Chapter 3
"Listen to your father, dear," Emma said. Â The Grangers arrived at Aeroporti di Roma very early in the morning, despite leaving their house at ten in the morning. The flight was only a few hours at most and yet, it seemed to take forever to get there. Â It took a lot longer than her father wanted to leave, too, partly due to some negotiating that had to be done. Â Hermione didn't feel comfortable in the room with the fat sleazy Cockney, but Emma reassured her, despite some rather rude looks from the slob, that they had nothing to fear. She felt better when her father took the man into the next room and returned wiping blood off his knuckles, proclaiming that everything was taken care of and they would leave as soon as the plane was brought out of the hangar. Hermione wanted to ask questions, her nature didn't allow her silence, but a plea from her mother and a command from her father kept her mouth shut until they were on the plane.
"Whatever happens, whatever you see, remember that you are protected, hun," her father said once they were alone in a private jet. This was a new world and she was excited. Something to learn, and however quickly it occurred, Hermione would pick up everything, if only to organize it later.
The time on the plane was spent going over their plan to retrieve Harry from the Vatican. Her father stated that they would not let the boy go easily, but that wouldn't stop him. He figured he had some pull, if not, well, he would find some ways. Her mother was more sure of what was going to occur, and spent the next few hours on the plane writing something on paper her pulled from her bag with inks and quills Hermione had never seen before. One feather shifted colors of the rainbow, though it looked rather scaly. The smells that originated from the stack of inks rivaled the potions laboratory(and she refused to call it anything else given how mad scientist it all was sometimes) and Hermione could have sworn one ink moaned as her mother used it. She wasn't quite sure if it was in pain or pleasure from the moan, but she quickly moved away to the other side of the plan after that, leaving Emma with a smile on her face as she continued to write whatever she was writing.
Her father, on the other hand, sat in a corner of the plan, holding onto the arms of his chair for dear life. Â Dan's first act when they got on the plane was to close every single blind then sit very far away from the cabin. Making a stiff drink from the liquor cabinet near him was his second priority. He talked briefly to Hermione, saying only to follow his lead and stay a step behind him while appearing to take notes on everything she saw and heard, before he downed his first drink and started a second one, this time the cognac that he had was filled to the brim of a cold goblet.
All in all, the flight over was quiet and calm, though Hermione could have sworn that she heard roaring of something outside, and when she went to look, her father yelled at her to keep the blinds closed. Her curiosity would have to be put on hold for the moment. So she was left reading the few books her father had allowed her to bring with, detailing some of basic history of the world she would be entering.
She read all five books, the smallest one thousand pages, three times before the plane landed, with over an hour to spare. Â She might have skimmed towards the end of the books just out of boredom and desire to be there finally.
Most of the books contradicted each other, and none of them agreed on the origin of magic. Some stated that it was here prior to the world was created and that God simply built over it.  Some believed that the world was formed from Chaos, and the God shaped what occurred next using magic.   The differences went even further when the books went into the use of magic itself.  The only one that she felt she could get a straight answer from what this book titled Magic: an Idiot's Guide  by Anonymous.  She thought her father gave it to you her as a joke, but it ended up, despite the massive number of pages in it, being the best of all five.  Magic wasn't simple. It wasn't easily divided and defined, for it was different for everyone who experienced it.  Wanded ones were the exception, for they developed their society as such, but even then, even everyone within that specific culture had a different connection to magic. Â
Brief tales and lists of various types of magic users, and the author apparently wanted to make the distinction clear to the reader: magic is, and because it is, it can not be perceived as whole. So the users break it down however they could attempt to perceive it, thus creating their existence. The options weren't limitless, if only limited by a prejudice and preconceptions of people, and therefore preconceptions of magic. Â Furthermore, magic was passed through bloodlines, though sometimes odd things could occur. A mage would produce mage after mage through their line, though sometimes, that form of magic could be alter or skipped. It might even not exist for a while before suddenly showing up again. Â And none of this precluded the idea that magic could be learned.
The author considered this list to be grossly under representing of the magic world, stating that if anything, this did not cover the ethnic variations and selections, focusing mostly on some of the more popular ones of Europe and North America. Though popular did not mean strongest and certainly did not mean many. Â These were just few of the more well known magic varieties, even if they were selective and secretive. This text touched briefly on the `wanded ones', referring to the magic that Hermione grew up in. More secretive and hidden than most magic, they had segregated themselves in their superiority, believing because they could mimic most magic with the least amount of effort, they simply were the best. An idea that the author did not agree to.
Another text, again authored by anonymous and was probably older than Magic: An Idiot's Guide, focused solely on the magics of a warlock. Â It seems that while all warlocks are different in what they do, their connection to their magic is similar: a bending of the will of magic by forcing one's will on top of it. A warlock could do anything if they forced magic to act the way they wanted. Â Some created fire, burning the air with their magic. Another might just removed obstacles, as the author wrote of a famous one, though what the obstacle might be was left to the judgment of the warlock. Their power was only limited by the will of the user.
The third book, which without a translation spell, was rather limited, but offered a summary of what this author named as speakers or truenamers, a scholarly school of magic where a lifetime of research often only lead to a few words known. But they believed there was power in knowledge, certainly in words. With the right set of words, a speaker could change reality. For they spoke the original language, the one that born all the worlds and possibilities. In their mouths and souls, they knew how to bend time, space and understanding to their well. Â Â Â A myth existed that some of the first speakers knew words that could unname a being, dissolving them into nothing. Â
The other texts were just propaganda against "wanded ones", speaking against their reasons to leave the known magic world and form their own community. Despite being radicals, it seemed, wanded magic was the most popular drawing attention from everywhere and people from everywhere. Â In fact, there was an article about the foundation of a school under the Merlyn Principles, though this was the last fully acknowledge school of wanded magic by the magic community.
In all, the books did nothing to enlightened her, though Hermione believed that she had much to learn about the world before she felt ready again. Especially this new world. She wondered if they had a library she could see, or borrow. Â Keep would be better.
Dan Granger watched as his daughter began her descent into his world. Â She had finished all the books quickly, too quickly in fact. The trip would be long, he knew that, even if normally it wouldn't take half of the time; they had to travel in a round about manner to even get to the Vatican. The issue wasn't time. Â If Harry was the being who disrupted Dr. Stephens, then he should be alright. The time was more for his daughter to get to know at least part of the world she was going to be entering, but also for him to observe her. Â
Emma first noticed the strangeness of his daughter five years before, though this was after the first magic she preformed. Â One day, when she was home from the office, she watched how Hermione read over thirty books about animals, most of them taken from the library without a library pass. Â But that wasn't the odd part. Â That night, at dinner, Hermione began to tell them all that she learned, spouting out incredible detailed passages above mollusks of all things. Then she moved onto extinct creatures and their bone structures, pointing out the measurements of a raptor's leg bones. This could have gone on for hours, if Emma didn't put a stop to it and got a conversation going on the latest children television shows, a vice that Hermione still enjoyed during the summer. Dan returned the books the next month, after checking every single fact that his daughter said, for his sake not Hermione's. Â His daughter was smart, borderline genius, and had always been a fast reader. But this was new. Â
There were rumors and myths floating around of Learners, magical beings who could learn and absorb knowledge as people can breath air and see. Â They could look at a building and know everything about it, strengths and weakness, as well as the greatest chance for escape or destruction. One myth claimed that a Learner was responsible for the discovery of magic, that with a look, they understood how the world worked and how to make it better. Â It was the arrogance that made Learners dangerous; because in knowing everything, they never understood anything. Â The few times a so called Learner attempted to take over was devastating to the world, not just magic. But there was never proof that it was really a Learner or that they were anything more than they appeared. Â No one had met one in person, but everyone claimed to know someone who knew one.
The truth of the matter was much simpler, in Dan's opinion. Like all things in magic, it was hard to discern fact from myth, but in the end it is possible with enough study and inquiry. A Learner was simply gifted with the ability to learn and acquire knowledge often in different ways. The application of the knowledge was where the real power was. Thus, critical thinking and logic were skills that his daughter would need in her future. Â Skills that the last two years threatened to take away. Â Now was the time for rebuilding, even if it took more than time.
The flight took ten hours in total. Â From some maps and quick math with just very basic estimation (Hermione Granger does not guess, but educated estimations based on logic was acceptable), she figured out that at most the flight should have been two and half hours, baring no delays and clear weather. Somehow, they were traveling somewhere that wasn't Rome, but when they stepped out of the plane, they arrived at the Aeroporti di Roma. Â
********
Back in London, ten hours earlier, the Order of the Phoenix was attempting to figure out what happened at Privet Drive Number 4, especially since it was currently a pile of smouldering ruins. Â Remus Lupin and a young Auror who introduced herself as Tonks were sent there once the first alarm was raised that something was wrong with the building. When they arrived, after running a few blocks to the house, they found the entire block inaccessible. They saw massive red trucks pull up and men pour out of them, spraying water from somewhere to put out the fire.
Remus stood still, unable and unwilling to move from the spot as he watched the Muggles attempt to save the burning house. He didn't need to be a werewolf to smell the burning flesh within the building, even as far as they were. Â For years, he was prevented from seeing Harry, by law, by promise and by guilt. Law prevented him from seeing Harry for years, through wards and curses. Promise simple held him away, a foolish promise that he wouldn't even grant the chance of leading danger to Harry, a promise he gave to Dumbledore. And guilt forced him into a bottle each night, simply because of the pain he caused as a werewolf, and his inability to help his friends in their hour of need.
But the worst of it, the thing that forced him to face an awful truth that burned deep within the core of him, was the smell. Â His werewolf senses sometimes bleed into his human form, forcing him to know things that he shouldn't know. Â Like that burnt human smelled so much like the meat he ate every day to help sate the wolf within him. Â That body's muscle could have been beef, the fat pork, the cerebral fluid a sweet perfume to add to the wonderful smells of the dead. Â This of course was only if the body was fresh, for rotten is rotten, and there is no sense in eating the rotten. And hidden underneath all of it, deep within the smell of cooking food, Remus smelled that which was dead and lost, something from his past that he swore wouldn't return: brimstone.
Tonks was smelled it too, meaning the idea of brimstone was burned into the surroundings. The actual scent was hidden within the fire and the bodies and the people and the sweat and tears, too low for anyone human to smell. But the idea was there, which worried Remus more than the fact that Harry's body was missing, meaning he was alive, though there were no leads. Â
"I swear, Professor, the entire neighborhood was out, watching the firefighters deal with the mess. Â We stood there, watching them deal with it. Â Couldn't get close enough to see, but once the fire was contained, they only brought out three body bags," Tonk finished her report. "They were identified as the Dursley's. Â There was no sign of Harry."
Despite it being Sirius' house, Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, his fingers tented and staring straight ahead. Â He was thinking or planning, and Remus could only assume the worst was yet to come. Â Tonks put her paper down. Â Remus couldn't help but admit that she was attractive, though he wasn't sure if that was the wolf speaking or him. Â The problem with lychanthropy; there were two sides of everything, a bestial being within him tearing to get out and threatening to consume him and all he knew. Â Â There were days he could control it, and days it threatened to devour him. Â With Tonks, apparently devour had a different sense, and for once, Remus couldn't disagree.
"The worst part of it was the smell."
"Of course," Dumbledore replied. "Smelling human bodies is something-"
"No, not that Professor," Tonks said. "It was this rotten egg smell that I couldn't get rid of. It got into my cloths too." Sirius, Alastor, and Dumbledore stiffened, though probably for similar reasons though they might not know that. This was not going to end well, and probably a bit bloody from the  Sirius shot Remus a look before standing up.
"Everyone, leave." Remus had heard this voice a few times, it was Lord Black showing himself, when he needed something done, and he couldn't trick his way through it. Sirius Black was a strong, enigmatic man who was always in control of himself, even if he didn't realize it. There was a reason why the core of the Marauders were so close, and it wasn't the reason that everyone thought it was. Â "Now."
The Order of the Phoenix was a volunteer group, a collective of like minded people who were focused on the demise of Voldemort, especially since the government was not. There was no more than thirty people in the group, though less often showed up to the meetings now that they started again. Â They followed Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the light, who gladly played chessmaster, even if that wasn't his intention. The members expected orders from him, for he was the most powerful, by their standards, and as far as they knew, amongst them, and Ablus Dumbledore was rarely wrong. Â When Sirius order people out, though, it was new for them, but they did listen, especially since it was his house after all. Each glared at Sirius as they left, though. Â "Tonks, stay."
Alastor and Dumbledore did not move, though Remus walked over to Tonks, who looked oddly worried. He offered a smile and she returned it, her hair shifting from the vibrant pink to a more subdued brown. Remus wanted to offer words of encouragement, but he really didn't know what to say. Â She was worried and he assumed it because Sirius was the Lord Black, who, despite Andrometra "removal" from the family, was head of the family. Â Only conviction of murder could remove it, and even then in a separate trial by his peers. Â So his imprisonment did nothing to limit his power, despite the government's search for him. Â Meaning that Tonks feared that she had done something wrong, for she alone was kept behind. Â
Sirius Black could impose himself anywhere, a talent granted to every Black from what Remus knew. Â Sirius' grandfather was said to have silence a room without a sound, and part crowds with but a glance. Â It seems it was not an exaggeration. Prior to his imprisonment, Sirius was a playboy, a man-child who had no purpose but to enjoy himself and life. Â He had his friends and family, though wasn't really close to the latter, but never a real purpose in his life. Even fighting was nothing but a game to him. Even with Azkaban, he hadn't changed and talked about finding himself a nice bird and showing her a good time. Â But now, with the disappearance of Harry and the reignition of a flame best left dead, Sirius Black, the child, had apparently decided to step off the bench and onto the field. Â With a wave of his hand, the room was sealed and they had privacy they would need. Â Remus took a seat down by the other men, aware that each knew more than willing to let on.
"Tonks, I need you to go over what happened there, exactly. Leave nothing out, every sight, every smell, every feeling that you got. Was there magic residue? Everything." Sirius stared at her, his voice and posture refusing anything but compliance. With a smile and a nod from Remus, she started a bit more confident.
So Tonks did. She described every last detail, even a few that Remus had to admit he missed. Â The magic of the area was off, ignoring the collapse of the wards, something that put the wolf on edge, but Remus took that as more of Tonks around him. Â She had this tendency to distract him. Not that he complained. She finished and the room was silent. Remus sat heavily in his chair, even the wolf feeling worried. Â
"So gentlemen," Sirius said, walking over to a liquor cabinet in the room. He poured five drinks of a harsh Muggle whiskey and promptly handed them out. Â It said something of the situation that Alastor Moody did not hesitate to down the alcohol. "It appears that we have a situation on hand that we did not account for. I think it's time we all came clean." A look at Albus said everything.
"I first learned of James' unique heritage our seventh year at Hogwarts, when there was an incident involving some Slytherins." Remus smirked at the memory. "It wasn't meant to be something special, after all, he, Remus, and I were pranking them for years at this point. Â But this day came after the death of James' grandfather, the man how took me in when I was kicked out for the third summer in a row."
"Who helped me find shelter and safety in the summer, after James demanded that his friend come over," Remus added.
Sirius smiled and nodded. "Charles was a great man, and sometimes I doubt we all deserved him the way we acted."
"Is that regret I'm hearing, Sirius," Albus said.
"Maybe but that isn't the point. Â The point is that a new year started and James had found out about his past, about his heritage, and his family. Â Charles Potter died in his sleep, as far as the newspaper was concerned. Â So when James received a letter notifying him the change in his family, the loss of the Charles, he was sullen and depressed. Not just sad that he lost a great man and his father figure, but more so, as if everything in his life was a lie. Â Not to mention that he was sick for a few days, down with something and stuck in the hospital wing. Â Pomfrey was out for the week and we had some random witch from Mungos filling in. At first, I thought that was the reason why James' stay was so long. So, Remus and I figured that a good prank could cheer him up.
"Didn't take long, we'd it planned for a few days, so it was just a matter of execution. Â Would have been brilliant too had Snivellus not gotten involved. Somehow, just as we were about to make the magic happen, he and about ten seventh year snakes showed up. Â There we were, standing with a few buckets of some, well, we'll just call it interesting materials and eleven wands pointed at us. Â It was only a matter of moments before a professor showed up, but given the numbers, I was sure that we'd be in the hospital wing for a bit before serving our detentions.
"When James appeared out of nowhere, right behind the Slytherins. I swear, he waved his hand and they parted, stuck to walls. Â The wands dropped right where they stood. and he just walked over to us smiling devilishly. He stood taller, stronger, and probably more handsome than he'd been too, now that I think about it. Â It was as if James Potter, the spoiled boy who just wanted to have fun, was left behind and returned was this figure cut from granite. Â After that day, James acted like a new person, one of honor, responsibility. He didn't prank much, if at all, but when he did, it was to get back at someone. Â Many place the change on Lily, and that probably helped, but I think whatever it was, happened because of that letter." Sirius poured himself another drink and smiled. "And the strangest thing about it, was that whenever James did this fantastic feats of magic, there was this sulfurous smell about. Â We thought it was just another prank, but now that you tell it that.
"I found that letter, once, and only read a part of it. It spoke of the history of Gryffindor, of the trials and the pain that they would go through. But power came from it. James came back too quickly for me to finish it, but from what I could figure it out, it reminded me of a Devil's Bargain." Â Tonks gasped while Alastor frowned; A Devil's Bargain was not unheard of though rarely followed through, simply because no wizard would be foolish enough to do it. Muggles may talk of selling one's soul to a devil, but for a wizard it was possible. Â Legend even had it that was the purpose of the Dementors, to house the souls of those who sell them until collected.
"Sirius spoke of sulfur smell following James. You have to understand though, it wasn't just there when he cast spells, it was James now. His scent had changed, he had changed on a fundamental level." Remus said. Â "We never brought it up because honestly, we loved James. He and Lily were the best of us. That year he changed, for the better. There was no better man than James Potter than."
Moody spoke up. "How can a man who sold his soul be-"
"I doubt it was he who sold it, Alastor," Albus finally spoke up. "James was brash, foolish, and arrogant, but he knew better than to play with fire. Rather a Cursed Line. Could be that Potters did something in the past that cursed them. Or it could be far worse, but we do not know"
"Still don't like it."
"You don't have to, Moody," Remus said. "just understand that we might be dealing with the same thing here. That Harry had awoke the darkness in him, and somehow this was the result."
"Do we think he's dead?" Albus asked.
"Unlikely," Moody replied. "Potter has more luck than most, so he's alive out there. No, we need to be talking about the Myrddin Proclamation and Principles, especially if we have a Cursed Line. You of all people should know this, Albus."
"A Cursed Line is not enough for a violation of the Proclamations, Alastor. In fact, there is nothing to even suggest there is a violation."
"Excuse but what exactly is this Merlin Principles and-" Tonks finally spoke up, her silent figure only accented by the fact that her appearance was just as meek.
"It's `Myrddin' my dear, though I can understand the issues and similarities. And its the Proclamation and Principles," Albus said. Above all else, the man was a teacher, a sage on the stage. "It a decree and rules for which to protect our way of life founded by Merlin Satanspawn himself."
"I've never heard of them," she said.
"Of course not, this title has been lost for a while," Moody waved his glass and Sirius grumbled as he went for the bottle, setting it down in front of the wizard. Â "Currently, we know it as the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692, though it has existed longer than that." Â Moody didn't even have the decency to pour another glass; despite his paranoia, he just drank from the bottle.
"And you two know about this." Sirius smirked and Remus shrugged. Â Tonks attempted to glare at the him, but the older wolf did nothing. Â The inner wolf was smirking if Remus understood it correctly, though he was unsure if it was a good or bad thing. "and why did you call him Merlin Satanspawn."
"One of the nefarious myths revolving around Merlin was that he was the son of Satan, and that his actions were the basis of our entire culture. Â Some of the more restricted texts even say that he is the reason why majority of magic has been lost, as a means of protecting our way of life. But that is neither here or there."
"The point being," Moody said, "is that we are dealing with something that should not have even been here in the first place. A Cursed Line has unholy blood within it, that someone in their ancestry had.. carnal relations with a demon, devil, or some other dark one, and cursed the future generations. They possess great power, physical and magical, and  - Albus why did you not tell us of the presence of a Cursed Line?"
"Because I was not informed until years after James' death," Albus said. "But the Cursed Line is not our concern, at the moment. Finding Harry must be our number one priority."
"Albus, the boy could be-"
"Harry James Potter was one of the best and most outstanding students I have ever seen," Remus said. Â "Given the events last year, that he was forced into a situation that you could have easily prevented, Albus, and then had to face Voldemort for a fourth time, by himself, mind you, I'd wager that he was better than all of us." Â The wolf gave no quarter to those who threatened its pack, especially the cubs. Â Remus was strong-willed if only to keep the best within sated and down, but sometimes, like with Tonks oddly enough, he and the wolf would agree. "you are the one who placed him in that hell hole, you are the one who left him there, alone, afraid, beaten-"
"Don't you think I know that," Albus shouted. No one moved, no one said a thing. Albus Dumbledore was not one to shout, or even raise his voice. Â In all the time that he knew him, Remus had never seen Dumbledore be anything but the picture of calm, collected reason. Â But now, he looked every bit the old man that he was. "You don't think that I was unaware of every last thing that happened to Harry, every bruise, every broken bone, every single little thing that happened to him in that cursed place. Â Do you really believe me to be so heartless and cruel that I would sit back and do nothing if something was the option?"
"Yes," Sirius replied. Glaring at the old man. Abused knew abused, and Siruis could see it in the eyes of Harry every time they met. Â
"I am paying my penance, Sirius ," Albus said, as he removed his robe, revealing a simply button down shirt and dress pants, beige on brown. unbuttoned his shirt. Â "I did not believe that the Dursleys would be so cruel, but I was aware their... dislike of magic. I did not want to believe they could hurt the child so badly as they did." Â He began to unbutton his shirt.
"I didn't think I paid for a stripper to this meeting." Sirius, the first to attempt not to be serious. "Certainly not an old man stripper."
Dumbledore chuckled and opened his shirt, revealing a long red gash that tore itself down his chest, just left of his heart. Â Sketched across him, in various shapes and sizes, were scars and bruises, some looked older, some fresh as if they were just healing. But he was certainly not as aged as a centennial should be. "When I first placed him there, I did a long term curse on myself, tied to Harry."
"Why would anyone place a curse on themselves?" Moody asked, his eye focused on Albus' broken chest.
"To monitor Harry's condition. For reasons that I can not release at this time, I was not permitted to remove Harry from his environment. But I could at least pay penance for the crime of leaving him there. Every pain he felt, I felt. Every injury he sustained, I sustained. Â The curse prevented me from healing my wounds magically, unless Harry was healed as such. Â This is my punishment for my crime. I know Harry still lives, for the curse is still with me."
"That scar?" Tonks asked. Albus started to redress himself, though a bit slower this time, as if he was still recovering from whatever happened to Harry.
"No," Remus said. "That scar is about a week, maybe more old. Looks like a knife wound."
"Correct, as far as I could tell from the sensation that I felt when poor Harry received it. I would have seen people to the house immediately, but sadly, I do not handle pain well any more. Between the stabbing and the fire that occurred afterwards, I blacked out."
"Aye," Moody replied. "Minerva found you in your office, slumped over."
"That does not excuse your actions."
"I have no illusions of that, Sirius." Albus sat back down, his body heavily situating itself in the chair. Â "I am not a good man, certainly when compared to others. I try my best, but I am also trying for a better world. Â A world I will not see." Â He sighed and closed his eyes. Â "Everything is not as black and white as you wish it, Sirius. Â That one act while evil in the eyes of one is good in the other, neither preclude the other from being wrong. The world is."
"Is what?" Tonks asked.
"It just is. We cannot define that we exist in, because to do so would change- no there is no need for this discussion. All that you need to know is that I am paying penance for my actions, and that Harry is alive. We must search for him, and bring him to safety."
"To you, you mean," Remus added. He was not happy with Dumbledore's lack of answer, his hidden agendas, and the fact that he did nothing to stop the pain Harry was in.
Dumbledore shrugged. "If necessary, to protect him, even from himself, yes. Â If the Cursed Line has manifested, then we must find Harry and shelter him from the world before they learn of the situation. Â The clues are readily available to those who are willing to look for them. Â If it is something else, then Harry must be protected and hidden for his own safety."
"Another means to the end, isn't it," Sirius said. He was upset, Remus could tell, but it was more than that. Control was something the Maruaders knew about, and to be under someones control was something the last true Scion of the Blacks would not allow.
The room was silence, and Remus shifted in his chair. Â Too many truths were released tonight, and there were still many more that were hidden from each other. Dumbledore had some, but he knew that Moody and Sirius had their own; Remus was unsure what to make of everything, given that he felt more research into the situation was required. "So what now?" Remus asked. Dumbledore's silence worried the wolf within him; if necessary, he and Sirius would do whatever it took to protect Harry from the old manipulator.
"Now, with Harry missing, we attempt to figure out what occurred that night. Â It is imperative that we know what happened, if nothing else to make sure that it wasn't a violation of the Myrddin Proclamation."
"And hide him away?" Remus asked.
"No, the time for hiding and sheltering is past, at least in terms of Harry." Dumbledore finally opened his eyes and was looking at everyone. The twinkle was back. Â "As much as I wish to protect him, if this attack or event was planned, hiding is no longer an option." Â He knew something, Remus decided. Dumbledore knew something more that was important and probably deadly, but the old man kept his secrets well. Â
"And if it was a violation?" Tonks added. "Not just Harry's oddity and Cursed Line? Â What then." Dumbledore turned to Moody, the only man Remus knew in recent history, if not record, to actually fight and win against one.
"A demon is hard to kill, smart as a whip, and deadly as a basilisk with no eye lids, so if they are involved and wanted Potter alive, he would be. Course, if they wanted him dead then this conversation is futile," the old Auror started. Â "No, in all likelihood, if a demon was involved, then this wouldn't be the only source of blood and chaos in the world. Â Chances are, sadly, we are dealing with a devil."
Tonks snorted. "There's a difference? You've got to be kidding me."
"I'm afraid so. A devil is slightly less powerful, though what it makes up for is in intelligence and awareness. Â Devil's plan. Â It's what makes them more dangerous. Aye, if a devil was involved, we should be prepared for the worst, because everything that follows will be much worse."
Silence took over the room again, sitting down in a chair with them and drank expensive brandy. Â It stood behind each person, hanging over their shoulders and reading their faces as though it was a simple children's book. It hovered and drifted, the unseen figure that prevented them from speaking what could be worse than, than Voldemort, worse than Harry's tortured life, worse than every fear and danger they had. Things had changed, and not for the better.
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Hermione followed three steps behind her mother, who was a step and a half behind her father, through the catacombs that were the Vatican. In truth, it was nothing like she expected. Â The Vatican they were located in had to be about a mile in the Tyrrhenian Sea if she went by the estimated travel times, but lately, she had almost decided to give up on that context. Though, it did cross her mind that she was using the wrong maps.
The Vatican itself was a series of streets and catacombs, filled with both vendors of all types and beings of all type. From what Hermione could tell, the Vatican was two places with the same name. The first was like Diagon Alley, a place where shops and stores set up with the intent of making any sort of profit, though Hermione could tell that some did not accept standard currency (who buys in larva). Â Things that you only dreamed of, that were made of dreams and from dreams could be found for sale, for the right price. Â Her father said that this was one of the few markets in the world that catered to unique crowd, as he referred to it. Another was rumored to be located in London, though apparently there had been some trouble lately and he never did figure out the entrance.
The second place with the name of the Vatican was an posh business that stood about ten stories high and probably stretched as far down into the ground, though its basement had roots of its own. Â Here, decisions and ideas were traded like stocks, and the whole of the magic world of Southern and Western Europe was decided. The above ground portion was used for the government, the decisions and the rulings of issues and problems. The below ground portion, hidden from view for good reasons acted both as a prison and a library. Â Here a man could be kept alive for the simple fact that he could not be killed. Â The most dangerous were not housed here, but those that pissed someone off were.
For the moment, Hermione was silent, mapping every detail around her. Â She knew how far they had traveled despite the blackened windows and dark car by turns and average speed. Â She knew each step, each turn, each path they had taken, and was projecting the various alleyways they had passed on the way here. Â She didn't know how, but she bet she could draw a detailed map of the entire complex from memory, blindfold, with a crayon, and still show every color and mark that she saw.
Since her change, Hermione became aware that she was learning too quickly. Absorbing would be a better term. Â She took things in naturally, and her intelligence allowed her to use that gained knowledge quickly. Â She could recall, with total clarity, everything that happened. Her reading speed increased greatly, and it felt as if a block was released, and the dam was reversed. Everything came flooding in, which worried Hermione. Â She was always of the belief that you could learn, but there was a finite space for things. Â That eventually she would run out. Â What then? She could feel the starts of a headache as she continued to map the place in her mind, using only the floor. Â Things would not end well.
They met a strange man in the lobby of the Vatican, where he quickly ushered all three of them down to the first basement. Â There business occurred. Daniel Granger was a powerful man, she figured, because people stepped away and looked down at the ground as he walked. Â If he was part of this world, then whatever magic he held would be fantastic to learn, and Hermione wanted to. Â Emma Granger was introduced as her fathers consort and advisor, and Hermione was given only the title of scribe, so write she did. Â Â But she did not write of what she saw of the building, the location, but of people and their actions and reactions. Â Hermione could play her part; if they wanted a simple scribe, then she would record, just not what they want.
They passed room after room, corridor after corridor, with passcodes and keycodes, people moving in and out, just daily business Hermione recorded them all: passwords, the numeric keys, the magentic ones had their own notation for the sounds they made. Â She record behavior and hidden thoughts and emotions of people that showed when they didn't think. The record wasn't for her though, Dan Granger had a plan.
"As you can see," a messenger droned on and on as they walked through the various corridors, "We have top of the line technomancer and druidic protections and glyphs as means of  overseeing the operation here.  Every month, we review and upgrade if necessary, looking to ensure our clients integrity and safety within this building, as well as some various Old-One protections just in case.  Never know when something from the depths of existing life is going to rise up and destroy us all."
Hermione recorded the lies and just remembered the truths. Lies were abundant: in body language, in words, in sights and sounds. Illusions fell apart to her when she looked at them, the very fabric of whatever spell powered the magic turned into, well, fabric. Â They looked unreal, as everything else stood out in the beauty that was life. Â But illusions were neither beautiful nor realistic. Â Most of them, those that hid something behind them, looked like a child's drawing using crayon and marker, along with failure to color in the lines. Â Of course, she memorized where the illusions were and made notations on how to spot them. Â Her headache was getting worse.
Emma Granger said nothing, but looked back at her daughter every once in a while. Â To the average eyes, she was over looking the work of a lowly scribe recording the adventures and times of a great man and his consort. To more observant eyes, she was worried. Â Hermione was using a great deal of her new ability without understanding how it worked. Â Her father insisted on it. Â But she was unsure. Â A Learner was powerful, in raw ability and application, especially when the Learner was a genius in her own right. It was difficult to know where Hermione's natural genius ended and her power began, but there was a line. A Learner absorbed the information, but it took a genius to apply it. Â Dan Granger wanted that application if they were going to escape here alive. Â And she almost hated her husband for it.
The problem with a Learner is that they never stopped, which meant they took in too much of the world around them. There was an article out that talked of autism and compared it to Learning, though in many ways a Learner could function with much more ease, the inability to shut off the sensory aspect could grow if they did not learn to control it. For the moment, Hermione was a raging torrent of power, hidden underneath layers of reality that very few could pierce. People like her. Â While the Vatican housed some of her old colleagues, they would simply see a scribe who was unable to control her magic, a truth that housed a lie. Emma only hoped that they could finish the rescue plan before it was too late.
The messenger stopped in front of a group of four men in brown robes holding rosaries. Â Emma could sense the holy power within each of them. Â At least they looked like men. Â Sometimes it was hard to tell who was what race and gender in the world of magic. But since the symbols craved into the back of their heads denoted the Order of the Voice, a religious sect that believed they held in their possession that which was the voice of Yahweh crystallized. Â Wasn't the oddest sect she'd seen, but they knew more about the fallen and capturing them then any other group in the Greater Europe area, including the Mediterranean. "Here he is, sirs," the messenger said. "I will return when your work is complete."
Dan Granger was a calm man, a patient man, a man of internal strength and power. Â But for the moment, that was not who he wanted to be. "You need help, so explain what you did wrong so I could fix it." In either case, he wasn't subtle.
"There is a...creature-"
"Who attempted to pilfer"
"A valuable artifact, right-"
"Underneath our very home." All four of them spoke in the same manner as the twins: broken and finishing each other's sentences, though apparently these men only used four words at a time.
"Since it has refused-"
"Counsel and currently is-"
"Not communicating with us-"
"Your expertise are needed." Â Dan gave all four a look before staring down who he decided was the leader.
"Fair enough, and thus the plea for help to communicate."
"You miss understand, warlock-"
"We seek not communication-"
"But extermination and retrieval-"
"of our most valuable." The last speaker stopped short, though none of them showed it.
Dan smirked. "That one got away from you didn't it." No one responded, but Hermione couldn't help her smirk. Â Her eyes remained focused on her notebook, which currently was almost full. Â Her hand hadn't stopped recording what she saw since they started the whole trip. Â "Where is he?"
"Within these walls houses-"
"our vile captive and-"
"A means to hold him-"
"Until a person arrives."
"As we are unsure-"
"Of its origins, it's-"
"extermination is left in-"
"your hands, exalted warlock."
"Flattery will get you every where." Dan smirked and walked forward. Â The steel door separated them from Harry, she knew it. Â She could feel her friend. Â The four parted to reveal a computer screen along with a series of other readouts and keyboards. She recorded the four passwords each of them entered, in order, and the screen showed nothing but bright lamps focused in the center of the room. "this is your means of holding him?"
"Correct, we have found-"
"That the light prevents-"
"His escape, so we-"
"Held him until now." Dan nodded. Â Hermione didn't strain to look for Harry; the was only the outline of a figure, but she could feel it was him. Â Harry was close, he was in pain and suffering, but he was close. Â Her father and these strange men had their conversation, leaving the women folk alone. Â Hermione recorded their movements and postures, but in truth, explaining the subtle differences that each of the four men acted as one, including adopting the same stances and movements, was difficult in her notes. Â Her headache didn't help the situation. Rocks tumbled down mountain with every breath, and she absorbed what people did and didn't do, said and didn't say. Â With each moment, she knew what was happening, learning about the ever evolving situation.
"Let me get this straight," Dan said. "You want me to kill this boy simply because he took something of yours. Even if you don't get it back?"
"Correct, exalted warlock. We-"
"Seek to ensure the-"
"Safety of our ways-"
"Even without the items."
"This action you take-"
"The death of one-"
"Will protect us all-"
"from future foolish endeavors." Â The collective nodded and decided that was all there to be said. Dan looked at the equipment, then the door, and turned to his wife. Â
"Well, it  seems then the rules of business have been established. My beautiful companion, may you draw up the contract."
"Such action is not-"
"Necessary as we have-"
"Completed one prior to-"
"The arrival of you." Â Dan turned around, frowning.
"What do you mean?" he asked the collective. "What contract?
"There is no need-"
"For your outside forces-"
"To waste out time-"
"With writing a contract."
"We have taken care-"
"Of all the procedures-"
"And have made ready-"
"A form for you."
"All it requires is-"
"A quick signature and-"
"your work can begin-"
"And end, exalted warlock." The body language told her that no one was happy at the moment. Her father for the breach in etiquette and the collective for the assumption that Dan dictated the rules of the engagement and the breach in their security system. Â The magic in the air slowly became palpable, almost visible to her eyes. Â Currents flowed off of her father, refusing to touch him. The same currents converged on the collective. Â They drew in power from the surroundings, taking in energy and magic from the lights, the sounds, the heat, everything. Â Â Her headache grew as she began to think of ways to use her newfound knowledge against people, including her father. Â The extra sight just added to the pain.
"Scribe!" Her father shouted, and Hermione stepped forward, her eyes refusing to look at anyone. Not out of respect, but pain. To see anything else just increased how much pressure her brain was under. Her body was hurting, starting with her head and slowly working its way down to her toes. Â Each new sound, sight, taste, smell, and touch was adding new information to her mind, things she didn't realize that she could learn. It was horribly wonderful; pain from the act of learning, but pleasure from the fact that she was learning. The back of her head pulsed each time something was absorbed, sending ripples down her spine and arms. Â It wasn't comfortable, more odd, as if her magic was trying to spread the knowledge through out her body, but the pain of the migraine was more worrying. Â
Hermione didn't watch her father any more, she just closed her eyes and tried to close herself off from the world. Â Â She couldn't do it; she couldn't just stand there and take everything in. Is this the new world that she wanted to learn about? That she was so desperate to learn about? Her desire was so strong that her magic made is so, and she learned alright. Â She was learning about the interactions of particles on subatomic level, despite not seeing them. She was learning about how magic could be diverted and destroyed, despite the Laws of Conservation. She was learning how her mother smelled when she randy, something she never cared to think about, let alone know. Â In the end, all Hermione could do was learn.
"Ems," Dan said, not looking up from the notebook. His wife turned and looked at Dan, her focus on a parchment displayed in a case near by. "Take Hermione and run."
Emma was confused for a second, but a glance at her daughter told her everything that she needed to know. Â There was an inherent danger with Learners. Despite their rarity, they were well documented and studied. Â A Learner who was too obsessive, or naive or untrained, had the potential to become too absorbed the world too quickly, opening their magic and pulling everything in. They couldn't observe themselves, so a Learner could not see the effect and dangers. But outsiders could, and Emma saw what her daughter was doing. Dan must have figured out from the notebook, as he was flipping through it as she rushed towards Hermione. Â With a swift movement, her daughter was in her arms and Emma ran towards the exit, carrying her away from all the turmoil and knowledge that was lost and locked in the building.
Dan turned to the collective; his smile was bright despite the danger he brought his daughter into. Â He did not know how strong her magic was, how strong her will was. Â There were recordings of everything, even things that Dan did not ask for. But in the end, he had what he wanted. Â His daughter found a pattern within the passcodes, one that no one would have been able to figure out if they hadn't looked at them all, at the same time, while making educated guesses to the next ten passcodes for each door. Â Hermione, in a matter of minutes, had broken the Vatican. Â "I think its time we change that contract boys, or even better, you just listen and we not even allow this to get out between us."
"What are you referring-"
"To, exalted warlock, for-"
"We hold all the-"
"Cards and rules here."
"You did, until I brought a Learner within your walls." Â They gasped as one, which was funny. It wasn't forbidden, but in their haste, the guard never asked about the scribe, seeing only what he wanted. Â A good Learner could figure out the passcode of one or two doors. A great one would find them all. But Hermione, she was something. She had figured out how the passcodes were generated despite all magic and protections they held, then broke that down into one phrase, one word, to shatter all the wards and security the Vatican had. Â Without any knowledge of truenames. All she had done was brought logic and reasoning to magic, through almost infinite amount of knowledge. "I hold in my hand everything that you could possibly need to know about the Vatican, including all yours codes, magical and not, and every future one."
With a wave of the notebook, and a force of magic, Dan copied it and sent the copies to his safehouses across the world. "In fact, if I spoke just a word, why I could bring down...everything I believe."
The collective group looked at each other. Â In their haste, they had forced Dan's hand. He had no desire to destroy this bastion of magic. He simply wanted to get Harry out. But there was etiquette that needed to be followed. As a warlock, he followed that, despite his name, or maybe because. A contract between two mystical beings ensured that the contract would be followed, both by letter and by spirit, if done correctly. Â There was a reason why the Magic had Lawgivers, and why lawyers were just as evil in this world as the mundane. Â No, this collective, in their haste to hid the fact of the break in and housing a criminal, in order to protect their order, had allowed a Learner of extreme power into the Vatican.
"What is it you want?" Dan looked at them. Only one spoke, he stepped forward, and glared at him. Â This man had the monks habit like the rest, but his hair was long red, almost on fire. It certainly matched the anger within the man's face.
"Give me the boy," Dan replied.
"He has stole from us."
"What exactly?" No one answered, and all the collective refused to look at him or each other. "You don't know do you? Which means you have had numerous break ins, and many things are missing. You know some of what was taken, but since the number of items housed beneath here rivals that warehouse across the pond, you can't be certain."
"We do know that he attempted to steal the Shroud of Turin earlier."
"But since that was a copy, a non-magical one at that, I assumed you found him trying to find the real thing here." Dan glared at them. Â "So you have no proof that he has committed any crimes."
"He broke in!" The man screamed.
"Give me the boy and you're secrets remain as they are now: Â a secret." For a moment, Dan warred with the collective, their wills combined and their thoughts one again. Â The power that they held was comparable to four men, but it was rumored that Dan'el was more than just a will-bending warlock. Rumors were nice in moments like this, for that alone broken their gaze, and Dan was left smiling. Â The lead man turned around and went to the panel.
"And the notebook? What-"
"Should become of it-"
"Now that we have-"
"our deal, infernal warlock?"
"That remains with me as insurance that you don't do something foolish, now release the boy."
The lead one paused before entering the final sequence. "You know what he is."
"Only the Order views him as evil from birth, their self-righteous views will doom us all."
"But clearly he has-"
"done nothing to alleviate"
"That theory has he-"
"Or is there more?"
Dan remained silent. He knew next to nothing about Harry, except that which Hermione told them. But the problem was Hermione was bespelled by a wanded on for the past three years, which mean the possibility of everything that they know about Harry being a lie, that he was really a horrible person. But Dan Granger trusted his daughter. He would just have to be extra careful and have a nice long chat with the boy. "Release him now, or we'll see what you've been hiding here for years." Â The lead man flipped a switch and something powered down behind the steel doors
The collective worked quickly, pressing buttons and pulling levers. Â The lights were off in the room at least, so Harry would not suffer any more from that source, though Dan doubted that his current pain was reduced any bit. Â Â If Harry was being held in the manner that Dan figured, than he was probably dealing with a severe sunburn, if not second degree or even third. But there was nothing that he could do at the moment for the boy.
The door opened and showed the dying glow of countless bulbs. Â A figure stepped out; his skin red and raw, but with black hair just falling around, and probably off his face. Â He was bare as the day he was born, which probably didn't feel good at all. Â Dan was sure this was Harry, it had to be, otherwise Hermione was going to kill him. Â His body was the same, though given the fact that his skin was cracked and red, almost burnt in some spots, so Dan couldn't determine by scars if it was him. Â
Once out the doorway, the figure sighed and nearly collasped, but grasped the frame for support. Â His knees did buckle though the grip he had on the frame held him up. Â Dan moved to touch him, pulling the boy up by his shoulders and throwing an arm around his own. They limped away, the notebook safely away in his jacket. Â He waited until they turned a corner before speaking as soft as he could, hoping this boy would hear him, "Please tell me you're Harry Potter."
"I hope you realize that after the past few years that I've been in there that I'd say I was the bloody Queen of England just to escape." Â Dan glared at him, and he could have sworn he saw a smirk. "Yes, I'm Harry Potter, friend of Hermione Granger and godson of Padfoot. Happy?"
"Extremely." Â Harry sagged as his legs gave out on him. "And you were only there for a couple of days." Â He said nothing else as Dan pulled up and dragged him to the exit. Â Things were looking up, maybe. Â "You know, for a scrawny kid, you sure are heavy."
"Sorry, let me fix that." Â Harry tried to stand up straight, pushing off of the warlock. Â For the first time since that night, Dan saw the fiery green eyes that took in the world. Â Rumor had it had green was the color of magic, or willpower, or anything really. Â Rumor was king in the magical world, just because it was often true, especially if people believed in it. Â Dan saw Harry's eyes though for what they truly were. Â Power. Â
Slowly, the skin fell off his body, slothing its way down and exposing the black skin underneath, which quickly followed. Puddles of burnt flesh and a shadowy substance sat at his feet, and the body of a fourteen year old boy stood before him.
When Harry finished, he was certainly much thinner, pressing gaunt even. But the second to third degree burns were gone, showing only a slight sun-burn all over his body. Â He magicked himself a pair of shorts as well, which Dan was kinda thankful for (something wrong about caring a naked fourteen year-old boy around). The scar on his chest and those across his body were much more evident. Â He collapsed again, this time, breathing rather heavily. Â All in all, Dan had to say he was impressed. Just wish he knew how Harry did all of it. "C'mon, we need to get back to the plane."
Harry nodded, but said nothing else as Dan picked the boy up again. Â He was much lighter and they moved quicker
through out the Vatican. Â Maybe now, he could get some answers concerning just what the hell was going on.
Author's Note:
So yeah, I have another reference in here. if anyone reads the series, I have internet cookies for you, freshly baked.
Any questions, comments, wise remarks, pls leave at the review button thank you.
Again, I own nothing of JK Rowling's creation(because if I had done it, Cthulhu would have been summoned by now).
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