Enter the Dragon (Harry Potter/Shadowrun)

[Purplepurple]

And wow is Hermione still being a dense and mopey idiot.

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In any story with at least a partial realism and characterization that makes sense her reaction is perfectly fine.

Mind control, enslaving, attempted life-long slavery with all what is associated is perfectly fine reason to be a mopey a bit. In fact, lack of reaction (of some sort, that is one of viable ones) would be really ridiculous.

I will happily admit that I was mopey after far lesser attacks/events and I am older than 12 years old.

And characters not being supernaturally competent in everything does not make them dense and idiots.

 

[Mashadarof402]

And wow is Hermione still being a dense and mopey idiot. Of course, I feel like someone should really have explained to her the whole situation because the other "friends" have at least some idea of what's going on.

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Hermione is a person who is very assured of herself. She 'knows' how the world works, and that everything will work out in accordance to her ambitions as long as she works hard at it.

So when the world doesn't work out the way she thinks it does, especially in a traumatic manner, she can only do one of two things. Understand her world view is wrong and start rebuilding it from the fundamentals... or repress and want things to go back to the way things were where she wasn't wrong, and everything will work out like she's absolutely sure it should.

Hermione's attitude is of the second and, quite sadly, a very common affliction to a vast number of grown adults in the world, magical or not.

 

[hwjumeau]

Glad to see you back Dunkelzahn, was worried this fic was dead. Great chapter, cant wait for the next one.

 

[Purplepurple]

Hermione's attitude is of the second and, quite sadly, a very common affliction to a vast number of grown adults in the world, magical or not.

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I just want to note that this approach is often more effective.

Realistic and rational view often leads to "guess I can give up anyway", especially in case of situation like here.

While "I will work harder, it will definitely give results" may be misguided and false but actually more likely to give results.

 

[RIversand]

I wonder if they should have harry do his first alchemy training thing with making water into that stable 'sludge' yo bleed off excess from him in the process, for the next big bleed off. It was said to be a self limiting alchemical reaction, and is creating a seemingly stable material.

 

[Dunkelzahn]

…Damnit, Skeeter.
Corrections offered without malice.
<SNIP>

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Corrections taken without offence. Edits made.

If it is one sentence and 2 minutes of work to fit it in there, I would say go for it. It solves an issue. It is not a big issue, however.

If it is however 5 minutes of work, well, I would say, not worth it. The issue is not big enough for that.

in the end, your decision.

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As it turned out, it was a pretty simple change. Edits made.

Been on a bit of a mental spiral around the description of the terrain in the early parts of the latest segment of fic. That rabbit hole led me to a couple of photodiaries from tourism in the area of Scotland I established for Hogwarts back when this was my fic.

For anyone interested, here's someone's canoe trip into the east end of Loch Morar giving a pretty good grasp on the sort of terrain I, and this fic's Harry, grew up living in the middle of. For reference the ridgeline north of the loch is about two thousand feet high, as are most of the surrounding peaks - in a lot of these photos you can see how the tops of the ridge stick up through low laying clouds and the way the land towers over everything, the picture looking back across the loch at that bothy is particularly illustrative. The ridgeline is back about three thousand feet from the surface of the loch - for reference the surface of Loch Morar is about thirty feet above sea level. This is a pretty routine level of vertical variance anywhere from about Glencoe north as far as Ullapool; the Highlands top out quite a lot sooner than say the Rockies but don't bugger about with foothills on the way up.

Not 100% on how Dunkelzahn has it set up of course but I'd imagined the castle in the rough location of Kinlochmorar.

https://www.songofthepaddle.co.uk/loch-morar-the-glamp-with-definitely-none-of-that--t48424.html

Quite a bit of thought went into selecting the location. It was partially aesthetic, but the remoteness, absolute dearth of population, how well it's masked from the 'muggle world' by assorted big lumps of rock, the fact that it's one of the lochs better known for its legendary monster, and the proximity to the visually extremely distinctive Glenfinnan Viaduct, all figured into it.

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Thanks for the advice, I've tried to rework that segment, and sorry about the delay in responding, busy week at work. That link is very helpful, puts a lot of things together in one place and gives some place names I had been lacking.

For reference, yes Hogwarts is up at Kinlochmorar as seen on the map in the article (embedded below for reference). Hogsmeade is a long, narrow affair extending from the Coille a Chuirn Mhoir along the lakeshore, past Oban and back into the valley to the east-southeast. The Hogs Haulage yards are on the far west side of town, with the station on the west edge of that northwest-pointing rounded headland, and the docks are just east of it (providing that initial view across the lake. The Black Woods (Forbidden Forest) start at the west edge of town and extend from there back into a fairly large area. The Lair is about three and a half miles to the southwest of that edge, overlooking a valley that houses what in real life is a hamlet (terminology?) called Meoble according to Google Maps. The Black Woods fill that entire area, and the valley holding the Loch to the south of the Lair. Haven't really worked out their full extent at this point.

Spoiler: Map of eastern Loch Morar (tagged for size)

I also made a rough diagram on a screenshot from Google Earth:

• Orange - Hogwarts
• Red - Hogsmeade
• Green - Black Woods
• Purple - Hogsmeade rail line
• light blue - The Lair and the site of the new machine shop (access tunnel, dotted line)

Spoiler: Quick diagram of area

As for the deforestation issue you mentioned in your corresponding post on the CaerAzkaban group, the return of the trees is actually something of a minor plot point here. The Black Woods have been quite healthy, having been hidden from the charcoal ovens by magic and then defended from marauding deer by centaur hunting parties. With that healthy population serving as a seed, the marauding plague of spiders has been extended the tree line for the past five decades by eating anything that even remotely resembled a deer or sheep that they could sink their fangs into, and despite having curtailed the spider threat, Harry has recently extended that range even further with his own hunting. With that and with rapidly increasing environmental magic boosting growth rates of most everything, including trees, pretty much the entire southern shore of Loch Morar is now at least lightly wooded, and the forests are on the (rather slow) march across Scotland once more.

Edit: Had listed the wrong direction for the Lair's location. It is southwest of Hogsmeade, not southeast,

 

[krzys2000]

nd the forests are on the (rather slow) march across Scotland once more.

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Lol. Because of this part I imagined Ents (or trents) marching across Scotland with army of tress to reclaim their ancient lands.

 

[Doghead13]

For some reason the term 'hamlet' isn't used in Scotland, I don't know why - we include places on that size range in the term village.

You'll sometimes see places such as where I grew up referred to as 'crofting townships', though I've never heard that term used by a local and in fact first ran into it online years after I'd moved east.

There doesn't appear to be much info relating to Meoble online - beyond that there's a shooting lodge there that was used as a training base by the SOE during the second world war - nor is there a road in. As far as I can work out it's still used as a shooting lodge with access primarily by helicopter these days, however while Googling around I ran into this piece of local folklore;

https://mikedashhistory.com/2010/07/24/the-grey-dog-of-meoble/

 

[Ehbon]

Phew, I just caught up with all 500k+ words of this story and I can't drum up anything of appropriate significance to describe this feeling. Instead I will just mention that it has been quite the journey and offer up the observation that the author must really like trains.

I really hope both Hermione and her parents get the proper wake up call from all this hoopla going forward. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, warned them about this exact scenario playing out multiple times. Being unprotected and unspoken for in the wizarding world as it currently stands is beyond reckless, or rather the dismissal of the threat posed by remaining like this is reckless. It's the very first thing Snape warned Hermione and her parents about, if she doesn't have a Dumbledore/Harry level patron then she will live in perpetual danger. Even with those protections she needs more methods of both escape and defense because people that powerful have enemies too. I hope the whole "doubting Harry" stuff clears up quickly enough too, he essentially got down on his knees (along with Abigail) and begged her not to do this and even arranged for Gringotts to take care of her and gave her a torc and everything. Hermione and her parents distancing themselves from Harry will just make them less safe, as Snape explained. Harry may not be omnipotent, but his threat of force in regards to messing with the interests of House Potter will be a whole lot scarier when he gets back and unleashes an entire 64-pack of whoop ass on everyone even tangentially related to this. He's even working on a proper torc for her, which is just so adorable. A massive 60+ foot long dragon making a tiny piece of jewelry for her just because she means that much to him, when it would be a piece of cake to just buy or commission a silver pendant or whatever anywhere is the cutest imagery.

The same also goes for Harry as far as wake up calls go, honestly. He's seemed somewhat lackadaisical about warding and protecting his lair/interests and the homes and such of his close companions because he has never really understood just how much danger they are all in. He's just gone on expanding and expanding without protecting anything. He's very much trapped in the mindset of being an overpowered dragon who could easily escape any such attempt on his person, and seems to figure that he can just go knock some sense into whoever messes with his friends. That's not true, his tracking abilities are abysmal and he can't be everywhere all the time, he can't protect all of his interests with his ginormous dragon bod at the same time unless he drags them everywhere with him (and revenge can't bring back the dead). He has no sense of caution, whatsoever, and now it's finally going to sting him. It's about time he takes Snape seriously and looks into a way to, at the very least, protect his people from the dark sides of magical society.

Anyways, ramblings complete, can't wait for the next chapter.

 

[TheLastTalcBender]

TheLostArchivist
let me introduce you to four very important words Freedom of the Press, now, what Skeeter did to get the information was, yes, illegal, however, there is precedent, both in the US and Britain, protecting both journalists and publishers who print classified data. In the US one of the most prominent cases was known as "The Pentagon Papers" where The New York Times printed a series of articles showing not only that the Johnson administration had lied to the American public, but also to Congress,

I don't know offhand what the British Equivalent would be, but i'm sure there is something out there that would qualify.

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Yes, this is true... kinda... but it's not that she leaked incriminating information about the government but that she just torpedoed their big corruption and slavery mop-up. Which is something I suspect they would have a bit of an issue with. That said, I wouldn't be too surprised if the corrupt elements managed to make it legal to leak information that was being used against them, simply because the whole place is a festering crap-heap.

An argument can be made for criminal conspiracy and espionage, given that she deliberately compromised an ongoing investigation by publicly letting said criminals know that they were being hunted down.

And if nothing else, they can simply point out who compromised the investigation to Potter, who already doesn't like the press, and turn a blind eye to the subsequent crunching noises.

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Yes, this was what I was referring to. Although I quite like your alternate suggestion for how to handle it.

In any story with at least a partial realism and characterization that makes sense her reaction is perfectly fine.

Mind control, enslaving, attempted life-long slavery with all what is associated is perfectly fine reason to be a mopey a bit. In fact, lack of reaction (of some sort, that is one of viable ones) would be really ridiculous.

I will happily admit that I was mopey after far lesser attacks/events and I am older than 12 years old.

And characters not being supernaturally competent in everything does not make them dense and idiots.

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Fair enough. I hadn't really considered that side of things. I need to remember that characters are supposed to be human at times (even though they're figments of imagination ... you know what I mean).

 

[Edmond G. Bertrand]

Just as a note, Harry has killed intentionally at least once already. Voldemort/former-Quirrel was the first, even if it didn't stick in the end, and arguably Charlotte the basilisk was the second (she was smart enough to talk, even if she was still pretty stupid). Rightly or wrongly, he's not particularly broken up about either because he's a child and he thinks (rightly in both cases) that he was doing the right thing.

As for what is going to come along those lines, we will move to spoiler tags now, for obvious reasons.

Spoiler: It's spoiler-ific!

The DMLE investigation went fast and furious, making great inroads for a couple weeks until one of the analysts made a mistake (about the same time Harry arrives at his end destination) and a certain obnoxious beetle animagus managed to sneak a peek at some work he had taken to lunch, breaking open news of the secretive investigation to the world at large. That kicked over a hornet's nest in the Syndicate, and everyone started scrambling to cover their collective backside. By the time Harry returned home a couple weeks later, those backsides are mostly covered, and the initial scramble is beginning to die back into a cold war between the DMLE and the organized crime rings.

Thus, after Harry finally receives news of what happened to Hermione (when our intrepid goblin finally catches him outside the Vancouver charter terminal on his way out of the country), he returns ready and raring to go to a situation that has very little yet to be done. The immediate perpetrators were dealt with even before the DMLE got there, and there are no leads on who ultimately gave the order other than that such a person definitely exists. This leaves Harry very angry but lacking any immediate targets on which to expend that anger. This is tremendously frustrating for Harry, but he refuses to let whoever it was get away with their actions. After a bit of thinking, he concludes that since he doesn't know who was responsible in particular, he'll just have to get them all. That's the only way to be sure.

That's how Great Dragons roll.

Of course, making sure you catch every rat in the garbage pile requires a delicate hand; barging in will just make them scatter off into the shadows and become almost impossible to catch. So, true to form for a Shadowrun dragon, Harry bangs together a rudimentary black ops organization for the purpose, using many of Snape's contacts as well as a few others hunted up from other sources. He then launches into his first shadow war (oh, they grow up so fast...). Of course, Harry's organization is not the well-oiled machine that Amelia has built the aurors into, and they have some rather significant mishaps along the way, first with Harry losing some people and then being forcibly reminded that the enemies on the other side are people too after he overreacts to that initial loss. That is most of Harry's arc for the next year.

After a rather tumultuous initial meeting on Harry's return, Amelia suspects Harry 's intent, but she and her loyal DMLE very carefully avoid becoming officially aware of his activities going forward. Without a defined perpetrator on which to declare war, even as Head of House Potter, Harry technically does not have cause to engage in such a wide-reaching private war. Ancient and Noble Houses reserve the right to field a private army; that said, they are not allowed to declare war on the general public... or, properly, they're allowed to do so, but the government will fight them just as they would any other hostile power. The DMLE is quite sympathetic, however, and they know how to use disingenuous technicalities to avoid legal entanglement as well as anyone after having so many used against them over the years. Functionally, by allowing his operations and seeing to certain bits of intelligence being misplaced around him and his agents, Amelia can use Harry as an unacknowledged and deniable agent to follow up on leads when her aboveboard methods fail, and Harry slowly becomes more adept at navigating the subtleties of such a relationship over time, learning some politics and tact along the way.

As for Hermione, by the time Harry is in the proper planning stages, Hermione is getting her parents back from their treatment. Between that and all the brooding she did before Harry got back, she just doesn't want to hear about any of it any more, so she actively avoids the topic when Harry tries to bring it up. Then by the time she would be willing to listen, Harry has already internalized the idea that she just doesn't want to know about what he's doing so he no longer brings it up. In the long term, Harry starts to coast through school as his focus shifts to other matters while Hermione remains primarily a student concerned with student-type things. This disconnect has consequences over time, especially when taken along with Hermione's growing friendship with Su Li.

It occurs to me that Harry will live for a very long time - as a product of becoming a Great Dragon. Even if Hermione lives for 200 years, or thereabouts, because of her innate magical strength, she will will be nought but a memory for Harry eventually. Will Dumbledore help Harry to cherish his relationships with her, Abigail, and Suzi, in light of the truth of Harry's near-immortality? How much of a love-story will be woven into this story as it moves forward?



First off, hope the chemo is going well... or as well as can be expected, anyway.

Second, the subject of Su Li is a complicated one that has a great deal of development yet to happen before that reveal. She and her clan will actually be cycling through several different approaches as they learn more about Harry, and the order in which they learn about things will heavily influence how things develop.

Spoiler: Clan approach to Harry --- seriously, spoilers

As the matriarchs learn more their approach shifts.

What the clan knows about Harry	How they formulate their approach
Wizard with potentially useful genetics	Place Su Li as his wife Use her to bring him back to the Clan Put him out to stud to ensure maximal chance of uptake of desirable genetics
Wizard with potentially useful genetics Well connected with the goblins	Story is just getting into this range at the moment​ Place Su Li as a second or third wife Leave the first wife to deliver the Potter heirs Negotiate with Harry for the disposition of Su Li's offspring by him
Wizard with potentially useful genetics Well connected with the goblins Personality and morals will never allow him to sell out his children like that	Approx. Year 4 Spoilers Place Su Li as his mistress/concubine after grooming his potential wives to prevent conflicts later Use various tricks of scheduling/other methods to hide Su Li's pregnancies from him Raise the resulting children within the clan without the father's awareness
Wizard with potentially useful genetics Well connected with the goblins Personality and morals will never allow him to sell out his children like that Running a covert anti-slavery campaign	Approx. Year 5 Spoilers Place Su Li as his mistress after grooming his potential wives to prevent conflicts later Use various tricks of scheduling/other methods to hide Su Li's pregnancies from him Raise the resulting children within the clan without the father's awareness Be very careful to hide everything and never let him visit
Wizard Dragon with useful genetics Well connected with the goblins Personality and morals will never allow him to sell out his children like that Running a covert anti-slavery campaign	Left for the future story to reveal

Currently, Harry is about 18-20m long. By the time he's out of Hogwarts, he'll be close to 40m and still growing. By contrast, his elders will be pushing 200-230m in most cases (Dunkelzahn and Lofwyr respectively), but they all keep growing indefinitely as they age. Even with as fast as he has been growing, Harry still has tens of millennia of growth to catch up on before he'll be of a size with his elders.

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[killgore444]

The US-government is unlikely to investigate it on their own if it's on the Canadian side of the border, and, considering they crossed the Canadian border from the USA side, it is.

What is, however, likely is that the USA will ask to help with the investigations. I have no idea of local politics, especially not from 30?! Years ago, so I could not say how likely it is that such a request is granted. The Canadians will, however almost certainly at least hate their discoveries.

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The initial blast would be a little to similar to a nuclear blast (all major explosions have a funnel cloud shape), what with the whole glowing cloud thing. So no one is really going to give two f***s about boarders here.
Besides, at the time this story takes place, the joint US/Canadian Air Defense network is still very much in place (yes, the US has military stationed within Canada, and routinely does flyovers with their permission (at least they did)), so who responds first is more a matter of who is closer with what aircraft. This is close enough to Seattle for a Carrier (with it's wide ranging CAP) to be well within range.
That's not even dealing with the constant overflights of both US and Canadian Air Forces using both combat craft, and AWACs.
It's remote enough that it's doubtful they'll have anyone on sight in less then 10-15 minutes, but close enough that 30 minutes is being rather generous.

Not that it matters to much. Within 3 minutes of the blast being spotted in Vancouver (and being aired live on TV within 1 minute), virtually every single country with a satellite network will be in the process of retasking some of them to look at the area. Like I said, close to Seattle/Vancouver, a MAJOR military outpost for both nations, so I'd be very surprised if it didn't have something in geosynchronous orbit. Most likely something from multiple countries.

Long before any of those aircraft would arrive on site though, the Russian President would have already contacted the US President (I don't know if there's a direct line from Moscow to Ottawa). Likely the Chinese and Japanese as well. European countries might wait for a bit assuming there isn't something going on on the eastern seaboard of N. America at the same time.

Now, assuming the magical blast doesn't leave any detectable residue, and Shadowrun makes a BIG deal over the funky relationship between magic and radiation, then they'll likely conclude it was a volcano, but there's even less evidence of volcanic eruption than a nuclear blast.

Not that it matters of course. Assuming that the author is following HP canon enough that the leaders and those who NEED to know are informed, than all evidence will be buried, an excuse will be made, and the leaders will scream bloody murder at their wizard counterparts.

Also, you say the Winnebago is overpriced, but who is to say how expensive a hypothetical Knight Bus equivalent would be? I'd imagine if Snape had priced a Knight Bus kitted out as a motorhome, he'd not have found it any cheaper than his Winnebago. Neither buses nor motorhomes are exactly cheap, at least not purchased new.

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The Knight bus would most likely been a LOT more expensive. And it does make rather blatant use of portkey style magic in canon. I do think they would have been much better off going with something small and fast though. You can, legally driving I might add, cross the entire US in 3 days driving in shifts. Seven if you only have 1 driver who needs to occasionally stop and isn't pushing it. They would have been better off making arrangements for extra food from the tribal government then trying to bring it all in extra dimensional containers.
Live and learn I suppose. It's not like any of them have any experience as a truck driver. Even with Harry being interested in the transport business, he wouldn't likely have studied driving in the US/Canada.
Maybe have one of the locals suggest it for the return trip.
Either that, or board a plane in Seattle to Japan, and then across Asia and Europe. Nah, stick to driving back. Besides, I think it was mentioned that magical Asia is even worse of a shithole then magical Europe is.

Fourth, aside from one time which explicitly required a supreme plot device the elder wand to work at all, has anything enchanted/heavily magical ever been repaired with a mending charm in HP canon? I mean, if that was an option, why did Harry need a replacement for his Nimbus after it was smashed? For that matter, why are the school brooms so old and tattered if they could be maintained with simple repair charms?

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This is actually a good point. And it's not something you see a lot of attention paid to in fan fiction. To be fair, several minor magic items are repaired in canon, but wands are specifically not able to be repaired that way. Maybe the complexity means that you'd need someone who knew how to make them to repair them, and they'd charge you for a new wand anyway. The other magic items could just be a case that they can only be repaired so many times before their enchantments break down. Doubly so if the people repairing them don't know how to enchant them.

Spoiler

FYI ShadowRun (Earth) is set on the same world that was once called Barsaive(EarthDawn) by the people that lived in that time and they had a little problem

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I thought that was reversed. Earthdawn is the world the result from all the calamities of Shadowrun.

Way too much effort and attention wasted on it. Better to simply have some one step on the cockroach by accident and go on on his day without noticing.

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She's a Dung Beetle, not a cockroach. Roaches are way above her position in life.

~

 

[Furoan]

I thought that was reversed. Earthdawn is the world the result from all the calamities of Shadowrun.


~

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No, Earthdawn is the 4th world, Shadowrun is the 6th World. That being said, because of licencing, Shadowrun results from Earthdawn, but at the moment Earthdawn is kind of nebulous in leading to Shadowrun because of the game licences and the fact that Shadowrun is currently a Catalyst run gameline rather than FASA. Still, for terms of law, yes, Earthdawn came first. Then the 'fifth' world which is basically up to 2011, and then Shadowrun moved into the 6th world.

 

[Edmond G. Bertrand]

Wed., August 11, 2021

I hate chemo. Just to be clear. It sucks.

Anyway - a perverse idea popped into my head this AM. What is Harry *ate* the NightBus accidentally? I can think of a dozen ways that might be really funny.

Just my $0.02 worth...

Regards,
Edmond

 

[stads]

could see it be funny think snape would think off it eating away the competition
hope ya recover from chemo stay strong

 

[Bleakwinter]

What is Harry *ate* the NightBus accidentally?

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Magic schoolbus time?

 

[zup]

What is Harry *ate* the NightBus accidentally?

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If it cannot be pinned on him, and maybe even if it can because he is rich, that is just how wizarding business is done. Powerful transportation tycoon eliminating the competition would not raise eyebrows.

 

[Redstone]

when he confronts the Malfoy family in their home about his damsel Hermione, and the reaction when he finds the soul jar in the Malfoy home, he will go crazy and his aura will explode outward say god bay to Malfoy manor wards !

 

[joeyjumper94]

Wed., August 11, 2021

I hate chemo. Just to be clear. It sucks.

Anyway - a perverse idea popped into my head this AM. What is Harry *ate* the NightBus accidentally? I can think of a dozen ways that might be really funny.

Just my $0.02 worth...

Regards,
Edmond

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what if Harry was hit by a knight bus? what kind of damage would the bus take?

 

[Wolfboy]

what if Harry was hit by a knight bus? what kind of damage would the bus take?

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if he is just wearing an illusion, the the damage would be consistent with the bus hitting a block wall at the appropriate speed. If he is polymorphed into his form, damage consistent with hitting a pole of the appropriate diameter at the appropriate speed

 

[Hunting time]

from what i remember transfiguration is what Harry uses to appear human but is more like a Glamor spell from other setting in that it tricks reality into thinking/showing what you want rather than what is there. So the bus hitting harry would be like hitting a wall.

 

[Childe Roland]

from what i remember transfiguration is what Harry uses to appear human but is more like a Glamor spell from other setting in that it tricks reality into thinking/showing what you want rather than what is there. So the bus hitting harry would be like hitting a wall.

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Spoiler: So something like this...

Spoiler: or this...

...but more so?

 

[Hunting time]

more like a bus wrapped around superman if he knows its coming or a big dent and rolling harry if caught by surprise [ like with the troll]

 

[joeyjumper94]

i wonder what everyone's reaction will be when harry emerges unscathed from that.

 

[Edmond G. Bertrand]

Nov. 19, 2021

Question - did eating the Philosopher's Stone make Harry effectively immortal? And if he is, does he know? What happens
to Harry emotionally when he realizes that he's going to significantly outlive all the people he loves? Is there anyone in his
life to help him reconcile the realities of being a Dragon? I'm suddenly thinking that coming to grips with that truth could
make Harry very, very sad and reclusive... and there you have "Puff, the Magic Dragon" coming to life within your story.


Edmond

 

[WinterPhoenix]

Nov. 19, 2021

Question - did eating the Philosopher's Stone make Harry effectively immortal? And if he is, does he know? What happens
to Harry emotionally when he realizes that he's going to significantly outlive all the people he loves? Is there anyone in his
life to help him reconcile the realities of being a Dragon? I'm suddenly thinking that coming to grips with that truth could
make Harry very, very sad and reclusive... and there you have "Puff, the Magic Dragon" coming to life within your story.


Edmond

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Shadowrun dragons already live for thousands of years at least, and I don't remember hearing about one ever dying of old age. Some of them are older than humanity as a species. If his transformation included that longevity, which seems likely at this point, the philosopher's stone probably wouldn't have changed that.

I personally hope he doesn't angst too much about this particular topic, since it crops up in fiction so often, and is rarely done well.

 

[stads]

dragons do tend to be long lived in alot of lore shadowrun dragon to
think the stone might have extended that by allot to make him more semi immortal ? what the term
coming to grips with that might be a topic to look at by doubt it would come up any time soon he's still a teenager (that and dont want allot of angst in the story)

 

[rex754]

I don't think the stone itself grants immortality but that it is an important ingredient necessary to craft the elixr of life.

 

[Megaolix]

Second necro means thread lock.

Dunkelzahn
Call us if you want this reopened.

 

[Dunkelzahn]

5.7 Returns

---

5.7.1 News radio

"…aaand welcome back, Seattle! It's the top of the hour here on the west coast, which brings us to our mid-morning brief! First in sports: the Mariners won last night five to three in Minnesota, bringing the series to two to one…"

In an almost uncomfortably close echo of his stint at the North Dakotan border not too long before, the local Gringott's representative found himself seated once more in the passenger seat of his sleeper van and waiting. Disposable coffee cup in hand, the sales-gob listened with half a khaki-skinned ear to the radio broadcast as he intently focused the majority of his attention on the scene beyond his window.

Perhaps thirty meters away, set into the side of one of the half-dozen low buildings serviced by this parking lot on the southern edge of the Vancouver International Airport, was a small glass door sheltered by a simple green awning. Behind that glass door was the main lobby of one of the busier air charter companies. Over the course of the past several hours, the goblin had watched perhaps a dozen people go in and out of that door — busy meant different things for a charter terminal than it did for a public airport — even less traffic than he had seen back at the border crossing.

Fortunately, there was one crucial difference between this and his previous vigil. In North Dakota, the sales-gob had known neither his target's schedule nor his path; here, he knew with great certainty that his target would be passing through that very door sometime within the next few hours.

That little bit of certainty made all the difference in the world.

The home office had finally come through for him just the day before with news of a particularly relevant invoice arriving at Accounts Payable. It was the authorization for payment to hire a private Boeing 77-33 to fly from Vancouver to London, and it had been authorized for one of the London branch's three most prominent accounts, an account owned by a man to whom he had had delivered a custom motorhome just a few weeks ago in Pennsylvania. Included had been the relevant flight information: equipment, names of the flight crew, and most importantly, terminal and departure time… approximate of course; charter flights flew when the customer wanted them to fly. However at this point, a few hours' wait was less than nothing in comparison to the idea that he might soon be done with this interminable courier job.

Still, a wait was still a wait, and waiting allowed time to think. Unfortunately, certain recent circumstances had conspired to make such idle thoughts a harrowing experience of late. Circumstances surrounding…

"…and now for our top story! Speculation continues to abound regarding the mysterious column of light that briefly dominated the skies of the Pacific Northwest earlier this week."

The goblin winced.

Ah, yes… that.

Still, he reluctantly settled in to endure it rather than tuning away. As a Gringott's employee and foreign representative, he had a duty to report back home on local events… even when he really didn't want to think about them and their implications of pants-filling terror.

"Late last night, the Kremlin issued a statement denying responsibility and assured the world that all Soviet nuclear devices are still present and fully accounted for in their assigned locations. This came on the heels of a similar statement from President Lynch's office just a few hours earlier. Some have expressed doubts about the veracity of the Soviet statement, claiming that the recent political turmoil in the wake of President Gorbachev's assassination and the ensuing infighting among the top Party leadership would have made it impossible to perform such a survey so quickly."

"Fortunately for our neighbors to the north, Prime Minister Campbell's office in Ottawa announced come good news just a few minutes ago. The initial findings are in from the joint American-Canadian investigation team in the area, and they have firmly ruling out nuclear detonation of any kind as a possible cause of the strange phenomenon. According to investigators, the area is entirely clear of the sort of induced radioactivity resulting from the detonation of an atom or hydrogen bomb, and residents of the Pacific northwest needn't concern themselves with the specter of radioactive fallout. While the ultimate cause of the event remains unknown, Prime Minister Campbell vowed that investigations would continue until the situation was fully understood."

"Unfortunately, our science correspondents warn that that understanding may be a long time coming. While theories about the event abound, a clear front-runner has yet to emerge, and all have notable shortcomings. Among the most difficult effects to explain has been the relationship between that column of light and the massive landslide that reshaped the eastern end of the Seven Sisters Provincial park shortly thereafter.

"And that concludes our morning news update! Be sure to stay tuned to the KIRO News Network for the latest updates as our understanding of this strange event continues to develop…"

Nothing of interest, then, the sales-gob thought with a glower, though that was probably a good thing on balance. It meant that the non-magical authorities probably hadn't found anything of note, and if they hadn't by now, then they probably wouldn't any time soon. He had seen photos of the devastated area in the newspapers; they'd be sifting through that rubble for decades, plenty of time for the Confederates to remove any incriminating evidence from the area.

No, whatever the consequence was going to be, a break in the wizarding veil of secrecy was not it, and that meant that when the other shoe inevitably dropped, it would be a surprise.

The Gringott's representative grimaced.

He was surely not looking forward to yet another unpleasant surprise.

He was equally sure, however that such a surprise would come: it was inescapable.

Magic, of any kind, had consequences, and those consequences tended to scale with the magic in question. Magic on this grand scale would have equally grand consequences, and such were rarely pleasant to live through.

Though, even so, one of the more immediate consequences had been one he could get behind: the event had been the reason for his recent bout of bureaucratic good fortune… dark clouds and silver linings and all that.

Apparently, his emergency report had stirred up a veritable hornet's nest back in the London branch, resulting in the report getting kicked up the chain of command until it ultimately landed on the desk of one Vice-Chairman Slackhammer, who had taken a personal interest in things for whatever reason. The Vice-Chairman had proven to be much more free with his information than the sales-gob would have expected of one in such a comparatively lofty position in society, taking the time to pass on a bit of context and advice to his beleaguered and distant subordinate in addition to that convenient invoice.

According to the senior goblin, that hideously powerful magical discharge had almost certainly come about due to the successful completion of Potter's business in the Confederacy, a fact all but confirmed by the arrival of that travel invoice less than twelve hours later. Apparently, some degree of a light show had been expected from the outset, though obviously not the thousand mile high luminous fountain that had dominated the sky for a few long minutes.

At least, according to the Vice-Chairman, that had not been expected in the case of a successful completion.

The sales-gob very carefully did not think about what the Vice Chairman had so casually mentioned to him about what had been expected in case of failure; he couldn't afford to.

This job cost him too much sleep already.

Before he could think too deeply on that horrifying revelation, the gob looked up and found a fortunate distraction. A quartet of identical black vans pulled into the parking lot only to roll to a smooth stop at the curb just outside the terminal door. Moments later, the passenger door of the lead van opened and discharged a passenger.

The Gringott's rep smiled a toothy smile of triumph. He knew that sallow face, and he knew that where that man was, his target would not be far behind. The time had finally come for him to deliver that damned message and get back to his normal job for once.

Quickly downing the dregs of his coffee, he popped the door and disembarked.

5.7.2 Curious tidings

A frenzy of official activity had engulfed the Skeena Valley in the aftermath of the violent events at that alpine lake, and because of those drastically changed circumstances life had become quite different for the locals. No longer was the area a quiet backwater where the appearance of the occasional mysterious person in the woods went either entirely unnoticed or was dismissed as hallucination or mere fiction. Now there were entire battalions of scientists and spooks of all descriptions combing the area for any scrap of information they could find, and they were willing to assign entire teams to track down every last rumor.

In the face of the increased scrutiny, it quickly became apparent that the existing secrecy measures were no longer adequate. The spells on the village and the hidden path to the road remained in place, but a hidden path did no good when it ended within the surveillance envelope, and there were a gaggle of analysts doggedly counting everything on the off chance that it might be relevant to a situation they had no way to make sense of.

The usual vehicle traffic to and from the village, sparse though it had been, was no longer viable. Anything sufficiently agile to traverse the difficult trail was going to be unusual enough to warrant suspicion from the spooks, and with a near-infinite investigation budget in play, no suspicion would be too small to follow up on.

No, the tribal elders had decided that the risk was too great.

It remained an open question what actions ought to be taken in the longer run. Blazing a new, entirely hidden path through mountains from an area outside the investigation zone would be a massive… and massively expensive, undertaking, especially for a response to what was ultimately a temporary problem. As a result, the tribal government in Seattle was leaning heavily towards just waiting things out. Eventually, the Sleepers would conclude their investigations and leave, rendering that hideously expensive hidden road unnecessary; it was only a question of when.

Of course, had the officials making the decisions been trapped alongside the residents of that remote alpine village rather than living unbothered in Seattle, the uncertain delay implicit in that 'eventually' might have taken on a bit more weight.

As it was, however, there was one issue that even the lackadaisical Commons government judged urgent enough to address immediately.

Their European visitors, the ultimate cause of the ruckus, had to be removed from Confederate territory, post haste.

Fortunately for the rank and file of the tribal military, potentially faced by the man who had casually torn down a mountain, his absurdly strong dragon friend, and the collection of wizards and witches who felt comfortable keeping company with that pair of monsters, that was a mutually desirable end.

The only question was how to accomplish it.

Driving a large, out-of-place Winnebago showing visible signs of blast damage through an area lousy with Sleeper investigators and intelligence operatives looking specifically for information on a giant not-quite explosion was quickly judged to be not only unacceptably risky but actually outright stupid. The usual Confederate go-to of running overland through the trackless wilderness, using their highly-refined skills to avoid detection was also judged infeasible. The comparatively poorly-conditioned Europeans would never be able to keep up, especially not while carrying their baggage. The bulky and fragile instrumentation that made up the majority of the load would have strained the capabilities of a Confederate platoon to carry while concealed.

Instead, the Commons government had arranged a compromise solution.

For the heaviest cargo, including several of Harry's more unwieldy impulse purchases and of course the damaged Winnebago itself, there was nothing to be done at the moment. Instead, the Salish government had promised to arrange shipment as soon as it could be safely and reasonably arranged, either when the furor had died down sufficiently or another, more viable method had presented itself.

For the passengers and the rest, the Commons had gone a different route, settling on a bit of camouflage adjusted to the changed environment. Four chauffeurs had been brought in and given unremarkable outfits and a quartet of unmarked rental vans, and told to act nervous while driving their passengers out of the area. The only magic involved was a very basic illusion cast on each van interior to make the passengers look like cargo of a very specific nature to outside observers

Counterintuitively, that sort of sloppy concealment was exactly the right level for the situation.

It was well known among those responsible for managing wizarding secrecy that their job became more difficult as the level of vigilance in the witnesses rose. Subtle secrecy magics which worked extremely well against the unsuspecting tended to break down against the unusually vigilant, actually becoming counterproductive in many cases. A random civilian would think nothing of not being able to remember the face of someone they recently passed by, chalking it up to the vagaries of memory and the information overload of living in the modern world. A trained and vigilant observer who did the same would immediately notice his failure and wonder, and when the effect repeated itself when he looked back, that wonder would turn to suspicion and then to alarm, drawing ever more attention along the way.

Even with magic, maintaining secrecy in those circumstances required careful work. Either one had to hide everything down to the smallest inkling, avoiding attention entirely, or one had to build a story and sell it to the observer, painting a picture that they would understand and latch on to, losing interest in the process. Casually tossing off the appropriate spell and relying on the imperfection of memory and inattention to cover the rest would only make things worse.

In this case, nothing would be sufficient to keep someone from noticing the vehicles given the amount of investigation and cross-checking going on, so instead they would sell a story. Four nervous individuals leaving a provincial park, claiming to be campers to get through the security checkpoint with their passenger seats full of camping gear and suspiciously empty cargo areas. Suspicious enough to follow up in the circumstances, but not too unusual. Then when the vans had served their purpose and were abandoned at a rest stop in Saskatchewan with recent traces of carefully planted moose blood and fur in the back, even those lingering, overcautious suspicions would be laid to rest: just a group of poachers hunting out of province and out of season who had gotten the rudest surprise of their lives.

Investigation done, and any further pursuit would be directed off to another area entirely.

It was much too much trouble to go through regularly, but the Commons government judged getting their disruptive visitors out of their metaphorical hair to be worth the hassle.

So it was that as the gray sky above ominously threatened the return of the rain that had plagued the area all morning, four unmarked vans smoothly rolled to a stop on the wet pavement outside Vancouver International's primary charter terminal. The lead vehicle had barely stopped when its side door slid open and disgorged two people in mid-conversation.

"…only used transfiguration and freezing charms, then?" the smaller of the two figures was asking in a curious tone, trailing behind his taller companion as they made their way to the charter airline's front door.

Harry Potter had elected to accompany the older man to check in, not having arrived early enough to observe the process at Stansted. The rest of the group, far less interested in the specifics of how one arranged a charter flight, had elected to stay behind in the warmth and dryness of the vans until the gate opened to allow them to drive out onto the tarmac.

"That and some divination to know where to apply his efforts," the potions master agreed.

"Well, that doesn't sound too complicated," the currently-human-shaped dragon frowned. "Why was everyone so excited about it, then?"

His older companion raises a single skeptical eyebrow.

"I mean, I guess it was kind of spectacular looking," Harry explained, "but all of that is in the… fifth year books, I think? I know I saw all those in there somewhere when I read through the book list a couple years back."

"Third year for the freezing charm, fifth for the rest," Snape confirmed as they reached the shelter of the kelly green awning over the door. "And, yes, in principle any Hogwarts graduate could have done as the Headmaster did… should they have been dedicated enough to devote the better part of two year's intensive effort to planning and carrying out the task. By contrast, your Headmaster went from conceiving the idea to completion in less that ten minutes."

"I guess that makes sense," Harry allowed, nodding agreeably and setting the question aside as he reached for the door handle.

Just as his fingers touched the metal handle, he was interrupted by a call from the parking lot.

"Mr. Potter!"

Both Snape and his student turned to face the shout, but where the younger boy's eyes widened in uncomplicated pleasure on seeing the goblin he had met briefly back in Pennsylvania, as happy to see a familiar face as he ever was, Snape's dark brow instead furrowed in suspicion.

Why was the Gringott's representative here of all places, ambushing them in a parking lot a full continent away from where they had last met? The industrious creatures were not inclined to seek wizards out simply for the pleasure of their company, particularly not over such distances. Such things were time wasted which could be otherwise productively employed.

It smacked of trouble.

The goblin had opened his toothy maw to speak when Snape was proven right.

By the second syllable of the name 'Hermione', the potions master's wand was already in motion, finishing the movements for a silencing charm by the end of 'Granger'. The associated magical construct had just begun to solidify when the young dragon's green eyes widened as he processed the word 'kidnapped'. The effect of the hastily-cast charm fell into place just slightly too late to muffle the metallic snap-crunch of the steel door handle imploding in Harry Potter's reflexively clenched fist, but it managed to catch the glassy clatter as the attached aluminum frame bent far enough to shatter the door's main panel. The charm was then shattered in turn by the strain of stifling an outraged shout that would have been loud enough to break every window within fifty meters, deafen everyone on the block, and set off every car alarm within a mile. Another quick charm repaired the glass door before the receptionist beyond could do more than blink in confusion and shrug at the apparent trick of the light.

Oblivious to the magical byplay, the last Potter drew in another breath, only to pause momentarily to glare at Severus as the dark man's hand clamped down with all the strength he could muster on the boy's shoulder. Much like the man's charms work, that strength was nowhere near enough to stop a raging dragon-in-human-form; it was, however, enough to catch his attention.

Just enough.

Fortunately for the continued secrecy of the magical world — and for the continued safety of the Vancouver metroplex — catching his attention proved to be all that was needed.

"Mind your surroundings!" the potions master hissed as he caught and held the angrily-burning green eyes of his student with his own dark gaze. Carefully ignoring the poignant pang of memory at the achingly familiar color, he explained, "My silencing charm was all that prevented that shout of yours from rendering deaf everyone in the vicinity."

The angry dragon's expression softened slightly as green eyes widened.

"I understand your distress, but you must calm yourself."

All the while the dark man uncharacteristically maintained a sympathetic grip on the boy's shoulder, willing to show such weakness in part due to the importance of the situation, but mostly to keep himself upright. Between the extreme exertion of silencing a bloody damned dragon, even if only for a moment, the shock of having said spell forcibly broken before it could properly separate from his magical system, and the closely following additional effort of repairing the door had taken their due.

"A loss of temper here and now serves no one, not you, not me, and most assuredly not Miss Granger," the potions master continued in a low, urgent voice. "It will only delay your delivery of an appropriate response."

Message delivered, the potions master fell silent as he watched his young charge carefully to see if his advice had been well received.

Slowly those burning green eyes narrowed, then they finally closed as the great beast wearing the form of a young boy nodded slightly in reluctant agreement. Then a strange thing happened. As they opened, those eyes, initially liquid pools of emerald fire, cooled unnaturally quickly, freezing to flinty shards of jade between one heartbeat and the next.

As that cold, hard gaze turned on him, it was all Snape could do not to flinch away in atavistic dread.

Those eyes were not the eyes of a young boy struggling to control his temper; they were cold, calculating, the eyes of a predator waiting for the right moment. The change was too sudden, too complete, to be natural. Something else was going on behind those green eyes, something not quite right… not quite human. It was all the Snape could do not to freeze under that dreadful gaze.

It was enough to make one more than a little uneasy.

Still, when it came to dealing with the sort of beings who could inspire that sort of response with a look alone, 'uneasy' was roughly synonymous with 'not dead', and Snape was willing to count his blessings and soldier on… especially if it meant the greater Vancouver metropolitan area remained blissfully not-on-fire.

"Now I must confirm our flight," he continued, the appearance of a concerned-looking Albus Dumbledore behind the boy reassuring him enough to ask, "Can I trust you to stay here and calmly hear out our goblin acquaintance."

After a long moment, the unnerving boy gave a serious nod, and Snape turned to the door. One rather terse conversation at the reception desk and several signed papers later saw the party driving out onto the tarmac and piling into the awaiting airliner.

Minutes later, it was in the air.

5.7.3 Aftershocks

As the shrieking wail of turbofans slowly faded in the distance, the goblin sat in his still-parked van listlessly staring at the now-quiet parking lot. He had yet to start the engine, nor would he any time soon.

His hands were still shaking too much to get the key in the ignition.

For the better part of a month, the Gringott's representative had worked hard to get that message to his client. He had focused on it almost to the exclusion of everything else should he fail, terrified of the potential consequences both for himself and the Nation... and not without good reason! The message was an important one, and it was intended for one of the three most prominent clients in the history of Gringott's bank.

Potter and his business partners had come out of nowhere and within a handful of years, their various activities had already made them the three most profitable clients Gringott's had ever had. On top of that, all indications were that those profits were set to skyrocket even higher in the coming years! Potter and his associates had put such a surplus on the bank balance sheets that a whole host of austerity measures had been lifted. Delayed maintenance and stalled upgrades had resumed, and there had even been talk of new expansions to the tunnels… with more waiting in the wings if rumors were to be believed.

The new pistol at his side was just one of the nearly thirty-thousand firearms which had already rolled out in the arms update. The prospect of lowered prices for retail space in the tunnels had pushed his sister back home over the edge, and she had finally pulled the trigger on that jewelry business she had always wanted, and she was not alone, one of just half a dozen his parents had mentioned a few months earlier in their letters. Spirits among the Brethren were higher than they had been since the heady days in the wake of the Bold '99…

…and it was all because of those three accounts.

Endangering one of those now? Unthinkable!

Such a thing would have been a career-ending error, the sort of mistake that would lead to one being blackballed forever. In the worst case, if one lowly sales-gob managed to annoy such a client so badly that they actually withdrew from the Bank?

Well, in that case, the sales-gob in question might as well have inked a warrant for his own execution.

So it was little wonder that the goblin had focused everything he had on getting that damned message where it needed to go, no matter how difficult it had proven to be. He had persevered; that perseverance had been rewarded; and now the looming specter of failure had lifted. However, in his single-minded pursuit not once had he ever stopped to consider what would happen should he succeed.

That had proven to be a mistake.

He really should have known better. He'd had an inkling of just how that message was likely to be received, and the whole dragon thing had been part of his original briefing, complete with photographs of both forms. Looking back on it, the likely outcome of those two things coming together should have been obvious; however in his defense, not even meeting the creature in person had been enough to make the implications of its nature sink in properly. That first meeting outside the Great Longhouse had been little more than a passing introduction, and Mr. Potter had done what was, in hindsight, a disturbingly good job of playing the part of nothing more than a happy human child.

That perfect facade had held strong the whole time, even just a few minutes earlier when Potter had greeted him with an enthusiastic welcome and a friendly smile…

…right up until the goblin had opened his mouth.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the smiling, happy-go-lucky wizarding boy-child had evaporated like mist in a foundry, leaving in his place a murderous death-beast to wear the same face, one with all the easygoing charm of a fully operational blast-furnace…

A particularly angry fully operational blast-furnace.

It had been such a shocking change that the sales-gob had come perilously close to drawing his sidearm. Generally a good reflex to have, it was a reflex carefully trained into every young goblin as soon as they could safely hold a gun, though he sincerely doubted such would have been the case here.

Thankfully, he had managed to suppress the reflex by the simple expedient of freezing in abject terror instead, and while he had been indisposed, the other client had stepped in, diverting the monster's attention and somehow managing to cool the dragon's anger.

Yet cooled though that ire was, it had not dissipated. Instead it had transformed into something else, something infinitely more controlled but not one iota less murderous than that first hot rage.

It had reminded the goblin of the black crust on a lava floe, looking deceptively harmless and solid but absolutely not to be tested. Behind that thin crust of control lay white-hot fury, its containment only serving to keep it from cooling down.

Like that lava flow, Potter would go where he would, and eventually that think skin would burst unleashing that molten wrath on anything in the vicinity.

The Gringott's representative had no desire to be within that vicinity, and he resolved to give it a very wide berth.

In pursuit of that, he had delivered the rest of the message as quickly as he could manage and high-tailed it back to the dubious safety of his van where he had done little more than shiver for the past ten minutes as his body gradually reabsorbed the potent cocktail of fight-or-flight hormones that were its best attempt at a response to bearing the singular attention of an infuriated dragon.

Eventually he calmed enough to move, raised one still-trembling hand to the ignition, and brought the van rumbling to life.

He could only hope the Atlantic would be a berth wide enough.

5.7.4 Until proven guilty

"The hell you say!"

Amelia glared at the man standing on the other side of her desk.

"Sorry, Amelia," Jake Dubrovnik, her Head of Investigations, apologized again, his voice heavy with regret, "we just don't have a good enough case."

"That traitorous bint bloody well published her own damned confession!"

"No Boss, if you read it carefully, she didn't," he sighed again, scrubbing tiredly at his face as if he found the explanation itself so tiresome he could barely bear to repeat it. "Skeeter claimed to have arrived at her conclusions through simple investigation, supposedly prompted by a chance visit to Crabbe manor while following up on an old lead and then pursuing things from there."

"Horse shit," the Director flatly denied. "So many things would have had to go right for her in a row, there's no way she…"

"…but she could have," Jake interjected, "and from what we've been able to dig up, it looks like she back-tracked to leave a paper trail of doing just that."

"No one could possibly buy…" Amelia began only to be cut off as her subordinate continued.

"It's a fabrication of course, and that will be obvious to anyone with any experience in investigations. No one's luck is that good," Jake agreed. "I know it; you know it; but a jury… doesn't, at least not necessarily. Legal is pretty sure the defense could find a jury that would buy the story… at least enough to call it a reasonable doubt. If that happens, she walks, and we end up with egg on our face and a public relations mess in our laps. Worse yet, if we did get more conclusive evidence down the line…"

"We can't try her twice for the same crime," Amelia grunted in acknowledgment.

"We've got the evidence to bring a case if you insist," Jake offered as the silence stretched. "It's just unlikely to stick."

Amelia bit her lip thoughtfully. "How unlikely?"

"If she has a good barrister — and given the recent sales figures at the Prophet, she will — Legal figures a two in five chance of conviction."

"And what would we need to improve that?" Amelia asked, still worrying her lower lip.

"Something to put her in that cafeteria at the right time," Dubrovnik replied readily. "Right now we've got her at the Ministry, but she's on record having checked out some old Wizengamot transcripts from Records…"

"…and that's on the other side of the Ministry, right," the Director nodded. "So we'd need a witness account putting her near the scene or evidence that she has access to some means she has of moving covertly and avoiding witnesses. Nothing like that in her records?"

Jake shook his head in the negative.

"Damn!" Amelia hissed. "Slippery little insect…"

She sighed.

"Right, put her case on the back burner for now, but keep it active," she ordered. "The minute we get something more definitive, we take her down. For now, the damage is already done, and there's no fixing it."

"Right, Boss," Dubrovnik nodded easily, making a note on the file before opening up the next. "That brings us to the Johnson case which is rock-solid since we nicked him at the Liverpool facility. He has claimed that he didn't know what was going on…"

5.7.5 Somber skies

The plush interior of the charter plane was quiet, or at least as quiet as the cabin of a jetliner could be while flying high over the choppy waters of the Northwestern Passages. The loud rumbling whine of the engines, the hiss of compressed air from the life-support systems, and the faint beeps and low groans from the various avionics and hydraulics involved in keeping the craft in the air and on course: such was the usual state of affairs for long flights during the night when most of the passengers had gone to sleep.

Such was not the case on this flight.

The craft had taken off late morning from Vancouver, and they had been in the air for a few hours, yet not a single passenger slept. The atmosphere in the cabin was tense, and conversations, such as they were, were conducted by barely audible whisper or not at all. It was a far cry from the garrulous intellectual camaraderie of the first leg of their journey all those weeks ago.

No one liked the change… at all, yet to a man they all went along for one very good reason…

No one wanted to risk setting off the boy-shaped powder keg sitting quietly in their midst.

Every member of the party from Hogwarts knew at least the bare bones of what had befallen Hermione Granger during their absence, either having directly overheard the explanation outside the terminal or having had it explained in low tones by one of their colleagues who had. Sadly, no one knew quite how to address the situation.

The attack itself that was so perplexing. Tragically, such things were common enough, and while rescues were significantly less common they were not entirely unheard of either. As a result, the prospect of handling Miss Granger's recovery was none too daunting. Her case was honestly rather mild as such things went, interrupted before anything truly irreparable had happened.

Hogwarts' professorial staff were some of the best and brightest wizarding Britain had to offer, and they had all lived through the recent vicious conflict with Voldemort, many at the forefront in various capacities. A fair number of the senior staff had played similar roles in the earlier war against Grindlewald. Among them, they counted over a millennium's experience dealing with the victims atrocities significantly worse than this. They knew well how to deal with traumatized children, that was a known problem.

No, strangely enough, the most difficult aspect was dealing with the child who hadn't been kidnapped.

Harry Potter had not taken the news well, not that anyone would have expected him to, and he even now sat, silent brooding as he stared out the window. Again, it was a sad sight — and moderately pathetic, to be honest — but it was hardly unusual.

Young boy sets unrealistic expectations, falls short, and blames himself: it was a tale as old as time. That very process — testing one's limits, finding their edges through failure, and then getting back up to try again — was the essence of what it meant to learn and grow. Fostering that process was at the heart of proper education. Each and every adult on the plane, educators all, knew how to coach the boy through the current situation. It would take little more than a frank discussion and a little encouragement. Ideally, one of his professor-friends would have taken Harry aside to have that discussion hours ago. A bit of necessary perspective and comfort, and he would have regained his equilibrium quite quickly, allowing him to turn his righteous anger at the situation toward more productive ends.

And that is precisely what they would have done, if not for one, small issue.

Harry was a good lad, everyone knew that. He could be expected to accept advice and criticism with minimal fuss. In all likelihood, there'd be little more than a bit of grumbling, perhaps a shout or two, or some angry fidgeting.

Yet, therein lay the rub.

Back in Vancouver, only Snape's near-prescient reaction time had kept one such shout from severely damaging the local infrastructure, and angry fidgeting from the transfigured dragon could easily shred the aluminum structure of the airliner he sat in like so much tinfoil. And that was to say nothing of what might happen if he lost his concentration. If his transfiguration faltered even slightly, breathing wrong would quite literally melt the aluminum air-frame, sending them all plummeting into the icy waters below.

The boy needed advice, but it could not be given in mid-flight. It was far too much of a risk.

So it was that the tense atmosphere continued as everyone waited with bated breath, watching surreptitiously for some sign, any sign that their young charge had calmed enough to make it safe to proceed, or conversely had worked himself up enough to make intervention the safer alternative. Yet, as the hours and miles rolled on, the young dragon's expression never faltered from its initial slight scowl, making it more and more apparent that there was nothing to be done before they arrived on the other side of the Atlantic.

5.7.6 Setbacks

"Damn it!"

The curse was accompanied by a dull thunk as Kingsley Shacklebolt slammed his steel helmet down on the polished wood of the ready room table. The big man stood, angrily rigid for a moment longer before he fell back into a chair. As he did so, he brought the helmet up to eye level, searching the reflection in its featureless mirror-polished surface for answers.

"Damn it."

Apparently there were none to be found, and with that whisper, the energy seemed to seep out of him as his large frame slumped and the helmet tumbled from his suddenly slack grip, falling to the floor and rolling across the ready room with a clatter. That clatter stopped with the slight scrape of a booted foot near the door as it pinned the wayward helmet.

"Rough day?" Amelia Bones asked her loyal subordinate as she leaned down to pick up the discarded piece of armor.

"You could say that," the big man replied, raising his head to stare listlessly at the ceiling. "They were empty."

""Your targets?"

"Both of them, like no one had been there in years, same as yesterday. Forensics isn't holding out too much hope that they'll find anything to work with, either."

He sighed and hung his head.

"They're pulling ahead of us again, Chief."

Amelia raised the helmet and stared into it, much as her subordinate had moments earlier.

"It was inevitable, Shack. You know that, and so do I," she began. "We caught a windfall with that note from Crabbe, but our luck had to run out some time. Those Syndicate bastards are evil, not stupid. If they were, we'd have caught them all years ago." She looked up, "Thing is though, Kingsley: they haven't beaten us; they've just slowed us down."

"I know boss, it's just…"

"You've gotten soft, Shack… too used to the easy life," Amelia chuckled.

The dark skinned man frowned, turning to shoot an offended glare at his superior.

"Remember how many years we had to wait to get this break? Hmm?" the Director raised a challenging brow at his look. "These recent weeks have made things too easy, leads falling into our laps left and right. Now you are getting all discouraged just because the rest are going to take some hunting."

"Buck up, man! That's what our boys in the back office are there for: hunting, and they're crackin' good at it, too! Ha! Be patient and let them have their moment in the sun for once. Give them time to work, and you and the boys in red will get back to busting heads soon enough!"

"Thanks, Boss," the big man chuckled sheepishly as his boss handed him his discarded helmet.

"You good there, Kinglsey?" she asked.

At his nod, she smiled.

"Good, was afraid I'd have to pin a new nickname on you if you kept it up."

"Oh?"

She chuckled, "Was thinking about 'Drama Queen' for a bit there."

"Well, thank Heaven for small mercies, then," the black man said with an exaggerated cringe.

A short silence fell over the pair as Shacklebolt absently fiddled with the familiar fasteners of the helmet in his hands until eventually his superior spoke once more.

"Kingsley," she began, prompting him to look up.

"Keep your skills sharp and that helmet polished," Amelia reached over to give said helmet a tap, "so that when they find something, you and yours will be ready."

"You've done a lot of good already, and you'll get another chance."

"I guarantee it."

5.7.7 On delays and psychology

It was strange how time and distance changed things.

Harry waxed philosophic in his own head as he stared out at the clear blue of the summer arctic sky beyond the window of the charter plane.

Despite the forbidding scowl keeping his friends at bay, internally the young dragon was glacially calm. It was a strange response, not what he would have expected at all, and he didn't know quite what to make of it.

Perhaps it was something about the situation?

Always before, threats had been immediate. When the troll had invaded the castle, it had been a matter of minutes between learning of its presence and sending it to its delicious, bacon-tasting end. When that rude guy with the nose-ectomy had started threatening his damsels, the time between emergence and resolution had been similarly short. Even the basilisk hadn't lasted past their first exchange, not once he had found the thing, anyway, and before that, it hadn't been a threat to anything but his snacks. Once the silly thing had emerged as an actual threat to him, it had all ended with predictable rapidity, just like the others.

Threat, action, resolution… all in one go.

The model was simple, to the point, and easy to understand, and that fit Harry's usual temper quite well: quick to anger when needed and then just as quick to calm down when the threat passed. It had worked well for the young dragon so far.

This time was different, though. A threat had arisen, and it had caught Harry badly out of position, unable to deal with it immediately. Instead, he had learned of it only weeks later and half a world away. Some dead men had kidnapped his damsel, and were it not for the fortuitous intervention of the aurors, they'd have gotten away with it, spiriting her away out of his reach and off to some horrible fate. Harry had promised to keep his damsel safe, and he had broken that promise weeks ago without even noticing.

He had failed for the first time, and he had done so egregiously. That realization rankled more than anything…

…but was that failure the reason for this strange calm?

Green eyes narrowed ever so slightly as their owner considered the issue.

It was the one big change he could see in the situation. Before his temper had always flared hot and burned out quickly once he dealt with the problem. This time, his temper had flared hot as usual, but there had been no deserving target for that wrath. There had been no monster to kill, no villain to chase off… not even anyone to give a stern talking-to; there had been only the innocent goblin messenger and his friends. Worse yet, Mr. Snape's warning had even denied him the lesser catharsis of yelling about it, not that Harry could gainsay Mr. Snape once he had taken a moment to think.

Was this seemingly unnatural calm what he should expect in this sort of case?

That didn't seem quite right.

Harry didn't remember much from before that fateful day back in Avebury, but some things had happened often enough to stick. One thing that had was how he had felt after his uncle had punished him unfairly. Mystified confusion, distress, and lingering anger: Harry remembered all of those things quite well, even if he had forgotten precisely what events had led up to them. He generally made it a point not to dwell on what had happened before, not seeing the point in it after so much good had come with his transformation; Uncle Vernon had even apologized to him, and he could only muster up a vague sort of regret about Aunt Petunia.

The point was that back then, before Avebury, Harry had reacted quite differently to situations where he had not been able to deal with problems immediately. Sure the problems had been of a different nature, but it was the closest analog to his current situation that he could think of, and his response then had been utterly and completely different.

No, this strange calm was not due to the delay, not entirely at least.

Perhaps it was a combination of factors, then?

The circumstances might not be entirely different from anything he had ever encountered, but they were different than anything he had encountered since Avebury. Maybe his dragon physiology dealt with this sort of thing differently than he had as a human boy? He had seen a lot of changes since that day, and it seemed logical that this might just be another one of them.

The question then became, how did this work, and how was he supposed to deal with it?

Harry's head tilted minutely as he considered.

He'd had to adapt to a lot of new things when he had become a dragon, so it wasn't like he didn't have the experience. For the most part, it had been a matter of experimentation. Try, see what happens, and then try something a bit different until he got the hang of it. There was no reason to think figuring out this strange mood swing would be any different.

Of course, how did one experiment with such a thing?

Was he supposed to deliberately make himself angry and see how he felt? Maybe some of those mood-modifying charms he'd read about? There was the one to make you calm and the one to make you happy — or at least giddy, the book hadn't been very clear on that — it would be surprising if there wasn't one for making people angry, and he could let it through his defenses if he thought about it. Mr. Flitwick would be sure to know if it existed.

Harry looked up, about to turn to ask when he suddenly thought better of it as Mr. Snape's warning from before swam back up from the depths of memory.

Mind your surroundings!

The young dragon's gaze flicked to the beige material surrounding the suddenly more fragile-looking window beside him. A thin layer of plastic covered the aluminum that made up the main structure of the aircraft.

Brittle plastic. Soft aluminum.

He glanced over at his collection of beloved friends sitting in the cabin functionally hanging from that ever so fragile construction then looked down at his hand, resting quietly in his lap.

Right, this was not the best location for that sort of testing.

In fact, on second thought, maybe he ought not be poking too much at that strange calm, either, lest he break something accidentally.

Not until they landed and got Hermione back, anyway.

Right. When his friends were safely back on the ground, and after he had gone and retrieved Hermione, safe and sound, then he could afford to experiment and figure out just what strange changes his body had thrust upon him now.

Fortunately, Harry straightened slightly as his sharp eyes picked out the long white lines of breaking waves and a moonlit coastline far below, it seemed he would not have to wait too much longer. Those could only be the Hebrides.

He was almost home.

5.7.8 All dressed up with nowhere to go

After nearly nine hours of tense silence and an uneventful landing at Stansted, Albus Dumbledore went over his plans one last time as the plane taxied to a stop.

First, of course, was unloading the equipment. Severus had arranged for a rental van to meet them on the tarmac, and it was only the work of minutes to move his equipment. His luggage, of course, was sitting neatly in his pocket. He had transfigured the collection into the more manageable form of a bag of marbles before boarding the plane back in Canada.

As the old man waited for his younger compatriots to finish their own preparations, he took the time to go over his plan of attack one last time. This promised to be a delicate conversation, after all, and he would have to be careful to manage the youngster's likely delicate temper, especially after having allowed it to fester for nearly a day.

"…and that is the last of it," his potions master nodded as the last of it was loaded, sallow complexion looking even more corpse-like than usual under the yellow glare of the sodium lights. "We are done here, Albus."

"Thank you, Severus," the older wizard nodded in acknowledgment.

Turning to his target, he took a deep breath. Albus had volunteered to be the one to take Mr. Potter aside for a talk, and as much as Albus was looking forward to getting home and dropping into his own familiar bed for the first time in more than a month, certain things ought be delayed no further. Now that the fragility of their conveyance was no longer a concern, the time had come to see that promise through.

"Is there anything else you need my help for, Mr. Snape?" the boy asked from where he stood at the side of his centaur lady. The young dragon had kindly offered to carry the bulk of the heaviest gear himself.

"I do not believe so, Mr. Potter," the dour man gravely affirmed.

With that, the young dragon turned to confer with Miss Suze, and Dumbledore paused in his approach to allow it. Best not to interrupt, there was no need to start things off on the wrong foot.

As soon as the young dragon's short exchange with Miss Suze came to an end, Albus cleared his throat.

"Right," Harry announced.

"Mr. Pott…" Albus attempted to interrupt, only to be cut off.

"I'm gonna go get Hermione now."

With that, the boy's form promptly flickered and then an emerald-eyed pigeon winged off to the south faster than any member of that species had any business flying. Moments later his centaur damsel likewise disappeared, whisked off to the Lair by the portkey originally intended to carry both her and Harry.

Albus' long beard shuffled for a moment as he silently worked his jaw, then he closed his eyes and hung his head.

"Oh, bother!"

5.7.9 Skeleton key

Ten minutes and thirty miles later, the sky was just beginning to lighten into the earliest beginnings of twilight over the London cityscape when an oddly athletic pigeon fluttered to a landing next to a telephone box just off Whitehall. The moment it touched down, the small bird blurred into a small human boy already in the process of reaching for the receiver. Five key-presses later, the ground seemed to open up under him, and he dropped the dozen meters down to the Ministry's secondary receiving lobby.

"Name and purpose?" the night attendant asked in a bored voice, not bothering to look up from his magazine as the boy strode purposely towards the desk.

"Harry Potter to visit the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"DMLE business hours begin at…" the attendant began by rote.

As the name registered, his eyes rose in surprise only for his voice to trail off at the look in the boy's flinty eyes. He gulped as the boy's stance shifted in a subtle way that left the night attendant suddenly absolutely certain that he needed to find another way to finish that sentence before something horrible occurred.

"…but they've been really busy over there recently, people in and out at all hours," he hurriedly backpedaled. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to go and see if anyone is around. Take the first turn to the right and then follow the signs."

The purported Harry Potter nodded in perfunctory acknowledgment and stalked purposefully deeper into the Ministry. As he passed out of view, the night attendant breathed a sigh of relief, determinedly not thinking about how he had just folded like a wet napkin at a disapproving stare from a young boy. Raising his magazine once more, he noted its shaking and frowned, then shrugged. Setting the magazine down on the desk, the man leaned forward and returned to his reading.

The oddly intimidating young boy was someone else's problem now.

5.7.10 Late night stirrings

Clyde walked alone through the early morning quiet of the almost empty DMLE.

After the sudden downturn in Syndicate arrests, the majority of Investigations had more or less returned to business as usual. As far as most of the analysts were concerned, there was no benefit in maintaining the insane schedule now that the cat was out of the bag. They had lost their advantage, and there was no getting it back. Now it was time to play the long game.

Clyde Evans had not.

Despite the almost stoppered flow of new evidence, despite the dearth of tangible results, Clyde had maintained the same brutal schedule he had during the height of that first push, doggedly worrying at the evidence they did have like a particularly stubborn dog worried a bone. He kept at it with the unbridled zeal of the penitent seeking absolution, full of the fervent hope that he might find some lead the Syndicate cleaners had missed, some new breakthrough.

That he might in some way make amends for his terrible sin.

So far Clyde had been unsuccessful, despite practically living at his desk for the past month and change. From time to time, he caught a nap on one bench or another, ate at the canteen when he got too hungry, and showered in the officer's locker room whenever he started to smell himself. He had almost forgotten what the inside of his flat looked like, not that he was particularly eager to go back there.

The last time he had allowed his coworkers to chase him out of the office to rest, the nightmares had granted him none at all. Eyes… thousands of them, all staring at him in judgement. Eyes that his dreaming self had somehow known belonged to all those poor people they hadn't managed to save. People that were still trapped in that living hell…

…still trapped because of him.

Staying at the office meant he hadn't faced that dream since; though whether that was due to the changed venue or due to keeping himself too tired to dream, he couldn't say. Regardless, Clyde was none too eager to risk it again. The flat was only a cheap rental anyway; if he never returned it wouldn't be much of a loss.

Over the course of the whole mess, Clyde had become quite intimately familiar with the feel of the DMLE offices during these quiet night hours. He knew the sounds to expect, and he knew who and what he was likely to find. Therefore Clyde found himself quite curious when, in passing by the visitors' lounge, he heard a persistent tapping echoing from within. Poking a curious head into the cavernous expanse of the normally deserted room, the junior analyst spotted a boy standing on the other side, drumming his fingers impatiently on the darkly varnished wood of the deserted receptionist's desk.

Having identified the source of the noise, Clyde gave a satisfied nod and was about to turn away and go about his business when an unusual thought caused him to hesitate.

Clyde was an analyst. He was not part of public relations, and he had no inclination for that sort of work. He didn't help visitors, nor was he involved in Department security. Whatever it was that had some kid wandering the halls of the DMLE was not his problem, and he doubted he would be able to help even if it were.

Still, from somewhere within him, the thought sprang up…

Maybe he ought to help?

A few moments later, while Clyde was still debating the merits of the choice, the choice was rendered moot when the boy suddenly sniffed at the air — sniffed of all things! — and turned unerringly to meet the bewildered analyst's eyes.

After a long, awkward moment, Clyde sighed.

It'd be too awkward to back out now; even he knew that.

"Need some help there?"

5.7.11 On the importance of trigger discipline

Harry frowned as he drummed his fingers on the deserted receptionist's desk in the primary reception lounge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or at least so it had said on the sign in the hallway. The place was dark but for a few occasionally flickering enchanted lights which combined were just barely enough to make the place navigable. Harry assumed this was the place to go, though he had not been able to confirm that with anyone, on account of the entire place being deserted as near as he could tell. He hadn't seen another soul since he'd passed that night attendant back by the outer door.

Fortunately, that strange calm which had come over him still seemed to be holding strong, else Harry knew himself well enough to know he'd be practically bouncing off the walls with worry and frustration by now. Neither seemed to be possible at the moment, presumably due to whatever quirk of his new biology had put him in this state.

Still, while that calm helped him stay on task, it didn't get him any closer to his damsel!

The dim lighting flickered again, brightening momentarily before dimming once more as Harry considered the problem.

There had to be someone about, this was a police station, after all. There ought to be a night shift or something. Harry frowned, perhaps there was another area, but he hadn't seen anything in the Ministry tunnels to indicate where it might be. How was he going to find anyone in this? It wasn't like he could just sniff…

The young dragon-in-human-form paused.

Doubtful.

With how populated this place normally was, it was unlikely Harry would be able to sort any humans who were present now out from the collected scents of those who had passed through before… not over any distance, anyway. His nose was good, but not that good. Maybe if they were just in the next room over, or something, but what were the odds of that?

Still, it didn't cost him anything to try.

Focusing carefully, Harry took one tentative sniff and then another.

His green eyes narrowed as he processed the olfactory din that was typical of a public area.

There was the faint petroleum scent of long-set varnish, an even fainter lingering odor of wood — probably from unfinished bits inside the upholstered chairs, given that he couldn't smell anything but varnish from the desk under his fingertips — and the smell of dusty horsehair and old leather conditioner from that same upholstery. The carpet gave of a lingering tang of lanolin mixed with the faintly nauseating smell of long-since cleaned vomit. Permeating the whole thing were the twinned scents of parchment and ink… oh was there parchment and ink! And over that basis, were spread the scents of people: old and recent, so numerous that they were starting to run together in his mind. There was no way…

Wait.

A new scent had reached him, wafted from behind by the faintest of air currents.

Human.

Male, if almost buried under the parchment and ink smell.

And most importantly: fresh.

Harry's head snapped around to where the scent had blown in from, and he laid eyes on a weedy-looking young man in typical, if rather rumpled, office garb. He looked quite startled at the sudden eye contact.

A moment passed.

"Need some help, lad?"

Finally!

"I'm here for Hermione Granger," Harry stated politely but firmly, holding solid eye contact with the man in a way that seemed to have worked quite well with the attendant earlier. "She's in protective custody right now, and I'm gonna take her home."

"Sorry kid," the man shrugged, "I can't help you with that."

Apparently, this one was made of somewhat sterner stuff than the one before.

"Why not?" Harry asked, voice still even.

"It's not my job."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, still holding eye contact as he tried to get whatever it was that had worked so well back at the main reception to work again.

"Not really," the rumpled-looking man shrugged. "The receptionist will get here in a few hours."

Unfortunately, it seemed this man was impervious to whatever social cues Harry had been giving off. The young dragon-in-human-form cocked his head as a possibility occurred to him.

Maybe he just needed to be more direct.

"Look, there's got to be something…"

As he spoke, Harry reached inside himself, trying to find just a touch of that anger he had felt before to give weight to his words. Just a little bit ought to be enough to get his point across.

"…you can do to help."

There was just a little resistance from whatever it was that had kept him calm for so long, a sudden feeling that if he poked the wrong thing, he might get more than he bargained for.

"Seriously, kid, I'm just an analyst; I don't…"

Harry listened with half an ear as, fed up with all the delays, he impatiently brushed aside that instinctual hesitation.

I'll only let out a little bit.

With that thought, the resistance vanished and Harry got his wish, cracking open the strange barriers which had kept his temper in check and allowing a thin trickle of ire to seep out. Then moments later, the full force of the emotion hit.

Harry had become used to his recent unnatural calm, so much so that even normal anger would likely have come as an unpleasant shock. The outrage he had locked away was decidedly abnormal even before it was confined for nearly a dozen hours. So it was that Harry learned a very important truth…

Anger, like most explosives, only intensified under confinement.

Shocked at the sheer potency of the unleashed emotion, the last Potter's shaky control slipped, and the floodgates in his mind slammed open under the pressure of an overwhelming cataract of hot wrath. The cataclysmic torrent swept outward, drowning the young dragon's whole world in a deluge of lurid red. In its wake, the battered shreds of Harry's self-control scrabbling desperately against the siren song of overpowering rage and the false clarity of purpose it granted.

Under that red tide, involved or uninvolved, guilty or innocent, none of it mattered…

…not his future reputation…

…not political consequences…

…and certainly, not some office worker's protestations of ignorance.

5.7.12 Out of context

"…an analyst; I don't even know how to help you!"

Clyde concluded his argument, confident that the boy would realize the futility of further argument.

You couldn't argue with the facts, right?

Suddenly the boy's form seemed to shudder and twist unnaturally, and then the air was thick with the sound of splintering wood. Behind him, some great unseen force suddenly and simultaneously pulped a wide swath of the lobby furnishings.

"THEN FIGURE SOMETHING OUT!"

It seemed the strange boy did not share Clyde's opinion on that subject.

"I really don't know, though!"

Clyde squeaked as he noticed in an odd bout of clarity that the varnish on the receptionist's desk next to the suddenly very dangerous child was visibly bubbling up, presumably due to the influence of the barely-controlled magic that flooded the room.

As the boy processed that statement, his expression shifted in a way that Clyde, despite his difficulties with reading people, knew was not friendly. Perhaps it was the decidedly predatory way the boy was slowly stalking towards him, or maybe the way those irregular shudders always seemed to be accompanied by new showers of debris. His eyes drifted shut to block out the distracting sight as he cast about for something he could offer that might get him out of this alive.

"Maybe I could look through the receptionist's desk and see what I can figure out?"

The room went silent for a long moment before he opened his eyes, almost surprised to still be alive. The boy stood staring at him from a short distance, and Clyde could have sworn he felt the hot breath of some massive predator washing over him from above.

"WELL?" Green eyes scowled. "GET LOOKING!"

Clyde hesitated no further, scampering over to the desk. Fumbling along the bottom edge he hit several different controls before he managed to find one which turned on the task lighting built into the desk, and then he got looking.

5.7.13 Rough start

Halfway across the Department in the security ready room a light on another desk lit up, flashing a lurid red and accompanied by an insistent beeping.

Moments later, a red-robed arm reached across the console and worked a control, shutting off the audible alarm, though the flashing indicator remained. The ginger-haired figure attached to that arm leaned forward to look more closely.

"Reception?" Auror Second Class Matt Weasley said in disbelief. "What in bloody blazes could have set off the silent alarm in Reception at this hour? There shouldn't even be anyone on-duty!"

"Faulty equipment maybe?" one of his men speculated, looking up from the game of auror snap playing out on the ready-room conference table. A rather higher stakes variant of the exploding snap favored among schoolchildren, auror snap substituted a rather intense pain curse for the usual gag explosion. It honed reaction speed and built pain tolerance all at the same time.

"It's always something," Matt muttered with a grunt. "Doesn't matter why, policy's clear: move!"

Within twenty seconds, Weasley and his squad were moving through the corridors at a quick jog, their full harness of equipment jingling with every step. One of his men shook a gloved hand even as he kept pace, trying to alleviate the lingering sting from losing the last round. A quick check of the visitor logs had confirmed that the receptionist had left last night and had not yet returned, so the reception lobby ought to be empty.

All evidence pointed to a false alarm… equipment failure.

Oddly enough, despite the circumstances, jogging through the halls of the DMLE in full kit on what was almost certainly a fool's errand, the mood among Weasley's squad was upbeat. They'd gotten spoiled by the sometimes twice-daily raids and room-to-room magical combat during the height of the Syndicate case. Going back to guard duty had been crushingly dull. Almost anything was better than just sitting around waiting, and now they were doing something again, even if it would probably prove pointless.

A minute and a half of heavy steps and jingling equipment later, the squad was just turning down the last stretch of hallway before their destination when they were treated to their first indication that the false alarm might not have been quite so false after all.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'SHE'S NOT IN THERE'?"

The voice was deep, by far the most profound bass any of them had ever heard; powerful, sounding like it was yelled in one's ear despite the distance, loud enough to rattle doors in their frames all along the corridor; and quite thoroughly annoyed. It was easily the most intimidating sound Matt had ever heard.

By unspoken agreement, they picked up the pace.

"…just don't know!"

About half way down the hall, another, much less impressive voice swam into clarity. In truth a respectable tenor, it nonetheless came across as a barely audible falsetto when compared to the first.

"Look, what do you want from me? I don't know how the files are set up, and I'm just figuring this out as I go, okay? If you want to know for sure, you're going to have to wait until the receptionist gets in; just… try to stay calm… please?"

"I AM CALM!" the first voice declared in an almost entirely not-calm fashion.

That sounded just enough like someone being held under duress to push Matt over the edge, and he signaled for a dynamic entry. Better to break it up now while they had the element of surprise than try to negotiate around a hostage.

The dark wooden double doors crashed against the walls as the auror squad burst through, two at a time.

"FREEZE, HANDS UP!"

In that instant, they found before them a peculiar tableau, indeed.

The first thing they noticed was the reception desk, its task lighting the brightest source of illumination in the cavernous expanse of the reception lounge. Behind it cowered a thin man, his face was slowly twisting into an odd mix of apprehension and relief as attempted to make himself one with the wall behind him.

Across from him stood a small boy, barely tall enough to see over the high desk.

He hardly seemed a threat… until he turned to face them. As soon as they caught sight of his face, that small boy suddenly seemed the biggest thing in the room, filling it to overflowing with sheer presence. As that baleful green-eyed gaze turned and fell on them, Matt and his squad froze mid-step, coming close to actually flinching back despite their training. The mind behind those terrible eyes obviously utterly unconcerned about the sudden appearance of a hostile auror squad in full combat gear and was not shy about letting them know that. Worse still, that lack of concern seemed entirely natural and expected…

…to Matt…

…and that was unnerving in the extreme.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" Matt's point-man repeated, brandishing his wand in warning to no visible effect.

Something was off here, and the squad leader did not know what. Something about the situation made him agree with the strange boy's unspoken assessment, and he was scrambling to figure out why.

As the moment stretched out and Auror Weasley continued his increasingly frantic assessment, the oddities continued to mount. The boy's unusual body language was bad enough, and it was soon joined by the way the varnish near the boy's hand was actively bubbling. There was a great deal of magic in play, barely controlled magic at that. A few subtle twitches in the boys movement made themselves apparent as the auror watched, giving him a clue he had missed on his first impression. The child was much more concerned with dealing with some manner of internal struggle than he was with Matt's squad.

Matt's concern suddenly shifted.

The sorts of internal struggles which overshadowed the appearance of an entire auror squad in full combat kit were never good news, especially not when paired with the sort of personal magical ability that the little trick with the varnish implied. His men were good, but with violence always came risk, and with the amount of power involved, that risk was almost certain to prove fatal for someone if a fight broke out.

Deescalation was the name of the game, and Matt had just opened his mouth to ask what he wanted when the terrifying boy volunteered.

"WHERE IS HERMIONE?"

Matt only knew one person by that name. Her name had stuck with him ever since he had been forced to look it up all those weeks ago in the servant registry after he'd tagged her with that cavalry marker.

"Hermione Granger?" Matt asked.

Still, unusual name or not, it was best to make sure they were talking about the same girl. Best not have the situation turn any uglier on account of a misunderstanding.

"YOU KNOW HER?" the boy asked in turn as a laser-focused emerald gaze turned on Matt.

That confirmed it.

"Not personally, but I've been keeping tabs on her," the Weasley explained.

He still didn't quite know why. Perhaps he felt responsible for saving her? Perhaps it was divine providence preparing him for this moment?

Whatever, it was irrelevant now.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'M GOING TO TAKE HER HOME."

Matt frowned behind his mask. As he recalled, the girl's parents were still with the Healers, and she didn't have any other family. The only other person who had any other claim was…

That frown deepened as Matt looked over the boy at the desk again, this time focusing on appearance rather than threat assessment. Small boy, scruffy black hair, intensely green eyes…

"Harry Potter?" he ventured uncertainly.

The boy nodded.

Huh, Potter really looked different when he wasn't smiling.

Smiles aside, that at least gave Matt a place to start.

Motioning subtly to his squad to stand by with one hand, he reached up with the other to remove his mask, which came away with a subtle click revealing a friendly smile topped with a shock of red hair, still damp with sweat from his cross-Department run. Matt could only hope a friendly face rather than a featureless mask would help the boy calm down.

"Right then, Mr. Potter," he began. "I can assure you that Miss Granger is safe, but as it is four in the morning, I suspect it may take a little while to wake her up and get her back to you…"

He trailed off momentarily, eyeing the way the sturdy wood of the desk splintered and tore under the boy's suddenly tightening grip.

"…so we'd best get started right now," Auror Weasley finished smoothly.

As he did so, he once again thanked God for that break in the Syndicate case. Before that auction house raid, no one with the authority to sign off on this sort of thing would have been on duty at this time of night. Since then, though, the Director had been spending more time in the office than out, and if she kept to her recent schedule, she ought to be in within an hour or two. That meant there was a decent possibility she could be contacted early.

He motioned to his second, "Jenkins, have the Director to meet us in Conference Room 2, please."

Jenkins turned without a word and sprinted back the way they had come, heading for communications at a dead run. Behind him, the situation in the mostly empty visitor's lobby remained tense for a few long moments as the small boy visibly struggled for control.

Eventually, the wooden desk groaned with relief as his grip loosened.

"ALRIGHT," Potter nodded, "WE'LL DO THAT."

And with that, the auror duty squad escorted the tiny terror deeper into the Department. Behind them, forgotten, the helpful analyst stood stock still for a long moment before he slumped with an explosive sigh and bonelessly slouched into the receptionist's chair behind him.

Maybe his apartment wouldn't be so bad after all.

5.7.14 Anger management

As he was escorted deeper into the complicated warren of hallways and offices that was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by an understandably twitchy auror squad, Harry couldn't shake the niggling thought that he had really stepped in it this time.

The young dragon-in-human-form had just done some very rude things: storming into the Ministry after hours, snapping at a man who had gone out of his way to be helpful, and then coming within a hair's breadth of actively attacking the very people who had saved Hermione when he had failed. His behavior had been uncalled for, the ingratitude they encapsulated utterly appalling.

Heck, they bordered on dunderheaded!

That however, was not the reason for Harry's growing concern. While he had come much closer to the edge than he would have preferred, nothing he had done had been irreversible. Embarrassing as it would no doubt be, excuses could be formulated, apologies could be tendered, reparations could be made… and quite frankly, even if those apologies were not accepted there was little the wizarding authorities could do to him aside from making him feel bad about defending himself because it actually was his fault.

No, the problem Harry was worried about was quite a bit closer to home — inside his own head, as a matter of fact — because despite the very obvious pitfalls of this situation, it was taking every iota of the young dragon's formidable mental abilities to remind himself that he ought to care about such things.

For nearly ten hours, Harry had kept a tight lid on his temper ever since Snape's warning. Aided by that strange sense of detachment that had come over him back in Vancouver, he had kept that calm through the five thousand mile flight back to Britain, through his unassisted flight to London, and all the way to the lobby back behind him. There Harry had deliberately attempted to tap into that anger he had felt before to help convey the urgency of his request.

That had been a mistake.

On the plane, Harry had wondered about the strange sense of calm, what it was and from whence it had come. He still had no idea where it had come from, the young dragon now knew exactly what it was.

It was a loaded gun.

Harry had been aware that he had been angry, aware of what had angered him, and fully committed to delivering that anger to its proper target, but he had nonetheless remained utterly calm. There had been no unbearable urgency demanding immediate action, no reckless eagerness pushing him into taking stupid risks, just a placid certainty of purpose.

Knowing what he did now, it made an odd sort of sense.

Like a gun, that calm was a mechanism for delivering his anger to the appropriate target, a construction meant to allow as much time as might be needed to aim properly before delivering fire and death at the pull of a trigger. Carrying such a thing needn't make one eager or reckless any more than carrying a gun necessarily made one eager to kill.

Of course, also just like a gun, it seemed that pulling that trigger was irreversible.

Harry had somehow managed to push all his anger into a little, self-contained box like powder into a bullet casing. Once the metaphorical pin came down, there was no taking it back, and like that gunpowder, his anger came out of confinement far more urgently than it had gone in.

Harry had leaked that first minute glimmer expecting a trickle to emphasize his words, and he had gotten smacked in the face with a bursting dam.

Functionally, he had been waving a gun around like an irresponsible idiot to emphasize his talking points in an argument, and as could be expected of such foolishness, he'd managed to accidentally pull the trigger. The fact that he hadn't known it was a gun was immaterial. His ignorance certainly wouldn't help any of the people around him who were now bearing the onerous brunt of an anger they assuredly did not deserve. It was an egregious failure in trigger discipline!

The Sergeant-Major was going to be so disappointed when he found out…

…not that Harry could bring himself to care at the moment.

Embroiled in wrestling with his baser emotions amplified beyond any reasonable expectation of control, the young dragon was finding it very difficult to care about the future, the past, or much of anything for that matter aside from the very immediate issue of attempting to bring some semblance of restraint to the thundering torrent of rage currently flooding his very being. His already shaky grip was slipping a little farther each moment.

Hopefully, he would manage to find some way to divert or expend it soon before his increasingly tenuous hold slipped too far.