CHAPTER 25
22 December 1993 - Burford - West Oxfordshire, 9:16AM
An amused Harry could only smile at Theo's amazement as the young pureblood took in the bright and merry sights all around him.
It was Burford Christmas Market, the community's annual holiday celebration that consisted of several decorated stalls lining the rather narrow High Street, selling all manner of Yule-themed items as well as delicious treats. Twinkling lights adorned everything and everywhere, emphasized by touches of evergreen wreaths and garlands lining the street lights, Christmas trees and shrubs bearing glass ornaments and Christmas figurines, twinkling electric snowflakes twice the size of a man's head, and other similarly themed adornments. Carolers dotted every other corner, outfitted in their Christmas best as they made a joyous noise.
It was a much welcome and uplifting reprieve from being at Hogwarts and the series of never-ending disasters that had befallen its students. The Dementor attack during the Quidditch game had been bad enough, but worse still that it hadn't been enough due cause to get rid of the foul creatures altogether. Not only that, Harry and his friends still hadn't any insight as to whom had impersonated Amy Wilkes and ultimately ended up saving the life of the younger Potter in a bizarre twist of events during the disastrous inaugural (and more than likely final) Hallowhain. Coupled with the still-lingering Death Eater Menace, the Wizengamot had decided to hold off their Yule session, rescheduling all pertinent matters to the summer session.
A melodious trilling from a group of carolers diverted the attention of the two Slytherins, with Theo doing a bit more gawking than naught. The two Slytherins were accompanied by Harry's muggle friend Davy Baxter, along with his younger siblings Sally and Johnny. His friends Jeremy, Theresa, and Blake were also in attendance, already running a sugar high off the copious amounts of marshmallow hot chocolate they'd ingested earlier. Supervising them all was Davy's mum Stella and Theresa's father Matthew.
Conspicuously missing was Lily, who was spending the day being treated in something Severus called a "hyperbaric chamber" he'd constructed in his personal laboratory.
In addition to the pure oxygen one would find its muggle counterpart, said chamber would, in orderly fashion, release aerosolized amounts of Essence of Dittany, Vitamix Potion, Invigoration Draught, Girding Potion, Antidote to Uncommon Poisons, and an experimental concoction of Severus' own creation simply called No. 329. All were aimed at easing the effects wrought upon Lily's body and mind by the Scarlet Letter Curse. Her current potions regimen was losing effectiveness, a sign of the Curse's growing advancement and the Potions Master's frustrating inability to identify any real medicinal or magical solution to combat its effects. As of late the witch had mentioned "mild lingering soreness", which Severus knew was Lily-speak for 'persisting body aches'.
Rather than torturing then cursing James Potter into a hellish oblivion for cruelly inflicting the horrible curse on his best friend, Snape had opted for creating the therapy chamber as a better and more legal use of his time.
"Alright you lot, listen up!" All eight children snapped to attention at Stella's commanding tone. "In order to properly enjoy all the market has to offer, we're going to be splitting up. Since this is Theo's first time with the festivities, he'll be coming with me, Harry, Blake, and Sally to explore the lower half of High Street. Less stalls so you can take your time and properly and patiently enjoy the little souvenirs they have to offer." She smiled kindly at the ex-Nott, who nodded appreciatively.
His backstory (much like Harry's) was that he'd spent the bulk of his childhood being homeschooled before he'd attended Harry's same exclusive boarding school, the name of which none felt bothered to ask. Both boys were back home for the holidays due to an unfortunate outbreak of chickenpox, with all uninfected children sent home to prevent a major outbreak.
"The rest of you will be accompanying Matthew to the upper half, which has considerably more stalls and generally more hubbub. We'll meet at 12:30 sharp in front of the Tolsey Museum. There's a Little Chef stand in the front that serves some right tasty English classics, along with a nice seated area with a bonfire to boot. Perfect for lunch! You lot ready?"
Stella was met with eight enthusiastic responses, eliciting a bubbly laugh. As one, the two groups went their separate ways to enjoy what would no doubt be a lovely and appropriately eventful morning.
None noticed a nondescript wizard (with a Sonorous to boost his eavesdropping endeavors and dressed to blend in), sharply turning to the direction of the museum, closely followed by four of his closest cohorts to set their plans in motion.
Grand Dining Hall - Potter Manor, 12:01PM
Barely resisting the urge to cringe at the awkwardness, Jim tried his hardest to make quick work of his lunch so he could retreat to the safety of his bedroom suite. Seated almost twenty feet across from him was James, who sat at the head of the formal dining table and was, admittedly, the source of his discomfort.
In between bouts of the savory steak and kidney pie, the elder Potter had made several stilted attempts at conversation, wincing at Jim's clipped responses. Things had been tense between them since the previous Yule when he cursed his Heir's mother, their relationship growing more strained at the advent of the Azkaban outbreak and James' implication in the entire mad scheme. Jim was angry at his father's taciturnity in his refusal to share why he'd use the Scarlet Letter Curse against his mother, much less why he'd think she'd deserved to be cursed in the first place!
Uncle Obi had been sly in his suggestion that Lily may have been unfaithful, but Jim still didn't believe it. His mother just didn't strike him as a cheat, much less one who would create
He was exceedingly lucky that Director Bones had recently decided to reinstate him. The werewolf attack on Hogsmeade was definitely a turning point, and Amelia needed all her skilled Aurors on active duty. After a thorough questioning under Veritaserum and handling a Remembrall, and pensieve memory review, he'd been cleared to resume active duty under direct supervision of Mad-Eye. Yaxley had likewise been cleared but in a significantly more limited capacity, reneged to desk duty and desk duty only.
Suffice to say both Aurors had been on their best and most cooperative behavior.
"So," James said after a hearty sip of pumpkin juice, "how's all your training going with Ron and Elder Yoo Ri? Wookie-do, was it?"
It took considerable effort for Jim not to sneer at his father's ignorance.
"It's Wu-Xi-Do," he replied with noticeable tightness, internally pleased to see the older man wince. "And yeah, it's going well enough. Padma's…a really good teacher, and it's been helping me concentrate in class and a bit with Quidditch too." If James noted the odd lilt of the boy's voice uttering the Ravenclaw witch's name, he didn't mention it.
"That's good to hear! Is Ron doing alright?"
"Yeah, he's doing well, all things considered. He's kept up his mind-healing appointments with Elder Yoo Ri and he hasn't had any nightmares as far as I know. He's…he's working to get on the Healing track, he's been meeting with Madame Pomfrey and trying to see if he can shadow her in his free time." He took a quick sip of his pumpkin juice, attempting to quell the strange feelings that arose when mentioning Ron's pending career prospects and new seeming lease on life.
Oblivious as usual, James just nodded whilst chewing on his pie.
"How's your animagus training going?"
"It's good. Still doing the meditative state of things, I'm just about tired of the mandrake tea." It wasn't enough for him to drink the beverage, he'd reached the stage of his training that included bathing with the used tea leaves. Mornings and nights of mandrake tea baths were getting annoying.
"It'll be over before you know it," replied James kindly, reminiscing about his own time learning to become his animal avatar. The nostalgia was soon dashed by thoughts of the Marauders' current state of affairs.
"If you'd like…I can share some of my methods with you. I know it's mostly self-taught and you've got a proper instructor and everything, but still, it couldn't hurt?" It was hard to miss the eager hopefulness in James' tone and expression. Jim bit down on his initial retort, suddenly feeling bad for his father.
"Um…sure! Like you said, it can't hurt, right?" A beaming smile graced his father's face, causing his son to give a small smile of his own.
"So," said Lord Potter after some minutes of relative peace. "I know your broom got damaged during your recent game," James noted Jim's poignant wince, internally cursing at his lack of tact. His Heir's Nimbus had been blown directly into the path of the Whomping Willow, crushed to complete bits.
Though, in hindsight, that was significantly less consequential than the boy being nearly Kissed by two Dementors.
"Um…well…I was going to wait until Christmas Day to give it to you, but I purchased a replacement for you." Right on cue, Gia popped in with a brightly wrapped broom-shaped object, all but thrusting it into the boy's hand.
"Oh! Wow, um, thanks Dad! And thanks Gia!" The elf gracefully bowed before popping away, happy to see the pleased smile on her Lord and Heir's faces. Without hesitation Jim ripped off the Snitch-themed wrapping paper, before exclaiming at his present.
It was a brand-new Firebolt, bearing his carved initials in shimmering gold ink on the polished ebony shaft. Tightly packed birch made up the tail twigs, with foot grips made of goblin-forged iron.
"Blimey," Jim whispered in wonder.
"Amazing isn't it?!" James excitedly replied. "It's capable of going from nought to one hundred and fifty miles per hour in ten seconds thanks to the modified Maneuverability Charms. It has an Unbreakable Braking Charm, customized acceleration features tailored to different terrain, and weight-sensitive Balance and Precision charms. It hovers right beside you when dismounted, and better yet, it's keyed specifically to your biomagical signature. No worries about it ever getting stolen." Jim's eyes continued to widen in amazement as he marveled at his Christmas present, belatedly paying attention to his father.
"It's…it's incredible dad. Thank you." James smiled, heart lifting at the genuine appreciation in his son's voice. It'd been a very long time since such a tone had been leveled towards him.
Father and son spent the remainder of their lunch eagerly chatting about the copious amounts of flying they intended to do for the day and throughout the remainder of the holiday, so long as James' schedule permitted.
Neither saw the pleased expression of Henry Potter's portrait as he watched the proceedings, happy to see his descendants getting on so well. Mounted just above the fireplace, the erstwhile Lord Potter had chosen that location as the Grand Dining Hall had been his favorite room in the manor while he'd been alive. Nothing was more special to Henry than basking in the glowing chatter of his wife and his two sons, even in the event of Walmond turning out to be a squib.
Like any decent ancestor Henry had lamented the steady decline of his descendants' relationship, marked by the current Lord Potter's ever-growing dependency on alcohol and ever-shrinking fuse. James had grown every more erratic, more irritable, and more unpredictable, which could have easily been written off by his aforementioned alcoholism. It would certainly explain why an auror as capable as James would ever entertain the madness of utter filth like Corban Yaxley, enough to be spurred to use something as heinous as the Scarlet Letter Curse against his ex-wife and the mother of his children.
But, sadly, James wasn't really to blame for his considerable personality decline.
Neither was the depression one would expect from a divorcé who was estranged from his beloved ex-wife and his younger son. And as a result of the aforementioned, had been living with an extremely strained relationship with his Heir.
No, none of those perfectly logical reasons served as the true explanation for James' decline.
The real culprit was the Soul-Bond Curse, and the consequence of the fati amatores being forced apart by any circumstance. James was lucky that the separation had occurred after his sons had been born, else he'd have been driven into outright insanity. The nature of the occult and nigh-redacted curse Nathaniel and Cassandra had woven into the Potter bloodline ultimately meant that the two Fate-marked lovers shouldn't be apart before and after the birth of the Potter Heir. Especially in a manner as permanent as divorce.
Two who should be as one; ne'er parted nor apart.
But thanks to Dorea Potter and all her damned cleverness, Lily Evans had the perfect means to escape her marriage magically unscathed, even moreso that the cause of the separation had been to protect a Potter descendant. As a direct bearer of House Potter's blood and the intended target of the curse, James wasn't so lucky.
Henry could only hope the same fate wouldn't befall Jim as the next-in-line for the curse's target. 'The poor boy's been through enough as it is.'
Tolsey Museum, 12:48PM
Resisting the urge to sneer from his position on the building's roof, Viggo Scabior - hidden beneath a few Notice-Me-Nots and scent dampening charms - watched with gimlet eyes as Potter and the Outcast enjoyed lunch with the filthy mudbloods, nattering a mile-a-minute about Merlin-knew-what.
Scabior hated mudbloods.
Every misfortune he and his family had ever suffered was at the hands of those wretched creatures who'd infested his world and refused to know their place.
Mudbloods had been the reason his father had been forced into Azkaban for a three-year bid during Viggo's Sixth Year, all at the hands of the mudblood Minister Leach.
That Wyatt Scabior had been caught red-handed attempting to unleash Fiendfyre on a small muggleborn neighborhood in Hogsmeade was of little to no concern to his son.
The primary breadwinner being imprisoned emptied most of the Scabior family very meager coffers on legal fees, and as such, meant nothing being poured in. Viggo had to drop out of Hogwarts, unable to finish his final year. Insult had been added to grievous injury when the filthy mudblood Riddle's charity had offered him - a proper pureblood! - the chance to complete his education by accepting his dirty money.
Scabior, naturally, had refused.
A series of more unfortunate events had seen his father perish in prison and his mother follow soon after from grief, resulting in the young pureblood having to learn to fend for himself. Joining forces with other such downtrodden wizards, Sacbior's career prospects included petty theft, simple assault, burglary, multiple incidents of public intoxication, and as a result, several incidents of vandalism and indecent exposure that ended with a year-long stint in Azkaban,
Luckily, history did not repeat itself, with Viggo surviving the minimum-security abyss of that Merlin-forsaken island.
His prospects had improved with the rise of the Dark Lord, the wizarding messiah Scabior believed would cleanse their world of the ever-rising tide of filth that plagued and tainted everything good. Along with his chosen cohorts, Scabior had gladly committed to the cause. Under the command of a Death Eater called Mr. Arachne, Viggo had run several Snatcher-schemes that involved kidnapping-for-ransom of the family members of certain key Ministry employees. Some had devolved into murder when said Ministry employee had refused to comply and threatened to get the Aurors involved.
With these things, Mr. Arachne always made sure that Scabior and his gang were properly compensated for their efforts.
But then, things had gone belly-up during the Invasion of the Ministry of Magic, and Scabior had been lucky to escape with his life and was forced to go into hiding. Switzerland had been the most logical, relying on his ill-gained wealth and Polyjuice Potion to evade the admittedly more-lax wizarding Swiss authorities.
It was where he'd been since the Dark Lord's fall, working to establish his own criminal base of operations.
But then a few months prior, the Dark Lord's faithful had broken out of Azkaban, and Scabior was certain that his extended holiday was over indefinitely. He'd assumed correctly, as a missive from Mr. Arachne had been received some weeks after, intent on cooking up a scheme the Death Eater had called "Contingency Three".
The main target had been the home of the mudblood Lily Evans, but to Arachne's simmering frustration, the home was Unplottable and completely impervious to any detection magicks - scrying or otherwise. Unknown to Scabior, the secret Death Eater and Potter Family Seneschal had attempted for years to discover the specific address of the formerly-named Potter's Keep, but it seemed whatever protective spells the ex-Lady Potter had utilized had completely Occluded the building's address from public and private record.
As such, the next best thing was the town that housed the home, which was chock full of other mudbloods and thus perfect for violent chaos. The delightful cherry on top of that delectable sundae was that Arachne had deduced that the Outcast would be living with halfblood and his dirty-blooded mother during his holiday away from Hogwarts.
Two birdie beasties with one perfect stone.
It would have been three, but it seemed the mudblood had decided to sit out this outing for whatever reason.
Shaking himself back to attention, Scabior watched with a gimlet eye as the halfblood, the Outcast, and three others made their way into the museum's foyer. Taking that as his cue (and hoping his posse had done the same), pulled off his shirt to expose the strangely warm rune that Arachne had painted on his chest and that of each of his posse earlier that morning in a combination of charmed ink and blood. Staring too long at it made Scabior cross-eyed and feel a touch…weird. His remaining four compatriots occupied a relatively equidistant position from the other at the cardinal points outside the museum, with him perched on top of the building as the "fulcrum" as Arachne had said.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a scrap of paper that contained a phrase that would trigger the five-rune set and begin the next phase of the Contingency. Arachne had guaranteed that not only was the process perfectly painless, it would be over in the flash of an eye.
Having no reason to doubt the man who'd kept his pockets full for several years, Scabior grinned as he studied the incantation. With a deep breath, he bellowed:
"PER VITA MEA, PERFLUAT ODIUM!"
As the last words left his lips, a brief flash of light erupted around the perimeter of the building that quickly transformed into a heat-haze that surrounded the entire building. Large tendrils of said heat-haze rose upwards from each cardinal side of the building before coalescing into a massive floating ethereal rune. A strange rune, quite like a pentagram but not quite, and one that perfectly matched the one inscribed on Scabior's chest and on each of his posse's.
Suddenly, Scabior felt that something was very wrong.
There was a sharp burning sensation on his chest as the rune there began to glow a strange eldritch green.
Then, it caught fire!
Scabior screamed in pain and surprise. He didn't register the matching screams of his posse, whose chests had also caught that strange green fire.
It spread rapidly, and, true to Arachne's word, killed Scabior in an instant as it ate the man from inside out in a serpentine-shaped gout of cackling daemonic green flame. Said flame slowly joined by four matching others, causing it to morbidly stretch and grow.
Finally reaching an almost 20-foot tall abomination, the gleefully leering flame whispered a phrase that spread that rushed through the air like a single plume of poisonous gas. It settled the unguarded and completely vulnerable minds of almost every muggle within an 18-foot radius of the museum, who all turned as one to gaze in glassy-eyed wonder at the sentient flame and the strange ghostly symbol. Wonder soon turned into snarling anger and disgust as the arcane power of the flame's statement and the Dark Wild sigils transformed them into violent automatons united in one mission:
"KILL THE OUTCAST!"
Around the Same Time…
With a languid sigh, Number 16 took a hearty sip of her milky earl gray, pleased for the brief respite from the absolute madness that had overtaken Wizarding Britain.
She was currently in the Early Warning Office, working through her shift. She typically found the entire process tedious, but acquiring alms for Dementors was a significantly more mentally draining task that she never thought he'd have to undertake. She was relatively pleased that she had to undertake the task as her muggle Nurse Whittles persona and not as Healer Cattermole.
Merlin-knew how her Healer's Oath would hold up in the face of doing…that.
With a light shudder, the witch refilled her cup and filled a small saucer of butter biscuits, ever grateful for Tanner's and Q's attentiveness in keeping the Unspeakables fed and watered.
She never had the chance to enjoy her repast as the sudden bloodcurdling sound of a discordant and nigh blasphemous wailing filled the entirety of the cavern.
The teacup and saucer tumbled from Sixteen's nerveless fingers, who barely registered them noisily clanging to the ground as the wailing ratcheted up in volume. With it came the sensation of being squeezed on each side, as though the hair-raising sound intended to snuff her out.
Chime #13.
The call of the Wild.
With barely conscious thought the witch tentatively approached the yowling Chime, gulping as she used her wand - 12 inch willow with unicorn hair - to silence the alarm. Shakingly reaching down her robes, she retrieved her charmed communication mirror locket and tapped it thrice, finally speaking into it when the visage of Control appeared:
"This is Number 16. Ch-Chime #13 has just sounded this day at eleven minutes past the hour. End message."
The only sign of Control's shock was the ever slight quirk of his brow. "Message received. Numbers 7, 25, 54, and the relevant auxiliary staff will be dispatched to provide relevant support. The DMLE will be appropriately alerted. Maintain watch and report as required." The Head Unspeakable briskly ended the communication.
Shakingly, the Associate Director of the Muggles Division resumed her seat, no longer in the mood for any tea but strangely desiring a strong snifter of Ogden's.
Of course, Chimes #27 and #39 chose that exact moment to go off.
The odd sound of chanting was the first sign that something was wrong.
It was a low hum of human voices, bearing a sinister resonance that heralded impending violence begging to be unleashed.
"...What on earth?" said Stella, brows knit in confusion. Davy and Sally frowned, also wondering what was going on. Behind them, Theo and Harry exchanged tense glances as they noticed the odd heat-haze that seemed to wrap around the entirety of the building, coupled with an unnatural heaviness that settled all around them.
There was magic in the air.
"Are those the carolers?" asked Sally sweetly, her youthful innocence not allowing her to recognize the danger of the horrors that lurked so close by.
"It can't be that Sals, there's no proper singing." Davy replied, before suddenly pausing as he sniffed the air. "Do you smell smoke?" He sniffed again. "That's funny, smells..weirder than smoke. Kinda like…acid?" His expression wrinkled curiously as the strange scent stared to permeate the space, filling the nostrils of the two young wizards and making their hairs stand on edge.
It smelled like burnt ozone.
There was definitely a lot of magic in the air.
"Where's the entrance to this place?" asked Harry tensely. Stella blinked at the change in his countenance.
"Um…just over there," she replied, pointing to the easternmost corner of the market space which housed a blackened medieval-style door with the sign "Burford Town Council". With no hesitation, Harry marched over and with as much subtlety as possible, unholstered his wand and whispered "ALOHOMORA", pleased to hear the door unlatch.
"The door was open?" Stella looked quite nonplussed. "Really? I-"
"Small miracles, c'mon everyone! Up we go." With more trepidation than Harry would have liked, they all ventured up the stairs into the museum proper.
If he noticed the ominous click as the door shut behind them, he didn't mention it.
They were met with a cozy room teeming with all manner of medieval-era artifacts, including an ornate Victorian dollhouse with several figures on display. Seals and ceremonial maces were on display, as well as some rather old-fashioned tools for local trades like quarrying, rope-making, and brewing.
In any other context, it would have made for a most delightful and intellectually stimulating afternoon.
Today was not the day.
At this point the chanting had grown considerably louder and angrier, and the words were very easily discernible:
"DIE, OUTCAST, DIE!"
Theo paled considerably as the implication sunk in.
"What in goodness gracious has gotten into them you reckon?!" A horrified Stella approached the window and attempted to pull apart the curtains, only to jerk back as she screamed in shock and pain. A gout of eldritch green flame had enveloped her entire left hand and, to the horror of the woman and the children, had begun eating through the flesh as it rapidly raced up the appendage. She flopped to the ground in an attempt to put it out, but to no avail.
"MUM!"
Davy and Stella ran to catch the still-screaming woman, only to recoil back at Harry's commanding "STOP!"
"That fire's more than likely contagious, don't touch her." Their eyes goggled. Approaching the deliriously screaming unconscious woman Harry unholstered his wand and hissed "PETRIFICUSsS TOTALUSsS", freezing Stella's seizing form as he gently lowered her to the ground.
"VULNERA SsSsSANTENTUR!''
Harry repeated the melodic spell thrice, successfully stalling the spread of the flames as the two muggle children gawked in amazement and fought back a shiver at the sibilant sounds of his spells. He was grateful to Severus for teaching him the most powerful healing spell in his arsenal, even more impressive that the older wizard had created it himself.
"Y-y-you're like a magician?! A real-life magician?!"
Harry snorted at Stella's exclamation. "The technical term is 'wizard', but yes, I am." While his admission was a clear violation of the Statute, he figured (and desperately hoped) a life-or-death situation would warrant an exception.
Repeating the healing charm twice more, Harry was pleased to see the skin reknit. It didn't completely heal like it was meant to, signaling very dark magic at play. Grimacing, he reached into the tag-along pouch strapped around his body and retrieved two phials of dittany and Murtlap Essence, pouring their entirety on her hand. The skin sizzled for a few moments and reknit a bit more, but once more didn't fully heal. He poured some Blood Replenisher, Healing Potion, and Calming Draught down her throat, succeeding in leveling out her breathing as a bit of color returned to her cheeks and her clamminess lessened. Her seizing, thankfully, had lessened to the occasional twitch.
"She alright?" asked Davy with a noticeable tremor in his voice as Sally furiously wiped at her cheeks whilst sniffling. Both children were gathered around Harry as they focused on their mother. Behind them, Theo's expression was unreadable.
"Yes," replied Harry gently. "She's stable. Her injury is healed as well as can be, and she's not at a risk of getting an infection, losing blood, or going into shock. She should be fine in the meanwhile." He was Occluding heavily, knowing he couldn't afford to panic.
"So…magic huh?" Davy's eyes were zeroed in on the eleven-inch holly apparatus with equal parts wonder, fright, and curiosity. "You think…you think I could use that?"
Theo snorted out a laugh despite the seriousness of the situation. "We shouldn't even be able to tell you about magic for various reasons I can't get into because of…various other reasons I can't get into. But no, I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to use Harry's wand." Davy pouted, eliciting snorts of amusement from the other three.
The fleeting good mood was immediately ruined by every pane of glass exploding outward, just as the wooden frames in which the glass was affixed melted into sludge. The chants of the crowd below had crescendoed in volume, some hurling broken bottles through the window and against the building's walls. Mixed in were sounds of fighting, turning to harming each other as an outlet for their bloodlust.
"WE'RE COMING FOR YOU OUTCAST!"
"Who the hell is the Outcast?!" asked Davy incredulously, carefully balancing his mother's head in his and his sister's laps.
"No idea," replied Harry, hoping Theo would take the hint and not expand on his current magical and legal status. Thankfully, the boy remained mum.
"Does this sort of thing happen with wizards?!" exclaimed Sally in disbelief. "Did you piss off some lunatic evil wizard and he's after you or something?!"
The accuracy of her statement was startling.
Before either Slytherin could respond, eldritch green gouts of flame started to pour in from the damaged windows, slithering not unlike a ball of snakes. The four children barely had the time to process that horrific sight before the fireplace tucked against one wall erupted into a blazing green inferno so intense that the flames extended outside the stone hearth and began to climb up the wall, instantly incinerating a collection of framed historical photos placed on the mantle. The temperature ratcheted up from uncomfortably warm to blisteringly hot, to the point of being suffocating as the oxygen was slowly sucked out of the room.
One gout coming from the window got dangerously close to the group, before recoiling at Harry's "SsSTAY AWAY!"
"Do you always do that weird…hissing thing when you do your magic?" asked Sally with genuine curiosity.
"Sometimes… it's a wizard thing." Now was not the time to expand on Parseltongue and its many different complications, nevermind that he shouldn't have been speaking the language in front of a muggle.
In an instant the green flames pouring in from the window joined with those from the fireplace, convalescing into a massive fiery column that almost touched the ceiling. It manifested a great and terrible face with eyes and a leering mouth that emitted a spine-chilling laugh.
"Is…is that Fiendfyre?" asked Theo in a strangled whisper. Tiberius had pontificated about his exploits with the spell before, but thankfully he hadn't been foolish enough to actually cast the spell.
"No," Harry replied gravely. "It most certainly is not."
It resembled nothing of the gnashing-and-wailing cries of the daemonic and beastly red-orange flames that Reg Lockhart had cast in his Second Year as part of his "grand escape". Not only that, Harry had to actively work to repress the fission of potent disquiet that flared across his shields as the sight of the sentient flames.
It was the same sensation he'd experienced when Pandora Lovegood had called forth the forces of the Dark Wild in her Imago Dei ritual.
The flame emitted that same ominously frightful laugh that made every hair on the children rise in tandem. Its garish grin spread even wider, oozing smug malevolence as its eyes flashed. It was as if it was delighting in their collective horror as they unwillingly gazed upon its visage.
With a deep breath, it spoke in a voice that seemed to fill every corner of the room:
"Gather 'round ye children…
Come listen to this epic of olde…
A great tale of the wretched Outcast foretold…
His muggle friends could not lend a hand…
For it was not their story to command…
Here I count a number of five…
ALL OF WHOM WILL BE BURNED ALIVE!"
Auror Department - Department of Magical Law Enforcement, 1:39PM
It was a surprisingly upbeat atmosphere in the office area of the Auror Corps. The Department elves had taken great care to add some extra Christmas-themed decorations, lending some much needed cheer. The back-to-back disasters they'd incurred were rather demoralizing, made worse by the lingering Death Eater Menace that held Wizarding Britain in a chokehold.
But for Rodney Montague, some merry tunes from the Wizarding Wireless, a large mug of warm apple cider, and a tray of cinnamon orange scones was exactly what he needed to maintain the holiday spirit. Though he was happy to have Graham home for Christmas, being in Castle Montague whilst the Lord laid in his deathbed was a bit too depressing. Father's Healer had insisted, lest the man wanted to break every bone in his body in a most painfully macabre death. His degenerative bone illness had grown worse and resisted any and all healing potions - traditional or otherwise.
It wouldn't be long before he expired, and despite not agreeing with the older wizard's principles on blood purity and a lot of other things the man believed in, no son desired to see his father die.
Work was a much welcome respite.
There were some Aurors milling around the cubicle-style office, content to go about their individual tasks. While they were a bit put out to be working mere days before Christmas, Bones was insistent that all hands be on deck. Those not in the office were on patrol duty in Hogsmeade, led by Mad-Eye. Once the afternoon shift was completed, Mad-Eye's team would switch out with the office group for the night shift.
The graveyard shift would be covered by Potter and Yaxley (both of whom were currently out), under direct supervision of Bones and Shacklebolt and the help of a few other unlucky sods.
Sirius, ever in the Christmas spirit, wore a massive Santa's hat and jangling ornament sash bearing fairy lights that cycled through a myriad of jolly colors. He was currently perched on the desk of recent Academy graduate's desk Baldwin Berrycloth, eagerly sipping cider from a Santa's elf mug whilst eagerly chatting with his colleague about the prospects of the upcoming Quidditch spring season.
While Lord Black was rather boisterous with a flair for the overly dramatic and occasionally juvenile, Rodney had come to like and respect the older man. Sirius was an exceptional Auror with natural talent and a surprising amount of dedication to his craft. He was also quite patient and a thorough instructor, surprisingly easy-going with other groups of people.
In another life, Lord Black would have made a great Hogwarts Professor.
Across from them was Pius Thicknesse, who was huddled over his desk reviewing his patrol report and shooting occasional glares at Black's head for the man's inability to keep his voice down. A cubicle away was Dawlish, who was also huddled over his desk as he completed his daily crossword puzzle. Next to him were Eliza Robins and Stuart Stebbins, working their way through a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans whilst nursing a cup of cider each. Varens sat at his station, indulging in a bowl of homemade lamb stew whilst humming to the low tone of Joy to the World coming from the mini Wizarding Wireless box that sat on his desk.
At the front of the office was Shacklebolt, who sat regally near the Auror Wireless Station. Similar to a muggle police hotline, this system monitored all civilian distress calls, reports of criminal activity, reports of accidental magic in public places, and any other outreach that would merit the intervention of law enforcement.
Low priority - like a noise complaint impervious to Silencing Charms - would be routed to the Hit Wizards to investigate and escalate as needed. Higher priorities would be automatically granted to the Aurors to investigate and respond as needed.
So far, mercifully, things had been fairly mellow. There'd been a few calls insisting on the sighting of Death Eaters in Ilkley, but further investigation had yielded nothing. None of the alarm proximity wards they'd established near Citadel Rowle had been tipped, and there'd thankfully been no raids or anything as disastrous as the Hogwarts Express explosion or the werewolf attack of Hallowhain.
Sighing, Rodney took a hefty sip of cider and set about reviewing his notes for his final exam, hoping the relative peace would last.
Naturally, the Auror Wireless Station went into a frenzy as a flurry of reports rushed in. All the aurors immediately stood at attention as they gathered around Shacklebolt, whose lips had thinned significantly.
News of a violent mob in muggle Burford, a strangely burning building, several incidents of improper and underage use of magic, and an odd symbol hanging above the Tolsey Museum, which seemed to be the epicenter of the chaotic fracas.
"It looks to be like a pentagram within a circle rotated slightly," said the auto-voice of the Wireless, which reminded Rodney of Professor McGonagall minus the soft Scottish burr. "Apparently there are additional lines and arcs overlaid upon the pentagram…it's most strange…"
The sound of shattering ceramic and a gurgled choke sounded throughout the office as everyone turned to stare at the source.
It was Auror Black, expression completely bloodless as he stared at the Wireless with bulging eyes.
"Sirius," said Shacklebolt with no small amount of concern. "What's the matter?"
"We need to get to Burford, now." His gray eyes flashed with uncommon urgency, startling those in the department who were completely unused to seeing such an expression on the wizard's face.
"Sirius, what-"
"Call the calvary Kingsley, right now! Get Bones, Mad-Eye, everyone." His expression turned grave. "It is literally life or death, if we don't intervene we're all DOOMED!" And without waiting for a response from the Chief Auror Sirius turned and raced out of the office, using his wand to Vanish his holiday attire into his standard austere navy uniform robes with the red Auror crest woven into the upper right arm.
Rodney - on pure instinct - repeated his actions as he followed him out of the room, wondering what could be so horrible as to elicit such a reaction from his would-be mentor and partner.
And if he was prepared to face off against such a thing.
At the Same Time…
Lucius elegantly sipped on his espresso as he reclined in his study's throne-like chair, indulging in a hearty bite of pâte à choux, his third of the day.
Normally he wouldn't indulge to such a degree, but it was, after all, the holiday season. Draco was due to be home that evening from his holiday ski vacation with the Finch-Fletchleys at their Gstaad chalet, and the two Malfoys were due to spend the remainder of the Yule season in Garmisch-Partenkirchen.
They both deserved a well-extended break from England.
POP!
"Dobby, welcome back."
The dutiful elf gave an appropriately courteous bow in response, the silver glint of his shoulder clasp (fashioned into the crest of House Malfoy) catching the light just so.
"How are the guests?"
Dobby smirked. "Still well-lodged sir. The lady Lestrange grew a little…testy, but nothing that I couldn't handle." Bellatrix - in between a dosage re-up of Draught of Living Death - had succeeded in using blood runes to undo her restraints and assaulting poor Hoskins.
Unfortunately for her, Dobby had been right outside her door and succeeded in thoroughly subduing her, including an arcane elven sleep spell that no one (save the modern acolytes of the mage-priest Imhotep) would ever know.
For good measure, he'd cast the spell against the four others to prevent such an event from repeating itself.
"Excellent. Is the cabin prepared for Draco and I?"
"Yes sire. Fully stocked, well-guarded, and ready for yours and the young master's presence. I will be splitting my time between that abode and that of our other guests, as is needed."
Lucius nodded appreciatively. "You will remember to take some time off for yourself Dobby? It is the holiday season and you've had quite the busy year."
The elf's expression turned at once coy and bashful. "Indeed. I do plan to take a bit of a breather come the Yule proper and-"
Dobby suddenly froze, sea-glass green sharply narrowing. Lucius was startled, never having seen such a disturbingly penetrating gaze on his trusted valet's face.
"Is something the matter?" To Lord Malfoy's surprise Dobby's expression grew sharper, in a manner not unlike a feline predator. He closed his eyes for a beat before they opened in an urgent flash:
"There's been a breach in the Wild."
A sharp inhale was his master's response, who sputtered and choked for a few seconds before a snap of elven fingers cleared the man's airways.
"Y-you're…you're certain?!" rasped Lucius with a desperation one would have never thought the patrician man of possessing.
Dobby once more closed his eyes, drawing on his ever-present connection to the Ialleanem and all its echoes through the Divine Wild. Only a few house-elves in Terra Firma could access this aspect of their Lar abilities, not without a millennium of Existence under their proverbial belt and at least a one-time win of the All-Dimensional MVP Golden Laurel.
Naturally, the Eighth Centuries Champion of the Interdimensional Servitude and Skullduggery Games fell within both of those parameters.
"Yes."
Lucius turned pale in horror as he made an odd sort of choking noise.
"Do you…do you know what…it…is? That…which has…come from the…Wild?"
The elf closed his eyes and focused, past the faint irritating buzz of Xa'ligha and its tendency to distract as it exalted in jubilation of the Dark Wild encroaching into the current Reality. His Lar psycho-cognitive senses amped up high (equivalent of elven echolocation), as they focused to pinpoint the source of the breach.
A beat passed…
Then he felt it.
The Singular Eldritch Flame.
Borne of the fumes of Pure Hate that festered under the Great Cauldron of Naziogoth, dancing in wicked glee to the maddening beating of vile drums and the thin monotonous whine of accursed flutes in the realm of the Blind Idiot.
When summoned to Terra Firma, its wretched power stoked fury and inspired sheer violence against its target as it fed - like a vile parasite - on the more feeble human anger to fan its own fumes.
Tulzscha.
The Forbidden Name whispered in Lar Dobby's mind though he would never deign to repeat it whilst in the mortal realm, least of all in the presence of a wizard even if he was his master.
The rules of the Game had to be upheld.
As such, he only replied:
"An Eternal Flame borne of Hate."
Lucius' heart further dropped to his stomach. "Where?!"
His elf's eyes briefly closed. "Burford, sire."
"Go! Observe…it… in its entirety. Report back."
A sharp nod and Dobby disappeared in a faint pop.
Clutching the edge of his desk in a vice grip, Lucius took a few moments to get his wits together as he processed the horrific news and all of the equally horrifying implications.
Taking deep Occludic breaths, Lord Malfoy retreated behind his shields as his expression turned perfectly blank. Standing, he made his way over to the expansive bookshelf behind his desk and pulled a specific lever that resembled the cover of Babbity Rabbity. Several gears grounded as the bookshelf pulled apart to reveal a dark bowel with groundward spiral steps.
With brisk steps he descended into The Crypt, a series of thirteen underground catacombs that resided within the heart of Malfoy Manor and had existed since the creation of the manse in the 7th Century. Each chamber served a specific purpose, altered with powerful wizardspace charms to be as expansive as the Lord or Lady required.
Lining the walls were gilded frames of Malfoy ancestors and ancestresses, all animated with a unique variant of the Homunculus Charm. These weren't their permanent frames; in fact, they only utilized these frames when they needed a moment of peace from any distracting hubbub. So much so that the long and seemingly endless corridor that housed their frames had been renamed into the 'Reflection Passage' by Armand Malfoy some centuries prior.
Walking past Malfoys of olde, he robotically acknowledged each that nodded to him, taking extra care to bow towards Danica and Ismelda.
Abraxas was not in his frame, and if he had been, Lucius wouldn't have bothered looking in the wretch's direction.
He continued on until he reached the end of the passageway, coming to stand directly in front of the portrait of a slumbering Nicholas Malfoy, as he was in March of 1351.
The erstwhile Malfoy sat in a throne-like chair in a room depicting the West Wing of the estate's library. He was a rather beautiful man who bore a striking resemblance to his mother Lady Julia Malfoy, a face of striking cheekbones, full lips, and gentle patrician angles. Long golden brown locks framed his face, a warm contrast to the austere black wizarding robes adorning his form. In the upper right breast was a mithril pin bearing the crest of House Malfoy, and underneath that was a small golden clasp fashioned in the Plantagenet Armorial. Unlike the other frames, Nicholas' own had a tiny bust of a black dragon at the bottom - maw opened wide bearings its fangs.
Bearing his wand hand, Lucius pricked his forefinger on one particularly sharp fang whilst whispering the Malfoy family motto.
The true motto.
"Alis Volat Propriis."
The dragon receded as Nicholas' eyes flashed open, fully alert as he gazed down at his descendant with razor sharp intelligence.
"State your purpose." Though dulcet, Nicholas' tone was no less brusque in its command.
"There's been a breach in the Wild." His ancestor's eyes widened a fraction. "An Eternal Flame borne of Hate has been sighted." Nicholas choked out a strangled gasp.
His shock was to be expected, as any scion of an Ancient and Noble House would be if told that a sigil of anathemagic had been sighted.
It was more poignant in this case, since Nicholas - with the aid of Helios Crouch, Icarus Potter, and four other allies - had forsook their collective life force to banish the Bane of Sicily when they realized it was the cause of the ravaging Black Death plague. Nicholas' death had occurred three months after his painting had been commissioned, and to honor his uncle's immense sacrifice, Corvus Malfoy designated him as The Codex Guardian.
A tense second ticked by before Nicholas nodded once. His expression smoothed to stone as he reclined back in his chair.
At that action, the painting receded into the wall as a simple wooden door bearing a door knob fashioned into another open-mouthed dragon emerged in its place. Lucius once more pricked his forefinger against a fang, watching as the dragon receded and the door slowly opened.
He stepped into the dark chamber, unable to help the slight flinch as he the door ominously swung shut behind him.
This catacomb was small, no more than 20-feet across. It was forged purely of impenetrable rock hewn by ancient magicks. Its gray walls were completely bereft, a perfect match for the floor. In the middle was a waist-length column that emerged from the ground, flanked by a dragon-shaped spire. Perfectly balanced in the dragon's open mouth was a large book.
The Malfoy Anathema Codex.
Its protective cover was quite unique as far as grimoires were concerned. Covering the entirety of the book proper was a patchwork of human flesh, specifically identical patches of skin from the backs of the wand hands of Lords and Ladies past. Inscribed in each square strip were Othala and Tiewaz turned sunward, surrounded by four inscriptions of Algiz oriented in each of the cardinal directions. Connecting each piece of flesh was Ehwaz turned widdershins.
A family of protectors who would stand in eternal and determined vigil against a great evil.
With a deep breath, the current Lord Malfoy unsheathed his wand and cut the mirror image of the runes into the back of his hand, before pressing it into the book. There was the softest sound of a sigh, before the Codex opened of its own accord.
'Hecate, I beseech you to give me strength.'
The Museum, Current Time…
Whilst the cursed flame had been busy waxing poetic, Harry hadn't been idle.
Using two beats of dilated perception, he'd cast a Parseltongue Sleep and Featherlight Charms on the three muggles, making it easier to maneuver them without risk of severe injury. Epoximise had tacked Davy and Sally onto his and Theo's respective backs, in a manner (unbeknownst to Harry) similar to how Lady W. had ferried him to safety.
The younger Potter had belatedly wished he was capable of human-to-inanimate transfiguration, but now was definitely not the time to ponder on his academic shortcomings.
He'd instructed Theo to cast his strongest Gravitas Pennas and Glacius spells on three woven cloth tapestries, before using Epoximise to drape over their bodies. It would provide just enough cover from the heat of the flames, which was rapidly approaching unbearable as noticeable sweat coated each of their faces.
Dilating his perception once more, Harry focused on the leering talking flame, ignoring the troubling sensation of Something-Unworldly-and-Nightmarish that crawled along his senses as he focused on its face.
"DEFLAMMO GLACcCcCIUM!"
The Extinguishing Spell Charm shot out in a cloud of white mist and hit the green flame dead center, causing it to slightly contract inward.
Hope flared in the two wizards' chest that the eldritch abomination had been snuffed.
It was not to be.
The creature giggled infernally, before a sharp inhale of breath caused the spell to coalesce in its middle, before being blown out of its mouth in an icy white bubble that dissipated.
"Clever wizard you may be…
But you shall have no means to flee.
For the tick of the Grand Clock has begun…
FOR YOU AND THE OUTCAST TO BE UNDONE!"
The eldritch face inhaled as if drawing a deep breath, before unleashing a gout of accursed green flames at its would-be victims.
"BLOODY HELL!" "GAAAAAH!"
The children instinctively leapt out of the fire's way (with Harry remembering to carry Stella with him), landing the respective corners of the room. As usual the flame cackled in monstrous delight as it basked in the fear of its victims. The crescendo of frenzied muggle voices sounded once more, as another human ladder had successfully formed and was attempting to breach the windows, going as far as to mindlessly bash their bloodied heads into the glass to gain access.
"Try as you may to escape me…
I will still lay asunder to thee…
For as the Outcast will be-"
The sentient fire suddenly froze, its eyes narrowing as it stared sharply into the distance.
"It seems that in a place not so far…
Is the lingering stench of a Lar…"
And not just any Lar, but He-Who-Wielded-Æsahættr.
While Tulzscha regarded the Lares as infuriatingly juvenile twits (the Games were a great indicator), a Lar who wielded The Great Weapon forged from the essence of the Third and Seventh of the Eldest Gods was of appropriate concern.
Outside…
Sheer raving madness.
Pius spent a beat too many gawking at the melee of rabidly enraged muggles as they oscillated between screaming "DIE, OUTCAST, DIE!" and violently attacking each other in a frenzy. There were quite a few attempting to form a human ladder to climb to the museum window, only to fall to varying injuries. Bodies of more unfortunate souls littered the street, victims of whatever curse was set upon the muggles.
To his horror, Auror Thicknesse recognized the forms of small children in their number, viciously beaten or trampled to death.
"Sweet Circe!" Dawlish looked horrified at the scene before him, before having to fling Depulso Duo at a pair of charging muggles who got uncomfortably close to pummeling them.
"ATTENTION AURORS!" Shacklebolt's voice rang out authoritatively with the aid of the Sonorous. "THIS IS A CODE FIVE, EXECUTE SHEPHERD PROTOCOL!"
Vestamentarum shields were immediately cast, which would effectively shock any of the rabid muggles if they were to get too close. Somnus and Depulso were the spells of choice in pushing the muggles away from the museum, effectively corralling them into a more advantageous position further down the street.
Stupefy was used if a violently raging muggle got too close.
As that occurred, Rodney and Sirius - who'd dispatched their neighboring muggles - stared upward at the strange symbol that hung above the museum. The former had to avert his eyes several times as the sigil made his head spin and a strange shiver to race up his spine.
"Do you know exactly what that is? You told Shacklebolt you knew how to get rid of it." To Rodney's shock, Sirius' jaw tightened as he gave a sharp nod in response. Auror Black's expression was both stony and grave as he glared at the pentagram-but-not-quite symbol.
Amidst the chaos of the environment, all Sirius could hear were the stern words of Arcturus Black as the erstwhile Lord Black properly trained his Heir on all the sordid secrets of the Anathema Codex:
'The Rune of Singular Hate. It possesses a strange and curious power to insinuate itself into other nearby rune schemes, altering their natures in unwholesome ways. The Rune functions in a manner similar to Sowilo, but where that common Futhark rune simply invokes raw magical power, the Rune of Singular Hate generates an even greater magical force somehow drawn from the uncontrollable frenzied anger triggered among those nearby as a side effect of the Rune's activation. This rage-state is pervasive and contagious, and its power and range grow the longer the effect lasts, perfectly capable of inflicting permanent homicidal madness among those affected. Once activated, the rage-state can only be ended by the total destruction of the corrupted ward scheme, usually through the annihilation of whatever item or place was corrupted.'
That was soon followed by a sudden proverbial lightbulb going off in Lord Black's mind, as he recalled the town's name and his godson's plans for the day.
"POINT ME HARRY POTTER!"
His wand spun for a beat before pointing directly north. In the exact direction of the museum and the Rune of Singular Hate.
"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Rodney as Sirius choked in anguish. Auror Black had been preparing to cast an overpowered Bombarda Maxima and demolish the entire building, effectively destroying the anchor for the Rune and thus the Rune itself.
But now…
"Harry…" Paternal dread and despair bloomed in Sirius' chest, a physical thing of pain.
A mob of murderous muggles got too close and were viciously knocked back by a sharp flick of Rodney's wand. More followed, forcing the duo to engage.
The Evans Keep…
A merrily humming Mia filled the expansive kitchen with cheery song as she set about making a feast for her family.
A flavorful beef stew simmered on the stove alongside a vat of wassail, a traditional roast with vegetables slowly tenderized in one oven, while a hearty Lancashire hotpot slow-cooked in another. Vegetables tossed themselves into a massive salad bowl on the dining table, perfect for an appetizer. She made sure to include more carrots and tomatoes for the Mistress, whose appetite had been waning as of late all thanks to that horrid curse her ex-husband had cast against her.
On the counter were four large pies in mid-preparation; a double apple for Harry, pumpkin for Lily, strawberry for Sirius, and blueberry for Theo. Though the latter wasn't as much of an eater as Harry, Mia was still determined to fatten the boy up.
Circe-knew a growing wizard needed his strength, especially one who'd been deprived of proper nourishment for so long.
She was mid-flipping over the pie crust before she jerked, rolling pin cluttering to the ground.
"Oh!"
Something was very wrong.
Something…or rather someone…was in Terra Firma where they did not belong.
And they were threatening Master Harry!
Mia closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of disquiet, drawing on the young master's connection to the Evans Keep through the boy's residual ambient magic and its connection to the innate hearth magic of a home. It took a moment, but she soon sensed him.
He was trapped and in grave danger.
Without hesitation, Mia apparated.
Back in the Museum…
As the abomination was suitably distracted by whatever a "Lar" was, Theo gratefully realized that he was near a still intact door.
"Back room…"
A quick Alohomora unlocked it.
"Harry!" Theo whisper-shouted to his friend, who turned sharply to the sound of his name. "An open door," he gestured to it with head. "We can hide behind it!"
Harry's eyes widened and with as much subtlety as possible, slowly started to shift towards Theo with his muggle passengers.
It proved to be a mistake, as the eldritch abomination immediately noticed his attempts and unleashed another torrent of Wyldfyre.
THUMP.
"EXxXPECTO PATRONUM!"
Recalling his encounter with the creature that had attempted to breach Reg Lockhart's pensieve in his previous year, Harry summoned his strongest Patronus shield, deliriously relieved that it rebuffed (just barely) the blazing inferno that roared out of the beast's mouth.
"THEO!" His aghast friend snapped to attention. "SUMMON TINA!"
The ex-Nott didn't hesitate.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
His corporeal thestral protector resolved from the brilliant light that poured from Theo's wand - 11 ¼ inch cherry with dragon heartstring.
Tina bellowed her usual shrill shriek as she stomped aggressively, spreading her mighty wings to buffet at the snarling flame. Not wasting a second of his cover, the younger Potter scooped up the passed out and magically weightless form of Stella and scampered over to Theo.
As one, the two boys all but jumped into refuge with Harry warding the door shut with the strongest Colloportus spells he knew.
"I can't stress how badly we need to get out of here, Tina's probably dissipated by now."
"Agreed. I can expand the small lunette over there for us to fit through. Do you have your broom?" Theo nodded once, reaching down his coat to retrieve his shrunken Nimbus 2000 Lily had purchased for him as an early Christmas present. In response to the boy's initial refusal to accept such a lavish gift, she'd insisted that like Harry, Theo needed to have a convenient means of escape should the situation present itself.
The ex-Nott couldn't refute such sound Slytherin logic.
A bellow of unholy rage shook the building's walls.
"...That would be our cue." Harry snorted but didn't disagree as he mounted his Firebolt with his passengers, pleased to see Theo do the same. He made to cast Finestra at the small window before rearing back in shock as he noticed the irate muggles banging against it.
One of them succeeded in breaking the glass and snarling like an enraged animal, began forcing his way through.
Fittingly, the reinforced metal locks of the Colloportus Trimendium began melting to sludge as the accursed fire began to seep through.
At that same moment, two of the muggles had succeeded in breaching the windows and raced towards the two wizards with a screech of homicidal rage.
POP!
WHOOSH!
The arrival of the Evans family elf was marked by her banishing the attacking muggles out of the room.
"MIA!"
She turned towards the two boys, eyes crinkling in warmth to see them alive. They widened at the sight of the muggles attached to the boys' forms as they straddled their respective brooms, but her magic determined they were healthy and relatively unharmed.
Another roar sounded, alerting Mia to exactly who and what was behind the door.
Thinking fast, she snapped her fingers and transfigured a shattered piece of glass pane into a spacious crystalline bathtub, rendering it unbreakable and impervious with her magic.
"Alright, hop in, pip pip!"
They did as she instructed, propping their brooms alongside them. With another snap she unstuck the muggles and returned them to their original form.
"Time to get to safety boys." Their brows wrinkled in confusion, before a whir-click of Harry's mind let him know exactly what the elf intended to do. She realized that he'd realized, and with the tenderness a mother would show her child, she tenderly stroked the cheek of her favorite boy-wizard as she wiped his tears away. It clicked for Theo too, causing him to gasp in disbelief.
With a quick snap the tub popped up and rocketed out the window, just as Harry cried out "MIA NOOOOOOO!"
It was excellent timing because the room's door chose that exact moment to explode, allowing the enraged eldritch abomination in.
"Defeated me you have not, Lar Mia…
For you have made my hunt easier…
With the power of my singular desire…
I WILL BURN YOU IN ETERNAL FIRE!"
Lar Mia sneered at the creature, snarling in uncharacteristic fury. Though she stood in the face of horror itself she did not feel fear.
She was sending it back to the abyss whence it'd come.
Whilst the creature had spoken Mia had connected her magic with that of the building, emanating from a small fissure of the Londinium ley line that nestled beneath the edifice. To successfully do so she'd severed her magical ties with that of the Evans Keep, no longer anchored to the place she'd called home for the past decade.
When the gout of Wyldfyre was less than a foot away, the Lar made a series of occultish hand gestures, crossing her wrists in an 'X' as she prepared herself for her Final Act. With a beatific smile she registered the nigh imperceptible trilling of the Ascended Vanyar echoing in the current Reality, their seraphic voices unified in a welcoming dirge.
The fire was less than an inch away.
Mia struck.
SNAP!
A Minute Earlier…
Sporting a massive fist-shaped bruise but no more worse for wear, a determined Sirius made his way towards the Rune-corrupted building on a singular mission to rescue his godson.
He'd almost made it to the steps when his Padfoot-vision registered the sight of a crystalline bathtub sailing out of the second-floor window, carrying the screaming forms of his godson, said godson's best friend, and three other unconscious passengers.
The tub landed some thirty feet away, skittering to a stop and somehow not shattering.
Without hesitation Sirius ran towards them, Stunning a yowling muggle who'd charged at him with a broken bottle.
"HARRY!"
He skidded to a stop beside his godson, enveloping him in a tight hug that the boy returned as he thanked Merlin, Circe, Hecate, and anyone else he could think of. Disentangling, Sirius clapped a warm arm over Theo's shoulder, relieved to see that he too was in one piece.
"What on earth happened?!"
The boys' faces crumpled in unison at the question.
"Oh Sirius…," replied Harry, eyes welling with tears. "Mia…"
"Mia?! What does she have-"
There was a sudden explosion, and all watched with wide eyes as the Rune-corrupted building imploded. Instead of the ensuing debris exploding outward, it all contracted into a tight ball, accompanied by the sound of a loud vacuum. From their vantage, the three wizards experienced the sensation of a portal opening…
To-Somewhere-Endless-and-Out-of-Time…
Before the building and the Rune above it disappeared in loud POP!
Five Hours Later…
An expressionless Number 8 - wearing the face of Mr. Bernard Leeds, OBE - stood in front of the space that previously held the Tolsey Museum.
It was eerily quiet, bearing none of the chaos of the past hours. The Cleanup Crew had done an excellent job restoring the street to its previous form, and it'd taken the Obilivation Squads less time than expected to wipe the minds of the afflicted muggles. While Harry Potter and Theodore No-Name had used a considerable amount of powerful magic in front of the muggles, the DMLE and DMAC were not inclined to pursue any punitive measures given the sensitivity of the entire affair.
Lord Black would have rained down hell on the entire Ministry at the mere suggestion.
Number 7, 25, and 54 had completed their necessary assessments and given their respective debriefs to the relevant Department Directors, Saul Croaker, and Control.
It had been tense to say the least.
The sound of a car closing alerted him to the arrival of Gareth Mallory. Instructing his security to remain by his armored vehicle, the muggle aide-de-camp quietly approached Number 8. The two exchanged the appropriate pleasantries, ensuring each was who they said where. Satisfied, Number 8 cast the necessary privacy charms.
"Christmas must come early for wizards doesn't it?" Number 8 tiredly sighed, not really in the mood to deal with Gareth's testiness - no matter how justified.
"Am I to assume Death Eater involvement?"
"...You may assume."
Gareth tiredly sighed, resisting the urge to scream in outrage.
"Were there…Dementors?"
Number 8 replied in the negative.
The two allies stood as one, allowing a sea of unspoken works to gather between them. This wasn't the first time the two had stood in such a manner, and it was almost always after a terrible tragedy.
The sole exception was the London Melee, where both men could do nothing but kneel and weep when faced with the sheer carnage of almost 200 slain victims.
"This cannot continue, Number 8. It feels like the previous war all over again, and I cannot - I will not - allow the citizens entrusted to my care to suffer the consequences of your people's gross misdeeds. Our worlds cannot hope to maintain any semblance of fruitful balance when such…events continue to occur." Mallory's voice cut like steel, his tone brokering no argument.
Number 8 gave a curt nod. "I am in full agreement." And he was, because if said balance ceased to exist, it would be nothing but mutually assured destruction.
Neither truly desired that, despite whatever those that tried to force their hands.
"Has your…Accountant…acquired the previously-discussed liabilities?"
Mallory blinked. "One acquired, the second in-progress, the latter pending. It will be complete in the spring."
"Most impressive."
"Indeed."
A few more minutes passed in relative silence.
"So," said Gareth, his tone lightly coy. "Do your wizards have a means of re-materializing a Grade II listed historical building? You are, after all, a senior advisor for the English Heritage Trust." Number 8 snorted in amusement.
"As luck would have it…" Number 4 had just the thing.
AN 1: Poor Harry can't seem to catch a break being chased to his death in some mad scheme or another! RIP to Mia, who would always come to the rescue of her favorite boy wizard. If the Evans Keep were close to Hogsmeade, she would have gladly faced off a werewolf pack to rescue him.
AN 2: The only reason Dobby can speak with Lucius about such specificities of wild magic is that his master is an A&N Lord dedicated to guarding the watch tower and protecting Anathemagic from being used in the mortal realm. He would never be able to do so with another., even another A&N lord.
AN 3: We may or may not have a glimpse into the Bane of Sicily, but that will more than likely be in Year 5. The role of Nicholas Malfoy is played by Cody Fern (AHS: Apocalypse)
AN 4: Wild Magic fire is terrifying enough, but how much worse it is that it rhymes?
AN 5: Also, apologies for the later-than-usual chapters. My iMac suddenly broke down, I ordered a new one, only to have issues with that as well. My new and fully functional one should be arriving within the week, so bear with me whilst I putter away on my current ancient MacBook substitute.
AN 6: AD has an official Fandom Wiki. I haven't a clue how to properly navigate and the interface is an actual nightmare, but it exists. Open to any suggestions! /35vr6ftj