Magic Knows No Boundaries Chapter 35 (Patreon)

Chapter 35:

Champions, Reunited

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Harry must have read the article three times now, and still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Everything about it confused him, from the subject matter, to the events it described, to the writer.

Fenrir Euthanized

By Rita Skeeter

This last Friday, a great battle took place in the Black Forests of Germany. A war between Voldemort and one of his most loyal legions, and thereby annihilated Fenrir Greyback and his entire pack.

Nnearly a hundred bodies were discovered by a Muggle hiker early Saturday morning. After Auroras obliviated said hiker and the Muggle first responders he summoned to the scene, their investigation turned up some strange facts.

The first was that every single corpse belonged to a werewolf in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The second was that each had been placed under cooling and stasis charms to prevent decay.

The third, and strangest, was the epitaph conjured and carved in the center of the clearing.

It’s message was as follows:

I would like to offer my sincere apology to wizarding society for failing my friend and servent, Fenrir Greyback. I somehow failed to notice that he and his followers had gone feral from my own neglect as much as society's persecution. I am ashamed it took a stranger starting a refuge for werewolves to make me realize this, especially as improving the lot of werewolves was one of my main goals as a leader, and a promise I had made to Fenrir in particular.

Despite our differences and being ideological enemies, I wholeheartedly promote Professor Morrigan’s Werewolf Sanctuary, and advise any and all werewolves who ever considered joining my cause to remain unaffiliated, and to take advantage of the man’s charity. You are no longer fit to fight a war, and never were. You are not weapons, you are patients in need of help. Go get some, for I will not wield you any longer.

Signed, Tom Marvolo Riddle(Reprinted as written for accuracy.)

It appears that even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not extreme enough to continue his association with Fenrir Greyback, and that the many reports of his barbaric and savage tactics are not exaggerated. So extreme were they, in fact, that his own master saw fit to put him down. He was a monster in the end, one who fed on human flesh even while under the effects of a waxing or waning moon. A monster irredeemable, except in death.

Let no more of our brothers and sisters fall to such a fate. New developments and improvements to treating werewolves come out every year, to the point that even many past factions who once promoted permanent quarantine or outright extermination of werewolves as a means of ending the disease, have changed their tune. And now with the launch of a proper sanctuary for those unable to get treatment during the full moon in Scotland, we can only hope more countries follow suit.

And that made four readings, yet no understanding came to Harry.

What was Voldemort playing at? Was it some kind of reverse psychology? Was he trying to associate the name of Morrigan with Voldemort and get people who oppose him to withdraw their money? Or perhaps he was hoping to overwhelm Harry through his own charity by inspiring far too many werewolves for him to handle into taking part in it? Trying to defeat him with the same peaceful, and legal, form of warfare Harry had wielded against him seemed like an effective tactic.

More bizarre was Rita Skeeter writing an honest article without any spin or outright lies. Moreso that the average journalist, that was unheard of. He wondered if Voldemort had threatened her to report it accurately under threat of torture or death, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the prospect despite himself.

Then he caught the dark thoughts and threw them away. Honestly, after having a lovely morning hearing tea and sweets with Dolores, he was allowing himself to feel such cruel things to a woman he had never met? He had promised to throw away all of these preconceived notions based on his own world’s counterparts long ago, and yet he still somehow struggled with it. He needed to be better.

There was a tapping on his window and Harry looked up to see an unfamiliar owl perched just outside.

“Oh great. I forgot the joys that came with fame.” He grumbled to himself and opened the window.

Only for three owls to come in, the second and third having been perched on the ledge out of sight. He took the letters with a thanks and they flew off. He didn’t recognize the names on any of the envelopes, and so he assumed they were either prospective volunteers, patients or haters. He put them aside for later all the same and withdrew an envelope and quill.

Albus,

Please forward all mail directed to me to the security office at the front, as I expect some hate mail in the coming week and the usual dangerous substances that can be shipped

Signed, Hadrian Morrigan.

He sealed it and Hedwig hopped over eagerly to accept it. He handed it to her and sent her out. He closed the windows and checked his watch.

It was about that time.

He locked up his classroom and private rooms, erected the sign at the top of the stairs leading to the trapdoor and secret passage saying he wasn’t available, and began his long walk to the front entrance.

The younger years were either already in class or rushing them, while the older students usually had their classes starting in the afternoons, so he didn’t encounter any of his own students. This saved him from distractions or time wasters that would have made him late.

He followed the path he had taken recently to the open area of rubble at the edge of the forbidden forest and there he found Madame Hooch and all of her new workers waiting for him. Sir Nicholas, The Bloody Baron, many other ghosts he couldn’t name and of course his own recruits.

“Thank you for joining us, Professor Morrigan.” Madame Hooch said.

He walked up to stand between Fleur and Viktor, who seemed to be giving her a wide bredth out of respect, with Poliakoff off to Viktor’s right.

“Are they all caught up?” Asked Harry.

“On the paperwork, yes. But we wanted to wait for everyone to arrive before divvying up the clubs. Am I right in assuming you’re willing to take over some of them?” Madame Hooch asked.

Harry shrugged.

“If they’re in the mornings on weekdays, sure.” He said.

“That leaves only a few, and those are the ones nobody else usually wants. Let’s see here.” She picked up a long scroll that presumably contained all of the club names.

“Wrestling?” She called out

“That vould be me.” Said Viktor, as the Fat Friar raised his hand.

“Fencing?” She called out.

“Mua.” Said Fleur, as the Bloody Baron raised his own hand.

“Hiking club?” She called.

“Oh! That’s me!” Harry said.

He was happy his students got their heads out of their asses and recognized the valley of the many trails around Hogwarts. Morning jogs on the trail to Hogsmeade and many similar tracks bordering the forbidden forest are exactly what he needed to get back into shape.

Strangely, the Gray Lady raised her hand to be a part of that.

“I already know Poliakoff is taking Chess, gobstones, poker and the like. Um…” She said as she crossed those off. “Riding and jousting clubs?”

“I’ll take it.” Came a new voice entering the clearing.

They turned and Harry couldn’t stop the smile from coming to his face. Cedric Diggory. Alive, and two years older than he’d ever known him to be. Still looked like a boy, in that way preteen girls seemed to like.

“Can I expect the Headless Hunt to help with those?” He asked.

“Huzzah!” Said the leader of said hunt, whose entourage hooted and hollered behind him.

Cedric managed to meander over to where the four of them stood and stuck his hand out to Harry in particular.

“Pleasure to meet you Professor Morrigan. Your exploits have been entertaining to hear about.” Cedric told him as Harry shook his hand. “It came as a bit of a surprise to be called on by you. Who referred me?”

“Same as referred them. Fate and happenstance.” Harry said truthfully but cryptically. “Speaking of, allow me to introduce you. This is Fleur Delacour, fencing duelist from France.”

“Mademoiselle.” Cedric greeted politely, putting a little too much emphasis on the “madame” before “moiselle.”

“A pleasure.” She said, a little stiffly.

Swing and a miss there Cedric. She likes them a bit more calloused and punk rock. Not shiny and boy band.

“This is Viktor Krum, duelist and Seeker from Bulgaria.” Harry introduced the next former champion.

“Former, seeker.” Krum corrected, shaking Cedric’s hand.

“Seeker? I took you for having more of a beater build?” Cedric said.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Said Viktor. “To answer your next question, the sport just stopped feeling so sportsman out of school. I liked the competitiveness, but it became like an extension of the war on the pitch and I didn’t like that. Ironically? Less of that in the dueling pit.”

Cedric breathed out a sigh of sympathy.

“Yeah, I hear ya on that. But I still play. There’s nothing else I love a tenth as much, certainly not in terms of sport.” Cedric said.

Harry could relate. If Quidditch in his time had been ruined nothing else would have really captured him. He’d probably just become a miserable nine to five employee and family man, after all what else would there be? Maybe join the Department of Mysteries.

He shivered in disgust at the unholy company he would have to keep with such work.

But for now, he was reunited with the most competent men and woman he had ever competed with. The champions were reunited. Along with one of the champions friend.

“Oh! And this is Poliakoff.” Said Harry, introducing the patient werewolf. “He will be the board game master for us.”

“Awesome to meet you man.” Cedric said, shaking the last hand present.

“It is good to have you back at Hogwarts, mister Diggory. Shall I finish divvying up the dutied” Madame Hooch enquired.

“Yes ma’am.” They all said.

“Let’s see, broom racing?” She said.

“Me!” Harry, Viktor and Cedric said at once.

“I think I’ll take that one, actually. And… What the hell dpes “Dungeons and Dragons, Shadowrun and other tabletop RPGs” mean?” She said.

Poliakoff hissed.

“That one you might have to deny. They’re like board games, but with an enormous time commitment. It’s a five hour endeavor.” He said. “And with them beeing teenagers still being in school, they will probably want to meet daily.”

“I’ll pass the bad news back to the students. Oh! Boating?” She said.

“Me.” Viktor and Cedric said.

They looked at each other, as if appreciating the other in a new light.

“Cedric already has two and viktor has one, so I am giving it to him. Can you handle both that and wrestling mister Krum?” Hooch said.

“Absolutely.” Krum affirmed.

“But I only got one myself?” Fleur complained.

“There are actually several fencing clubs.” Hooch corrected. “Saber, epee, short sword and long sword.”

That seemed to calm fleur down. So far it looked like she had the most work of them all.

“The last two are Pole-arms and javelins.” Hooch called out.

“I’ll take pole-arms.” Said Krum.

“I’ll take the stick throwing.” Said Cedric.

“Well, that covers everything. The ghosts already assigned to each club, or who have ran similar ones in the past, will get you up to speed on each.” Said madame Hooch. “They all have more experience that any of us ever will. Use it.”

“Yes ma’am.” They said again.

It was starting to sound like a military installation out here. Madame Hooch had that effect on people.

Harry checked his watch and realized he had plenty of time to get to his class before the early arrivals starting meandering in.

“Hey, I have a class, but this evening if you guys want to join me for some food, let’s make that happen.” Harry invited.

“I’ll be there.” Said Cedric.

“I’ll need a good meal after my wrestling refresher, so sure.” Said Viktor.

“I have absolutely nowhere else to be.” Said Poliakoff.

“Zat sounds lovely. I’ve heard so many good things about British cuisine.” Fleur said sweetly.

Oh Fleur, just for that, we’ll be eating at the Hog’s Head. Aberforth cuisine for everyone.

-

Dumbledore stood at his office window looking down on the school grounds, watching as the new employees, and Morrigan, returned from the forest towards the castle proper.

“Our peaceful warrior pulls through yet again.” Said Alastor. “And in a way that makes him smell like sunshine and daisies, while bringing together people that are clearly the titans of the future.”

Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory. Each was formidable, either in intelligence or combat skill or both. He didn’t personally see the virtue of the Poliakoff, but there must be hidden strength and ability there if Morrigan was roping him in. Great destinies often await the most inconspicuous of men.

“Indeed. It is starting to feel like he is creating an army under my very roof.” Said Albus. “An army of peace, one non-participatory in the war. And I find myself envious.”

“That may not be his intention.” Said Severus. “He may simply be working from knowledge of the future in choosing people he knows are up to the job, or had done the job in his original timeline.”

That was also a perfect explanation. If they worked under the assumption that it was a circular time loop, in which Morrigan was makign certain to recreate the timeline as he knew it to be as if following a recipe, then he merely recruited these people because he knew he recruited these people. The reason he became a professor at Hogwarts was because he knew he became a professor at Hogwarts.

The reason Morrigan let him die was because he knew Albus Dumbledore was supposed to die.

“If you feel that envious of him, you can do the obvious thing.” Said Alastor.

Albus looked at his lieutenant.

“Let go of the reigns, and leave everything to him. Be a follower for once. It’s not a bad thing to be. Takes away a lot of the stress of thinking.” Said the Auror.

“Or better yet, leave the war entirely.” Said Severus. “Just be a Hogwarts professor again.”

Now there was a thought! Spend what little tile he had left actually enjoying the thing in life he worked so hard to get and loved more than all others? Teaching? Could he get away with handing over the role headmaster to Minerva and taking over transfiguration class for the rest of the year, leaving the war to somebody else? Could he quit as Mugwump and Chief Warlock?

That sounded like heaven to him. But he would need at least two more people he could trust to do their job as well as he did. Minerva was a perfect successor as headmistress. Morrigan was proving to be able to handle the war, better than he ever had, but he just couldn’t trust the man yet. If he had more time to watch and see he could come to that decision, but not yet. But what about the Ministry and International Confederation of wizards?

Fleamont Potter was the only person who came to mind for Chief Warlock, but getting him into the position would be impossible. He drew a blank on a successor for Supreme Mugwomp. Maybe if he could coax Nicholas to take it on temporarily?

It was high time he put into action his plans to have successors in place upon his death anyways.

“Bring Minerva. It’s time I told her that I’m dying and to prepare to take over.” Albus told them. “And I need you two to scout potential successors for the positions of Mugwomp or Chief Warlock. Besides Fleamont.”

They both bowed and left him there to his ever increasing thoughts.

-

Tom woke up where he had fallen, beside the swordo f Gryffindor.

The first thing he felt was an all-consuming thirst and hunger. The second was the cold hard ground beneath him. He was getting to be old to camping on stone floors like this.

“How long was I out?” He asked.

“Two whole days.” Walburga answered.

He heard her approach and accepted the water canteen she offered.

“I’ve been persisting off of the food stuffs you brought with us. Kind of you to think to bring a whole week of provisions.” she groused.

He shrugged.

“You never know what kind of trials can completely derail your plans and leave you on the run for a week or more.” Tom told her.

He was speaking from experience. Lots of experience.

“Well, a good meal a stretch should set you straight. Then we must be on our way.” She said. “Can’t apparate from in here, couldn’t get you out without drowning you.”

Correct on both. Apparating was one was to make the spacial expansion within the chamber to collapse, killing or outright vaporizing anything not made of stone or metal. Which neither of them were.

“Sounds like a plan. What’s left?” He asked.

“Plenty of eggs, beans, tea and sausage.” She said. “It’s all you seemed to have packed.

Were they British enough? Tom felt they could be a bit more British.

“Could have sworn I packed powdered cream, ginger snaps and honey too.” He said.

“Hm. Doesn’t seem to be any left.” She said dryly.

The size of the sweet tooth on her, eh?

They ate the quick meal, which she magiced up in place of cooking on the perfectly good skillet he packed, and they were off. A quick shout to his rianbow serpent friend, a short swim riding on it like a kappa, and a day of hiking took up all of their Monday. When they finally exited the fields of Kalkajaka stones and were able to use magic again, Walburga apparated them back to her cottage.

“I need to lay down.” Tom said.

Going for a seven hour hike after a two day coma left him sorer that… well, than a guy who was completely immobile for two days and opted to go on a seven hour hike. The discomfort of side-alonging with Walburba didn’t help.

“It seems somebody knows you’re here.” Walburga said from the kitchen.

Tom looked up to see what she was talking about. Sure enough, there was an owl with a package in its beak. He recognized it as the Malfoy family Owl.

“Hello Swash.” He greeted the Eagle Owl. “You look like you’ve been on quite the flight.”

Indeed, to make it all the way from Magical Britain to Australia in just three days? Going on four? Very impressive. He had to wonder if own offices have a way to portkey owls, that’s the only way to explain the impressive delivery times. Like many magical industries, their methods were secret.

He got up and stumbled over to the bird.

“What do you have for me?” He asked as he took the package.

It was from Lucius, which boded well. He didn’t want to get a letter from young Draco telling him how his father was dead and he was lord now. Or worse, go behind his parents back to try and join as a junior death eater. The physical beating he’d get fro trying such a stunt would be a thing of beauty.

“What is it?” Walburga asked.

“Apparently the Unspeakables need me to authenticate a memory?” He said, confused before rechecking the letter. “Oh! It’s a dream vision, and there seems to be parseltongue in it. Yeah, that makes sense. If I confirm the parseltongue that eliminates it being a fake.”

It also explained why a ministry worker would go so far out of their way to get in direct contant with the dark lord. Unspeakables will put aside wartime concerns for their research.

“Penseive is by the vanity, love.” Walburga told him as she went into the bath.

“Thank you!” He called out.

He walked the short distance into her bedroom, found said penseive that seemed to double as a night light, and dropepd the memory in.

When he exited it a few minutes later he could feel his face straining from the size of his grin.

It looked like he needed to pay a visit to good old Mesopotamia. He might have a new friend to make.

-

The nonstop writing of Magic Knows No boundaries has begun. Day 1, 1 chapter. Let’s see how many I can do per week, shall we?

Like I said. I shall write it until it is done. Until all of my stories are done.

Also, I’m starting to regret removing Harry’s friendship with the Goblin nation. Because (Spoiler) Filius is going to run for supreme Mugwomp on a platform of cooperation with the Goblin nations. And it will be their support that gets him there through Harry.