Chapter 6: The Cold Awakening

Harry apparated into a pitch-dark, bone-chilling space. The temperature hit him like a wall. His first instinct was survival—he cast a quick warming charm on both himself and the unconscious person in his arms. The warmth settled over them like a protective cloak, warding off the immediate bite of the cold.

"Lumos," he whispered.

The tip of his wand flared to life, casting a pale cone of light through the frost-hung air. He gently laid the unconscious scientist against one of the icy support pillars, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her forehead.

It was her.

The same woman who had come to his cell one month ago, bright-eyed, clearly frustrated by his feigned incomprehension. She had tried every method to get him to talk about the Stargate. Watching her turn redder with every unanswered question had been the highlight of his day, perhaps even the week. When she finally stormed out, Harry had laughed himself silly.

"Well," he murmured, "this will be interesting."

Shaking the memory away, he summoned a small trunk from his enchanted robe pocket. It landed at his feet with a soft thud. He flicked the latch open and called into it:

"Kreacher! Dobby! Winky!"

Three pops sounded in quick succession.

Dobby appeared first, bouncing like a rubber ball, his tennis-ball-sized eyes wide with awe. Winky followed, peering around at the icy cavern with a mix of horror and fascination. Kreacher arrived last, arms crossed, expression sour, as if he were far too dignified to be summoned to such a place.

"Master Harry succeeded?" Dobby squeaked, practically vibrating with glee.

"Yes, Dobby. We're free," Harry said, giving the elf a fond smile.

"This place is filthy," Winky sniffed, her eyes narrowing at the frost-laden walls. "Is Master allowing Winky to clean it?"

Harry blinked. "You... want to clean it?"

Both Dobby and Winky nodded so earnestly that Harry had to chuckle.

"Fine. But don't overdo it. If something looks dangerous, you leave it alone. Got it?"

With salutes more serious than any soldier's, the two elves vanished in a burst of excitement.

That left Kreacher.

Harry turned to the old elf. "Can you keep an eye on her?" he asked, nodding toward the unconscious woman. "Make sure she doesn't touch anything while I explore."

Kreacher bowed with a raspy grunt. "Kreacher will watch the Muggle prisoner. Mistress would be proud."

Harry winced at that but said nothing. Kreacher's worldview was… difficult to shift. Best not to engage.

He turned his attention to the facility.

The outpost was ancient, covered in thick sheets of ice. Machinery was encased like frozen fossils. The walls shimmered under the light of his wand, and his footsteps echoed as if disturbing the sleep of something ancient.

Near the centre of the outpost, Harry came upon a dais. Upon it sat a chair—sleek, alien, and clearly important. Runes glowed faintly along its armrests. He ran every detection charm he knew, and when nothing came up dangerous, he hesitated only briefly before sitting.

The chair adjusted to his frame, reclining slightly. Lights along the arms flared to life, bathing him in a golden glow.

And then, everything went black.

Dobby's Point of View

The instant Master Harry sat in the chair, the outpost stirred.

Magic rippled outward in waves. Lights sparked to life. Ice began to crack. Heat seeped into the air.

Dobby and Winky paused their cleaning, ears twitching as power hummed through the walls.

"It is so dirty, Dobby," Winky muttered. "Winky does not like this place."

"Be careful," Dobby said sternly. "Master Harry said not to overwork."

"But Winky must clean! What if Master slips on the ice? What if the machines are broken? Winky is a bad elf if she does not clean!"

She began tugging on her ears. Dobby rushed to console her.

Their argument was interrupted by Kreacher.

"What is going on here?" the older elf croaked. "Kreacher is trying to watch Master's Muggle prisoner, but young elves are making a racket!"

Dobby quickly explained Winky's dilemma.

After some muttering, Kreacher said, "Master said not to overwork. But he did not say we couldn't ask for help."

Winky looked hesitant. "Shouldn't we ask Master?"

"He is in the glowy chair," Dobby said. "And we only use his elves, who have no work right now."

Winky nodded, convinced.

Mobilization

Soon, Dobby stood before 250 house-elves, looking more like a battle commander than a cleaner.

"This is Master Harry's new home! We will make it shine! Will we not?"

"YES!" the elves cheered in unison.

"First, we map. Explore. Find every room and every crack!"

The elves scattered with pops of magic.

Hours later, a section of the outpost had been cleared. A large, floating 3D map now hovered in the air, conjured from a stone table. Six floors. Hexagonal structure. Vast.

Elder elves examined the layout with narrowed eyes.

"The structure is sound," one muttered. "Ten million years old. Still, the ice is stabilising the walls. As magic flows and ice melts, cave-ins could follow."

Dobby's ears drooped in concern. "What if… we raise it? Move it to the surface?"

There was a pause.

"Yes," the elder said slowly. "It could work. But it will take great care."

Two Days Later

Preparations complete, the elves stood on magically floating platforms above the glacier.

At a silent signal, they began chanting. Magic surged downward. The ice cracked. The outpost rumbled.

For fifteen minutes, nothing moved.

Then the ice split open. Stone groaned. A hidden city began to rise—first the topmost spire, then the walls, floor by floor. The complete hexagonal structure emerged from the glacier, surrounded by an active cloaking field.

Then, with another burst of magic, the entire outpost moved, hovering through the cold air, carried by levitation spells. It landed gently 15 kilometres away, directly above a convergence of ley lines.

The elves cheered softly but returned to work immediately. The real cleaning had only begun.

McMurdo Station, Antarctica

Edward was on night shift when the seismographs registered a spike.

The vibrations were sharp. Too sharp for a regular quake. He slammed the alert button.

Within minutes, the station was on high alert. A field team was dispatched.

They returned an hour later, pale and silent.

In the middle of the glacier—where solid ice had stood for centuries—now yawned a massive crater, rimmed with freshly shattered snow. And above them?

Nothing but starlit sky.

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