Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Harry had already been in the offices, so once he left the brain preparation room, turned to the left and opened the door to a large and near empty office. Harry wrinkled his nose at the continued not-still black walls. This place was terrible, and Harry hated it. He had hated it when he had seen it the first time in his dreams. He had all the more reason to despise it now with every fiber of his being.
He nudged the wooden chair behind the blank desk with his boot. Nothing happened, so he kicked it away and to the back side of the desk to inspect it. Everything was black here. The chair was such a dark brown it might as well be black, standing next to the black desk. On a black rug. In a black room, lit only by the icy blue candles which seemed to be the only thing used in this terrible place. He found no drawers on the back of the desk where someone sitting could reach. It was just a desk. Just a table with legs. Harry raised his eyes and panned slowly around the room. Having an office with nothing in it? No pens on the desk. No drawers with paper.
No files. No pictures. No name plate. It was remarkable in its lack of remarkability.
Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses, and re-affixed the dark lens over his eyes. He caught a hint of luminescent writing, and tracked it to the disgustingly shifting black behind the wall tiles. Harry squinted and watched flashes and tracks of letters brush against the tile and sink down beneath the faux waters. Harry paused before he drifted closer. He reached out and brushed his fingers against the wall, and watched large tracks of luminescent white follow in his finger’s path.
How did Frank get his hands on these glasses? Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and scrawled out the word ‘Finite’.
His scrawl disappeared, and answering words came back. Harry watched a handwriting not his own appear before his eyes, stretching across the entire wall of the room, detailing the history behind the research behind the spell. The uses. And everything between. Harry didn’t bother to read much of it. This wasn’t what he was looking for. While extremely useful and something that had obviously taken a lot of work to creature—it was beautiful and useful in its own way. The question of the day was no longer where the information was, but how to access it easily. How to wipe away what he no longer needed to make room for what he desired to learn about. How to erase this rather ingenious information system.
He took a step back, and watched the words fade away.
Distance of his person to the wall then?
When the wall was empty, he pressed the tip of his wand to the wall and scrawled his own name. He prayed that this really wasn’t like Tom Riddle’s diary with a soul on the other side, and waited for his name to sink away.
Every inch of wall was soon coated in words. Words written in a very familiar hand. Harry stood still as the entire record of his life came to be. A detailed history of his birth, his family life at the Dursleys, his time at Hogwarts… Harry skimmed it. He didn’t need that. He needed… he needed the end. He spun in place and tried to find it… there.
By the door. The exit.
Harry kept the same distance to the wall as he was now, and paced over to stand by the only door that led in and out of the room. Harry stood in front of what he wanted to know, a finger raised to trail over the dated entries to the last handfuls that made up the end.
Auror Potter has agreed to the locating of a XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Graded creature. The most dangerous one that exists on this planet. It has haunted our race, and had been culling it every hundred years, usually using a proxy induced by madness. The most recent note of this culling was through the manipulation of thus noted ‘Voldemort’. While not the cause, this creature is known to exacerbate existing conditions to its favor, with a clear desire for the eradication of Wizardkind through the use of wizards. A reason as to why the creature desires the death of wizards is unknown.
This creature is commonly found amongst the small enclave of mutated squibs.
Harry pursed his lips—yes, he could see himself stepping up for this. He wasn’t sure he had been given all of this information the first time. But seeing it all in its slowly growing entirety, he could see himself not only accepting such a burden on to his soul, but Harry could even imagine himself volunteering for this. If worded the right way, he’d hardly even think about it. (Ginny would hate him for it, without a doubt…)
Auror Potter has agreed to go undercover as a ‘muggle’ –under the impression that he is locating an upcoming dark lord that kidnaps muggles for experimentation and has agreed to be bait. Once under, his magic will be bound, memories bound, and will be subject to personality altercation to make him perfect bait for the creature identified by the checkerface mark on a metal mask.
Once Auror Potter has drawn the creature out, he will be captured and brought to the department of mysteries.
—Entry 423, Date September First, the year Two Thousand and Seventeen.
Auror Harry Potter has been altered, and set in to place.
Harry’s fingers trailed over the listed procedures, enchantments, and potions that they had subjected him to. Things that could not easily be undone. Harry remembered the blackened marks in Frank’s office. He could see now, looking back, that fearful desperation. Frank was strong in his own way. And he had undone all of this, all that the unspeakables had done to him.
—Entry 424, Date January Eighth, the year Two Thousand and Nineteen.
Harry Potter’s trail has disappeared with a coinciding leaving of a muggle circus, occurring shortly after U.T. Henrick was spotted tailing Potter during his day. Compulsion charms from Thatcher failed to land.
A confrontation occurred.
Harry Potter has disappeared.
—Entry 425, Date February Twelfth, the year Two Thousand and twenty-two.
Official report.
Project Potter is now declared over.
He is in the clutches of the creature, spotted alive in Poland. Presumed infected by the creature’s unknown ideology. New objective; capture Potter and harvest his brain for further research on the creature.
Harry’s eyes trailed down and barely glanced over the last report and that had him being sent to the brain preparation room. Harry closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the too warm tiles of the walls. He took in a deep breath and let it out slow. In the end, there had only been the bare minimum of information here for him. Harry focused on his breathing.
… it was a start.
That was all he needed.
Harry took several steps back from the wall and watched his life disappear. He stepped to the door to leave, hand out and on the handle before he stilled. A terrible, terrible thought bloomed to life behind his eyes. His fingers around the handle of the door clenched hard, and he heard the protesting groan of the strength of his fingers.
It was like watching a stranger control his own body. Slowly letting go of that handle finger by finger. Shuffling to his right so he stood in front of the wall once more. He reached out with his wand, and traced out name… after name… after name…
Hermione Granger nee Weasley. Ron Weasley. Luna Lovegood. Neville Longbottom—
Teddy Lupin.
Date of death and replacement; June twenty-fifth, the year Two thousand and fifty two.
Harry turned on his heel, shutting his eyes as he focused on his breathing. He mentally scrambled for stability against the dull roar of his mind. Harry was a master of himself, not to be controlled by anything. Not even his own emotions. He would make the very best choice that could be done.
Even though he tasted blood and ashes on his tongue, and even though his hands ached in phantom pains to take his wrath out on the bodies of those that had raised a hand against him—Harry took another slow, calming breath. He needed to relate this to something. To anything. And he hated the fact that the only thing he could bring to mind was Voldemort.
Would this have happened, if Voldemort had been able to keep his hold of the wizarding world?
Would the world have turned to this, if Harry himself had refused that undercover mission?
And what could even be done? What could dissuade a re-take over once he finished with things here? Slapping them on the wrists and wagging a finger in their general direction before he leaves for his own way was not something Harry would bet his life on working.
No… the solution here would have to be a bit more… permanent.
Merlin, Harry could only imagine what Azkaban was like as of this moment.
In the end, really—it felt like he had no choice. It left him chomping at the bit. Such a waste of human life! Perhaps Harry didn’t believe in second chances as much as Albus Dumbledore had, but he did believe in innocence and guilt. And with this whole mess of memory charms, who knew who was guilty and who was innocent at this point.
Well, Harry had some idea, if nothing else. Perhaps it would be enough.
His brain locked on to his idea.
And his heart settled in to place.
For the wizarding world to be free of its latest tyranny, some people had to die. (The thought was fire, ice, and everything that no one could aptly describe to another that had never felt it before—a terrible realization had taken place in the not-dark depths of the department of mysteries, and it was going to be the last one that would be had here.)
Harry slammed through the office door. He couldn’t—he didn’t want to know anymore. That was enough. That was enough for him. This was enough. Everything was in crystal clarity now. Like the world had slowed down and he was moving at three times the speed of normal.
Harry Potter didn’t feel anything anymore.
He burst out of the offices, slamming the door on his way. It shattered. The tiles were shattering under the slamming steps of his feet. He was going to break everything. It wasn’t even a desire, it was just a matter of fact. The glasses brought him through the changing hall, and he grabbed on to the ‘EXIT’. Harry came to a halt, however, with his hand on the doorknob. He felt more than heard every doors of the hall open.
They really were moving in slow motion.
Harry’s wand was already alight and aloft in his hand
Everything had led to this moment. This, right here, was the sum of all of his parts.
Fiendfyre.
The roar came first. And then the flame. Harry didn’t bother to control it. He let it free to the rain of multi-colored lights that came toward him. It was free, it was loose—and Harry slammed the door behind him and enchanted it with a few flicks of his wand.
Harry sprinted down the hall and slammed in to the elevator, pushing the call button over and over again as he watched the door over his shoulder. The door at the end of the hall. The door he had spent over a year dreaming about due to Voldemort. A door that Sirius had gone in and had never come out of. Harry did one final press of the button as he watched the door that led to the Department of Mysteries blacken.
… maybe not one of his better ideas.
Harry raised his wand and broke the lift. He scrabbled in to his bag, his hand hauling out the shrunken motorcycle. Yes, Harry really worked just fine by the seat of his pants. The cursed flames were stomping down the corridor now, snorting like dragons. Harry laughed, his grin stretched so wide that it hurt as the motorcycle grew to normal size under his hands.
His magic… it was so potent. So tightly bound to his control—like it had been stuffed in to a small box for years and was now finally free. So free it jumped to his call without much waiting or thought. Harry looked down to the slot where a key obviously went, and reached in to the small slot in the back of the collar of his leather suit. A key was stored there, and he had mostly ignored it because he didn’t know where it went to. He took it out now, and guessed it was the right size for the bike and jammed it in to place.
Sweat was pouring down his back, and he could see the twisted faces of his dragons coming in from the sides. His spells on the lift was forming a ramp out of the remains of the wrecked remains—Harry twisted the key and revved the engine. He had seen people ride these before. The handles twisted under his hands and—
He shot forward with a scream, wobbling from side to side as he revved it to the max, narrowly escaping the tidal wave of flaming dragon teeth as it came down. The spell forming the newly made ramp was over stretched and weak, and Harry felt it shattering under his wheels as he went up, and up, and up—
He roared in to the atrium, narrowly missing the updraft of Flames as he leaned forward and swerved around the golden peacock, and eventually skidded to a stop.
Harry tilted his head to the side as he eyed the crowd of Witches and Wizards, all frozen in to place like startled doe. He could already see the Aurors flooding in merely on the merit of their movements against the stillness of the common ministry worker bee. Harry’s hand slipped on the handle, and the engine dramatically roared. The crowd scrambled backwards, putting their backs to the walls to get away from him.
Something was snapping, in the back of his head. Everything was getting slower.
Harry raised a hand toward the crowd, and watched his hand take the shape of a gun.
… even if the wizards somehow covered this mess up, and the ministry survived this—well, Harry would break their hold enough for something new to take its place. Destroy their base. And Frank would do the rest. Because these people were not his own. This witches and wizards had not fought with him, had not bled nor suffered with him. But he was a decent man, and he would give them a guiding touch. He jerked his hand back.
Just a smidge of a touch. In honor of the society that his friends and family had fought for.
“Boom.”
The fiendfyre roared in to the room, and everyone scrambled. Everyone screamed.
They all had a choice, now. As everyone that has ever lived as a human being has always had a choice. Run or fight.
Harry closed his eyes, and revved his engine again.
His auror training had made this far too easy. The training, and a history of guerilla warfare. No, Harry was less like a policeman than he wished he was.
He opened his eyes as he watched most of them flee. And watched the red robed aurors scramble forward. No time to deal with Harry with a rogue dark spell on the loose. Swiftly eating the ministry. Harry didn’t know what his tally was, now. And he hoped he never knew. He wanted to at least think of himself as a decent man. He lifted his foot off of the floor and let the motorcycle carry him to the lift that would take him to the streets of London. Unsurprised when he found no one there, as everyone had scrambled for the fireplaces.
Harry crashed in to the side, unable to predict the distance needed to come to a halt. Harry, as result, slipped to the side and crashed right in to the booth. His raised arms protected his face, and the suit did the rest. Harry Potter took a moment to rest his head against the ground before he yanked his leg out from under the motorcycle. Harry didn’t feel any pain, but he was sure that he would once this was over.
With the motorcycle the size of a toy and in his fist, Harry hopped in to the lift and pressed the appropriate button. And rolled his eyes at the slow rise of the lift as it would bring him to street level of muggle London.
Once the lift was level with the street—he was gone.
He had one more place to go. One more thing to do.
And then he’d be free of this. For the last time.