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: To answer some reviewers; this isn't a full on remake of the original fic. It's more of a remaster, aiming to keep the general structure of the original while improving stuff like grammar and brevity. What can I say? I'm just not very original.
Chapter 9: Swiss Army Man
After sending Angelo off to report to the Praefectus, the team leader turned to Harry, his sight drawn to the bone-handled knife.
"Interesting knife, that," the lawman said, resisting the strong urge to slap himself in the face two syllables in. This was Mister Black- the most lethal man on the continent, if rumours were to be believed- and here he was, trying to make small talk with him?
"Hm? Oh, yeah," replied the rather spaced-out student. Granted, he was currently wrestling with the fact that he'd just added another notch to his kill count- never mind that it was self defense- and trying not to break down in hysterics. "I, uh, bought it on a whim, to be honest. Figured I'd need it for cutting rope or stuff, instead of… that," he added, nervously, nodding at the rapidly cooling corpse being looked over by forensic wizards.
He sounds like he really didn't mean to do it, mused the astonished policeman. This Mister Black could be a Hollywood star with acting like that. "Mind if I take a look? Purely out of curiosity," he asked, gesturing.
Wordlessly Black nodded, and deftly flipped the pugio between his fingers until he held the blade, profferring its handle to the team leader, who took it.
Immediately as the sharp left its wielder's hand, the lawman felt a strange sense of resentment emanate from the blade; as if it was a cat that did not appreciate being away from its comfort zone. The lawman didn't know if the blade was enchanted, but he got the distinct feeling that were he to try and take it from its master without leave, he wouldn't like the results.
After making a show of inspecting the blade, the team leader returned it to Harry, trying not to seem too eager to do so. "Right. Well, while we wait, I might as well take your statement whenever you're ready," he asked, not wanting to irk the incredibly dangerous man.
"Oh, yeah, I guess so," Harry replied, and cleared his throat, calming himself as much as he could. A part of his mind couldn't help but muse on the amount of police statements he'd had to give in the few scant days since he'd left for his 'holiday'. Still, at least these lawmen were the reasonable kind that waited for all sides of a story before casting judgement… unlike the British Ministry's 'curse first and ask questions later' apporach.
He proceeded to detail the events of the past hour, while simultaneously reviewing his own response to the seemingly random attack. Much like the Marseilles incident, Harry had never intended for anyone to die- even with the man trying to crush him to death, he'd tried to aim for a non-vital spot with his knife- but evidently Fate had other plans. He could only hope that the Praetorian Guard came to the same conclusion. He really didn't fancy his chances in prison.
"Thank you for that, sir," the team leader murmured, finishing his field report and tapping the notepad with his wand, sending the notes directly to the Praetorian bullpen with a note advising they give it straight to the Praefectus. "We may have some specific questions to ask once Magical Forensics gets back to me."
"Sure, sure," Harry affirmed. "Could I, uh, head downstairs and check out while we wait? I think that whatever this was, it was a pretty clear sign that I've overstayed my welcome, heh…"
The lawman shrugged. "I don't see why not, but I'll have to come with you- nothing personal, mind," he added quickly, palms outward in a sign of placation, "but the higher ups would have my arse if I didn't keep an eye on all involved."
"I understand, standard procedure," Harry nodded. He took the time to shower and let his Allweather's gear clean itself- he'd rather not incite a panic by walking up to the main desk covered in multiple pints of blood- then began the short trek down to the reception area.
Just outside the room, he noticed the body of the third man, which had been brought up to the top of the stairs. Harry winced as he saw the man's last expression of terror before it was covered by the zip of the bag.
"Damn," he muttered to himself, realising that the odd angle of the corpse's neck meant he probably broke it by falling down the stairs in his panic. "I would've let him go, too…"
The team leader, overhearing, was still trying to formulate a response to that somewhat strange statement when his train of thought was derailed by a breathless junior officer running up to him.
"Message… from the Praefectus," the officer said between pants. "Says Black is free to go if you deem it a case of self defence." Well, it differed a litte from the Praefectus's actual words, which were something along the lines of 'get him the hell out of my city before I have an aneurysm', but nobody saw any need to potentially offend the wizard that had cleaned Salvatore Carillo like discount pescare.
Oh thank God, thought the team leader, relieved that he could wash his hands of this whole endeavour; his face only betrayed a hint of his relief.
"Well, I dare say that was the case," he announced magnanimously. "You're free to go, Mister Black."
Harry was also relieved, though nobody could see his expression. "Oh, good. I was hoping that I could be on my way soon, to be honest."
"On your way to where?" asked the junior officer, who clocked his team leader wincing. "Uh… if you don't mind my asking."
"Hm? Oh, I don't know… mostly I've just been going wherever takes my fancy," Harry mused partially to himself. "Somewhere I could get some peace and quiet… Switzerland, maybe?"
"I hope you find it, Mister Black," the team leader said sincerely in farewell, while he watched the most dangerous man he'd ever meet calmly check out and leave the hotel.
While Harry's outward countenance was calm, inside he was a roiling mass of frustration. He thought that just leaving Britain was the key to a summer of relative peace and quiet; and yet it seemed that trouble was determined to dog him no matter where he went.
Entering the Via Veneficus, Harry realised that he was close to the Merry Maenad; the pub he'd gone to the day before for a drink.
I could use one of those now, he thought sullenly, and decided that leaving the country could wait as he walked through the pub's door into the dim smoky interior.
"Ah… Mister Black," the old man from before greeted, gesturing to the seat next to him for Harry. "I would say you look well… but my nose is keener than my eyes, and it detects the subtle hint of blood about you. Problems?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," Harry said, sitting heavily on the offered seat. The old man raised an eyebrow, and wordlessly gestured to the bartender for two glasses of the good stuff.
"May I ask?"
"Was attacked by three men earlier," Harry explained, taking a sip of the liquor that had been given to him by the trembling hand of the bartender. "Things got a little violent."
Then Consiglio is dead, the old man thought. And his house with him. This would leave a void within the Allied Families that, with careful maneuvering, the Nachellis could exploit for massive gain. They were set to rise straight to the top… and all because of one spectacularly lethal man, who was sitting at his table and drinking his extremely expensive scotch.
"You were… uninjured, I assume?" he asked, feeling a hint of fear creep up his old bones.
"Aside from a bruise or three, no," Harry replied, not noticing the question's double meaning.
"Hm, good, good," the old man replied, licking his suddenly dry lips. "You wish to take further action, then?"
"No," Harry shrugged, downing his drink and standing to leave. "Just going to leave, forget this happened, and hope it doesn't happen again, you know?"
"I do," the old man replied, relieved. "I hope you get your wish, Mister Black, and I wish you safe travels."
"Thank you," Harry replied with gratitude. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a couple galleons, tossing them onto the table. "You paid the last time, so it's only polite that I cover this one, right?"
As he walked out of the door, Harry heard the old man call to him. "Goodbye, Mister Black… and thank you for your help."
"My… pleasure?" Harry replied in confusion, as he re-entered the bustling Via Veneficus, looking for a portkey out of the country. It didn't take long before he found himself outside of a shop boasting 'the cheapest Portkeys in Rome'. Harry didn't much care for the price, to be honest; he just wanted out of the country, hopefully to more peaceful environs.
Entering the shop, Harry spotted the cashier behind the counter, idly rearranging some of the items on the shelves. The sound of the door bell startled the old- and strangely familiar- man, one of the items toppling from the shelf and bonking him on the head.
"Ow!" he cried, before realising who had just entered the store and checking his watch. "Oh, I wasn't expecting you for another few minutes yet..."
"Uh… I'm looking for a Portkey?" Harry asked, filing that odd statement away for the moment.
"Oh, of course," the old shopkeep mused. "Where to? I hear Switzerland is good this time of year."
"Er, yes, actually," Harry replied. He momentarily wondered if the shopkeep was using passive Legilimency on him, but dismissed the idea given he hadn't yet made eye contact with the old man.
"Just a few things to check, then, given you'll be crossing a border. Passport?" he asked Harry, who was already rummaging inside his pack for the documents. He momentarily skimmed them- quickly enough that Harry wasn't convinced that he was actually reading any of them- before nodding and turning to the shelves behind him, searching.
"Wait a tick," Harry asked. "If you needed all that… how could you have expected me-"
"Here we are," the shopkeep said loudly over Harry's question, handing Harry back his passport along with a small keychain bearing the Swiss flag.
"Thanks," Harry said, stowing his documentation. "What's the damage?"
"No charge," the shopkeep countered. "Paid for by the Praefectus Praetorio, in fact. He sent an APB to all the Portkey shops in Rome, saying that any international Portkey you bought would be at his personal expense."
"Huh. Nice of him… I guess," Harry mused, feeling rather like the Praetorio wanted rid of him for some reason. "So about that question I asked earlier…"
"No time, sorry," the shopkeep mused. "See, the Praefectus offered double if the Portkey got you out of here within the hour, and so I set the Portkey to go off right about…"
Harry felt a tug on his navel and had time for one indignant yelp before he disappeared.
"...now." the shopkeep finished with a grin, to the empty air. "Safe travels, Mr. Potter…"
Back in the Merry Maenad, Alberto Nachelli was just downing another scotch to calm his nerves when Tony, his aide, cleared his throat to announce his presence.
"Our mole in the Praetorio has sent us the report of the hotel incident," Tony explained, nervously.
"I gathered much from Mister Black- he graced me with his presence mere minutes ago- but tell me the details," Nachelli ordered.
So Tony did; explaining Giovanni Consiglio's hasty attack on Mister Black, and the carnage that resulted.
"...so Consiglio's a pancake, Carillo was disemboweled, and it sounds like Black threw his top lieutenant down a staircase for kicks," Tony stuttered. "And, uh…"
"Hesitation is unlike you, Tony," Nachelli chuckled. "Go on."
"Er, well, this comes from my cousin Mario- ya know, the one works in that bar that the cops frequent?" He waited for Nachelli to nod before continuing. "Well, rumor going around the Praetorio is that Black staged all this. And not only what happened today; they think he also offed Consiglio Senior and caused the accident that killed most of their made men."
Nachelli's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "I had suspected as such… but didn't think it possible…"
"One of them even swore that he heard Mister Black say he was gonna spare Giovanni, but he didn't get the message. And that he deliberately left himself open in his hotel room in case Consiglio- or anyone else- tried this exact thing!"
A few moments of silence stretched between the two, as the contemplated the gravity of the bullet they'd managed to dodge.
"You've done well, Tony," Nachelli said eventually. "And remind me to thank your cousin Mario, too. His information has helped confirm a few suspicions of mine."
"Suspicions, sir?"
"I said Black was here not minutes ago… and much like before, he joined me in a drink," Nachelli explained, leaning back in his chair. "This time, however, he paid for the drinks, saying it was only fair since I paid last time. At first, I didn't think much of it… but now I'm not so sure."
"I… I don't get it, boss."
"Think about it, Tony," Nachelli explained. "Evidently Consiglio had done something to anger Black enough that he came to Rome to behead their House, and in so doing set some new ground rules to ensure we didn't annoy him in the future."
Tony nodded; that much he understood.
"But he decided to be merciful and spare Consiglio Junior in an effort to keep the status quo," Nachelli continued. "That was his mistake; thinking that Giovanni had the smarts to read the writing on the wall…"
"So… when Black said that he'd pay for this one…" Tony said in understanding.
"Exactly, Tony," Nachelli praised. "He wasn't talking about the drinks, see?"
Meanwhile, in the offices of the Praefectus Praetorio, the man himself heard yet another knock on his door, and swore softly to himself in Italian. The officer that had led the mission to 'rescue' Mister Black was there also, and raised an eyebrow at his boss's interesting language.
"What is it?" he called.
One of the desk officers poked his head in through his door. "Black is out of the country, sir, bound for Switzerland," he said.
"Praise be," the Praetorio grinned in relief. "And with any luck, the bastard won't be back until after I've retired."
"I'll drink to that," agreed the team leader, who had slumped in relief.
"As will I," chuckled the desk officer, closing the door once more.
"So, where were we before that bit of good news?" the Praefectus asked the other lawman.
"I was going to tell you about the knife Black used, sir," the team leader reiterated, before pausing. "It was… pretty unusual, to say the least."
"I'll be the judge of that," mused the Praefectus. During his long career, he'd seen all kinds of implements used to maim and murder; and besides, he had little doubt that Mister Black could probably gut a man with a spoon if he had to.
"Well, it was a pugio, traditional Roman style, bone handle too," the leader explained. "Enchantments were old. Reminds me of some of the stuff they have in the Vatican's vaults."
"So you don't think it was a replica, then?"
"No… this thing felt almost sentient, with all the spellwork it had on it. The blade was just as interesting; Damascus steel, with a dark blue patina… and a word engraved on it."
"That's nothing special," countered the Praetorio. "What word?"
"Atrum," the team leader said, swallowing nervously. "It had a fair few meanings, from what I recall from my Latin as a child…"
"Like darkness, gloominess…" the Praetorio breathed, realising what the other man was getting at. "Blackness… you're not suggesting…?"
"I'm not suggesting anything, sir," the team leader said, sitting back in his seat. "Just reporting the facts as I see them…"
The two men sat in silence, minds awash in revelations and all too aware of their implications.
"Welcome to Switzerland," said a jolly looking clerk, to the swearing mass that had just materialised in front of his desk. "May I see your papers, please?"
Harry, after a little more cursing under his breath about 'tricksy shopkeeps' and 'damn Portkeys', dug his passport out once again and handed it to the clerk.
"Been quite the day, has it, Mister…" the customs agent said, before trailing off as he realised just who he was talking to. A bead of sweat began to trickle down his face.
"Black, and yes, it's been pretty rough," Harry said, not noticing the clerk's sudden tension. "But here's hoping that it'll quieten down now I'm here."
"I… I see," the clerk stuttered in reply, unable to meet the eyes of the nascent legend before him.
"Er… everything OK?" Harry asked, finally noticing the man's expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"O-oh, no," the agent replied in awe. "I just… didn't expect I'd ever meet you."
Harry was getting distressingly familiar vibes here; much like his early magical years, with all that Boy-Who-Lived shite. He momentarily checked his outfit; the SEP bracelet was still there and active, so at least he wasn't being recognised. Once he'd finished checking himself over, the clerk handed his paperwork back.
"We have a message for you from the local Polizei, Mister Black," the clerk explained. "They have a few messages they'd like to pass along… and a good few have apparently expressed a desire to buy you a beer, from what I hear."
Harry was partially annoyed at this, and yet, it would be nice to have an interaction with local lawmen that didn't involve anyone dying, for once. "I'll make sure to stop by," he assured. "Any good hotels nearby?"
"I don't really know myself, but there's an info desk just outside that can point you in the right direction," the clerk explained. "Have… have a good stay, Mister Black."
"Uh, thanks," Harry replied, as he walked in the indicated direction of the info desk. As soon as he was out of the room, the clerk- trying not to faint in relief- swiftly stuck a 'Back in 5' notice to his window before running out of the room in search of his supervisor.
"I just had Mister Black at my counter," he explained breathlessly to his supervisor, who crossed himself before replying.
"You told him to contact the Polizei?" the older man asked, receiving a nod from the shaking clerk. "Good… and out of curiosity, what did his documentation say his full name was?"
"Mister," the clerk replied simply. "Literally, that's all that was in the field, nothing else."
"I see," his supervisor said, pausing for a few seconds in thought before commanding his subordinate to go on an early break. He had to report this.
As he traipsed to the info desk, Harry tried to formulate a plan for his first day in Switzerland. After some pondering, however, all his tired mind could muster was a large, comfy hotel room and five pounds of the best Swiss chocolate that room service could provide. After that… well, let's see what Fate had in store. Not like he'd had much luck defying her fickle whims so far, after all.
"Good evening, sir," greeted the young woman at the info desk. "How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for a hotel room… as large and luxurious as possible," he replied. Sod the cost- after the day he'd had, he'd earned this.
"I think I have just the thing," the girl said as she ducked down to retrieve the special pamphlet she'd prepared as soon as she'd heard that Mister Black was in the building. "Here we are; large and luxurious, and conveniently placed, too. See, it's right in the heart of Zurich too- only a minute's walk away from the magical district!"
"Perfect," Harry smiled, taking the pamphlet and smiling. Things were finally starting to look up, it seemed.
As he left, the info desk attendant was also smiling… but for a very different reason. She didn't know who the skull masked men were that wanted a tracker on this Black guy, and she didn't care either. All she knew was that they were paying a handsome sum, and that her meager salary needed the boost. It was pretty plain that whatever they wanted with him, it wasn't gonna be pretty… but it wasn't like she was ever gonna see the guy again, right?
"My Lord," a skull-masked man announced from his position on the floor, kissing the hem of his master's robes. "News from Switzerland… a freelancer has placed a tracking spell on Black. We know exactly where he is."
"Excellent…" the Dark Lord hissed. "Ten men should suffice. Make an example of this… upstart."
"It shall be done, my Lord," the pathetic underling whimpered, groveling even as he backed out of the room.
A horrible grin spread across the visage of the dark wizard's face. Soon, this fool Black would learn the price of such brazen defiance… he, and the world at large.
"...being the quiet season, we have a fair few rooms available," the hotel receptionist explained. "Have you any preference, sir?"
"As high as possible, with a balcony, if there's one available," Harry asked. He'd always wondered what it felt like to stand on a balcony with the wind blowing through his hair, like in the movies.
"Of course, sir. In that case, I do believe room 1003 would be your best choice. It's one of our luxury suites and sports one of the biggest balconies in the building." The clerk reached down and came back up a moment later with a key attached to a gilded keychain, which had the room's number engraved upon it. "The room package comes with 24/7 room service; is there anything you'd like to order while you make your way up?"
"I've had a hankering for some real Swiss chocolate; could I get some sent up, please?" Harry asked, somewhat sheepishly. "I've heard a lot about it and I've been dying to try some, you know?"
The clerk smiled. "Oh, yes. A very popular request, that. I'll make sure there's some waiting for you."
Harry thanked the receptionist, and made his way to the elevators, smiling. Perhaps now his holiday could start; no more Death Eaters, muggers with knives or crazed mobsters… just peace, quiet and a bit of chocolate.
Upon reaching his room, Harry saw that the sweeties were indeed waiting for him on the table; a small smorgasbord of everything Swiss chocolatiers could conceive of. He picked up an unassuming bar that appeared to have milk, dark and white chocolate all combined in a pleasant marble pattern, and began to gnaw on it as he walked out onto the balcony, savouring the sweetness of the candy.
Standing there, wind blowing through his hair and the lights of Zurich twinkling like a sea of stars, Harry felt truly at peace for once. Like nothing could ruin this perfect microcosm of quiet contentment…
"Die-aieeeeeeeee…"
The momentary sight of dark robes and skull-white masks made Harry momentarily duck behind the balcony wall, his wand out and a curse on his lips before he realised that nobody was actually on the balcony with him. Indeed, all he heard was the screams of about ten or so people, which suddenly cut off as they hit the ground with a sickening splat ten stories below.
Harry picked up the bar of chocolate, giving it a suspicious sniff, then slowly stood up- wand still at the ready- to peek over the edge of the balcony, confirming that what he'd seen was indeed real; dead and dying Death Eaters littered the plaza outside the hotel, none of them having thought to cast so much as a Cushioning Charm before gravity broke them.
Wordlessly, Harry walked back into his room, collapsing onto the bed and emitting a quiet sob. So much for peace, quiet and chocolate…
Apparently, reviewing is the key to enlightenment.
