PhoenixSong.net :: A Harry/Ginny Fanfic and Fanart Archive

Author: Caleb Nova

Story: That Terrifying Momentum

Part: 16: The Most Final Equality

Rating: Teens

Setting: AU

Status: WIP

Reviews: 8

Words: 3,803

Updated: June 4, 2009, 8:26pm

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16: The Most Final Equality

(Die Abschließendste Gleichheit)

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Köln, Deutschland

Fünftel des März, 1945

The city was made of dust.

It filtered through every crack, every gap and crevice. It stirred in small puffs when touched by the breeze or stormed about in clouds when pushed by the wind. It settled across tables and dressers, chair tops and sofas. It sifted through hair and teeth – it filled lungs and nostrils.

The world was being blown back into the powder from whence it had been formed, ground beneath the mortar and pestle of the bomb and the gun.

An apartment building stood on a street as cratered and wreckage strewn as all the rest in the city, a monument to an attack that was now only a memory written in burns and broken walls. It sat as a skeletal form against the horizon, a hollowed out shell of its former self, the flesh stripped from its stone and steel bones.

A man sat on a pile of rubble framed by the fading sunlight and contemplated the remains of his adversary.

The corpse’s face did not show the agony that might be expected. The hands were not curled in a last, mute supplication. There were no gouts of fluid staining the surrounds. If one ignored the thin, whip-like slash that ran down the throat of the corpse into its chest and the sticky, dark blood soaking the front of the robes, the body might have been sleeping.

But he was dead. He had died alone without honour and without dignity in the ruins of a town he had never called home. A Dark wizard, dead on a floor made filthy by ruthless Muggle bombings. No last speech. No fanfare. Nothing but a moment of surprise, a short desperate struggle, and then sudden death.

Albus Dumbledore had killed him. And given the choice, he’d do it again.

It was a hard thing to accept about himself, but there it was. He felt little regret for the deed – that could come later in life, given the years to ruminate. For the present he found only an understanding of the great equalisation which death represented. Power was a giant’s elixir. People like himself were often referred as ‘larger than life’.

No one was larger than life. And all the Dark magic his opponent had possessed had not kept him from becoming just another rapidly cooling corpse lying on its back in a dead city.

Dumbledore sighed. He could only hope that after the day he met that same equality, they would bury him beneath green earth and a blue sky.

“Who is he?”

Almost quicker than the eye could follow, Dumbledore leapt from his seat and raised his wand to whirl and face the voice that had startled him.

The owner of the voice made no attempt to hide. A man stood in the corner to the right of where Dumbledore had been sitting, leaning against what was left of a windowsill. He was wearing an olive drab uniform with a rounded steel helmet of the same colour. A pair of intent grey eyes looked out from beneath the brim. He held a Muggle weapon casually in his right hand, the stock tucked in his armpit.

The man was a Muggle soldier, an American if Dumbledore had identified his uniform correctly. A simple Memory Charm would wipe this encounter from the man’s mind, but Dumbledore hadn’t missed the way that the soldier had shifted the barrel of his firearm until it was pointing in a dangerous direction. Though a gun wasn’t nearly as versatile as a wand, it was no less deadly. The situation warranted caution.

“Or rather, who was he,” the soldier amended. “I’d ask him myself, but I don’t think I’d be likely to get an answer.” The man looked critically at the still body. “Right in the throat and deep, too. You should have done a horizontal slice through the jugular. The last thing you want is your knife stuck in someone’s clavicle in the middle of a fight.”

Dumbledore wasn’t sure what to make of this one-sided conversation but still made no move to Obliviate the stranger.

The man looked back up at Dumbledore, his eyes still searching. He continued, “You didn’t use a knife though, did you, Albus?” He shrugged and settled back into the windowsill. “Is that Grindelwald?”

That got Dumbledore’s attention. He immediately reassessed the man. “No,” he answered carefully. “But he was a follower of Grindelwald.”

“Er ist nicht der erste Mann in Deutschland, um für sein Fuhrer zu sterben,” the man said darkly. He looked past Dumbledore towards the crumbling cityscape. “Und kaum der Letzte.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. “Aber anders als den Soldaten, suchte dieser Mann die Dunkelheit aus, damit er zu folgen.”

The grey-eyed soldier inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. “True. Choice defines a great deal – in this case his demise – when he chose not to come quietly.”

This seemingly random encounter was becoming increasingly bizarre. Dumbledore decided to cut to the chase. “I’m afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I regret to say I don’t recognise you.”

The man grinned. “Scott Kharan. I’d shake your hand, but I think we’re on nervous ground at the moment.”

“Indeed we are,” Dumbledore replied genially, glad to have had at least one of his questions answered. “You’ll forgive me then if I do not lower my wand.”

“Are you going to leave this here for the Third to find?” It took Dumbledore a moment to realise that Kharan was talking about the corpse. “I could get rid of it for you.”

The offer put a new twist on this puzzle. Dumbledore wondered if this man was here intending to retrieve the body – perhaps his master’s body? There were any number of uses for the remains of Dark wizard, all of them blasphemous.

Kharan seemed to read his mind. “But I’m sure you’d want to handle this personally. Sometimes you need to trade convenience for peace of mind. Speaking of which—”

Turning towards the body, he raised his rifle and fired a shot. The bullet entered the corpse’s temple and exited at an angle through the top of its head, leaving a gaping exit wound and spraying that side of the floor with a mixture of brain matter, blood and hair. “It’s a cautionary measure,” he said. “I may not know much about Dark magic, but I’d assume it would be difficult to resurrect a man with no brain.”

Dumbledore was not brutal by nature. The rather casual violation of a corpse by Kharan only served to enhance his suspicions. He decided to be blunt. “What is it that you want from me?” Dumbledore asked, his voice calm and even. “Surely you did not track me to this place in order to ensure he was fully deceased.”

Kharan shook his head. “It’s very simple. I want you to remember me.”

Dumbledore blinked. “I hardly think I could forget this meeting.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Kharan slung his weapon onto his back, and approached Dumbledore while holding up his hands to show that he meant no harm. He stopped just a few feet away so that they stood eye to eye. “I want you to remember me because someday in the future, I’m going to need a favour from you.”

“What sort of favour?” Dumbledore inquired carefully. “There are many things not in within my power to give.” There were many more things he was unwilling to give.

“Nothing difficult, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kharan said. “Just an admission for a transfer student.”

Dumbledore wondered if he had misheard. “I beg your pardon?”

Kharan grew very serious. “I have something to do. I can do it without your help—” He held up a finger. “—but I’d much rather have you on my side. You’re going to see me again but not for a long time, so it’s important that you remember my name and what I look like.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Kharan backed away. “I won’t look quite the same in the future though.”

“You’d be older, I expect,” Dumbledore said with some humour. “I’ve heard that happens.”

Kharan shook his head. “No, I’ll be younger. At least, I will sometimes.” Before Dumbledore could attempt to puzzle that out, Kharan was already talking again. “Just in case your future self is less accommodating, I also have another means of identification so you’ll be able to tell it’s really me.”

Dumbledore was finding more and more that he did not like the feeling of not knowing what was going on. He was above all a scholar, and to be confronted by so many things he didn’t comprehend chafed at his mind. “Is this secrecy necessary? If you could be more specific as to what it is that you’re doing, I might be of more help.”

“No. Foreknowledge can be dangerous in specifics. It doesn’t matter if you believe me. The most important thing right now is that you must remember everything I say. Understand?”

This encounter would already stick firmly in his mind. Dumbledore reluctantly nodded his understanding.

“Alright then. Who I am and what I’m doing is irrelevant right now. Don’t worry about it – you’ve got other things to do. So memorise these generalities,” Kharan said firmly. “In the future, there will be a war. You will win this war. Near the end of the war there will be a Prophecy. You’ll know what to do. Eventually a second war will start – and that’s when I’ll show up, and ask for that favour from you.”

Dumbledore started to speak but Kharan held up a hand to stop him. “You don’t have to believe me. Just remember.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. “This is insurance. Inside something is written on a piece of paper. Do not ever open this envelope until the next time you meet me – that way, only I’ll know what it says.” He shrugged a little self-consciously. “I know that’s somewhat extreme, but we’re encouraged to implement backup measures. Missions have been scrapped for less.”

Running his wand across the envelope, Dumbledore checked it for any spells before sliding it into an inner pocket in his robes. Almost despite himself, he found that he was drawn into the partial picture Kharan had painted for him – what was this mission, and why did it require such actions?

“The Third Armoured will occupy this city by tomorrow,” Kharan told him, “so I suggest you make yourself scarce before then.”

With that, Kharan jumped out the shattered window.

Dumbledore rushed over to the opening, but upon looking out and down into the alleyway which it overlooked, there was no sign of the man. Of course, he could simply have Disapparated... but somehow, Dumbledore didn’t think so.

He had been given much to think about, although he doubted any real answers could be gleaned from what little information he had. Had Kharan been a Dark wizard, attempting to trick him? Or was he merely insane, and if he was, how had he known where to find Dumbledore?

If Kharan truly was aware of future events, well... there would be only one way to confirm that.

Time would prove Kharan wrong or right.

Sighing, Dumbledore turned back to the body and raised his wand.

“Incendio!”

***---~**~---***

Author’s Notes: While getting this ready for posting, it came to my attention that this chapter is short. Like, really short.

That’s pretty much intentional since it’s just an interlude chapter and a flashback besides, but I still felt like you guys might not being getting your time’s worth. After all, you did park your undoubtedly fabulous fanfiction-reading ass in your computer chair in order to waste time as efficiently as possible. I am concerned that this chapter did not waste as much of your time as you perhaps expected.

Therefore, in the interests of keeping you non-productive for as long as possible, I have tacked on an extra scene that is (for the time being) exclusive to PhoenixSong. I realize that it’s probably very pretentious of me to add ‘extra features’ in order to encourage my fickle and admittedly small internet audience. It’s kind of like if they added some sort of prize to bags of Bugles for the six people in the world who actually like them. Except I’d rather print out this story and eat it than eat Bugles, prize or no.

So without further delay, your super special edition deleted scene, which may or may not fit into the story chronologically.

***---~**~---***

“You might have to come back, won’t you,” Harry said suddenly. He looked over at Scott, who appeared to be studying the horizon intently. “After all this is over, it could happen again with somebody else.”

Scott grunted in response, a noise that wasn’t clearly an affirmation or a denial.

Harry decided to press him on the matter. After all, Harry might still be around for the next UO, depending. “It could happen, right? What if someone else like Voldemort shows up?”

“With any luck, by then there’ll be some adjuncts to take care of it,” Scott mumbled, leaning backwards down onto the grass and closing his eyes.

“Oh yeah? So all that talk you being good enough for a hard mission like this was a load of shite?”

“They’d call me back if something like this happened again, yeah, alright? That enough of an answer for you?”

Harry thought not. “Pretend I’m Hermione.”

Scott grinned. “Hey, sugar tits. Going my way?”

“You’re sick, you know that? Maybe I’ll pretend I’m Hermione and smack you.”

“What exactly required more explanation? I thought when I agreed to your statement that was fairly definitive.”

“What sort of adjuncts would they send in?”

“You don’t send an adjunct in, they’d already be here.”

Harry frowned. “Who would want to sit around until the next UO happened? That could be ages.”

“Well, nobody ever called it a promotion.”

“Ah. So you’d have to get in trouble to be stuck here,” Harry said, nodding in understanding. Sometimes he felt like maybe he had done something in a past life to deserve the UO.

Scott shrugged, rustling the grass from his reclined position. “Maybe. If you did something really bad, then they’d send you off to watch a lifeless rock in what we Kharadjai call a ‘Marooniverse’. But I was talking about adjuncts, not probation.”

Harry reached over and punched Scott in the arm. “Then explain adjuncts to me.”

“I don’t want to. There’s a lot to say.”

“You have something better to do?”

Scott released a vast sigh that he dragged out for at least a good ten seconds. “…Yes. But I don’t think you’ll leave me alone, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” With a groan, he pushed himself back up. “Obviously you don’t have anything better to do either.”

“Not until Ginny finishes her homework.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Scott rubbed at his eyes for a moment before continuing. “Okay, adjuncts… Well, first you have to understand that adjuncts are basically part of a politico-military theory called Adjunctivism. Adherents to this theory are Adjunctivists, and they exist in varying degrees. Some people actively campaign for this concept, others just think it’s a good idea. Of course, a lot of people don’t.

“Basically, an adjunct is a native of an affected universe who is given Kharadjai status with the sole purpose of watching it. Usually adjuncts are former Primes. They are recruited into the fold, but instead of attaining full FA status and being assigned to a military branch for foreign deployment, they remain stationed on their home turf.

“The idea of recruiting native adjuncts was formed back when the Primarius and the other branches of the army were still fairly limited. As I understand it, initially field agents were assigned to a specific universe and tasked with creating a permanent local force using the native population. A lot of them would just start families there, make it kind of a family business. The adjunct system grew out of that. Instead of sending Kharadjai to collect and lead a force, they began recruiting directly from the locals and leaving them in charge. They were considered more effective because they were familiar with the universe in ways that a Solus-born Kharadjai couldn’t be.

“The adjunct system began to fall into disuse once the Liberi were more formally established as an intelligence tool and the scope of Kharadjai operations began to expand far beyond what were considered the original borders of the multiverse. Interstellar expansion dramatically increased the population, the military grew to accommodate frequent UO intercessions and Kharadjai life began to change accordingly. The adjunct system became seen as an unnecessary and ultimately inefficient use of people who could be mobile assets.” Scott paused for a moment. “Keep in mind this was all way before my time. Ancient history, even to the oldest of us.”

“How old are you?” Harry interjected.

“That would be telling. Anyway, so adjuncts were just sort of phased out. As the army developed more advanced training and shaping became increasingly sophisticated, the idea of leaving people to watch one universe was seen as a waste of valuable resources. Plus, familiarity with common universal aspects, mostly cultural, was growing. The Praesaedius, which, if I remember right, was originally a small collection of forward scouting units, grew into an enormous intelligence gathering operation to support the data needs of the Primarius and then Third Army. That level of available research put the final nail in the coffin of the adjunct system. Eventually, it all became the way it is today. The Third Army is the base mass force, supplying the necessary numbers for any large scale engagement. The Praesaedius was originally meant for research alone, but now they also handle most minor universal adjustments, either through shaping or occasionally more direct methods. And the Primarius, that’s me, are the elite who handle the most delicate stuff. We work with both of the other branches as necessary.”

“So there are no more adjuncts,” Harry summarized. “They’d have to call you back if this sort of thing happened again. I bet they would if just because you’ve been here before.”

Scott shook his head. “No, I said hopefully there would be some adjuncts by then, remember? Adjunctivism has started gaining some new support recently.”

“Why’s that?”

“The political climate has changed. The supposed ineffectiveness of the adjunct system is being reexamined. Some people think it has more merit than was assumed. The type of Adjunctivism that has the most support is the push for adjuncts in non-human universes. See, Homo sapiens is the most common sentient species in the multiverse. There are more of us out there than there are stars in your sky. Practically every universe we go to, we are either the only sentients there are, or we’re the dominant ones. Now, given the size of the multiverse, it is theoretically possible that we are not actually the dominant species, and that we’ve somehow explored only a small section in which we are… but that’s extremely improbable.

“Anyway, the argument goes that non-human species are inherently more alien and therefore that much more difficult to understand. The culture barrier might prove to be too much. Therefore, the best thing to do is recruit a select few and let them handle things. Personally, I think that makes a certain amount of sense. I spent fifteen years with a species called the snik-snik-lict-mik.” Scott made a series of noises that sounded like he was clicking his tongue while humming. “They were some of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You would scream and vomit simultaneously if you ever met them, because they looked like giant scorpions that had been turned inside out and covered with tarantula hair. It took me eight of those fifteen years to learn their language, and at least six months to stop cringing every time they touched me. They were very hands on. Mandibles and claws on. Whatever.”

“Don’t ever describe them to Ron,” Harry said, trying in vain to imagine such a species.

“I think I’ve still got a picture of Mikey somewhere. That wasn’t his real name, of course, just what I called him. He was a cool guy. He let me crash in his house when I was homeless. Of course, his house was an oval hive built from resin, which he had secreted, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“Makes sense then to have someone from around there watching things, doesn’t it? If it took you eight years just to learn to talk to them right, I doubt you were doing that great a job.”

“I find that highly offensive, even though you’re probably right. There are other reasons that adjuncts are back in semi-style. A few years ago a guy who’s name I can’t remember published a book. The title was Defunct Adjunct or something equally stupid. It was about the old system and how it worked better than we’ve been taught. It also makes a pretty good argument for non-human adjuncts to serve as middlemen. Even more influential is another book that came out more recently. This one is more scientific, though I think it draws some pretty questionable conclusions that are based on circumstantial evidence at best. It posits the theory that, just like single universes, the multiverse is expanding, and not only just expanding but doing so rapidly. It throws a lot of numbers around that can’t be proven one way or the other, but it got people thinking. UO occurrences have been increasing at a fairly steady rate for the past half billion years or so. We’re busier than we used to be. The question is, are there more universes in trouble, or are we just more aware?”

Harry blinked. That had to have been rhetorical, since Scott wouldn’t have put the question to Harry, of all people. “What do you think?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Scott admitted. “And in the end, I’m not even sure it matters. There’s a piece of adjunct related policy getting passed around the Council right now. It’s experimental, they’re going to allow the Primarius to designate adjuncts for possible approval. I’ll be interested to see how it works out.”

Harry glanced over at Scott with a wry smile. “I hope you weren’t planning on asking me,” he said jokingly. “I’ve had enough UOs for now, thanks.”

“This universe doesn’t need an adjunct,” Scott said dismissively, lying back down. “Besides, you’ve got too much potential. If I was going to make you an offer, I’d just straight up recruit you.”

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