Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Harry Potter and the Midnight Sun.
After we've brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick
Snapshots before Christmas. Not my best, but a continuation, anyway
?Blocked
Disclaimer: No, not really. I am Swedish, as I was born in Sweden. Had I been born at an airport, would I have been an aeroplane then? Had I been born in a completely different reality, I might have been a gazillionere author with the rights to the Potterverse, but since I wasn't, I'm not. So there.
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!
As it turned out, it wasn't as simple as Harry had thought, but not as hard as Dumbledore had feared.
With the enticing, alluring and generally attractive powers of twenty Huldr, ten Veela and a dozen Succubi, slightly offset by the fearsome power of the thirty Dementors, who had showed up in garish cloaks in all kinds of clashing, day-glo colours with even worse butterflies and balloons on them, the objects were drained of their most dangerous property, the tar-like animated ichor of a shattered soul.
The semi-intelligent pieces were unable to resist the combined pull of the enticers, and the repulsion of the cursed ones and were forced to vacate their anchoring objects for a moment. All sorts of charms and defenses were triggered and immediately rendered harmless by the intensive magic field. Those of the curses that could communicate, which most complex curses could, were briefly questioned before permanently dispelled.
Once the horcruces were more ordinarily dangerous, the anchoring objects were destroyed. Some Goblins and Norse Dwarves had set up a device that they grinningly called a destruction-construction nearby, and the area was for the moment more heavily warded than Gringott's.
Irreplaceable parts of the Wizarding history were ruined, as well as some rather valuable art and jewellery. The one moment of distraction was all the vertically challenged crew needed, and a small Bessemer furnace, combined with a jackhammer and a lot of magic-disrupting charms and wards destroyed the anchors in seconds.
Once the anchors were destroyed, the Dementors tried to get to the soul-fragments, but they didn't manage to devour even one before the disturbing hovering blobs seemed to dissipate into thin air, leaving a black smear and a foul stench behind.
It was rather hard on Harry to be in the room when the non-humans did their work. While he consciously understood that the Dementors, properly fed, were friendly beings, he had a very hard time feeling it. The chill and the faint echoes of his worst memories made for an interesting contrast to the intense attraction working on the other side of the room. The Alluring beings all had a slightly different approach, and they hammered against his awareness so hard that if he hadn't had the chill of the Dementors to put himself off, he would have jumped into the female throng and shagged himself into oblivion. Fortunately, all he actually suffered was a raging erection and a slight headache. He also took some satisfaction to the fact that even the great Albus Dumbledore seemed more than a little flustered. There were many objects, and not all of them displayed the signs of a trapped soul, but even the most harmless among them had killed in the past and was designed to do it again. One item, a cuddly-looking teddybear with the name “Mister Nightynite” embroidered on the chest, was so vile that one of the so-called compassionless Huldr threw up. Harry was shaken when the object's true nature was revealed while Dumbledore just looked sad, and Harry finally began to understand the older man a little bit.
Dumbledore had been in the thick of it for more than a century of war and peace.
He had seen and operated in two world wars, he had seen the utter depths a man could sink to, and the heights to which he could rise.
In a long life, with experiences such as those, it wouldn't be hard to lose sight of the individual. Still not a good thing, but as wrongs went, Harry felt that it might at least be understandable.
Add a few choice mind-altering potions, and what remained was someone Harry couldn't really blame for anything.
It was quite late in the evening when the ordeal was over. Harry was very tired, and when he had fed the participating non-humans, even his reserves was wearing thin. Dumbledore had been forced to excuse himself several times to rest a bit, and considering the old wizard's state at his arrival, Harry was most impressed. On shaking legs, and leaning heavily on the walls every now and then, the two men made it back to the Grand Hall where they sat down by the fireplace. Dobby, wearing a very smart dinner jacket, appeared with a bottle of fairly old Lagavulin and filled two Glencairn glasses before disappearing. As Harry sipped his whisky his strength return somewhat, so he turned to the older man with a smile.
“So, Albus-with-a-whole-lot-of-names Dumbledore, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?”
The Supreme Mugwump's surprised laughter started a light conversation that lasted for hours.
As Harry now understood the basics of how the man must be wired, they didn't linger on any one subject for long, but stumbled from discipline to discipline like a pair of drunken sailors. Love, banking, fishing, the nature of truth and bicycles were covered as they tried to get to know each other, both quite aware that they were also cataloguing each others strengths and weaknesses.
“I must admit, I would never have considered you a very religious man.”
Harry stretched, and enjoyed the fact that his magic counteracted the alcohol, while the Headmaster appeared quite tipsy.
“I wouldn't call myself religious, really. I don't actually need faith when I've had the Goddess as close as that.”
The headmaster chuckled and nodded assent.
“Ah, my boy. They've been known to do things like that to extraordinary individuals. I believe Luna has been gone longer than you, though. Don't you worry about that?”
Harry shook his head.
“Not so much. Freja can get into my head if she needs it, and I trust that she would have told me if anything was amiss.”
“Isn't that faith? You don't trust me that far do you?”
Harry had to think for a moment. They had been almost brutally honest so far, so he decided to continue that track.
“True enough. It's faith of a sort, but its more like personal trust. To see her as a God is hard. Now, the gods are supposed to have created everything, but frankly, I can't see Freja as anywhere near powerful enough to do that. Unless she was in charge of boobs alone, of course.”
“That would be my thought on the matter. Not quite so physiologically exact, though. Frankly, in my long and troubled life, I never sat down and considered Divinity. It's interesting that I consider the soul to be such a major concept when it precipitates Divinity which I have barely even thought of.”
“Welcome to the path of enlightenment then, Headmaster.” Harry said, imitating the expression of a resident of Privet Drive who had driven Vernon to puce-and-spittle with her melodramatic pseudo-holy attitude and belief in evangelisation. Through people's mailboxes if they didn't open the door.
“Thank you, young Sir.” Apparently Albus had met someone similar as he laughed in recognition.
Harry frowned a bit. She had been gone a very long time. As he didn't see a point in hiding it, he ceded the point.
“Actually, I've been wondering a bit about her long absence. When I went, time moved a lot faster in Vanaheim. However, there's no reason to believe that she went to the same place I did, or in the same way. The ritual must have been different anyway.”
“I will most certainly take your word for it. I'd prefer it if you didn't tell me too much about it. My arteries are centenarian, after all.”
“Point taken. No smut for the headmaster. Still, the difference between the male and female principles are present in many forms of magic.”
The old man rolled his head back and laughed.
“Oh, absolutely, Lord Potter, absolutely. It's just your vigorous merging technique that has me worried about my circulatory systems.”
“Each to his own, I'm told. It suits me, and I believe it suits my loved ones as well.”
“Love. Yes. I always thought that love was your greatest gift, and I do confess to feeling more than a little smug at this time as I believe you have proven your superhuman capacity on a daily basis for a while now. You are maintaining hundreds of beings every day that has hitherto hurt or even killed other men for the most basic sustenance.”
Harry replied, dryly.
“I'm gifted. However, if your reasoning is sound, I would have to love them all and I don't. I like the ones I've met, but there's a lot of beings that I'm currently feeding that I haven't even seen. It's not their fault they were born like they are, and if they have to hunt like they used to, they would be hunted in turn. They don't really deserve that.”
“And you don't really see that as love? It is my firm belief that it certainly is. You love them for being. It would be so easy for you to simply let them fend for themselves but it wouldn't cross your mind. You can help, so naturally, you do. That's love. A true philanthropist, who doesn't let the concept of anthropos stop you.”
“How could I? I don't know what it means.” Harry smiled at the aged wizard's belly laugh.
“I mean, you don't restrict yourself to mankind. You give your love to all who need it. That may well be the power of the prophecy. That may be a subject for a more sober occasion, though.”
“We're not saying anything really important to each other, are we? Not today at least.”
“No. I don't think we are. Of course, we have covered a lot of philosophy and philosophers all over the world would say different. As for today, are we supposed to make some sort of deeper connection, do you think?”
“Probably. Don't get me wrong here. I like you as you are right now, but to trust you completely is a completely different thing.”
“Most wise. I do believe that you are not so much light as you are anti-dark, and that it's more of necessity than vocation, but from my point of view the greatest threat is Voldemort, and that you might, at worst, be the lesser evil.”
“I could quote you word for word, except for the vocation part. I will deal with Voldemort when I can, and now when his insurance has lapsed, I don't expect much of a problem. You have been a voice of reason in the magical world I'm told, and I don't mind that. All I want to do is live my life and spend fun times with my friends. I'm young enough to have some stardust still in my eyes, and I want everyone to be happy. I don't want to lose that naivety.”
“A casual working relationship then? In the spirit of that, may I offer you a beer in my newfound favourite pub? It's actually in Otherton, and it sports some very good music. It would be good to go there without a disguise.”
“More pubs in Otherton? That place is growing faster than I could ever have dreamed of.”
“You made it happen. Others are just continuing the creation. Now, 'The Heather' is a kind of jazzy piano place, and it's being run by a Swedish werewolf named Kurt ..... “
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The pieces of the Dark Wizard's soul had vanished from sight, and even from the range of the Dementor's advanced senses. They had passed from the physical world, through the Magical and further into the Aether itself. In a very real sense, they left Existence.
They didn't just disappear, of course. They were still bound to the plane of the Living, and a far cry from Death. They were just ... Beneath rather than Beyond. The very idea behind the Horcrux concept is that the soul is for all intents and purposes indivisible, and strives to rejoin itself if divided. That is why a severed and anchored piece can hold the rest of it back from crossing to the next stage of existence. It strives for wholeness.
Nor can a piece of it be destroyed just like that. The soul is called immortal for a reason, and the pieces of Voldemorts bruised and battered soul flowed through the Aether, westward from Great Britain.
As the fragments actually had some magical substance, some of them were diverted by the currents and tides of raw magic pushing up along the North-Atlantic ridge, but one after the other, they all managed to reach the primary anchor; the magically reconstituted body of one Tom Marvolo Riddle.
He hadn't thought of that.
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Stina was not entirely convinced, but the logic was sound, it matched what she knew of her beloved Master and it met the requirements of his idea of a good life. Harry was prone to bouts of Angst. This Angst didn't accomplish anything, and it made him unlikely to shag anyone.
This made it incredibly unproductive. She had a slightly different view herself, but for this evaluation, she relied on a consensus of her sisters.
Not that the shagging wasn't important to her. She could actually do without, and Harry would never let his Huldr consorts go hungry, but she really wanted her beloved Master to be happy. Angst was not Happiness. Shagging was. While she was very much aware how much he hated to be left out of the loop, perhaps they didn't need to tell him everything that happened that was less than great.
The funny little Chamberlain didn't report the laundry list after all. Why should the security staff report every little problem?
Neville had been quite eloquent in his explanation, and he had been sincere. As such, she had agreed on shielding her Master from some information unless he asked for it, and even then she would ask him if he really wanted to know. She wouldn't lie of course. She just wouldn't report all the pesky little details just because she knew them. Worrying was bad and served no purpose as long as the situation had been handled. If it was problematic or ongoing she would tell him. Unless it appeared to be handled soon. Well, It was time to handle a situation.
The Huldr who brought Denise Jackson into the castle had brought the assassin to the Report room, complained that she smelled like sour cunt and pushed her into the pool, where Stina had been diffusedly waiting. By inducing the assassin with a mild euphoria, Stina had scanned her mind very thoroughly. On the whole, she liked what she saw. It was only the layers of plots and plans to kill her beloved Master, Lord and fiancé that was a bit troubling.
With the ease of a creature unburdened by morals, Stina erased the woman's absolute self-interest and replaced it with a latent devotion to a Dominant Male. The liquid intellect moved on to cataloguing the plots in her victim's mind and erase the more devious ones completely.
The African-American assassin was replaced by Denise. The Denise that Stina had created knew a lot about Muggle military warfare, assassinations and security work. She also felt strongly that she wanted to have a baby, and especially a magical baby as Denise herself was a Squib.
All plans to get impregnated, escape and sell the aborted foetus to the ones who wanted to use it in some kind of ritual was completely erased from her mind and when the trim body of the former threat emerged from the water, purged of all unsavoury things, Stina smiled to herself at a job well done. It really was for the best.
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“..the hindmost pair of legs actually holds up to sixteen digits, designed to manipulate the webbing silk, and while these digits feel coarse to the touch, on a microscopic level there are no smoother organic dry materials known to Man.”
Hermione took a break and rested her ballpoint pen against her chin, leaving a faint purple smudge. Over her years in the Magical world she had gotten so used to quills that it had been hard to write with an ordinary biro until she had tied a feather to the shaft for the proper air resistance.
The result looked patently ridiculous, but it worked.
She had been working on the book for a couple of weeks now, and she had already accumulated several hundred pages of notes, and the most daunting task involved was to narrow everything down to a readable format.
Alice was golden in that respect. The older woman could see what people would need to know and what they would want to know. Se also had a healthy amount of low cunning that boded well for the sales later as they were now making a first run, printing booklets on the species they had covered so far and while Hermione and her academically inclined peers might be interested in just how even the magically weakest Huldr could call water to the surface anywhere, Alice had pointed out that detailed sexual descriptions would boost the sales a lot more.
Hermione would never have thought of that on her own.
It was also a bit of a surprise for the young, bookish girl to find out that she was a celebrity.
When she first saw her face on the cover of Vanity Fay, she had almost fainted. Now, her guilty pleasure was her clip book. Her fame was based around the fact that not only was she highly intelligent, she had beauty to match.
She had been on a bit of a “confidence high” when she suggested that the series of booklets should be called “the Granger Grimoirettes” and feature herself on the cover, interviewing a member of the topic species, like a Muggle therapist with a leather couch, notebook and a really short skirt.
To her shock, all the people involved had thought that it was a brilliant idea and they had shot the first picture on the next day.
The Acromantula booklet seemed to be a bit of a chore, though. She really had to visit Aragog and the thought terrified her even though Ribbon had promised her safe passage. Acromantulas were highly resistant to magic, and while she now sported the Athamé that Harry had made for her, it was not very useful as a weapon.
It made for a great bookmark, though. An intelligent, self-indexing bookmark that managed to keep track of almost a thousand books by now. It flew straight for the book she wanted and lodged itself between the right pages as soon as she asked it to find something for her. She just had to let the knife “read” the book first, but that took only a couple of minutes, and as wizards seemed to hate indexing their books, the knife was worth more than her weight in gold for her.
The books would be for sale everywhere on the big Christmas day celebration, wherever the relevant species would be.
Some of the Grimoirettes were little more than brochures at this stage, but at least they corrected the most glaring misconceptions while the more complete guides were being written.
Alice had been gold there too.
The booklet on the Weres began with a bold text line: “No. They won't bite you.”
The most relevant question answered right there on the first page.
It had been suggested to her by her delicious hunk of a patron that the Huldr booklet should start with :” If they bite you, you won't mind!”, but she hadn't really been prepared to go that far. It would be funny though. The image that people who knew her before Kilchurn had entered her life had of her would be ruined enough by the pictures of her showing some serious leg. She smiled to herself as she returned to her work. Acromantulas were hard to picture positively, but she wasn't about to give up.
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“The Heather” was a quiet, peaceful place. The dimly lit room smelled strongly of the stinking tobacco the giants used, and Kurt, the proprietor, sat by the piano and clinked softly at an endless row of show tunes. In the darkest corner sat two of the greatest magical powerhouses that world had seen in millennia, quietly drinking beer and watching the people coming and going. Every now and then, someone would ask for a special song and Kurt would smile and the piano would come to life with music. When someone asked for “As time goes by”, the partVeela waiting tables started to sing and Harry found himself having a great time.
The two mismatched men would murmur some comments to each other sometimes, but they mainly stayed silent, enjoying the sheer cosiness of patrons and staff, lovers at the smaller tables, loners at the bar, married couples dropping in for a word with friends.
They finished their beers and with unspoken agreement, they left a healthy tip on the table and left.
“Harry, I learned something by an American soldier in -43. Trust the Jazz. People who listen to Jazz are never Nazis. Have a continued pleasant evening.” With this sagelike advice the aged wizard was gone.
Harry thought about the remarkable observation. Then he laughed and shook his head. Dumbledore making sense would probably be a sign of the apocalypse. Still, he'd keep it in mind.
It was cold, damp and dark as the short figure strolled through the dream made bricks that was Otherton. When he reached the outskirts of the town, he changed to Hank and flew home.
At home, he found a girl in his bed. Well, he found several but one of them was new. Apparently, she knew of his deal with the Goddess and wanted to have his child. As Stina nodded and his touch telepathy didn't reveal anything unsavoury, just an intense desire to be a mother of a magical child, he didn't think much about it. He gave her a couple of powerful orgasms before filling her womb with semen and then he went to sleep. It really had been a long day in the life of Harry Potter.
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“Nothing. We can assume that she has been compromised.”
“Nonsense. She may have been found out, but the second stage should actually protect her. It will cost us a lot of gold of course, but what is money compared to the possible benefits?”
“Still money. Something we do have a lot of, but not an unlimited supply. I have a feeling our rotund friend is right. She's been compromised. You may recall my objections?”
“I certainly do, and in hindsight they feel ominous indeed. I was not fully aware at the time of just how powerful he is in the carnal respect. A person who sells herself like that may prove too weak to withstand him.”
“I still can't believe we hired a westerner to get it done. Wouldn't one of our native experts have been better suited?”
“The Shiva guild? Don't be ridiculous. They'd just kidnap him and have him do stud service for fun and profit. You know their reputation.”
“Of course. I do also have a guild member in my employ so I do know better than to trust the rumours. Their ties to Khajuraho are strong, though.”
“Gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere. Let's give her another week to complete or report. Meanwhile, the man in Islamabad is making rude noises. What do we tell him?”
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In the bright morning light a young man watered his plants, and poured some blood to those plants that needed it. He didn't have much time to pursue his greatest interest these days, but it would pass, he hoped. Once everything was settled with Otherton and the Ministry had been reformed completely, when equality between sentients was safeguarded by law and the mess with Voldemort was over and done with, he would be happy to return to his greenhouse. Of course, he may be too old by then. He chuckled at the thought. Who would have even dreamt it? He pruned some dead leaves off a couple of plants before exiting the greenhouses through the sterilizing airlock. He divested himself of the protective gear and removed the helmet, washed his hands meticulously before jogging the stairs to his office.
Neville rifled through his papers. Finally there was a serious and credible report on Voldemort.
Apparently he was busy recruiting. Both the Columbia Department of Magic and the Hopi Nation had sent warnings to the Ministry about it. The letter from the mysterious Hopi had been characteristically brief and succinct, but the Columbian note had been typically hilarious. It spoke at length of the public health hazard and possible deadly properties of the socks of these new Death Eaters, and continued to explain that the people Voldemort had recruited would eat anything that didn't struggle so why not Death? The most vital part was the numbers, though. According to the Columbian note, Voldemort had signed almost a thousand troops, but the Hopi said no more than 400. As the Hopi wouldn't have written a number they weren't sure of, this suggested to the young politician that Voldemort had signed every man several times. If the Columbians gave the right impression of these people, it may have been the first time in their lives that someone had actually wanted them for anything. He sniggered, and made a note to prepare for maybe five hundred troops. Overkill didn't really hurt and there was no shortage of resources. He shuddered when he thought of the sheer military power that had assembled around Kilchurn. He had the power to rouse scores of giants, hordes of dementors and hundreds of Huldr and he actually didn't know how many others. Werewolves and vampires were nightmares on a battlefield. The greatest part was that they were already training together, thanks to Mayor Brown's insistence. These new death eaters were target practice. There were at this point no evidence that they had crossed the ocean, but when they did, Kilchurn would be ready.
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When Harry woke up, it was with a strange sensation. For once, no one was playing with his body, and his member was doing its morning stretches unattended. He wasn't alone in bed, however. A rather pretty girl was sleeping beside him with a smile on her face, and he spent some time looking at her. He knew of course that people of african descent were rather common, and he had met Kingsley many times. As for dark-skinned girls, his monthly meeting with the Patil twins were his only experience. Suddenly he laughed softly at himself. Tails? No problem. Four breasts? Any time. Horns? Red skin? Goddesses? Bodies capable of all sorts of changes? What bloody difference did it make, really? Still, he took the time to commit this girl to memory. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. He kissed her, and accidently bumped her hip with his morning log. She looked down, and as her eyes widened a bit in something like fear and amazement, he reduced his size to something more manageable. She smiled at him and pushed him onto his back again. From there, she proceeded to straddle him and fought valiantly to get him inside of her until he discreetly reduced his size a bit further. As the pretty girl slowly rode him with closed eyes, he closed his as well, revelling in the feelings of tightness and warmth. As he couldn't remember her name, he cheated and brought his telepathy up. After all, they were seriously touching.
Denise. Her name was Denise and she was a ...woman with some kind of military experience..
[Master?]
[ Jörmungandr? Is something wrong?]
[Possibly. I believe your Bonded has been up to something. If you look at this woman's mind, do you see those flat areas? Something has been there, but has been removed.......]
[Memory charms?]
[No. I am not aware of anything that can cause these … plateaus, but they are not natural, and they are recent. There are plateaus present in her memories from last night, right before you came in.]
[I see. Can they be reversed?]
[Not by me. It would depend on how they were made, but I doubt it. What was there, is now gone.]
[I understand. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.]
He did right by her. Whoever she had been, the woman she was now wanted his child and she also felt very good. Expanding himself gently, he touched her in ways she had never been touched before, and when he drove her to climax, he was right there with her, filling her womb once again and infusing her with his healing magic to ensure conception. As she fell asleep again in post-orgasmic bliss, Harry softly patted out of bed. He had things to figure out and Bonded to discipline. In good time, of course. It could wait until after Christmas. Today, he had another project, one that he had more or less promised Lavender.
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Stina was a bit worried. She had sensed her Master having sex with the reformed Assassin, and then the Link had closed. She could sense that he was alive, and she could sense her sisters, but her Masters thoughts were sealed off. It was most disconcerting. Perhaps the whole thing about keeping him in the dark was a mistake. No. He couldn't know. To his telepathy, there were no memories of any manipulations left. She had made it untraceable. On the other hand, he did have that serpent construct in his mind, and the ancient serpent who had made it had been frightfully clever.
Her nail grew out in the same rate as she nervously gnawed it off. It was indeed a very minor blessing.
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Harry was hard at work. Instinctively altering his appearance was easy enough these days. Altering his crotchly dimensions was as automatic as digestion but to consciously alter his shape completely was very hard. He didn't know how much he could actually do considering he wasn't a Lake Warden himself, so he had set out to try his limits. Lavender had dropped by to deliver something ridiculously small to some of the girls, and had stopped to watch. As soon as she had spotted what he was trying to do, she had jumped him and almost kissed him senseless. Damn, that girl could kiss. She had jumped up, grabbed his neck to gain the necessary leverage to completely invade his face. It hadn't been a very sexually charged kiss, but it had been enough for him to extend from the sheath anyway. If she had noticed, it could have been messy. He would reveal himself to Disa later, just to make sure he was working properly. After all, he had seriously altered his plumbing. He focused on his hooves. He wasn't certain they were right, and he still had problems coordinating two sets of feet. It would be worth it, he figured. Lilac had been really cute, and the look of longing in her eyes made him really want to do this for her. Besides, this shape made him tall, and he still liked that. Once he had learned a shape he could use it with ease, but designing a new one was a hassle. During the creative process, he had to remember every single hair of the pelt, the position of every sinew and muscle fibre. He knew that he was being a bit silly in this. He was spending hours perfecting a shape that he probably would use less time that it took to make it while Neville was running himself ragged. If it hadn't been for Susans insistence that Nev was having the time of his life, he wouldn't dare leave his friend alone with all those pesky details, but there it was. Apparently, a Lord's first duty was to know when to back off and leave things to the professionals and apparently, Neville Longbottom was one of them.
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A few rooms away, Neville was going through his list.
Christmas preparations were happening all over Otherton. Not that the city was closed to the public in any way, but this was something of a publicity thing. It was time for the Wizarding public of the British Realm to meet the beings and creatures they had heard and read about for months. Perhaps the great Lord of Kilchurn himself would show up with his adorable ladies. There were still some grumbling in some areas regarding the amoral lifestyle of the Lord, but it was after all legal. It was also ingrained in the minds of the magical citizenry to bow to the nobility, and allow them to do whatever they bloody well pleased. It was an evolutionary necessity. Anyone being too loud about inequality or social rights were killed off quickly by the nobles, and as such, they didn't reproduce. Only the sheeple did. It was time to show off to the sheeple, and Neville had worked both the press and the House Elves to make sure that they came to Otherton with a positive image firmly in mind.
All of the embassies had been invited, and even the Royals. The Prime Minister had already sent his regrets, but would very much want to visit on some other occasion. A careful question from the Court of S:t James had made a lot of sense, and Neville had sent his father and Disa to the ADBAGPC, the Aberforth Dumbledore Bezoar And Goat Product Company. Not everything may be safe for anyone to eat. Mr Dumbledore apparently made a good living on producing specialized pills for peanut-allergic peanut addicts and others of the sort, and because he didn't want to fire the nice but incompetent cook at the Hog's Head, the pub used a few dozen bezoars a month. When Neville learned that the “inappropriate” charms were a sort of digestive disruptor designed to produce more Bezoars, he had laughed himself silly. When PetPansy asked him what was so funny and he had explained his original theory, the surprisingly imaginative girl had turned, looked at him over her shoulder, bent forward and said “Baaah”, and spent the entire vigorous coupling that followed singing “Mary had a little lamb”. He was sporting some serious abs these days, now that he had his inventive Pet and his lovely, enticing fiancé who both needed “daily care”, as Susan loved to put it in has sexiest voice.
Neville shook his head. He was way too busy to be distracted like that. Next on the list. Dobby had asked him to drop by and inspect the various tableau vivants that the Elves had rehearsed and intended to perform to the public. He laughed. He was the de facto prime minister of the Magical Realm of Britain, and part of his job was to inspect a Veela ballet troop, a Dementor orchestra and House Elves dressed up like some kind of Greek Goblin. He was incredibly grateful to Lavender, who had overseen just about everything. How that little girl could do all the things she did was a complete mystery to him, but one he didn't particularly care to solve. He was busy enough, and what would life be without a little mystery?
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Intercontinental travelling involved muggles. At least these days, when the Cardiff-Boston line had closed and more or less ceased the seas to the muggles. Intercontinental apparition was too power consuming for most people, and to compute a portkey destination over such a distance that the curvature of Earth became an issue, was beyond most magical people except the ones clever enough to operate a pocket calculator. Even then, the long distance meant that you arrived at your destination with a certain momentum and feeling dreadfully ill to boot. Voldemort had a pocket calculator. He just wasn't quite as good with it as he thought.
On the isle of Tiree, just west of Loch A Phuill, things were happening.
There was a whistling sound followed by a thump, like when a human body falls fifteen feet to the ground due to flawed navigational calculations.
The hurt and confused american wizard tried to stand, but he kept getting tangled in his snazzy new black robes. Then he retched a few times before throwing up his past weeks menu. Then he staggered to the shore to throw some water in his face, and maybe rinse his mouth.
This was repeated several hundred times.
The Dark Army had come to Britain.
Author's dissociated ramblings: I know. It's far from my original level. Anyway, I have to publish something to get the creativity flowing again. This one goes up UnBeta'd. Actually, the reason it goes up at this point is due to the lovely Mamacita-san. I, and a lot of great authors have had their stories copied and published at Wattpad by a complete and utter bastard. Mamacita-san alerted me to this, and this heads-up came at a point where it sparked a few creative neurons. I cleaned my notes up, ran MSWord spellcheck a few times in lieu of a beta and went ahead to publish. A couple of positive reviews will hopefully launch another chappie in a nearer future.
Just a thought here about next chapter. The first paragraph, the ritual magic was written to a piece of music called Inland, by the Swedish ethno-pop constellation Sarek. I wrote the images that the music painted inside my eyelids. Anyway, here goes.
Vanir, who's not quite dead yet...
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!
As it turned out, it wasn't as simple as Harry had thought, but not as hard as Dumbledore had feared.
With the enticing, alluring and generally attractive powers of twenty Huldr, ten Veela and a dozen Succubi, slightly offset by the fearsome power of the thirty Dementors, who had showed up in garish cloaks in all kinds of clashing, day-glo colours with even worse butterflies and balloons on them, the objects were drained of their most dangerous property, the tar-like animated ichor of a shattered soul.
The semi-intelligent pieces were unable to resist the combined pull of the enticers, and the repulsion of the cursed ones and were forced to vacate their anchoring objects for a moment. All sorts of charms and defenses were triggered and immediately rendered harmless by the intensive magic field. Those of the curses that could communicate, which most complex curses could, were briefly questioned before permanently dispelled.
Once the horcruces were more ordinarily dangerous, the anchoring objects were destroyed. Some Goblins and Norse Dwarves had set up a device that they grinningly called a destruction-construction nearby, and the area was for the moment more heavily warded than Gringott's.
Irreplaceable parts of the Wizarding history were ruined, as well as some rather valuable art and jewellery. The one moment of distraction was all the vertically challenged crew needed, and a small Bessemer furnace, combined with a jackhammer and a lot of magic-disrupting charms and wards destroyed the anchors in seconds.
Once the anchors were destroyed, the Dementors tried to get to the soul-fragments, but they didn't manage to devour even one before the disturbing hovering blobs seemed to dissipate into thin air, leaving a black smear and a foul stench behind.
It was rather hard on Harry to be in the room when the non-humans did their work. While he consciously understood that the Dementors, properly fed, were friendly beings, he had a very hard time feeling it. The chill and the faint echoes of his worst memories made for an interesting contrast to the intense attraction working on the other side of the room. The Alluring beings all had a slightly different approach, and they hammered against his awareness so hard that if he hadn't had the chill of the Dementors to put himself off, he would have jumped into the female throng and shagged himself into oblivion. Fortunately, all he actually suffered was a raging erection and a slight headache. He also took some satisfaction to the fact that even the great Albus Dumbledore seemed more than a little flustered. There were many objects, and not all of them displayed the signs of a trapped soul, but even the most harmless among them had killed in the past and was designed to do it again. One item, a cuddly-looking teddybear with the name “Mister Nightynite” embroidered on the chest, was so vile that one of the so-called compassionless Huldr threw up. Harry was shaken when the object's true nature was revealed while Dumbledore just looked sad, and Harry finally began to understand the older man a little bit.
Dumbledore had been in the thick of it for more than a century of war and peace.
He had seen and operated in two world wars, he had seen the utter depths a man could sink to, and the heights to which he could rise.
In a long life, with experiences such as those, it wouldn't be hard to lose sight of the individual. Still not a good thing, but as wrongs went, Harry felt that it might at least be understandable.
Add a few choice mind-altering potions, and what remained was someone Harry couldn't really blame for anything.
It was quite late in the evening when the ordeal was over. Harry was very tired, and when he had fed the participating non-humans, even his reserves was wearing thin. Dumbledore had been forced to excuse himself several times to rest a bit, and considering the old wizard's state at his arrival, Harry was most impressed. On shaking legs, and leaning heavily on the walls every now and then, the two men made it back to the Grand Hall where they sat down by the fireplace. Dobby, wearing a very smart dinner jacket, appeared with a bottle of fairly old Lagavulin and filled two Glencairn glasses before disappearing. As Harry sipped his whisky his strength return somewhat, so he turned to the older man with a smile.
“So, Albus-with-a-whole-lot-of-names Dumbledore, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?”
The Supreme Mugwump's surprised laughter started a light conversation that lasted for hours.
As Harry now understood the basics of how the man must be wired, they didn't linger on any one subject for long, but stumbled from discipline to discipline like a pair of drunken sailors. Love, banking, fishing, the nature of truth and bicycles were covered as they tried to get to know each other, both quite aware that they were also cataloguing each others strengths and weaknesses.
“I must admit, I would never have considered you a very religious man.”
Harry stretched, and enjoyed the fact that his magic counteracted the alcohol, while the Headmaster appeared quite tipsy.
“I wouldn't call myself religious, really. I don't actually need faith when I've had the Goddess as close as that.”
The headmaster chuckled and nodded assent.
“Ah, my boy. They've been known to do things like that to extraordinary individuals. I believe Luna has been gone longer than you, though. Don't you worry about that?”
Harry shook his head.
“Not so much. Freja can get into my head if she needs it, and I trust that she would have told me if anything was amiss.”
“Isn't that faith? You don't trust me that far do you?”
Harry had to think for a moment. They had been almost brutally honest so far, so he decided to continue that track.
“True enough. It's faith of a sort, but its more like personal trust. To see her as a God is hard. Now, the gods are supposed to have created everything, but frankly, I can't see Freja as anywhere near powerful enough to do that. Unless she was in charge of boobs alone, of course.”
“That would be my thought on the matter. Not quite so physiologically exact, though. Frankly, in my long and troubled life, I never sat down and considered Divinity. It's interesting that I consider the soul to be such a major concept when it precipitates Divinity which I have barely even thought of.”
“Welcome to the path of enlightenment then, Headmaster.” Harry said, imitating the expression of a resident of Privet Drive who had driven Vernon to puce-and-spittle with her melodramatic pseudo-holy attitude and belief in evangelisation. Through people's mailboxes if they didn't open the door.
“Thank you, young Sir.” Apparently Albus had met someone similar as he laughed in recognition.
Harry frowned a bit. She had been gone a very long time. As he didn't see a point in hiding it, he ceded the point.
“Actually, I've been wondering a bit about her long absence. When I went, time moved a lot faster in Vanaheim. However, there's no reason to believe that she went to the same place I did, or in the same way. The ritual must have been different anyway.”
“I will most certainly take your word for it. I'd prefer it if you didn't tell me too much about it. My arteries are centenarian, after all.”
“Point taken. No smut for the headmaster. Still, the difference between the male and female principles are present in many forms of magic.”
The old man rolled his head back and laughed.
“Oh, absolutely, Lord Potter, absolutely. It's just your vigorous merging technique that has me worried about my circulatory systems.”
“Each to his own, I'm told. It suits me, and I believe it suits my loved ones as well.”
“Love. Yes. I always thought that love was your greatest gift, and I do confess to feeling more than a little smug at this time as I believe you have proven your superhuman capacity on a daily basis for a while now. You are maintaining hundreds of beings every day that has hitherto hurt or even killed other men for the most basic sustenance.”
Harry replied, dryly.
“I'm gifted. However, if your reasoning is sound, I would have to love them all and I don't. I like the ones I've met, but there's a lot of beings that I'm currently feeding that I haven't even seen. It's not their fault they were born like they are, and if they have to hunt like they used to, they would be hunted in turn. They don't really deserve that.”
“And you don't really see that as love? It is my firm belief that it certainly is. You love them for being. It would be so easy for you to simply let them fend for themselves but it wouldn't cross your mind. You can help, so naturally, you do. That's love. A true philanthropist, who doesn't let the concept of anthropos stop you.”
“How could I? I don't know what it means.” Harry smiled at the aged wizard's belly laugh.
“I mean, you don't restrict yourself to mankind. You give your love to all who need it. That may well be the power of the prophecy. That may be a subject for a more sober occasion, though.”
“We're not saying anything really important to each other, are we? Not today at least.”
“No. I don't think we are. Of course, we have covered a lot of philosophy and philosophers all over the world would say different. As for today, are we supposed to make some sort of deeper connection, do you think?”
“Probably. Don't get me wrong here. I like you as you are right now, but to trust you completely is a completely different thing.”
“Most wise. I do believe that you are not so much light as you are anti-dark, and that it's more of necessity than vocation, but from my point of view the greatest threat is Voldemort, and that you might, at worst, be the lesser evil.”
“I could quote you word for word, except for the vocation part. I will deal with Voldemort when I can, and now when his insurance has lapsed, I don't expect much of a problem. You have been a voice of reason in the magical world I'm told, and I don't mind that. All I want to do is live my life and spend fun times with my friends. I'm young enough to have some stardust still in my eyes, and I want everyone to be happy. I don't want to lose that naivety.”
“A casual working relationship then? In the spirit of that, may I offer you a beer in my newfound favourite pub? It's actually in Otherton, and it sports some very good music. It would be good to go there without a disguise.”
“More pubs in Otherton? That place is growing faster than I could ever have dreamed of.”
“You made it happen. Others are just continuing the creation. Now, 'The Heather' is a kind of jazzy piano place, and it's being run by a Swedish werewolf named Kurt ..... “
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The pieces of the Dark Wizard's soul had vanished from sight, and even from the range of the Dementor's advanced senses. They had passed from the physical world, through the Magical and further into the Aether itself. In a very real sense, they left Existence.
They didn't just disappear, of course. They were still bound to the plane of the Living, and a far cry from Death. They were just ... Beneath rather than Beyond. The very idea behind the Horcrux concept is that the soul is for all intents and purposes indivisible, and strives to rejoin itself if divided. That is why a severed and anchored piece can hold the rest of it back from crossing to the next stage of existence. It strives for wholeness.
Nor can a piece of it be destroyed just like that. The soul is called immortal for a reason, and the pieces of Voldemorts bruised and battered soul flowed through the Aether, westward from Great Britain.
As the fragments actually had some magical substance, some of them were diverted by the currents and tides of raw magic pushing up along the North-Atlantic ridge, but one after the other, they all managed to reach the primary anchor; the magically reconstituted body of one Tom Marvolo Riddle.
He hadn't thought of that.
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Stina was not entirely convinced, but the logic was sound, it matched what she knew of her beloved Master and it met the requirements of his idea of a good life. Harry was prone to bouts of Angst. This Angst didn't accomplish anything, and it made him unlikely to shag anyone.
This made it incredibly unproductive. She had a slightly different view herself, but for this evaluation, she relied on a consensus of her sisters.
Not that the shagging wasn't important to her. She could actually do without, and Harry would never let his Huldr consorts go hungry, but she really wanted her beloved Master to be happy. Angst was not Happiness. Shagging was. While she was very much aware how much he hated to be left out of the loop, perhaps they didn't need to tell him everything that happened that was less than great.
The funny little Chamberlain didn't report the laundry list after all. Why should the security staff report every little problem?
Neville had been quite eloquent in his explanation, and he had been sincere. As such, she had agreed on shielding her Master from some information unless he asked for it, and even then she would ask him if he really wanted to know. She wouldn't lie of course. She just wouldn't report all the pesky little details just because she knew them. Worrying was bad and served no purpose as long as the situation had been handled. If it was problematic or ongoing she would tell him. Unless it appeared to be handled soon. Well, It was time to handle a situation.
The Huldr who brought Denise Jackson into the castle had brought the assassin to the Report room, complained that she smelled like sour cunt and pushed her into the pool, where Stina had been diffusedly waiting. By inducing the assassin with a mild euphoria, Stina had scanned her mind very thoroughly. On the whole, she liked what she saw. It was only the layers of plots and plans to kill her beloved Master, Lord and fiancé that was a bit troubling.
With the ease of a creature unburdened by morals, Stina erased the woman's absolute self-interest and replaced it with a latent devotion to a Dominant Male. The liquid intellect moved on to cataloguing the plots in her victim's mind and erase the more devious ones completely.
The African-American assassin was replaced by Denise. The Denise that Stina had created knew a lot about Muggle military warfare, assassinations and security work. She also felt strongly that she wanted to have a baby, and especially a magical baby as Denise herself was a Squib.
All plans to get impregnated, escape and sell the aborted foetus to the ones who wanted to use it in some kind of ritual was completely erased from her mind and when the trim body of the former threat emerged from the water, purged of all unsavoury things, Stina smiled to herself at a job well done. It really was for the best.
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“..the hindmost pair of legs actually holds up to sixteen digits, designed to manipulate the webbing silk, and while these digits feel coarse to the touch, on a microscopic level there are no smoother organic dry materials known to Man.”
Hermione took a break and rested her ballpoint pen against her chin, leaving a faint purple smudge. Over her years in the Magical world she had gotten so used to quills that it had been hard to write with an ordinary biro until she had tied a feather to the shaft for the proper air resistance.
The result looked patently ridiculous, but it worked.
She had been working on the book for a couple of weeks now, and she had already accumulated several hundred pages of notes, and the most daunting task involved was to narrow everything down to a readable format.
Alice was golden in that respect. The older woman could see what people would need to know and what they would want to know. Se also had a healthy amount of low cunning that boded well for the sales later as they were now making a first run, printing booklets on the species they had covered so far and while Hermione and her academically inclined peers might be interested in just how even the magically weakest Huldr could call water to the surface anywhere, Alice had pointed out that detailed sexual descriptions would boost the sales a lot more.
Hermione would never have thought of that on her own.
It was also a bit of a surprise for the young, bookish girl to find out that she was a celebrity.
When she first saw her face on the cover of Vanity Fay, she had almost fainted. Now, her guilty pleasure was her clip book. Her fame was based around the fact that not only was she highly intelligent, she had beauty to match.
She had been on a bit of a “confidence high” when she suggested that the series of booklets should be called “the Granger Grimoirettes” and feature herself on the cover, interviewing a member of the topic species, like a Muggle therapist with a leather couch, notebook and a really short skirt.
To her shock, all the people involved had thought that it was a brilliant idea and they had shot the first picture on the next day.
The Acromantula booklet seemed to be a bit of a chore, though. She really had to visit Aragog and the thought terrified her even though Ribbon had promised her safe passage. Acromantulas were highly resistant to magic, and while she now sported the Athamé that Harry had made for her, it was not very useful as a weapon.
It made for a great bookmark, though. An intelligent, self-indexing bookmark that managed to keep track of almost a thousand books by now. It flew straight for the book she wanted and lodged itself between the right pages as soon as she asked it to find something for her. She just had to let the knife “read” the book first, but that took only a couple of minutes, and as wizards seemed to hate indexing their books, the knife was worth more than her weight in gold for her.
The books would be for sale everywhere on the big Christmas day celebration, wherever the relevant species would be.
Some of the Grimoirettes were little more than brochures at this stage, but at least they corrected the most glaring misconceptions while the more complete guides were being written.
Alice had been gold there too.
The booklet on the Weres began with a bold text line: “No. They won't bite you.”
The most relevant question answered right there on the first page.
It had been suggested to her by her delicious hunk of a patron that the Huldr booklet should start with :” If they bite you, you won't mind!”, but she hadn't really been prepared to go that far. It would be funny though. The image that people who knew her before Kilchurn had entered her life had of her would be ruined enough by the pictures of her showing some serious leg. She smiled to herself as she returned to her work. Acromantulas were hard to picture positively, but she wasn't about to give up.
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“The Heather” was a quiet, peaceful place. The dimly lit room smelled strongly of the stinking tobacco the giants used, and Kurt, the proprietor, sat by the piano and clinked softly at an endless row of show tunes. In the darkest corner sat two of the greatest magical powerhouses that world had seen in millennia, quietly drinking beer and watching the people coming and going. Every now and then, someone would ask for a special song and Kurt would smile and the piano would come to life with music. When someone asked for “As time goes by”, the partVeela waiting tables started to sing and Harry found himself having a great time.
The two mismatched men would murmur some comments to each other sometimes, but they mainly stayed silent, enjoying the sheer cosiness of patrons and staff, lovers at the smaller tables, loners at the bar, married couples dropping in for a word with friends.
They finished their beers and with unspoken agreement, they left a healthy tip on the table and left.
“Harry, I learned something by an American soldier in -43. Trust the Jazz. People who listen to Jazz are never Nazis. Have a continued pleasant evening.” With this sagelike advice the aged wizard was gone.
Harry thought about the remarkable observation. Then he laughed and shook his head. Dumbledore making sense would probably be a sign of the apocalypse. Still, he'd keep it in mind.
It was cold, damp and dark as the short figure strolled through the dream made bricks that was Otherton. When he reached the outskirts of the town, he changed to Hank and flew home.
At home, he found a girl in his bed. Well, he found several but one of them was new. Apparently, she knew of his deal with the Goddess and wanted to have his child. As Stina nodded and his touch telepathy didn't reveal anything unsavoury, just an intense desire to be a mother of a magical child, he didn't think much about it. He gave her a couple of powerful orgasms before filling her womb with semen and then he went to sleep. It really had been a long day in the life of Harry Potter.
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“Nothing. We can assume that she has been compromised.”
“Nonsense. She may have been found out, but the second stage should actually protect her. It will cost us a lot of gold of course, but what is money compared to the possible benefits?”
“Still money. Something we do have a lot of, but not an unlimited supply. I have a feeling our rotund friend is right. She's been compromised. You may recall my objections?”
“I certainly do, and in hindsight they feel ominous indeed. I was not fully aware at the time of just how powerful he is in the carnal respect. A person who sells herself like that may prove too weak to withstand him.”
“I still can't believe we hired a westerner to get it done. Wouldn't one of our native experts have been better suited?”
“The Shiva guild? Don't be ridiculous. They'd just kidnap him and have him do stud service for fun and profit. You know their reputation.”
“Of course. I do also have a guild member in my employ so I do know better than to trust the rumours. Their ties to Khajuraho are strong, though.”
“Gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere. Let's give her another week to complete or report. Meanwhile, the man in Islamabad is making rude noises. What do we tell him?”
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In the bright morning light a young man watered his plants, and poured some blood to those plants that needed it. He didn't have much time to pursue his greatest interest these days, but it would pass, he hoped. Once everything was settled with Otherton and the Ministry had been reformed completely, when equality between sentients was safeguarded by law and the mess with Voldemort was over and done with, he would be happy to return to his greenhouse. Of course, he may be too old by then. He chuckled at the thought. Who would have even dreamt it? He pruned some dead leaves off a couple of plants before exiting the greenhouses through the sterilizing airlock. He divested himself of the protective gear and removed the helmet, washed his hands meticulously before jogging the stairs to his office.
Neville rifled through his papers. Finally there was a serious and credible report on Voldemort.
Apparently he was busy recruiting. Both the Columbia Department of Magic and the Hopi Nation had sent warnings to the Ministry about it. The letter from the mysterious Hopi had been characteristically brief and succinct, but the Columbian note had been typically hilarious. It spoke at length of the public health hazard and possible deadly properties of the socks of these new Death Eaters, and continued to explain that the people Voldemort had recruited would eat anything that didn't struggle so why not Death? The most vital part was the numbers, though. According to the Columbian note, Voldemort had signed almost a thousand troops, but the Hopi said no more than 400. As the Hopi wouldn't have written a number they weren't sure of, this suggested to the young politician that Voldemort had signed every man several times. If the Columbians gave the right impression of these people, it may have been the first time in their lives that someone had actually wanted them for anything. He sniggered, and made a note to prepare for maybe five hundred troops. Overkill didn't really hurt and there was no shortage of resources. He shuddered when he thought of the sheer military power that had assembled around Kilchurn. He had the power to rouse scores of giants, hordes of dementors and hundreds of Huldr and he actually didn't know how many others. Werewolves and vampires were nightmares on a battlefield. The greatest part was that they were already training together, thanks to Mayor Brown's insistence. These new death eaters were target practice. There were at this point no evidence that they had crossed the ocean, but when they did, Kilchurn would be ready.
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When Harry woke up, it was with a strange sensation. For once, no one was playing with his body, and his member was doing its morning stretches unattended. He wasn't alone in bed, however. A rather pretty girl was sleeping beside him with a smile on her face, and he spent some time looking at her. He knew of course that people of african descent were rather common, and he had met Kingsley many times. As for dark-skinned girls, his monthly meeting with the Patil twins were his only experience. Suddenly he laughed softly at himself. Tails? No problem. Four breasts? Any time. Horns? Red skin? Goddesses? Bodies capable of all sorts of changes? What bloody difference did it make, really? Still, he took the time to commit this girl to memory. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. He kissed her, and accidently bumped her hip with his morning log. She looked down, and as her eyes widened a bit in something like fear and amazement, he reduced his size to something more manageable. She smiled at him and pushed him onto his back again. From there, she proceeded to straddle him and fought valiantly to get him inside of her until he discreetly reduced his size a bit further. As the pretty girl slowly rode him with closed eyes, he closed his as well, revelling in the feelings of tightness and warmth. As he couldn't remember her name, he cheated and brought his telepathy up. After all, they were seriously touching.
Denise. Her name was Denise and she was a ...woman with some kind of military experience..
[Master?]
[ Jörmungandr? Is something wrong?]
[Possibly. I believe your Bonded has been up to something. If you look at this woman's mind, do you see those flat areas? Something has been there, but has been removed.......]
[Memory charms?]
[No. I am not aware of anything that can cause these … plateaus, but they are not natural, and they are recent. There are plateaus present in her memories from last night, right before you came in.]
[I see. Can they be reversed?]
[Not by me. It would depend on how they were made, but I doubt it. What was there, is now gone.]
[I understand. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.]
He did right by her. Whoever she had been, the woman she was now wanted his child and she also felt very good. Expanding himself gently, he touched her in ways she had never been touched before, and when he drove her to climax, he was right there with her, filling her womb once again and infusing her with his healing magic to ensure conception. As she fell asleep again in post-orgasmic bliss, Harry softly patted out of bed. He had things to figure out and Bonded to discipline. In good time, of course. It could wait until after Christmas. Today, he had another project, one that he had more or less promised Lavender.
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Stina was a bit worried. She had sensed her Master having sex with the reformed Assassin, and then the Link had closed. She could sense that he was alive, and she could sense her sisters, but her Masters thoughts were sealed off. It was most disconcerting. Perhaps the whole thing about keeping him in the dark was a mistake. No. He couldn't know. To his telepathy, there were no memories of any manipulations left. She had made it untraceable. On the other hand, he did have that serpent construct in his mind, and the ancient serpent who had made it had been frightfully clever.
Her nail grew out in the same rate as she nervously gnawed it off. It was indeed a very minor blessing.
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Harry was hard at work. Instinctively altering his appearance was easy enough these days. Altering his crotchly dimensions was as automatic as digestion but to consciously alter his shape completely was very hard. He didn't know how much he could actually do considering he wasn't a Lake Warden himself, so he had set out to try his limits. Lavender had dropped by to deliver something ridiculously small to some of the girls, and had stopped to watch. As soon as she had spotted what he was trying to do, she had jumped him and almost kissed him senseless. Damn, that girl could kiss. She had jumped up, grabbed his neck to gain the necessary leverage to completely invade his face. It hadn't been a very sexually charged kiss, but it had been enough for him to extend from the sheath anyway. If she had noticed, it could have been messy. He would reveal himself to Disa later, just to make sure he was working properly. After all, he had seriously altered his plumbing. He focused on his hooves. He wasn't certain they were right, and he still had problems coordinating two sets of feet. It would be worth it, he figured. Lilac had been really cute, and the look of longing in her eyes made him really want to do this for her. Besides, this shape made him tall, and he still liked that. Once he had learned a shape he could use it with ease, but designing a new one was a hassle. During the creative process, he had to remember every single hair of the pelt, the position of every sinew and muscle fibre. He knew that he was being a bit silly in this. He was spending hours perfecting a shape that he probably would use less time that it took to make it while Neville was running himself ragged. If it hadn't been for Susans insistence that Nev was having the time of his life, he wouldn't dare leave his friend alone with all those pesky details, but there it was. Apparently, a Lord's first duty was to know when to back off and leave things to the professionals and apparently, Neville Longbottom was one of them.
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A few rooms away, Neville was going through his list.
Christmas preparations were happening all over Otherton. Not that the city was closed to the public in any way, but this was something of a publicity thing. It was time for the Wizarding public of the British Realm to meet the beings and creatures they had heard and read about for months. Perhaps the great Lord of Kilchurn himself would show up with his adorable ladies. There were still some grumbling in some areas regarding the amoral lifestyle of the Lord, but it was after all legal. It was also ingrained in the minds of the magical citizenry to bow to the nobility, and allow them to do whatever they bloody well pleased. It was an evolutionary necessity. Anyone being too loud about inequality or social rights were killed off quickly by the nobles, and as such, they didn't reproduce. Only the sheeple did. It was time to show off to the sheeple, and Neville had worked both the press and the House Elves to make sure that they came to Otherton with a positive image firmly in mind.
All of the embassies had been invited, and even the Royals. The Prime Minister had already sent his regrets, but would very much want to visit on some other occasion. A careful question from the Court of S:t James had made a lot of sense, and Neville had sent his father and Disa to the ADBAGPC, the Aberforth Dumbledore Bezoar And Goat Product Company. Not everything may be safe for anyone to eat. Mr Dumbledore apparently made a good living on producing specialized pills for peanut-allergic peanut addicts and others of the sort, and because he didn't want to fire the nice but incompetent cook at the Hog's Head, the pub used a few dozen bezoars a month. When Neville learned that the “inappropriate” charms were a sort of digestive disruptor designed to produce more Bezoars, he had laughed himself silly. When PetPansy asked him what was so funny and he had explained his original theory, the surprisingly imaginative girl had turned, looked at him over her shoulder, bent forward and said “Baaah”, and spent the entire vigorous coupling that followed singing “Mary had a little lamb”. He was sporting some serious abs these days, now that he had his inventive Pet and his lovely, enticing fiancé who both needed “daily care”, as Susan loved to put it in has sexiest voice.
Neville shook his head. He was way too busy to be distracted like that. Next on the list. Dobby had asked him to drop by and inspect the various tableau vivants that the Elves had rehearsed and intended to perform to the public. He laughed. He was the de facto prime minister of the Magical Realm of Britain, and part of his job was to inspect a Veela ballet troop, a Dementor orchestra and House Elves dressed up like some kind of Greek Goblin. He was incredibly grateful to Lavender, who had overseen just about everything. How that little girl could do all the things she did was a complete mystery to him, but one he didn't particularly care to solve. He was busy enough, and what would life be without a little mystery?
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Intercontinental travelling involved muggles. At least these days, when the Cardiff-Boston line had closed and more or less ceased the seas to the muggles. Intercontinental apparition was too power consuming for most people, and to compute a portkey destination over such a distance that the curvature of Earth became an issue, was beyond most magical people except the ones clever enough to operate a pocket calculator. Even then, the long distance meant that you arrived at your destination with a certain momentum and feeling dreadfully ill to boot. Voldemort had a pocket calculator. He just wasn't quite as good with it as he thought.
On the isle of Tiree, just west of Loch A Phuill, things were happening.
There was a whistling sound followed by a thump, like when a human body falls fifteen feet to the ground due to flawed navigational calculations.
The hurt and confused american wizard tried to stand, but he kept getting tangled in his snazzy new black robes. Then he retched a few times before throwing up his past weeks menu. Then he staggered to the shore to throw some water in his face, and maybe rinse his mouth.
This was repeated several hundred times.
The Dark Army had come to Britain.
Author's dissociated ramblings: I know. It's far from my original level. Anyway, I have to publish something to get the creativity flowing again. This one goes up UnBeta'd. Actually, the reason it goes up at this point is due to the lovely Mamacita-san. I, and a lot of great authors have had their stories copied and published at Wattpad by a complete and utter bastard. Mamacita-san alerted me to this, and this heads-up came at a point where it sparked a few creative neurons. I cleaned my notes up, ran MSWord spellcheck a few times in lieu of a beta and went ahead to publish. A couple of positive reviews will hopefully launch another chappie in a nearer future.
Just a thought here about next chapter. The first paragraph, the ritual magic was written to a piece of music called Inland, by the Swedish ethno-pop constellation Sarek. I wrote the images that the music painted inside my eyelids. Anyway, here goes.
Vanir, who's not quite dead yet...
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