Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Unlikely
April 28th, 1997[//]
"Another dream?"
"Mm-hm."
"Did I have a starring role?"
"Shut up, Tonks."
Unusually, Tonks actually listened and Harry was able to finish getting dressed in silence. It was… a little strange, perhaps, that she still hung around and carried on conversations when he was between outfits, as it were, but in her words it was "against my policy" to look without consent. And it wasn't his body, not really, so he was in the clear.
Harry had noted, when she'd made mention of it a few days ago, that her only reason against it was "policy."
Riddle was simply… amused. Harry found it somewhat comforting that a strong sense of schadenfreude was thus far proving to be a universal constant among Riddles.
In other ways, however, Riddle was ever an enigma.
How had he become… whatever this was, that he was? Able to inspire such loyalty even in Tonks, who hated to be serious in the face of death but nevertheless could read people even without legilimency? Catching the little things was important when she might have to become anyone, at any time, and flawlessly imitate them herself.
Riddle wasn't a saint. Certainly not. Harry remembered how he looked after they left Lockhart's house. But he wasn't Voldemort either.
Harry was still mulling it over in a part of his mind when they boarded the plane.
The plane.
It was a miracle of blue science. Or an everyday thing. A miracle only to Harry, alien as he was to the whole thing. Bigger within than without, faster than it should be, running on fuel equal parts gasoline and some alchemical concoction worked out by some of the greatest minds in Britain, near-weightless, and in possession of a sensory array that picked out everything from body heat to the occurrence of apparition.
And even as they flew to war, Harry and Riddle continued to discuss blue science and, more importantly, the trouble of getting Harry and Harry where they belonged. They worked at fine-tuning calculations for hours.
"And your dream?" Riddle asked at one point. "What did you see this time?"
"They're working on a signal that we should be able to lock onto."
"If we didn't know to lock onto the signal, what would happen?"
"They may not be able to secure the connection. But… They're expecting that we will. That one of me will. I don't know if they were expecting the dreams but it wasn't impossible for us to work out that there would be a signal."
"So of course we would. Or one set of us would."
"Right."
Finally a call came from the front. "Four minutes."
Riddle stood and checked his jump-pack. "We'll have to move as quickly as we can. The Eternal Kaiser is making a move on the city personally."
"How did he—"
"Gilderoy's death saved him from the pain of interrogation, not the questioning. The Hallow that is in the Eternal Kaiser's possession makes such troubles as death a trivial concern. But of course the Kaiser must wait until we move first, in order to claim that he is only coming to protect the city."
Riddle paused at the doorway.
"Mister Potter, before we jump... I would like to tell you that you have held yourself well. Your caliber is close to that of this world's Harry."
"She's your measuring stick?"
"Harry has proven worthy of the trust and the effort that I have invested in her. As have you."
It wasn't even a twisted compliment. Harry just thought that it was a very odd way of putting things. And yet, it was maybe a lot clearer than a simple "Good job."
Worthy of the trust and the effort that I have invested in her.
"Time to go," Riddle said, and Harry was torn out of his thoughts in time to see the man fall backwards, grinning like a monster, falling into the city.
The city that was a maelstrom. It was aflame. It was afire. It was a fire.
Harry followed. Into free fall. Into holocaust.
(And the fire would consume it all)
The bombs dropped all around them. Or descended.
And they unleashed. Were unleashed.
Napalm B. Burn salve "antidote." Triethylaluminium. Greek Fire. White phosphorus. A "tracer charm" that kept the fire from interacting people wearing the proper suits.
And curses by the dozen, sowed in the potions and the metal of the bombs and left to fester and warp as only curses can.
(And the fire would consume it all)
It was night.
It blazed like the dawn.
And then they landed, Riddle and Harry and those that had gone with them.
Harry could see the field extending out.
(The city was a fire)
The charms fell away like water, but others remained, embedded in the flowing-carapace suit he was wearing, like the ones that he had seen in Belgium. It almost moved of its own accord, nudging him gently in his thoughts as it surveyed and analyzed the battlefield almost faster than he could react to its reports.
He was given ten seconds by the clock to recover from his landing. Then they were off. Running through the streets to their destination, past the anti-air defenses in that part of the city.
(And Riddle slew them down like Death's lover or Death itself, with gun and wand he slew them, all which stood in their way)
There was dying in the streets, ashes and bones and blood across the asphalt and splattered on the walls. Harry wielded his wand as much as any of them, felling them with pure magic and conjured weapons upon a transmuting— and transmuting— battlefield.
(This was the shape of war)
And like the worst of dreams there came a time when Harry seemed to have woken up at all long last. Woken up in the very dream in which he had been held.
(Dreaming of dreaming, falling into the Fall)
There was still the war all around him. The city all around him. The fire.
But before them, the tower where their target hid. The Senator of this city and the land thereabouts.
Tonks' crew soon met them there, and then as one they turned up their heads.
"He'll be at the top, of course," Tonks said.
"Yes. And who knows how many floors are really in here?" Riddle replied. "No-one goes entirely out of sight. We don't need anyone disappearing." He turned his attention fully to Harry. "It's up to you to take the deciding blow against the Senator. Kill him or disarm him, it's all the same."
"What?"
"Whoever defeats the Senator becomes master of the Elder Wand," Riddle said slowly. "And where are you going, very soon?"
"Home."
"Where no-one will suspect a thing."
"You're going to permanently break the cycle," Harry said.
Riddle's grin was invisible behind the wall of his suit, but Harry could hear it in his voice.
"And you didn't even need to use legilimency to read my mind."
"Another dream?"
"Mm-hm."
"Did I have a starring role?"
"Shut up, Tonks."
Unusually, Tonks actually listened and Harry was able to finish getting dressed in silence. It was… a little strange, perhaps, that she still hung around and carried on conversations when he was between outfits, as it were, but in her words it was "against my policy" to look without consent. And it wasn't his body, not really, so he was in the clear.
Harry had noted, when she'd made mention of it a few days ago, that her only reason against it was "policy."
Riddle was simply… amused. Harry found it somewhat comforting that a strong sense of schadenfreude was thus far proving to be a universal constant among Riddles.
In other ways, however, Riddle was ever an enigma.
How had he become… whatever this was, that he was? Able to inspire such loyalty even in Tonks, who hated to be serious in the face of death but nevertheless could read people even without legilimency? Catching the little things was important when she might have to become anyone, at any time, and flawlessly imitate them herself.
Riddle wasn't a saint. Certainly not. Harry remembered how he looked after they left Lockhart's house. But he wasn't Voldemort either.
Harry was still mulling it over in a part of his mind when they boarded the plane.
The plane.
It was a miracle of blue science. Or an everyday thing. A miracle only to Harry, alien as he was to the whole thing. Bigger within than without, faster than it should be, running on fuel equal parts gasoline and some alchemical concoction worked out by some of the greatest minds in Britain, near-weightless, and in possession of a sensory array that picked out everything from body heat to the occurrence of apparition.
And even as they flew to war, Harry and Riddle continued to discuss blue science and, more importantly, the trouble of getting Harry and Harry where they belonged. They worked at fine-tuning calculations for hours.
"And your dream?" Riddle asked at one point. "What did you see this time?"
"They're working on a signal that we should be able to lock onto."
"If we didn't know to lock onto the signal, what would happen?"
"They may not be able to secure the connection. But… They're expecting that we will. That one of me will. I don't know if they were expecting the dreams but it wasn't impossible for us to work out that there would be a signal."
"So of course we would. Or one set of us would."
"Right."
Finally a call came from the front. "Four minutes."
Riddle stood and checked his jump-pack. "We'll have to move as quickly as we can. The Eternal Kaiser is making a move on the city personally."
"How did he—"
"Gilderoy's death saved him from the pain of interrogation, not the questioning. The Hallow that is in the Eternal Kaiser's possession makes such troubles as death a trivial concern. But of course the Kaiser must wait until we move first, in order to claim that he is only coming to protect the city."
Riddle paused at the doorway.
"Mister Potter, before we jump... I would like to tell you that you have held yourself well. Your caliber is close to that of this world's Harry."
"She's your measuring stick?"
"Harry has proven worthy of the trust and the effort that I have invested in her. As have you."
It wasn't even a twisted compliment. Harry just thought that it was a very odd way of putting things. And yet, it was maybe a lot clearer than a simple "Good job."
Worthy of the trust and the effort that I have invested in her.
"Time to go," Riddle said, and Harry was torn out of his thoughts in time to see the man fall backwards, grinning like a monster, falling into the city.
The city that was a maelstrom. It was aflame. It was afire. It was a fire.
Harry followed. Into free fall. Into holocaust.
(And the fire would consume it all)
The bombs dropped all around them. Or descended.
And they unleashed. Were unleashed.
Napalm B. Burn salve "antidote." Triethylaluminium. Greek Fire. White phosphorus. A "tracer charm" that kept the fire from interacting people wearing the proper suits.
And curses by the dozen, sowed in the potions and the metal of the bombs and left to fester and warp as only curses can.
(And the fire would consume it all)
It was night.
It blazed like the dawn.
And then they landed, Riddle and Harry and those that had gone with them.
Harry could see the field extending out.
(The city was a fire)
The charms fell away like water, but others remained, embedded in the flowing-carapace suit he was wearing, like the ones that he had seen in Belgium. It almost moved of its own accord, nudging him gently in his thoughts as it surveyed and analyzed the battlefield almost faster than he could react to its reports.
He was given ten seconds by the clock to recover from his landing. Then they were off. Running through the streets to their destination, past the anti-air defenses in that part of the city.
(And Riddle slew them down like Death's lover or Death itself, with gun and wand he slew them, all which stood in their way)
There was dying in the streets, ashes and bones and blood across the asphalt and splattered on the walls. Harry wielded his wand as much as any of them, felling them with pure magic and conjured weapons upon a transmuting— and transmuting— battlefield.
(This was the shape of war)
And like the worst of dreams there came a time when Harry seemed to have woken up at all long last. Woken up in the very dream in which he had been held.
(Dreaming of dreaming, falling into the Fall)
There was still the war all around him. The city all around him. The fire.
But before them, the tower where their target hid. The Senator of this city and the land thereabouts.
Tonks' crew soon met them there, and then as one they turned up their heads.
"He'll be at the top, of course," Tonks said.
"Yes. And who knows how many floors are really in here?" Riddle replied. "No-one goes entirely out of sight. We don't need anyone disappearing." He turned his attention fully to Harry. "It's up to you to take the deciding blow against the Senator. Kill him or disarm him, it's all the same."
"What?"
"Whoever defeats the Senator becomes master of the Elder Wand," Riddle said slowly. "And where are you going, very soon?"
"Home."
"Where no-one will suspect a thing."
"You're going to permanently break the cycle," Harry said.
Riddle's grin was invisible behind the wall of his suit, but Harry could hear it in his voice.
"And you didn't even need to use legilimency to read my mind."
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