Make A Wish: The Legend of Mister Black
Original Story by Rorschach's Blot
Rewritten by CassieAsterisk
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any related properties. If I did, I like to think I'd be a bit more careful about what I say on social networks.
This is a REWRITE of the excellent story by Rorschach's Blot, readable right here on FFN. I started this as a bit of creative writing practice and found that I quite liked the result; so after asking the almighty Blot themselves for permission, I decided to cast my doggerel into the sea of the Internet for others to enjoy. If the Blot or others tell me I can no longer do so, then I shall stop.
That being said... enjoy!
[AN: Thanks to the anonymous reviewer that pointed out a couple editing flaws in Chapter 2- they've been fixed!]
Chapter 4: Fateful Meetings
It was about an hour after Harry had returned to his hotel room, and he spent the time simply relaxing, idly flicking through some of the channels on the TV. Yet another example of the British magicals' refusal to get with the times, he mused- really, it was the nineties, and it was nothing short of ludicrous that they still operated on only the printed word and the wireless.
Speaking of, he decided that this was a good time to check over his new camera, and the photos it had taken. The dial indicated that the film was only a quarter spent; Harry jammed some of the trash wrappers from around the room into the hatch the assistant had indicated, and nodded in satisfaction as the dial crept back up to full.
Flipping through the shots from the tulip fields, Harry smiled once again as he saw the clear shots he'd gotten of the odd creature within the flower.
Some others hadn't turned out quite as well as he'd hoped; still, it was no fault of the camera, and they would still serve as the cherished memories he was looking for.
An idea struck him then. Using a quick duplication charm, Harry made some copies of the creature photos and stuck his hand into his backpack, gratified when he withdrew a small stationery set from it. That old bloke really did think of everything, Harry mentally laughed. Grabbing an envelope, he placed the pictures within and addressed it to The Quibbler's address.
Unidentified creatures are right up Luna's alley, he thought, amused by the potential reaction she'd have to the critter's antics.
There was only one photo Harry chose to discard; an accidental shot he'd taken while getting used to its controls, of a random patch of grass. Harry shrugged; he could afford to waste a shot now and then. It only occurred to him after he'd already refilled the camera, however, that he could have fed the dud photo back into it. Oh well.
Getting up early next morning, as was his habit, Harry dressed, shouldered his pack, and went down to the front desk, where a polite young man returned his smile.
"Ah, good morning, Mister Black," he said. "Sleep well?"
"Like a log," Harry replied. "But I fear it's time for me to move on."
"Checking out, then?" the clerk confirmed. "Then all that remains is to just sign this form."
Doing so, it struck Harry that he still had to send those photos to the Quibbler. "Er, just one more thing. Do you have any postal service at this hotel? Only I have this letter I'd like to send but I'm not sure where it needs posting."
"No worries, Mister Black," the man said cheerily. "We do a mail run every morning; today's hasn't left yet. Hand it to me and I'll make sure it goes out immediately."
Harry handed the letter to the kind clerk and bid his farewells, somewhat sad that he'd likely never have the chance to return. Later, as he found and boarded a train bound for Paris, he wished that he could have stayed longer in the pleasant city. Alas, he mused, with two powers actively hunting for him, this was likely the most time he'd get in any place.
So, with a heavy heart buoyed by thoughts of tulips and baked goods, Harry began the trip to Paris.
As Harry was departing the country, his hotel room was being combed by two Staatstovenaars for any clues or insight into the mysterious wizard they'd been monitoring.
"Got something, Dubbeldam," one announced, as he pored through the room's trash bin.
"Yes?" the other replied, moving to join his colleague. "What've you got, Biessling?"
"A photo," the first officer- Biessling- pointed out. "of… a patch of grass? Weird."
"I'd call it an accident, but men like Black don't do anything without a reason," Dubbeldam commented, remembering old Wikus's lessons. "Let me have a look."
Biessling handed over the photo, which Dubbeldam studied intently for a few moments before erupting into a storm of Dutch profanity.
"You haven't cursed like that since Johan dropped that filing cabinet on your foot," Biessling commented in awe. "What's up?"
"Unbelievable," Dubbeldam could only reply. "How did… how?"
"How what?" Biessling asked, growing concerned.
"Yesterday, before Black came in to meet with Vermeer, I was assigned to keep an eye on him as he went to the poppy fields up north," Dubbeldam explained, eyes fixated on the picture before him. "Just in case more Death Eaters tried anything and he needed backup."
Biessling nodded; Black probably didn't need the help, but there was little harm in making sure.
"Because he spotted the tail the day before- the ones using non-magical tech- I was given an invisibility cloak to hopefully make myself less obvious," the officer continued to explain.
"I don't see where this is going," Biessman admitted.
"Look closely at this photo. See how the grass is flat there, and there?"
"I…" Biessman uttered, before softly cursing himself. "He saw the indents of your feet in the grass?!"
"We knew he was good," Dubbeldam breathed. "But to spot something as subtle as that…"
"How do we know he wasn't using other means?" Biessman questioned, not wanting to believe it just yet. "That British Staatstovenaar- I forget his name- he has an eye that can see through cloaks."
"We checked," admitted his partner. "When Vermeer called him in yesterday, we used the department wards to check for mage sight, spells, artifacts… and he came up clean as a whistle."
"Fine," Biessman admitted. "But why would he bother clueing us in on this?"
"He wanted to teach us a lesson, I reckon," Dubbeldam said. "A reminder that no surveillance is foolproof, magical or non. And attempting to fool one sense can easily give you away to others."
"Wow," Biessling said in awe. "Where could this guy have come from? The more I hear about him, the less real he sounds."
"My best guess is that he's an Onspreekbare from another country; one where they don't fuck about," Dubbeldam's voice hardened. "There's only one thing I'm sure of… he's not from Holland."
"Firstly, I must thank you all for attending this meeting," Albus Dumbledore smiled as he looked over the Order of the Phoenix. "My heart is warmed by the sight of so many willing to dedicate themselves to the cause of the Light."
Several members returned his smile as they heard his remarks; not as many as he'd have liked, but with the recent developments, he supposed that was to be expected.
"I have called you all here for several reasons," Albus explained after a short pause. "First, to update you all on the ongoing search for our missing compatriot, Harry Potter; but also to share some intriguing news and rumours out of the continent. Kingsley, if you would?"
The dark-skinned Auror cleared his throat and stood. "Well, I regret to say that we have no leads as of yet when it comes to Harry's location. At the moment, all we know is where he isn't; he's not been seen in any of Britain's magical enclaves. Prevailing theory suggests that he's used his knowledge of the Muggle world in order to go to ground there."
A lot of frowns at that last statement. Not many here were well versed in navigating the Muggle world; if Harry had indeed hidden there, he would be hard to spot without a healthy dose of luck.
"Thank you, Kingsley," Albus said, trying not to let disappointment colour his expression or tone. "William? Any clues from Gringotts?"
"No, strangely," Bill piped up. "The goblins seem unusually protective of Harry's transaction records… for reasons I'm not privy to."
"Keep at it," Albus said, smiling warmly at the older Weasley brother. "I have faith that you will uncover something in due time. Now, I believe Alastor has something to say about the goings on in wider Europe…"
"Aye," the scarred old Auror said. "Death Eater activity outside of Britain; four of them were stirring up trouble in Amsterdam a few days ago."
"What?" Shacklebolt exclaimed, looking pointedly at Snape. "How did we not hear about this before now?"
"Because the bastards were there for about a minute before they were put down," Moody grinned savagely. "Didn't even get off a single spell."
"Dutch Aurors have a spell to detect magical transport?" Kingsley guessed.
"No," Moody snapped. "They were in a Muggle section; besides, even then, such a spell would be useless unless the Dutch were expecting them. No, they had the misfortune to be set upon by an even meaner bastard than them. A man by the name of Black, who was none too pleased with having his lunch interrupted."
"What did he do?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward in interest.
"Used some spell to cover them in oil, then hit them with Reductors once they lost their footing. Barely had time to blink before they were out of the fight," Moody explained with a harsh, wheezing laugh. "Contact in the Dutch DMLE says this guy is a serious player. Spotted every tail they tried to keep on him, and took the time to tell them as such, no less."
"This man sounds like a potentially powerful ally," Dumbledore mused, interested. "Do you believe he would be open to recruitment?"
"If he's as good as they say, then I doubt he'd be willing to work with us," Moody snorted. "And if he isn't as good, then I don't think it's worth the resources it would take to track him down. My advice, Albus- sit on this for a while till we have more information. Something tells me that it won't be long before we get it…"
An excerpt on France, from Harry's travel guide…
By and large, France- both mundane and magical sides thereof- is a pleasant and beautiful country. From the lights of Paris to the beaches of the Riviera, there are myriad experiences to be had.
However, like any country in the world, France has its own rules and regulations. As part of the ICW, it adheres to the ICW Unforgivable Act of 1834, and it also keeps a comparatively large list of proscribed spells that are illegal to cast within the borders of the country, despite being legal- if frowned upon- outside of it.
One of these is the 'Curse d'Agonie', a spell widely theorized to be the precursor to the Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse. Another is the 'Charme de Masque', which muddies the wand signatures in a local area, making it far harder for authorities to employ the majority of magical forensics techniques should an investigation be required.
Please see below a complete list of the spells proscribed by the French Ministry, along with incantations and wand movements where required. As stated before, these are for instructional purposes only…
As he got off the train, Harry took his first breath of Parisian air and smiled. Much nicer than Vernon made it out to be, he thought.
Looking around, he decided that since he didn't need to go through any customs, he might as well do some sightseeing before he found lodgings for the night. And where better to start, than the iron-wrought edifice that had dominated the city's skyline for generations?
Boarding an idle taxi, Harry asked the driver to take him to the Eiffel Tower, before settling back into his seat and closing his eyes, enjoying the gentle breeze of the vehicle's air conditioning.
He was gently returned to consciousness later by the driver announcing that they had arrived. Thanking the cabbie and paying his fare, Harry disembarked, looking up at the massive tower. It was an amazing sight to see it in person, and Harry took the time to get some good photos before he moved closer to the base of the Tower.
While most of the entry gates to the Tower were full of tourists, some sat relatively empty; Harry guessed that these booths were magical, given that most of the people in the other lines were reluctant to look in their direction. He moved through and soon reached the ticket booth.
"May I help you?" the attendant asked with a practised cadence.
"Er, yes, I'd like to go up to one of the observation decks?" Harry asked.
"The magical sections are separate from the non-magical," the attendant explained. "So you may get a slightly different view than expected."
"Works for me," Harry nodded, figuring that the magical sections would be less crowded; worth the trade off, in his opinion. After paying, the attendant told him to go ahead and board the same elevators as everything else; the ticket's magic would take him where he needed to go, apparently.
As he exited the elevator onto the deck, his earlier guess was confirmed as he saw only two other people in the area. One was a short, elderly man in a white lab coat and slippers; he was bald, and wore ridiculously thick glasses. His companion, a woman, was much younger and taller wearing a tanktop and jeans. Around her head were a pair of what looked like welding goggles. Harry wondered if the two were related in some way.
Harry moved closer to the two so as to get a good view of the city, and as he stood in awe at the sight before him, he couldn't help but listen in on the rather… odd conversation they were engaged in.
"...Look at the lines, Henchgirl," the little man said, gesturing widely at the support beams of the tower, an animation about him despite his apparent age. "Curved, and yet stronger for it. Can you imagine a more elegant construction?"
The woman shook her head as she stared at the same beam, inspecting the riveting. "It's elegant, alright," she agreed. "But when are we gonna get the chance to make our own masterpiece, Professor?"
"Soon, Henchgirl," the old man- Professor- answered, his face falling slightly. "Soon… but we are not yet prepared for such a project. We have more to learn before we can put our knowledge to use; many more mysteries of Muggle science to unravel."
"Someday," the woman agreed. "Someday, the world will gasp in awe as they behold our works."
"Indeed… ah," the Professor exclaimed as he spotted Harry close by. "We have a companion."
"Good afternoon," Harry greeted, turning to meet the eyes of the two. "I couldn't help but eavesdrop… what were you talking about?"
The Professor smiled at the curiosity of the man before him. "Why, we were admiring the design and construction of this very Tower," he explained. "It is a masterpiece of Muggle engineering; one of many we aim to familiarize ourselves with, in the pursuit of our true passion."
"That being?" Harry asked, curiosity well piqued.
"The melding of science and magic, for the benefit of both worlds!" the Professor crowed. "And given that you are not attempting to run in abject horror, I assume you are of a similar mind?"
"I'm interested," Harry confirmed. "Though it may also be that I don't know enough to be properly terrified." That last comment elicited a snort of amusement from the Henchgirl.
"Nonsense," the Professor dismissed. "I can tell you're a fellow of intelligence, just as we are. Allow me to introduce myself; Professor Fergus Farnsworth, PHD, DIP, and many other useless acronyms. To most, I am simply 'The Professor.' And this is my trusty henchgirl… er… Henchgirl."
"Hi," Henchgirl waved. "Real name is embarrassing so just 'Henchgirl' will do." Harry smiled in understanding; she reminded him of Tonks, and the rather interesting name his paperwork was written up with gave him no room to comment either.
"And together we are- if I may be so bold as to claim- the greatest team of thaumaturgical engineers the world has ever seen!" the Professor boasted. The Henchgirl just sighed at her companion's theatrics.
"I'm Mister Black," Harry introduced in kind. "And, well, I'm just a guy on vacation."
"Well, Mister Black, it is a pleasure and an honour to make your acquaintance," The Professor said, shaking Harry's hand. "And if I may make a proposition- would you care to aid us in our travails through the mysteries of science and sorcery?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. This was starting to sound suspiciously like a request for financial aid. "And what would that entail, exactly?" he asked the odd man.
"Well," the Professor said. "let me counter that question with another. Do you know what the most difficult part of our job is, Mister Black?" At this, the old scholar crossed his arms, a pensive expresson on his face. "Believe it or not, it's in finding actual applications to bend our intellect towards."
"Huh?" Harry asked dumbly. It wasn't quite the answer he expected.
"Well, take my steam-powered automatic hairbrush, for example," the diminutive man explained. "It was a marvel of engineering! A wonder of spellwork! And yet, nobody would use it!"
"Because it weighed nineteen pounds," the Henchgirl cut in. "And took up half the room. Not to mention what it did to my hair…"
"Yes… well," the Professor continued, glaring daggers at his assistant. "Therein lies the issue. Between myself and Henchgirl, we have no issues with the science and the spellwork. What stymies us, more often than not, is a simple shortage of projects worthy of our great intellect. And this is where I believe you may be able to help."
"Okay," Harry said, nodding. "But what is it about me that you find so interesting?"
"A few reasons, my friend, the first of which," the Professor said, "is your open-mindedness towards our goal. So many other magicals would scoff at our 'idiotic, muggle-loving' ways."
Harry nodded, encouraging the Professor to continue.
"The second is your attire," the man said, prompting Harry to raise an eyebrow. "Those glasses, for one… often used by archivists and those in the employ of the government. And your rather interesting bracelet with the facial obscuring charm; often used by criminals and, again, those in governmental employ."
"So I'm a tourist that likes to blend in," Harry refuted casually, though his face could have been carved from marble.
"Well, as far as I can tell, you aren't an archivist, and I sincerely hope you're not a criminal," the Professor said, nervously licking his lips. "Which narrows your profession down somewhat. Couple this with some interesting news from Holland I heard recently, and I believe that you are just the sort of person that we need."
"I'm still not sure how I can help," Harry shrugged, "But I can try."
"That's all we ask, Mister Black," the Professor beamed. "Now, to business. Let us begin by having you recall your many experiences. Was there any situation in which your equipment was not up to par? Or any equipment that you did not have but could have used?"
"No matter how silly it seems," Henchgirl pointed out. "We won't judge."
"I think I understand…" Harry nodded. "You want me to think up things like… a more durable wand, or something like that."
"A more durable wand?" the Professor parroted, as if somehow the idea had never occurred to him.
"Well, yeah," Harry replied. "A wand is the single biggest point of failure for a wizard. Damage- or destroy- an opponent's wand, and unless they're some kind of prodigy with wandless magic, they're out of the fight." He smiled, remembering simpler times. "Friend of mine had his nearly completely broken a few years back. Caused all sorts of problems."
"And a wand less prone to breaking would have been useful to this friend of yours?" the Professor said, sharing a glance with Henchgirl.
"Well, admittedly it did come in handy after someone tried to use said wand against him..." Harry said lamely. "I guess I'm not too good at this, huh?"
"Oh, on the contrary," the Professor quickly reassured, before Harry got too discouraged. "Indeed, this is just the sort of problem we are looking to test our mettle against. You're quite correct in your estimation; it is indeed to any wizard's advantage to ensure their wand remains intact. On the subject of wands, then, any other points you'd like to raise?"
"Hmm… some kind of anti-capture feature?" Harry opined, scratching his head. "I've had my wand seized and used for malicious acts in the past; you could build something in that will incapacitate any unauthorized user, or disable- maybe even destroy the wand."
The Professor was frantically scribbling all this down in a pocket notebook, barely able to hide his glee at having a new problem to cut his teeth upon. "Anything else?" he almost begged.
Harry only shrugged. "My mind's a blank right now," he admitted, before a sly grin worked its way across his face. "How about this? Look up the British Ministry's regulations concerning wands, and find ways to circumvent them where possible. Purely for experimental purposes, of course…" He winked at the two scientist sorcerers, who smiled as they received his meaning.
"Mister Black, you are a veritable fount of excellent suggestions," the Professor praised. "We will consider all that you've given us so far; for now, however, me and Henchgirl spied a rather lovely looking café on the Seine earlier with the most delectable looking sandwiches. We would be honoured if you were to join us for lunch, my friend."
"The honour is mine," Harry beamed as he gestured at his two newest friends. "Lead the way, esteemed colleagues."
The trio, laughing and joking like lifelong acquaintances, made their way together into the heart of Paris. None of them could possibly have foreseen just how fateful their short meeting had truly been.
Review please, I've heard it's good for the skin.
