Chapter 7:
***
Harry watched as aunt Petunia flipped through the channels. Every single one of them continued to cover the news from Albania.
“Every time, it's like the news is trying to retraumatize us all over and over again.” Said Vernon.
Harry considered his complaint, and he was right. It did seem like the purpose of news stations was just to spread trauma from local tragedies to everybody in the world. To make everyone live it over and over again. That couldn't be healthy.
“I mean if you think about it.” Said Dudley. “Shouldn't this be front to back news in Albania and a side story every where else?”
Harry looked at his cousin like he was insane.
“Well I mean, yeah it effects us and we all need to know, but we don't need twenty four hour news coverage of it. I'm pretty sure everybody has heard the news by now.” Dudley explained. “We British people should be able to move on with our lives.”
Harry shrugged. He had a good point.
“You never know, we could finally get some more information?” Petunia suggested.
Just then she turned the channel.
“No radiation detected nor radioactive fallout, ruling out the rumors of a lost nuclear weapon being used by an antiwizard terrorist cell.” Said the newscaster. “With me today is Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy to discuss the ongoing discussion in the wizarding world.”
Weasley? Isn't that the family in charge of that other school? The camera panned to a plump, red-haired woman and a sophisticatd blonde woman.
“Mrs Molly Weasley is the head of the Weasley school of magical education for underprivileged muggleborns.” The news anchor said. “Wow. What a mouthful. And Mrs Narcissa Malfoy is the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Which as I understand it is similar to being a vice president or deputy prime minister?”
“Correct Ms Hererra.” Mrs Malfoy said to the news anchor. “And thank you for having us.”
“And thank you for inviting me, Narcissa.” Mrs Weasley said.
“I suppose that's my first question. I understand why a lead government official from the magical side would be qualified to comment, but why is the vice principle of a school here?” Ms Hererra asked.
“Because The Weasley School of magic works most closely with the Muggle world out of any institution in magical Britain.” Said Narcissa. “And I believe Molly is better equipped to comment on the intermagical consequences of what I am going to say.”
Molly shrugged, as if to say she couldn't reject such a compliment.
“Very well. Madame Malfoy. What can you tell us about the investigation into this explosion from the magical side?” Hererra asked.
“Simply that it was magical in nature, and unlike anything we've ever seen.” Malfoy said.
Harry closed his eyes. Yup. He was afraid of that. Nobody wanted that to be the case, but here it was. It was probably better than the alternative. Of Muggles once again destroying the protected habitats of magical creatures, one of the biggest points of division between their two worlds. But still.
“Magical how?” The anchor asked.
“We are not sure.” Said Malfoy. “It seems like somebody has illegally been developing magical super weapons. Unfortunately every single person capable of doing so, to our knowledge, is bound by magical oaths not to do so.”
The interviewer had to raise a hand to stop the talking as she processed this information.
“Wait, so, it was like a magic nuke or something? And what do you mean oaths? There are people who you already know are capable of making something like this? I think I speak for all of us when I say we need an explanation.” Harerra said.
“Well, our researchers aren't certain, but it appears that somebody has been experimenting with annihilation.” Narcissa said. “Like antimatter and matter. Ask a physicist. But when I say people capable of it I mean it in the same way as people capable of creating the atomic bomb, back before it existed.”
Molly, seeing that nobody understood, took over.
“Your Manhattan project involved hundreds of world class scientists, the best in the world, to develop the nuclear bomb. They also hundreds of thousands more people supporting them in industry and politics. A magical weapon of this magnitude would require a similar number of similar minds and a similar number of resources to develop.” Molly Weasley explained.
Everyone in the Dursley household “ooooh”d at that explanation. Yeah, Harry could believe that.
“But such minds do exist in the magical world?” Asked the reporter.
“Yes, but not in such great numbers. The difference in our population is part of the reason magic doesn't advance as quickly as technology does.” Said Narcissa. “You have over a hundred times as many minds, and that includes great minds. What minds we do have of that caliber are all accounted for. Men and women who do such high end research do so under strict governmental supervision, and are all sworn to oaths regardless.”
“Right. You mentioned that before. What's so acquitting about these oaths? Are we just supposed to believe wizards are more moral people than muggles and never break them?” Harerra asked. “Is it at all possible some faction of such minds could have broken their oaths?”
“No.” Molly, Narcissa and Harry all said at once in a deadpan.
Dudley, Petunia and Vernon all turned to him curiously.
“Oaths backed by magic cannot be broken.” Said Molly. “Some not at all, to the point they compel you to keep them, like marriage vows, others can be broken but you die if you do. They are not taken lightly.”
“And the oaths taken by Unspeakables of different nations, that's what we call the people who research the cutting edge and clasified magics, are held to higher levels of oaths still. They both cant and will die if they try.” Narcissa said. “For this exact reason. To prevent something like this from happening.”
“Well clearly one got through.” Said Harerra.
“No, they didn't.” Said Narcissa, her patience visibly waning. “This wasn't a weapons research project. Not by any nations of the world. We know this, because it's a stupid weapon and we have better ones.”
Harry got the distinct impression she shouldn't have said that last bit.
“Yes, we have super weapons. You Muggles have deterrence policies, and so do we.” Narcissa Malfoy said with a threatening smile, as if challenging the woman across from her to object to wizards doing the exact same thing Muggles do.
Harry had to admit, the look was intimidating. It did the job of stifling the interviewer for a moment. When she caught her breath she sounded much more humble.
“Then what is your working theory?” She asked.
Narcissa sighed.
“As hard as it is to believe, we suspect this was an accident. A popular point of research for post graduate witches and wizards is vanishing charms. Um, spells that erase matter.” Narcissa explained. “It's still a mystery as to where the matter goes, it isn't annihilated and turned directly into energy. Well, many people have tried to create energy from vanishing matter. None have succeeded.”
“Until the other day.” Molly finished. “And they almost certainly died, because nothing could survive the blast produced from annihilating however much matter that was.”
***
Voldemort writhed and gnashed as his body struggled to find form.
None of the mutant animals he had consumed had survived the blast, but fragments of their souls continued to intermingle with his. Somehow he was in the ocean, untold kilometers away from where the battle had taken place.
If that blast had sent him as far out to see, then surely other rubble and debris would be landing all over the country. It ought to be hailing stone and wood and worse all over.
Amusing himself with such thoughts helped keep him sane as he formed and reformed a facsimili of a body with different muscles, tendons, bones and organs of the many different animals he had consumed. The end result was something that looked vaguely human, if a human every bone nad muscle were carved off of a different animal and sewn back together like a Frankenstein's monster.
He broke the surface of the water, climbing up onto a rocky outcropping. A small beach on an equally small island. Said island was all bleached rock and concrete.
He glanced out and balked at where he was.
The currents had somehow taken him all the way across the bay and down the length of Italy. He'd only been there a few times, but that definitely Syracuse across the bay. The walls separating the city from the ocean was unmistakable.
A booted foot stepped on top of the rock he was holding himself up again, and Voldemort's eyes followed up the leg attached to it until he looked into the eyes of some freckled redhead. A Prewett by the look of it.
He was flanked on either side by a goblin and a house elf.
“Hello father.” The redheaded bastard he was 100 percent certain he'd never spawned greeted him. “We have so much catching up to do.”
***
Harry Practically sprinted through the front doors of Saint Mungo's, stopping only when he saw the security guard glance at him with a warning glare not to do so. He power walked the rest of the way to the elevator and went up to the mental ward.
“Hiya Harry. He's having a good day, despite everything.” The head nurse, Galadria, greeted from the front desk to the ward.
“Thank you. Is he taking visitors?” Harry asked.
“If that visitor is you, the answer is always yes.” Galadria said cheerfully.
Harry smiled at her and went right into the private room. The Auror guarding it stepped aside and opened the door for him.
“Harry!” Sirius greeted from his bed.
The emaciated man somehow dug himself out from under the mountain of chocolate wrappers he was buried in and hobbled over to embrace his godson. Harry embraced him back and they did their best to try and crush each-other's ribs.
When they separated Sirius needed help getting back into his bed, which Harry happily did.
“When are they gonna stop force feeding you chocolate?” Harry asked.
“When I'm not so gaunt, skinny and moody from those years in Azkaban.” Sirius said. “Though the tentative answer is when I start to look like your uncle.”
Harry actually laughed at the joke, as mean as it was. Uncle Vernon had been doing great with his diet and had made a lot of progress over the last two year. He was still bulky, to be sure, but Harry was too proud of him to make fun of him for his weight anymore.
“Alright then. What's the emergency?” Sirius asked.
“Emergency?” Harry asked innocently. “Can't I visit my godfather just for wanting to?”
“You can.” Sirius admitted. “And do. But not on days when you have a game. And don't you go telling me they were canceled.”
“Well, they weren't canceled, but I have ditched them.” Harry said. “And that's part of the reason I wanted to talk to you.”
Harry retrieved a piece of paper from his breast pocket, unfurled it and handed it to his godfather. Sirius retrieved his new corrective lenses from his bedside table and got to reading.
Harry watched the man's lips as they pronounced each and every word of the permission slip. His eyes rose higher and higher as he read along. Eventually he turned his gaze back at Harry.
“If you're going to do this, you'll need a fast broom.” Sirius warned him.
Harry shrugged.
“I figured I'd rent a comet.” Harry said.
“Oh no, a comet won't do at all.” Sirius said as he picked up a pen and signed the permission slip. “Check under my bed.”
Harry didn't hide his confusion at the order as Sirius handed him back the permission slip. He also didn't disobey.
Getting down on his hands and knees, he looked beneath the hospital mattress. There, wrapped in paper and twine, was a suspiciously broom-shaped package.
“I was going to wait for your birthday, but then you come to me with an immediate need, so you can have it early.” Sirius said. “Consider it 13 missed birthdays worth of gifts in one.”
Harry removed the wrapping and marveled and the polished, red wood beneath.
***
Edgar Stroulgar reappeared with Cliodne beside him.
They stood at the edge of yet another baseball pitch were two teams were playing.
“Where is the boy?” Cliodne asked, a spot of worry in her voice.
Edgar extended his left eye and the scope which contained it. Zooming his vision into the bleachers where most of Potter's team ought to be sitting. No mess of black hair and dazzling green eyes amongst them, let alone cursed scar.
He double checked the player up to bat and the ones on bases, but no. He checked the stands and the crowd to see if maybe he was injured and could only spectate. No luck there either. Nor in the toilets, nor in the vehicles, nor was he out in the park behind the pitch making out with his little girlfriend, who also wasn't there.
He held his hand out to Cliodne and together they disapparated, to reappear on Privet Drive. Turning on another feature of his eyes, he peered through the walls and foundations of all the houses. The boy was not at home, nor was he visiting a neighbor.
They tried Saint Mungo's next to see if he had made a call on his acquitted godfather. But no, Harry Potter was not at the Psyche Ward.
“Where the hell is he?” Stroulgar eventually repeated Cliodne's earlier sentiment.
***
“And that's three for Harry Potter!” Harry heard the announcer call out as he grasped another one of the fidgety Snidgets in his hand.
The counter on the basket tied to him went up by one as he deposited the latest of the endangered birds into it.
The international Snidget rescue operation was in full swing and Seekers from all over the continent had come to try and catch as many as they could. Harry had taken to the city of Tirana, or what ruins remained of it, in search of the little devils. Thousands of Quidditch players who'd always dreamed of playing a game with the legendary creature now flew over the countrysides and cities in a friendly competition to see who could rescue the most.
It wasn't much, but it was something they were more suited to than the rescuers and re-builders focused on helping actual people. And everyone on the planet wanted to be doing something about all this.
The best estimates showed nearly all of them escaped the explosion – thank god for small miracles – but that they were all now completely scattered.
A blur of brown leather shot past him, just as he spotted a speck of gold in the window of a building next to him.
The blur stopped, another Snidget gasped in his hands. Harry immediately recognized the star seeker.
“Get at my level, scrub.” Viktor Krum told him.
He placed his latest catch into his own cage, whose number changed from six to eigth as the badge on his chest announced his tally.
He then tilted his firebolt away and darted off.
Without thinking, without even needing to brace himself to do so, Harry darted after him at top speed on his own firebolt.