Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Unlikely
April 28th, 1997
The Senator’s wizards tried to hold the door. Again and again, they tried to hold the door.
Under Riddle’s direction, the squad barreled through each line like a juggernaut. Room to room, they slew, fell, eviscerated, and demolished everyone that stood in their way.
The difference between the cutting edge and yesterday’s news was wide enough in the days of old Muggle tech. These were some of the Senator’s best men and women, and Riddle’s soldiers were cutting them down like scythes in an amber-ripe field.
They advanced methodically. Each level was cleared out before they went to the next, the squad dissolving into fire teams as necessary to plug up escape routes. No one was allowed to get out.
Harry wasn’t sick from exhaustion. He wasn’t sick from the pain of his wounds. He wasn’t sick from anything he had expected to be made sick by, because none of it had happened. He wasn’t exerting himself enough to be tired. He’d been cut exactly once. There were no curses to malign him.
He was sick, but it was from the smell that got past the suit’s filters. From the feeling of crushed bones and liquefied meat beneath his feet. The way that Riddle issued orders as if he were conducting an orchestra. How Tonks said nothing, neither a witty comment to show either that she was enjoying this as much as Riddle or that she was grasping at straws to break the tension and distract herself or… or something.
Instead it was a silence that told him how little she cared either way. It was nothing to make jokes about. It was nothing to be horrified by. It simply was, and tomorrow she would be back to cracking jokes and making little innuendos and how many people had she killed like this already?
Harry didn’t know how he felt about that. Maybe it was naïve or childish or idealistic of him to be like this. But these people weren’t monsters. They only served an administration that Harry wasn’t sure was worse than Leviathan or Britain. He hadn’t lived here, hadn’t learned enough about the policies of this state, to compare to his also-limited experience in Britain. And she killed them with a flick of her wrist and it wasn’t going to affect her.
And they pressed on, floor by floor. Methodically but not slowly. Swiftly, but not without thoroughness. The worst thing that could happen would be for the Senator to kill himself, Riddle had mentioned. That would break the cycle, but not in a way that they wanted. Rid this world of the Elder Wand and make Harry its master so that he could wield it against Voldemort.
Riddle seemed keenly furious with his other self. Harry’s struggle in his own world had become personal to Riddle, like Voldemort was a putrefying disease on the world.
But they didn’t have cause to worry, Riddle had said. “Only cowards seek the Elder Wand. A brave wizard would kill and become its master with one wave of his wand, and kill himself with a second. The Elder Wand only exists because of cowards and fools that are too afraid of dying.”
“Then am I supposed to kill myself after?”
“Break the wand or break yourself. But wizards have failed to do even the first.”
Harry’s boots squished as they reached the top floor. Their opposition fared no better here. Tables were overturned, shields erected, and Riddle’s squad brought walls down on top of them and sprayed poison gas and explosive jelly everywhere they went. Defensive charms were counteracted, dispelled, or outright broken through. Where full assaults wouldn’t work, indirect attacks were made.
Fiendfyre wrapping around legs and bodies, constricting and swallowing up their blackened corpses. Acid transfigured from the air that they were breathing.
They left the Senator alive.
“Harry, it’s your time to shine.”
“I…”
“P-Please, don’t kill me,” the Senator pleaded. He dropped to his knees. “I— This is my wand, isn’t it? Take it, it’s yours. You’ve won. Please.”
Harry swallowed.
He just had to beat the Senator, right? Killing wasn’t necessary. Just this one man, but at least someone didn’t have to die.
How many other people were dying today?
“Stupefy.”
The Senator’s body hit the floor. There was a squelch, and more as Harry knelt down to retrieve the Elder Wand. It was slick with a kaleidoscope of red mush, sticky and flecked with fragments of bone, concrete, and other things.
“Hm,” was all that Riddle said.
“Disappointed?”
“You made your choice. It remains to be seen what will become of the Senator. However, I do hope you didn’t think you spared him much. We’re done here. Move out,” he ordered. With a gesture of his wand he levitated the Senator’s body and floated it in front of him before departing.
“Harry,” Tonks said. “We’ve got to go. Retrieval is coming down on the roof and they can’t wait for us forever.”
Harry turned the Elder Wand over in his hands, then nodded and followed after Tonks.
The Senator’s wizards tried to hold the door. Again and again, they tried to hold the door.
Under Riddle’s direction, the squad barreled through each line like a juggernaut. Room to room, they slew, fell, eviscerated, and demolished everyone that stood in their way.
The difference between the cutting edge and yesterday’s news was wide enough in the days of old Muggle tech. These were some of the Senator’s best men and women, and Riddle’s soldiers were cutting them down like scythes in an amber-ripe field.
They advanced methodically. Each level was cleared out before they went to the next, the squad dissolving into fire teams as necessary to plug up escape routes. No one was allowed to get out.
Harry wasn’t sick from exhaustion. He wasn’t sick from the pain of his wounds. He wasn’t sick from anything he had expected to be made sick by, because none of it had happened. He wasn’t exerting himself enough to be tired. He’d been cut exactly once. There were no curses to malign him.
He was sick, but it was from the smell that got past the suit’s filters. From the feeling of crushed bones and liquefied meat beneath his feet. The way that Riddle issued orders as if he were conducting an orchestra. How Tonks said nothing, neither a witty comment to show either that she was enjoying this as much as Riddle or that she was grasping at straws to break the tension and distract herself or… or something.
Instead it was a silence that told him how little she cared either way. It was nothing to make jokes about. It was nothing to be horrified by. It simply was, and tomorrow she would be back to cracking jokes and making little innuendos and how many people had she killed like this already?
Harry didn’t know how he felt about that. Maybe it was naïve or childish or idealistic of him to be like this. But these people weren’t monsters. They only served an administration that Harry wasn’t sure was worse than Leviathan or Britain. He hadn’t lived here, hadn’t learned enough about the policies of this state, to compare to his also-limited experience in Britain. And she killed them with a flick of her wrist and it wasn’t going to affect her.
And they pressed on, floor by floor. Methodically but not slowly. Swiftly, but not without thoroughness. The worst thing that could happen would be for the Senator to kill himself, Riddle had mentioned. That would break the cycle, but not in a way that they wanted. Rid this world of the Elder Wand and make Harry its master so that he could wield it against Voldemort.
Riddle seemed keenly furious with his other self. Harry’s struggle in his own world had become personal to Riddle, like Voldemort was a putrefying disease on the world.
But they didn’t have cause to worry, Riddle had said. “Only cowards seek the Elder Wand. A brave wizard would kill and become its master with one wave of his wand, and kill himself with a second. The Elder Wand only exists because of cowards and fools that are too afraid of dying.”
“Then am I supposed to kill myself after?”
“Break the wand or break yourself. But wizards have failed to do even the first.”
Harry’s boots squished as they reached the top floor. Their opposition fared no better here. Tables were overturned, shields erected, and Riddle’s squad brought walls down on top of them and sprayed poison gas and explosive jelly everywhere they went. Defensive charms were counteracted, dispelled, or outright broken through. Where full assaults wouldn’t work, indirect attacks were made.
Fiendfyre wrapping around legs and bodies, constricting and swallowing up their blackened corpses. Acid transfigured from the air that they were breathing.
They left the Senator alive.
“Harry, it’s your time to shine.”
“I…”
“P-Please, don’t kill me,” the Senator pleaded. He dropped to his knees. “I— This is my wand, isn’t it? Take it, it’s yours. You’ve won. Please.”
Harry swallowed.
He just had to beat the Senator, right? Killing wasn’t necessary. Just this one man, but at least someone didn’t have to die.
How many other people were dying today?
“Stupefy.”
The Senator’s body hit the floor. There was a squelch, and more as Harry knelt down to retrieve the Elder Wand. It was slick with a kaleidoscope of red mush, sticky and flecked with fragments of bone, concrete, and other things.
“Hm,” was all that Riddle said.
“Disappointed?”
“You made your choice. It remains to be seen what will become of the Senator. However, I do hope you didn’t think you spared him much. We’re done here. Move out,” he ordered. With a gesture of his wand he levitated the Senator’s body and floated it in front of him before departing.
“Harry,” Tonks said. “We’ve got to go. Retrieval is coming down on the roof and they can’t wait for us forever.”
Harry turned the Elder Wand over in his hands, then nodded and followed after Tonks.
Sign up to rate and review this story