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ffuturesContinuing my Harry Potter / DC crossover, previous parts on any of these archives:
On Fanfiction.net
On Archive of Our Own
On Twisting the Hellmouth
XXIX: Daughter of Hecate
"Wait a minute," said Harry, "you're really telling us that Neville's toad has always been an American auror?"
"What's the date?" asked Steve.
"September the sixteenth."
"Which year?"
"1997"
"Then I've been a toad for about six and a half years. It all began in a bar in New Orleans..."
"Aurors, this is a raid," shouted Trevor Stevens, holding up his badge. "I want to see everyone's hands up in the air, without wands." He and the other three wizards in his team covered the room with drawn wands. A handful of patrons stared back at them and slowly raised their hands.
"Whuts thuh beef?" asked the bartender, a fat man in his fifties with a strong Southern accent.
"Tony, right?"
"Yeah, whut bout it?"
"Well, Tony, we've got reports someone here's been selling amortentia to No-Majes. You know how illegal that is, Tony?"
"Bayud, ah thank."
"Very bad. Lock you up and throw away the keys bad. You know anything about it, Tony?"
Tony was sweating slightly, and glanced toward an archway at the back of the bar, with strings of beads hanging down.
"Who's back there, Tony?"
"Back whayer?"
"Through that archway?"
"Thets thuh wartchrooms."
"Washrooms, riiiight. And what will I find if I go back there, Tony?"
"Maeybe sumone takin' uh leak."
"Okay, let's take a look. Joe, with me." One of the other aurors followed him toward the archway, the other two continued to cover the bar.
The washrooms were empty and not particularly clean, and a few quick spells revealed nobody hiding, invisible, or otherwise concealed. A door out to the alley that ran behind the bar was padlocked shut, illegally since it was supposed to be a fire exit.
There was only one person in the bar when they came back - a beautiful brunette with frizzy hair in a slinky black dress that left very little to the imagination, sitting on one of the stools at the bar and filing a nail. There were several rabbits hopping around on the floor. Both of the other aurors were missing.
"Aurors!" said Trevor, "Let's have both of your hands up where I can see them. And drop the file, if that's what that is."
She languidly raised her hands, stretching so that the fabric of her dress strained against her breasts, and let the file fall to the floor. "Am I supposed to have done something, mister Auror?" She had an accent he couldn't quite identify.
"What have you done with my men?"
"Your men? Isn't more than one a little greedy?"
"Joe, I'll cover her, you cuff her."
There was no reply. Trevor glanced to one side and saw another rabbit where Joe had been standing. He looked back, and in the moment he'd been distracted she'd somehow crossed the bar and was standing in front of him. "Is that another wand down there, or are you just pleased to see me?" Her left hand was around his wand, holding it so that it pointed away from her, her right caressed his cheek. He felt terrified, and incredibly aroused.
"Who are you?"
"Call me Kóri - Kóri Ekátes. And I shall call you Trevor."
"How do you know my name?"
"Maybe you'll find out one day." The wand dropped from his hand as he shrank. She snapped her fingers and a large handbag appeared. She put it on the nearest table and picked up a smooth-skinned toad from the floor. "Trevor's a good name for a toad, I think I'll let you keep it. Now, let's find you a nice home well away from here, before some nasty stranger treads on you." She dropped him into the bag, and silently vanished.
"...I have very faint memories after that. I was in a tank in a pet shop, then with a kid who kept trying to teach me tricks - I think that was you, Neville, but toads really aren't good at recognizing faces. Eventually I think I just wandered off and went to live outdoors. And then I was back as Trevor Stevens, then when Diana kissed me again I was back as me. I've got two sets of memories, but the Steve memories are a lot stronger somehow."
"What were Trevor's parents like?" asked Diana.
"I don't really remember them. I'm... he was an orphan. His foster parents lived about twenty miles from my original home."
"I think the Gods probably made him as a vessel for your soul. It wouldn't surprise me if you were genetically identical, but now you have magic. I'd imagine we were supposed to meet at some point, but that bitch intervened."
"Who was she?" asked Harry.
"Kóri Ekátes? Well, 'Kóri tes Ekátes' means 'Daughter of Hecate'. I doubt that Hecate actually has a daughter, she's a goddess of witchcraft and chastity, but it was probably meant metaphorically. What I do know is that she has one devout immortal worshiper, the witch Circe. For some reason she hates me, I've never quite known why."
"It's weird that we never detected anything odd about Trevor when we've checked for animagi."
"Circe's magic is a direct invocation of Hecate's power, I think. I'd be surprised if most mortal magic could penetrate it."
"You did," said Hannah.
"Love can be stronger than magic."
"I'm pretty sure you warned me about Circe at least once in my previous life," said Steve, "but of course I didn't remember it while I was Trevor. And even if I had I would have expected someone like the Wicked Witch of the West, not like Cher in a really hot dress."
"Would you say that she was hotter than me?"
"Differently hot, maybe."
"Maybe we should go to my room and make a few... comparisons." They kissed again, and showed no sign of stopping.
"I'm not getting my toad back, am I?" said Neville.
"Doesn't look like it," said Harry.
"Oh well... might as well go see Pomfrey then."
"See you tomorrow."
"Nicely done," said Dream.
"There wasn't much to it," said Desire, "the gods did a lot to set it all up, in fact I'm a little surprised that Aphrodite didn't beat me to it. My part was simple, I just made sure that Bellatrix's desire to attack the toad overcame her common sense, so that they turned a fraction of a second earlier and Neville was better positioned than Hannah."
"What difference did that make?"
"Isn't it obvious? Hannah would have killed the witch without decapitating her, and the toad wouldn't have been found. This way Neville got his vengeance which will make him more confident, Hannah got to treat him like a hero which is good for their relationship, and the Princess got her toad."
"What if Bellatrix had killed the toad?"
"Don't be silly, the toad had plot immunity. Or had you forgotten that we're in a world that plays by story-book rules?"
"It all seems a little contrived."
"Who says it's a good story?"
"The survivors, I imagine," said Dream. "Now, I need to deal with some of the consequences from my realm, and I'm sure that you can handle things here in your inimitable manner. Please call on me if any problems develop." He disappeared in a scattering of dust.
"Handle things?" mused Desire, "So many emotions, so much sexual tension? Just try to stop me, dear brother..."
"Johnny darling," said Sybill Trelawney, weaving down the corridor towards the guest bedrooms, "I saw your arrival with my third eye."
"Bollocks," muttered John Constantine. "Hello Sybill, it's been a while."
"An occasional owl would have been nice, darling boy."
"I'm older than you, Sybill. And why would I send you an owl when you've had your third eye on me? You know everything I've been up to."
"Sarcasm does not become you, Johnny. Your path is always shrouded in mist and you bloody well know it."
"Has to be that way - really don't want Heaven or Hell knowing what I'm up to, let alone the bloody Inland Revenue or the bookies."
"Too many winning bets again?"
"You're a fine one to talk. Last I heard the Birmingham mob still wanted a word with you about all those five-horse accumulators."
"Why else would I have taken this job? Did you think I like working with children? Living somewhere unplottable suits me very nicely, even if it has to be in bloody Scotland."
"Look, it's lovely to see you, but I've got to get some sleep, I've been fighting wizards and demons all evening."
"Well, come upstairs and have a little nightcap. I've got some ninety year old Ogden's Finest Firewhisky, I've been waiting for a special occasion to open it."
"Ninety?"
"Ninety."
"Bloody hell. All right, but no funny business."
"Wouldn't dream of it, darling boy."
"You were always a crap liar, Sybill."
"You're a fine one to talk..."
"Another butterbeer?" asked Dobby, pouring himself another thimble-sized glass.
"Dobby tries to tempt Kreacher, but Kreacher is knowing what you really want; Kreacher as a drunken sot, like Winky, who will be given clothes!"
"Dobby celebrates the fall of the Dark Lord. Kreacher should celebrate too."
"Kreacher celebrates in his heart, good master Regulus is avenged. But there are still duties, and Kreacher will be sober to perform them. Dobby can be a sot if he likes, Kreacher will not join him."
"Kreacher is right!" said Dobby, vanishing the glass. "Dobby must be sober to serve Master Harry Potter. Dobby will see if Master Harry Potter needs anything." He popped out, leaving Kreacher alone in the Kitchen. Kreacher grinned savagely, poured himself a glass, and sat back to enjoy another small victory, confident that he was still Head House-Elf at Grimmauld Place.
"Anyone got any interesting news?" asked Barnabus Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet. "We go to press in an hour, and so far the headline story is that the Floo network is down again. Is that three or four times this month?"
"Three," said one of the assembled reporters. "They've been blaming it on Potter and his pals, of course. We can paste in the usual story, but this time nobody's even bothered to send us a Ministry statement."
"Maybe there should be a searing probe on Wizarding Britain's decaying infrastructure," said Betty Braithwaite. "Might make for a more interesting story, and we can always blame it on the Undesirables sabotaging things."
"Right, that's a better lead. Betty, can you churn something out in time?"
"I'm on it, boss." She went to her desk and began to dictate a story to her quill.
"Anything on the Wizarding Wireless Network?"
"Recorded highlights of Celestina Warbeck's Russian tour last year."
"On their news, Gerry, not the sodding music hour."
"Same canned broadcast all evening, the usual crap from the Ministry, a warning not to go out to look at the lunar eclipse if there are werewolves in the area, and a reminder to be extra vigilant since Undesirables may take advantage of the dark of the eclipse for sabotage. Which would be a lot more useful if the eclipse wasn't already over."
"Anything else? Bozo, what about the pub fight at the Cauldron this afternoon? Anyone important hurt?"
"Nope, just the usual drunkards. I've got some photos, but they're nothing special."
"Run them anyway. Heard from Skeeter lately?"
"She's still on her book tour in Germany," said Bozo. "Last I heard she was hoping to set up an interview with Grindlewald while she was there."
"Good luck with that," said Cuffe, "he'd probably curse her for slagging off his boyfriend. Anyone got any good Potter stories? No? Anything special happening with sports?"
"Nothing until Saturday" said the sports editor. "There's that story about potions abuse, but Gwenog Jones' test came back negative for amortentia and polyjuice so there's still not much in the way of evidence. It was always a bit of a long shot."
"What about the curse on the Cannons?"
"Zilch, the curse-breakers took another look after their last game, they're just crap."
"Write that up then, it's better than nothing. Andy, anything from the Ministry?"
"Sod all."
"Damn it... all right, dig out some of the silly season articles to fill up the space a bit, we haven't run a 'Thestrals Ate My Granny' story since eighty-seven, maybe change that to hippogriffs and find a few others that'll fit. Wasn't there a story about a kid attacked by hippogriffs at Hogwarts a couple of years ago?"
"Draco Malfoy in ninety-three - they were going to have it killed, but Sirius Black used it when he escaped from the aurors the following year."
"Right, so lets do a big feature on the hippogriff menace and their links to blood traitors, that'll fill a few inside pages nicely, with Wizarding Infrastructure Weakening as the lead, see if you can come up with a better title, Crap Cannons as the big sports story, and fillers for the rest. Let's just hope there's some juicy stories tomorrow."
"Any word from Hogwarts?" asked Pansy Parkinson, sitting up in her sleeping bag.
"Not that I've heard," said Daphne Greengrass. "It'd take an owl hours to get here from Scotland, so even if the battle's over we probably won't know about it until the morning."
"Someone could apparate here."
"With all the wards the 'Claws put up I wouldn't want to try it, it wasn't just muggles they were keeping out."
"This started out scary, now it's just boring. There aren't even any decent magical creatures here to make things interesting."
"What, like acromantulas or dementors?"
"A fairy or a unicorn would be nice. All I've seen is moths."
"Have you any idea how dangerous a unicorn can be? No, never mind, I'm talking common sense here and I know you're not a fan... Look, it's a muggle forest, they're not going to violate the Statute just to make it a bit more interesting for magical visitors."
"It's just boring," Pansy repeated. "Maybe they'll open another portal when things have quieted down at Hogwarts, that way we won't have to stay here all night."
"I doubt they're in any hurry. Even if the fight's over whoever won will want to make sure things are safe, they wouldn't want us going back if the place is collapsing or something."
"I suppose," Pansy said grumpily.
Daphne checked her watch and tried to make herself more comfortable in her own bag. "It's nearly midnight, Pansy, and I'm really tired. For Merlin's sake try to get some sleep. Tomorrow's probably going to be a busy day."
As Harry headed for the Gryffindor tower with Fawkes on his shoulder there was a soft pop, and Dobby appeared by his side. "Dobby has prepared a guest bedroom for you, Master Harry Potter sir, along the corridor here."
"I thought I'd just crash out in the dorm," said Harry.
"Gryffindors are partying there, and Master Harry Potter needs sleep."
"Okay, good thinking. Any chance of getting some food?"
"At once, Master Harry Potter."
"Dobby, why so formal? It can just be Harry."
"Kreacher is reminding Dobby of his responsibleness. Dobby has been too lax, it is not fitting for the house of Potter or the house of Black."
"Who's going to hear?"
"Nobody this time, but it would not do for Dobby to slip. Master Harry Potter is head of two houses, things must be correct."
Harry guessed he wasn't going to win the argument. "Okay. Don't rush with the food, I want to get cleaned up first. Maybe twenty minutes? Oh, and try to find something for Fawkes, Luna said he likes.. um.. dirigible plums, grapes, and um.. marzipan, but I'm not sure how reliable that is."
"As Master Harry Potter wishes." Dobby snapped his fingers and vanished, presumably in the direction of the kitchens. Harry conjured up a perch for Fawkes near the fire, found pyjamas and a dressing gown, and went to shower.
When he came out Dobby was waiting for him and there were covered dishes on the table; French onion soup, a cheese, ham and mushroom omelette with a baked potato and coleslaw, two types of bread and a platter of cheeses, his favourite treacle pie, two chocolate frogs, and butterbeer, tea, and water. "Dobby has plums and grapes for Fawkes, but other half-elves is saying marzipan gives Fawkes wind." His magic raised a small bowl to the perch; Fawkes gave him a reproachful look then picked up a plum in one claw and started to nibble it.
"I'm not sure I'll be able to eat all this."
"Dobby is sorry there is no choice of dishes, but there has been fires and other excitements here, the other elves were busy."
"It's great, I'm just not sure I'm that hungry."
"Master Harry Potter should try to eat, he has been working hard and needs feeding."
"Okay, I'll do my best. Thank you, Dobby."
Dobby beamed at him and disapparated away, and Harry turned his attention to the food.
Just after the clock tower struck twelve he heard a quiet "ahem!" and looked up to see the ghost of Professor Binns, who seemed much more focussed and alert than usual.
"Good ...um... morning, Professor. Did you want me?"
"Mister Potter, the other ghosts tell me that you have defeated the Dark Lord again. Is that correct?"
"I suppose so. It was a bit of a team effort but we got him in the end."
"And is anyone documenting these events?"
Harry finished the last bit of omelette as he thought about it. "Sort of. I've been questioned by the Minister and a couple of people were taking notes. And Princess Diana of Themiscyra was with me for a lot of it, and she has a perfect memory, never forgets anything."
"Good, good. Now tell me... did you notice any signs of Goblin unrest?"
"No, not really. What do the Goblins have to do with Voldemort?"
"Did you learn nothing from my classes, mister Potter? Every significant event in magical history has been followed by a Goblin rebellion. Every one. It's one of the ways to be sure that an event is truly important. The Pendle Witch Trials of 1612 led directly to the Goblin rebellion of that year, one of the witches tried was a quarter-Goblin. When the Gregorian calendar was adopted in 1752 there was a huge upheaval in every aspect of magic having any relation to the calendar, and the Goblins rebelled because they regarded it as an attempt to cheat them of interest payments. The Muggle Russian revolution triggered the fall of the Russian magical empire, and that led to a Goblin rebellion that was longer and bloodier than either of them. Grindlewald... well, the ongoing Goblin terrorism in the Balkans can be traced directly to the events that ended his rule. But in 1981 there was no rebellion, the Goblins somehow knew that Voldemort had survived and kept their heads down. The Ministry used their inaction to enact damaging legislation against them, which they must surely resent. Now if Voldemort is truly gone we must brace ourselves for the oncoming storm!"
"Well, the Goblins have been involved a bit, they helped with some of the prisoners we caught before the battle. Reminds me, we need to sort that out. But they weren't rebelling, it was more of a publicity stunt. They helped us, and I agreed to take part in some publicity events once things have settled down."
"Mister Potter, the Goblins regard rebellion as their main means of presenting their point of view and attaining political concessions. Be very wary, or you may find that the publicity events are rather more violent than you expected."
"Okay. Thanks for the warning, I'll bear it in mind."
"Good, good... Now, you've missed several lessons, I want no less than five feet on the fall of Voldemort, and possible after-effects including Goblin reprisals. I'll give you until the end of October to submit it, that should be ample time." Binns nodded and strolled out through one of the walls before Harry could point out that he wasn't actually taking History of Magic any more.
Harry shrugged, and turned back to the remains of his meal.
Dream of the Endless put on his helm, sculpted from the bones of a dead god, strangely like a human's gas mask, then stepped into the Dreaming. He slid and flickered through the currents and eddies of the subconscious, unseen, seeking the mortals who required his attention. Usually he would not intervene; tonight he desired a little more interaction.
Fred and George Weasley were sleeping in their old dorm in the Gryffindor tower, dreaming contentedly of cream pies and patronuses, burning Death Eaters and dead Dark Lords. Dream was amused to notice that between them they were planning five new product lines, with enough detail that some of it would be remembered when they woke, even without his help. But tonight he had good reason to make sure that their memories were more vivid.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
"What?!"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Call me Dream, or Morpheus." He took off his helm, revealing the pale face it concealed. "You may have heard of me."
"Are we in trouble?" asked the one with the missing ear.
"Has to be the daydream charms!" the other said nervously.
"No, and no. The dreams you sell venture into my domain, of course, but so does a good story. I'm here about some of your other products."
"And?"
"You remind me of my brother Olethros." He waved a hand, and the image of a tall red-haired bearded figure in plate mail appeared, a long sword sheathed on his back. "He too combined the creative arts and the ability to inspire acts of destruction. His human form left this world four years ago, as you reckon time..." the image shifted to the same man in more modern clothing, stepping into the sky and vanishing "...but most of my kind have human avatars, who may in time step into their roles."
"Are you saying..."
"One of us..."
"Is going to be...
"Not one," said Dream. "Your souls are linked, and both of you share each other's talents. You are distant descendants of one of his trysts with a human woman. It would be strange if you did not share his destructive abilities."
"There's more to life than destruction," said Fred. "Both of us like a good explosion, but neither of us want to spend all our time doing nothing else."
"The novelty would soon wear off," added George.
"Destruction continues without a steering hand, but it is uncontrolled, potentially devastating. All I ask for now is that from time to time you intervene to limit things a little; perhaps make sure that things end with a small bang or a bad smell rather than an earth-shattering kaboom. At some point you may become more than human, but nothing is certain. Olethros might return, or another avatar might step into the role."
"We might be interested," said Fred. "Tell us more..."
"You disobeyed my direct order," said Tonguetongs. "There was a Ragnuk-damned demon on the loose and you disobeyed my order. Give me one reason why I shouldn't send you to the dragon pits."
"It looked like the demon was losing," said Switchblade, "and I realised that we could avoid locking down if we knew it was defeated. And even if it won, there was probably time for me to get into the tunnels before it reached the cave. Everyone else was in the carts and ready to go. We returned as soon as the demon was defeated."
"And if you had judged wrong, if the demon entered the tunnels?"
"There are forty-seven branchings before the tunnel reaches inhabited caves. We would have led it out somewhere far from our realms."
"In your opinion. So, idiot, what have we gained from your little adventure?"
"Profit, I hope."
"Really..." Tonguetongs clicked his fingers and the four goblin spearmen who were guarding Switchblade stepped back a pace. "Tell me more."
Hermione Granger slept soundly, her body slowly recovering from its injuries. She dreamed lucidly, remembering a meal with Diana, Harry and Ron a few nights earlier, and savoured the taste of lemon on the salmon starter.
"You have a good memory for detail."
She looked up to see a figure wearing something that looks like an old-fashioned gas mask made of bone, who removed it to reveal a pale face and black eyes and hair. He sat to Diana's left, in a chair that hadn't been there a moment earlier, and helped himself to a slice of the salmon.
"I don't think I've imagined you, and you don't look much like a Greek god. So... Lord Morpheus?"
"Reports of your intelligence were not exaggerated."
"I have so many questions!"
"I'm not really here to answer them. Knowledge of the Endless rarely does humans much good."
"Then why visit me?"
"My elder sister needs your help. Since you are not about to die or carrying a soul fragment, you can only meet in dreams."
"Wouldn't Harry be a better choice?"
"Not really." A woman in her twenties wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and a black fedora was suddenly sitting to Diana's right. She had pale skin and dark hair, a studded black belt, an ankh amulet on a cord around her neck, and an odd symbol, like an oval over an inverted question mark, drawn in kohl around one eye. Hermione recognized her from Harry's description. "He's not ruthless enough for my needs, but you are."
"Ruthless? I try not to be."
"And yet you erased your parents' memories, and exiled them to another land."
"I had no choice, the Death Eaters would have found them. Okay, maybe that was a bit ruthless."
"Exactly. Would you be prepared to be ruthless again if it was going to help Harry?"
"Probably."
A few subjective minutes later Hermione was alone in a dream of the Hogwarts library, reading up on the spells she'd need to fulfil Death's request.
To Be Continued
Apologies - I thought this would be the last chapter, but it was getting longer than I like so I've decided to end it here and post the rest as a separate chapter, hopefully fairly soon. I'm not sure yet if the epilogue will be part of the last chapter or posted separately.
Notes
Kóri tes Ekátes - Daughter of Hecate. The most common DC Comics version of Circe is an immortal sorceress, the daughter of the Titans Hyperion and Perseis, and a devoted worshipper of Hecate. Using "Daughter of Hecate" as her alias is the sort of thing that might appeal to her. Thanks again to Whswhs for checking the translation. I'm aware that Circe's hair colour has changed repeatedly in the comics and on TV - I've gone with black because it's plausible for a Mediterranean origin.
John Constantine was canonically born in May 1953. The Harry Potter Wiki implies that Sybill Trelawney first attended Hogwarts as a student in the late 1960s or early 1970s, which probably means she was younger than him. In films she was played by Emma Thompson, born 1959.
The Inland Revenue ran much of the British tax system until 2005. It's now merged into HMRC, Her Majesty's Revenue & Customs, which also had a tax role collecting customs duties and sales taxes prior to the change.
Betty Braithwaite and Rita Skeeter are the only Daily Prophet reporters named in the Harry Potter books, although several other names are shown on articles in the film versions and other secondary sources. Rita was a freelance journalist and author for some time, I've assumed that this is still the case at the time of this story. Editor Barnabus Cuffe and Bozo, Rita's photographer, are the only other named employees of the paper.
Goblin rebellions in 1612 and 1752 are canon, I've tried to come up with an explanation of causes and a general historical theory that may explain why Binns was so obsessed with them.
Comments please before I post to archives
On Fanfiction.net
On Archive of Our Own
On Twisting the Hellmouth
XXIX: Daughter of Hecate
"Wait a minute," said Harry, "you're really telling us that Neville's toad has always been an American auror?"
"What's the date?" asked Steve.
"September the sixteenth."
"Which year?"
"1997"
"Then I've been a toad for about six and a half years. It all began in a bar in New Orleans..."
"Aurors, this is a raid," shouted Trevor Stevens, holding up his badge. "I want to see everyone's hands up in the air, without wands." He and the other three wizards in his team covered the room with drawn wands. A handful of patrons stared back at them and slowly raised their hands.
"Whuts thuh beef?" asked the bartender, a fat man in his fifties with a strong Southern accent.
"Tony, right?"
"Yeah, whut bout it?"
"Well, Tony, we've got reports someone here's been selling amortentia to No-Majes. You know how illegal that is, Tony?"
"Bayud, ah thank."
"Very bad. Lock you up and throw away the keys bad. You know anything about it, Tony?"
Tony was sweating slightly, and glanced toward an archway at the back of the bar, with strings of beads hanging down.
"Who's back there, Tony?"
"Back whayer?"
"Through that archway?"
"Thets thuh wartchrooms."
"Washrooms, riiiight. And what will I find if I go back there, Tony?"
"Maeybe sumone takin' uh leak."
"Okay, let's take a look. Joe, with me." One of the other aurors followed him toward the archway, the other two continued to cover the bar.
The washrooms were empty and not particularly clean, and a few quick spells revealed nobody hiding, invisible, or otherwise concealed. A door out to the alley that ran behind the bar was padlocked shut, illegally since it was supposed to be a fire exit.
There was only one person in the bar when they came back - a beautiful brunette with frizzy hair in a slinky black dress that left very little to the imagination, sitting on one of the stools at the bar and filing a nail. There were several rabbits hopping around on the floor. Both of the other aurors were missing.
"Aurors!" said Trevor, "Let's have both of your hands up where I can see them. And drop the file, if that's what that is."
She languidly raised her hands, stretching so that the fabric of her dress strained against her breasts, and let the file fall to the floor. "Am I supposed to have done something, mister Auror?" She had an accent he couldn't quite identify.
"What have you done with my men?"
"Your men? Isn't more than one a little greedy?"
"Joe, I'll cover her, you cuff her."
There was no reply. Trevor glanced to one side and saw another rabbit where Joe had been standing. He looked back, and in the moment he'd been distracted she'd somehow crossed the bar and was standing in front of him. "Is that another wand down there, or are you just pleased to see me?" Her left hand was around his wand, holding it so that it pointed away from her, her right caressed his cheek. He felt terrified, and incredibly aroused.
"Who are you?"
"Call me Kóri - Kóri Ekátes. And I shall call you Trevor."
"How do you know my name?"
"Maybe you'll find out one day." The wand dropped from his hand as he shrank. She snapped her fingers and a large handbag appeared. She put it on the nearest table and picked up a smooth-skinned toad from the floor. "Trevor's a good name for a toad, I think I'll let you keep it. Now, let's find you a nice home well away from here, before some nasty stranger treads on you." She dropped him into the bag, and silently vanished.
"...I have very faint memories after that. I was in a tank in a pet shop, then with a kid who kept trying to teach me tricks - I think that was you, Neville, but toads really aren't good at recognizing faces. Eventually I think I just wandered off and went to live outdoors. And then I was back as Trevor Stevens, then when Diana kissed me again I was back as me. I've got two sets of memories, but the Steve memories are a lot stronger somehow."
"What were Trevor's parents like?" asked Diana.
"I don't really remember them. I'm... he was an orphan. His foster parents lived about twenty miles from my original home."
"I think the Gods probably made him as a vessel for your soul. It wouldn't surprise me if you were genetically identical, but now you have magic. I'd imagine we were supposed to meet at some point, but that bitch intervened."
"Who was she?" asked Harry.
"Kóri Ekátes? Well, 'Kóri tes Ekátes' means 'Daughter of Hecate'. I doubt that Hecate actually has a daughter, she's a goddess of witchcraft and chastity, but it was probably meant metaphorically. What I do know is that she has one devout immortal worshiper, the witch Circe. For some reason she hates me, I've never quite known why."
"It's weird that we never detected anything odd about Trevor when we've checked for animagi."
"Circe's magic is a direct invocation of Hecate's power, I think. I'd be surprised if most mortal magic could penetrate it."
"You did," said Hannah.
"Love can be stronger than magic."
"I'm pretty sure you warned me about Circe at least once in my previous life," said Steve, "but of course I didn't remember it while I was Trevor. And even if I had I would have expected someone like the Wicked Witch of the West, not like Cher in a really hot dress."
"Would you say that she was hotter than me?"
"Differently hot, maybe."
"Maybe we should go to my room and make a few... comparisons." They kissed again, and showed no sign of stopping.
"I'm not getting my toad back, am I?" said Neville.
"Doesn't look like it," said Harry.
"Oh well... might as well go see Pomfrey then."
"See you tomorrow."
"Nicely done," said Dream.
"There wasn't much to it," said Desire, "the gods did a lot to set it all up, in fact I'm a little surprised that Aphrodite didn't beat me to it. My part was simple, I just made sure that Bellatrix's desire to attack the toad overcame her common sense, so that they turned a fraction of a second earlier and Neville was better positioned than Hannah."
"What difference did that make?"
"Isn't it obvious? Hannah would have killed the witch without decapitating her, and the toad wouldn't have been found. This way Neville got his vengeance which will make him more confident, Hannah got to treat him like a hero which is good for their relationship, and the Princess got her toad."
"What if Bellatrix had killed the toad?"
"Don't be silly, the toad had plot immunity. Or had you forgotten that we're in a world that plays by story-book rules?"
"It all seems a little contrived."
"Who says it's a good story?"
"The survivors, I imagine," said Dream. "Now, I need to deal with some of the consequences from my realm, and I'm sure that you can handle things here in your inimitable manner. Please call on me if any problems develop." He disappeared in a scattering of dust.
"Handle things?" mused Desire, "So many emotions, so much sexual tension? Just try to stop me, dear brother..."
"Johnny darling," said Sybill Trelawney, weaving down the corridor towards the guest bedrooms, "I saw your arrival with my third eye."
"Bollocks," muttered John Constantine. "Hello Sybill, it's been a while."
"An occasional owl would have been nice, darling boy."
"I'm older than you, Sybill. And why would I send you an owl when you've had your third eye on me? You know everything I've been up to."
"Sarcasm does not become you, Johnny. Your path is always shrouded in mist and you bloody well know it."
"Has to be that way - really don't want Heaven or Hell knowing what I'm up to, let alone the bloody Inland Revenue or the bookies."
"Too many winning bets again?"
"You're a fine one to talk. Last I heard the Birmingham mob still wanted a word with you about all those five-horse accumulators."
"Why else would I have taken this job? Did you think I like working with children? Living somewhere unplottable suits me very nicely, even if it has to be in bloody Scotland."
"Look, it's lovely to see you, but I've got to get some sleep, I've been fighting wizards and demons all evening."
"Well, come upstairs and have a little nightcap. I've got some ninety year old Ogden's Finest Firewhisky, I've been waiting for a special occasion to open it."
"Ninety?"
"Ninety."
"Bloody hell. All right, but no funny business."
"Wouldn't dream of it, darling boy."
"You were always a crap liar, Sybill."
"You're a fine one to talk..."
"Another butterbeer?" asked Dobby, pouring himself another thimble-sized glass.
"Dobby tries to tempt Kreacher, but Kreacher is knowing what you really want; Kreacher as a drunken sot, like Winky, who will be given clothes!"
"Dobby celebrates the fall of the Dark Lord. Kreacher should celebrate too."
"Kreacher celebrates in his heart, good master Regulus is avenged. But there are still duties, and Kreacher will be sober to perform them. Dobby can be a sot if he likes, Kreacher will not join him."
"Kreacher is right!" said Dobby, vanishing the glass. "Dobby must be sober to serve Master Harry Potter. Dobby will see if Master Harry Potter needs anything." He popped out, leaving Kreacher alone in the Kitchen. Kreacher grinned savagely, poured himself a glass, and sat back to enjoy another small victory, confident that he was still Head House-Elf at Grimmauld Place.
"Anyone got any interesting news?" asked Barnabus Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet. "We go to press in an hour, and so far the headline story is that the Floo network is down again. Is that three or four times this month?"
"Three," said one of the assembled reporters. "They've been blaming it on Potter and his pals, of course. We can paste in the usual story, but this time nobody's even bothered to send us a Ministry statement."
"Maybe there should be a searing probe on Wizarding Britain's decaying infrastructure," said Betty Braithwaite. "Might make for a more interesting story, and we can always blame it on the Undesirables sabotaging things."
"Right, that's a better lead. Betty, can you churn something out in time?"
"I'm on it, boss." She went to her desk and began to dictate a story to her quill.
"Anything on the Wizarding Wireless Network?"
"Recorded highlights of Celestina Warbeck's Russian tour last year."
"On their news, Gerry, not the sodding music hour."
"Same canned broadcast all evening, the usual crap from the Ministry, a warning not to go out to look at the lunar eclipse if there are werewolves in the area, and a reminder to be extra vigilant since Undesirables may take advantage of the dark of the eclipse for sabotage. Which would be a lot more useful if the eclipse wasn't already over."
"Anything else? Bozo, what about the pub fight at the Cauldron this afternoon? Anyone important hurt?"
"Nope, just the usual drunkards. I've got some photos, but they're nothing special."
"Run them anyway. Heard from Skeeter lately?"
"She's still on her book tour in Germany," said Bozo. "Last I heard she was hoping to set up an interview with Grindlewald while she was there."
"Good luck with that," said Cuffe, "he'd probably curse her for slagging off his boyfriend. Anyone got any good Potter stories? No? Anything special happening with sports?"
"Nothing until Saturday" said the sports editor. "There's that story about potions abuse, but Gwenog Jones' test came back negative for amortentia and polyjuice so there's still not much in the way of evidence. It was always a bit of a long shot."
"What about the curse on the Cannons?"
"Zilch, the curse-breakers took another look after their last game, they're just crap."
"Write that up then, it's better than nothing. Andy, anything from the Ministry?"
"Sod all."
"Damn it... all right, dig out some of the silly season articles to fill up the space a bit, we haven't run a 'Thestrals Ate My Granny' story since eighty-seven, maybe change that to hippogriffs and find a few others that'll fit. Wasn't there a story about a kid attacked by hippogriffs at Hogwarts a couple of years ago?"
"Draco Malfoy in ninety-three - they were going to have it killed, but Sirius Black used it when he escaped from the aurors the following year."
"Right, so lets do a big feature on the hippogriff menace and their links to blood traitors, that'll fill a few inside pages nicely, with Wizarding Infrastructure Weakening as the lead, see if you can come up with a better title, Crap Cannons as the big sports story, and fillers for the rest. Let's just hope there's some juicy stories tomorrow."
"Any word from Hogwarts?" asked Pansy Parkinson, sitting up in her sleeping bag.
"Not that I've heard," said Daphne Greengrass. "It'd take an owl hours to get here from Scotland, so even if the battle's over we probably won't know about it until the morning."
"Someone could apparate here."
"With all the wards the 'Claws put up I wouldn't want to try it, it wasn't just muggles they were keeping out."
"This started out scary, now it's just boring. There aren't even any decent magical creatures here to make things interesting."
"What, like acromantulas or dementors?"
"A fairy or a unicorn would be nice. All I've seen is moths."
"Have you any idea how dangerous a unicorn can be? No, never mind, I'm talking common sense here and I know you're not a fan... Look, it's a muggle forest, they're not going to violate the Statute just to make it a bit more interesting for magical visitors."
"It's just boring," Pansy repeated. "Maybe they'll open another portal when things have quieted down at Hogwarts, that way we won't have to stay here all night."
"I doubt they're in any hurry. Even if the fight's over whoever won will want to make sure things are safe, they wouldn't want us going back if the place is collapsing or something."
"I suppose," Pansy said grumpily.
Daphne checked her watch and tried to make herself more comfortable in her own bag. "It's nearly midnight, Pansy, and I'm really tired. For Merlin's sake try to get some sleep. Tomorrow's probably going to be a busy day."
As Harry headed for the Gryffindor tower with Fawkes on his shoulder there was a soft pop, and Dobby appeared by his side. "Dobby has prepared a guest bedroom for you, Master Harry Potter sir, along the corridor here."
"I thought I'd just crash out in the dorm," said Harry.
"Gryffindors are partying there, and Master Harry Potter needs sleep."
"Okay, good thinking. Any chance of getting some food?"
"At once, Master Harry Potter."
"Dobby, why so formal? It can just be Harry."
"Kreacher is reminding Dobby of his responsibleness. Dobby has been too lax, it is not fitting for the house of Potter or the house of Black."
"Who's going to hear?"
"Nobody this time, but it would not do for Dobby to slip. Master Harry Potter is head of two houses, things must be correct."
Harry guessed he wasn't going to win the argument. "Okay. Don't rush with the food, I want to get cleaned up first. Maybe twenty minutes? Oh, and try to find something for Fawkes, Luna said he likes.. um.. dirigible plums, grapes, and um.. marzipan, but I'm not sure how reliable that is."
"As Master Harry Potter wishes." Dobby snapped his fingers and vanished, presumably in the direction of the kitchens. Harry conjured up a perch for Fawkes near the fire, found pyjamas and a dressing gown, and went to shower.
When he came out Dobby was waiting for him and there were covered dishes on the table; French onion soup, a cheese, ham and mushroom omelette with a baked potato and coleslaw, two types of bread and a platter of cheeses, his favourite treacle pie, two chocolate frogs, and butterbeer, tea, and water. "Dobby has plums and grapes for Fawkes, but other half-elves is saying marzipan gives Fawkes wind." His magic raised a small bowl to the perch; Fawkes gave him a reproachful look then picked up a plum in one claw and started to nibble it.
"I'm not sure I'll be able to eat all this."
"Dobby is sorry there is no choice of dishes, but there has been fires and other excitements here, the other elves were busy."
"It's great, I'm just not sure I'm that hungry."
"Master Harry Potter should try to eat, he has been working hard and needs feeding."
"Okay, I'll do my best. Thank you, Dobby."
Dobby beamed at him and disapparated away, and Harry turned his attention to the food.
Just after the clock tower struck twelve he heard a quiet "ahem!" and looked up to see the ghost of Professor Binns, who seemed much more focussed and alert than usual.
"Good ...um... morning, Professor. Did you want me?"
"Mister Potter, the other ghosts tell me that you have defeated the Dark Lord again. Is that correct?"
"I suppose so. It was a bit of a team effort but we got him in the end."
"And is anyone documenting these events?"
Harry finished the last bit of omelette as he thought about it. "Sort of. I've been questioned by the Minister and a couple of people were taking notes. And Princess Diana of Themiscyra was with me for a lot of it, and she has a perfect memory, never forgets anything."
"Good, good. Now tell me... did you notice any signs of Goblin unrest?"
"No, not really. What do the Goblins have to do with Voldemort?"
"Did you learn nothing from my classes, mister Potter? Every significant event in magical history has been followed by a Goblin rebellion. Every one. It's one of the ways to be sure that an event is truly important. The Pendle Witch Trials of 1612 led directly to the Goblin rebellion of that year, one of the witches tried was a quarter-Goblin. When the Gregorian calendar was adopted in 1752 there was a huge upheaval in every aspect of magic having any relation to the calendar, and the Goblins rebelled because they regarded it as an attempt to cheat them of interest payments. The Muggle Russian revolution triggered the fall of the Russian magical empire, and that led to a Goblin rebellion that was longer and bloodier than either of them. Grindlewald... well, the ongoing Goblin terrorism in the Balkans can be traced directly to the events that ended his rule. But in 1981 there was no rebellion, the Goblins somehow knew that Voldemort had survived and kept their heads down. The Ministry used their inaction to enact damaging legislation against them, which they must surely resent. Now if Voldemort is truly gone we must brace ourselves for the oncoming storm!"
"Well, the Goblins have been involved a bit, they helped with some of the prisoners we caught before the battle. Reminds me, we need to sort that out. But they weren't rebelling, it was more of a publicity stunt. They helped us, and I agreed to take part in some publicity events once things have settled down."
"Mister Potter, the Goblins regard rebellion as their main means of presenting their point of view and attaining political concessions. Be very wary, or you may find that the publicity events are rather more violent than you expected."
"Okay. Thanks for the warning, I'll bear it in mind."
"Good, good... Now, you've missed several lessons, I want no less than five feet on the fall of Voldemort, and possible after-effects including Goblin reprisals. I'll give you until the end of October to submit it, that should be ample time." Binns nodded and strolled out through one of the walls before Harry could point out that he wasn't actually taking History of Magic any more.
Harry shrugged, and turned back to the remains of his meal.
Dream of the Endless put on his helm, sculpted from the bones of a dead god, strangely like a human's gas mask, then stepped into the Dreaming. He slid and flickered through the currents and eddies of the subconscious, unseen, seeking the mortals who required his attention. Usually he would not intervene; tonight he desired a little more interaction.
Fred and George Weasley were sleeping in their old dorm in the Gryffindor tower, dreaming contentedly of cream pies and patronuses, burning Death Eaters and dead Dark Lords. Dream was amused to notice that between them they were planning five new product lines, with enough detail that some of it would be remembered when they woke, even without his help. But tonight he had good reason to make sure that their memories were more vivid.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
"What?!"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Call me Dream, or Morpheus." He took off his helm, revealing the pale face it concealed. "You may have heard of me."
"Are we in trouble?" asked the one with the missing ear.
"Has to be the daydream charms!" the other said nervously.
"No, and no. The dreams you sell venture into my domain, of course, but so does a good story. I'm here about some of your other products."
"And?"
"You remind me of my brother Olethros." He waved a hand, and the image of a tall red-haired bearded figure in plate mail appeared, a long sword sheathed on his back. "He too combined the creative arts and the ability to inspire acts of destruction. His human form left this world four years ago, as you reckon time..." the image shifted to the same man in more modern clothing, stepping into the sky and vanishing "...but most of my kind have human avatars, who may in time step into their roles."
"Are you saying..."
"One of us..."
"Is going to be...
"Not one," said Dream. "Your souls are linked, and both of you share each other's talents. You are distant descendants of one of his trysts with a human woman. It would be strange if you did not share his destructive abilities."
"There's more to life than destruction," said Fred. "Both of us like a good explosion, but neither of us want to spend all our time doing nothing else."
"The novelty would soon wear off," added George.
"Destruction continues without a steering hand, but it is uncontrolled, potentially devastating. All I ask for now is that from time to time you intervene to limit things a little; perhaps make sure that things end with a small bang or a bad smell rather than an earth-shattering kaboom. At some point you may become more than human, but nothing is certain. Olethros might return, or another avatar might step into the role."
"We might be interested," said Fred. "Tell us more..."
"You disobeyed my direct order," said Tonguetongs. "There was a Ragnuk-damned demon on the loose and you disobeyed my order. Give me one reason why I shouldn't send you to the dragon pits."
"It looked like the demon was losing," said Switchblade, "and I realised that we could avoid locking down if we knew it was defeated. And even if it won, there was probably time for me to get into the tunnels before it reached the cave. Everyone else was in the carts and ready to go. We returned as soon as the demon was defeated."
"And if you had judged wrong, if the demon entered the tunnels?"
"There are forty-seven branchings before the tunnel reaches inhabited caves. We would have led it out somewhere far from our realms."
"In your opinion. So, idiot, what have we gained from your little adventure?"
"Profit, I hope."
"Really..." Tonguetongs clicked his fingers and the four goblin spearmen who were guarding Switchblade stepped back a pace. "Tell me more."
Hermione Granger slept soundly, her body slowly recovering from its injuries. She dreamed lucidly, remembering a meal with Diana, Harry and Ron a few nights earlier, and savoured the taste of lemon on the salmon starter.
"You have a good memory for detail."
She looked up to see a figure wearing something that looks like an old-fashioned gas mask made of bone, who removed it to reveal a pale face and black eyes and hair. He sat to Diana's left, in a chair that hadn't been there a moment earlier, and helped himself to a slice of the salmon.
"I don't think I've imagined you, and you don't look much like a Greek god. So... Lord Morpheus?"
"Reports of your intelligence were not exaggerated."
"I have so many questions!"
"I'm not really here to answer them. Knowledge of the Endless rarely does humans much good."
"Then why visit me?"
"My elder sister needs your help. Since you are not about to die or carrying a soul fragment, you can only meet in dreams."
"Wouldn't Harry be a better choice?"
"Not really." A woman in her twenties wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and a black fedora was suddenly sitting to Diana's right. She had pale skin and dark hair, a studded black belt, an ankh amulet on a cord around her neck, and an odd symbol, like an oval over an inverted question mark, drawn in kohl around one eye. Hermione recognized her from Harry's description. "He's not ruthless enough for my needs, but you are."
"Ruthless? I try not to be."
"And yet you erased your parents' memories, and exiled them to another land."
"I had no choice, the Death Eaters would have found them. Okay, maybe that was a bit ruthless."
"Exactly. Would you be prepared to be ruthless again if it was going to help Harry?"
"Probably."
A few subjective minutes later Hermione was alone in a dream of the Hogwarts library, reading up on the spells she'd need to fulfil Death's request.
To Be Continued
Apologies - I thought this would be the last chapter, but it was getting longer than I like so I've decided to end it here and post the rest as a separate chapter, hopefully fairly soon. I'm not sure yet if the epilogue will be part of the last chapter or posted separately.
Notes
Kóri tes Ekátes - Daughter of Hecate. The most common DC Comics version of Circe is an immortal sorceress, the daughter of the Titans Hyperion and Perseis, and a devoted worshipper of Hecate. Using "Daughter of Hecate" as her alias is the sort of thing that might appeal to her. Thanks again to Whswhs for checking the translation. I'm aware that Circe's hair colour has changed repeatedly in the comics and on TV - I've gone with black because it's plausible for a Mediterranean origin.
John Constantine was canonically born in May 1953. The Harry Potter Wiki implies that Sybill Trelawney first attended Hogwarts as a student in the late 1960s or early 1970s, which probably means she was younger than him. In films she was played by Emma Thompson, born 1959.
The Inland Revenue ran much of the British tax system until 2005. It's now merged into HMRC, Her Majesty's Revenue & Customs, which also had a tax role collecting customs duties and sales taxes prior to the change.
Betty Braithwaite and Rita Skeeter are the only Daily Prophet reporters named in the Harry Potter books, although several other names are shown on articles in the film versions and other secondary sources. Rita was a freelance journalist and author for some time, I've assumed that this is still the case at the time of this story. Editor Barnabus Cuffe and Bozo, Rita's photographer, are the only other named employees of the paper.
Goblin rebellions in 1612 and 1752 are canon, I've tried to come up with an explanation of causes and a general historical theory that may explain why Binns was so obsessed with them.
Comments please before I post to archives
