this an infinite number of times, complete his transformations very quickly, and retain his mind if your accounts are to be believed. It is a true masterpiece of alchemy and I can think of only two people capable of creating such an abomination. Two people previously thought dead."

Harry nodded. A power couple with a combined total of well over a thousand years of experience in alchemy sounded like a likely candidate, but a terrifying prospect.

"The Flamels... They're alive?" Ron voiced Harry's concern. "And they're evil?"

"No." Lily corrected. "They're amoral. Which is much, much worse. Even Voldemort believes what he's doing is right, even if it's from a self-interested point of view."

They all looked to Dumbledore.

"It's true. Such people are far more dangerous than the outright evil, for with age peopel gain apathy, lost the perspective of right and wrong and humanity. Such people can view other people as objects, means to an end. In times of war it is such people who instigate the inhumane experiments you read about in history. Those performed by the socialists in Germany and Unit 731 by Japan during World War Two being the most recent, or so I believed until today." Dumbledore said. "Or more specifically I could prove, information on the horrors of communism behind the iron curtain are only now coming to light, but no. It seems they were involved in the wizarding war of Britain some seventeen years ago."

"Mother was involved with these monsters?" Regulus asked.

"Indeed. The branch of alchemy known for creating new life, in this case cloning, is known as Transgenesis. The alchemical equivalent to conjuration, if you could make such a simplified analogy." Dumbledore confirmed. "And to answer your next question, Miss Granger, the other branch is transascension, the field of alchemy focused on making living things ascend into higher planes of being, or transforming them into perfect states. The most basic use of this is immortality and eternal youth, more advanced practices - thankfully lost to time - created beings of divinity so horrifying as to make Lovecraft blanch and detailed in ancient religions. Beings like Ophanim, Baphomet or other angels and demons of the old testament. Or any ancient religion. Things that transcend flesh and machine. Matter made to take on the appearance and nature of the soul within."

With each word the former headmaster uttered Harry came to understand exactly what kind of threat they were facing. The old man had a way with words, a very deliberate way with words, and he knew the terror he was feeling was exactly what Dumbledore intended him to feel. If he were to read more into the old man's motives, why, it almost seemed as if...

"The Flamels are a far greater threat than Tom, aren't they?" He concluded.

Dumbledore nodded.

"I'm not a god, professor. It's all I can do to resist, let alone defeat, Tom. What do you expect me to do against Nicholas and his wife?" Harry pleaded.

"Nothing!" Dumbledore roared. "Focus everything you have on Tom. He is the real treat, and unlike the Flamels, he is your enemy. For now Nicholas and Perenelle should be viewed as mad scientists whose only interest in this war is as a vehicle for their own research. So long as you stay out of their way, they shouldn't take too great of an interest in you."

It seemed like good advice. Advice born out of genuine concern for Harry's safety. It showed a distinct lack in understanding of how a young Gryffindor would respond to such instructions.

"Sir, you must know that you can't tell him all of that and expect him to obey that instruction, can you?" Ron barely got out over his and Hermione's sudden fit of giggles.

The dead Marauders, Regulus and Lily concurred with their own bursts of laughter and Harry had to suppress his own as he confirmed Ron's declaration. Even Moody, who was oddly silent up until then, couldn't stop himself from barking like Sirius.

"He's right. Nick and Perry are going down. They are in need of killing and I suddenly find myself with the will and ability to deliver that fate to those deserving of it." Harry declared in his 'leader' voice. "Regulus, Sirius, I suspect you two may know more than you might think. I doubt it's a coincidence that Walburga had a son on both sides of the war and was in cahoots with the Flamels."

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. Huh, the old man hadn't thought of that then?

"What, we were unwitting spies for her?" Sirius concluded.

"Exactly. She is going to be our best source of information for countering whatever their plans are. It also can't be a coincidence that she created a Horcrux and was a supporter of vol... him." Saved by the ward there. "You will need to think over your interactions with her during the first war and try to remember anything of note. Is she in any danger of escaping or can I take care of more pressing matters before interrogating her?"

"Trapped in her own watery prison with her portrait destroyed." Sirius explained.

"I'm willing to bet she outright lived through her Horcrux while trapped down there." Moody piped up. "Similar to how you can merge mental states with your Snitch. She probably spent the last decade and a half traveling in the world of portraits to socialize and keep up with the changing world. I daresay she's perfectly caught up with current events."

The dangerous possibility of her having a second Horcrux out there was left unsaid for now.

"I'll add interrogating the other portraits of the house to your list of things to do." Harry told Sirius and Regulus. "Gather as much information as you can before we interrogate her. Make sure to get me the names of dead Blacks from the first war as well "

They nodded and Sirius took over the delivery boy before disappearing up the stairs.

"What's more pressing than combating Voldemort and the Flamels?" Moody asked calmly.

Harry sighed.

"I have over a dozen children and teenagers suffering the aftereffects of months under the Imperius and malneutrition, a half-dead cousin and two much older and experienced order members I need to deal with." Harry summarized. "Dumbledore, I don't have the experience rallying, consoling or commanding teams like you do. Will you help me? At least with Hestia and Diggle."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"I also recommend summoning the shades of past healers. Particularly those specialized in psychological trauma." Dumbledore advised. "I'm sure St Mungo will be happy to advise you on who to summon if you call him back "

Harry nodded gratefully, before turning to the remaining people present.

"You're all, save for Dumbledore, dismissed."

They faded like smoke in the wind and Harry stood up.

His back cracked in angry protest and his cursed arm spasmed at the sudden movement. He took some deep breaths to calm the pain of decay and walked up the stairs.

He had leading to do.

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