ACT4CH48 - BEAST'S LAIR

An excerpt from the Daily Prophet…

THE BOY WHO BELONGS TO THE WORLD?
ICW DECLARES POTTER A GLOBAL ASSET — BUT WHO REALLY OWNS THE GATEKEEPER?

 By Rita Skeeter

Well, well, well.

What began as a closed-door summit in the icy halls of the International Confederation of Wizards has melted spectacularly into a political scandal of international proportions—and at its blazing center?

Harry Potter.

Yes, our very own lightning-scarred darling—Gatekeeper of Azkaban, Slayer of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (twice, if rumors hold), Lord of House Potter and House Black (allegedly), and now… unclaimed property?

In a ruling that left jaws on marble floors and goblets quivering on velvet-lined tables, the ICW has stipulated that Harry Potter is no longer a strictly British concern, but a “trans-national containment sovereign” bound to the Azkaban Gate, and therefore, to all of magical society.

“When a British disaster leaks chaos across the planet,” said Babajide Akingbade, ICW Council Leader and famed thorn in Albus Dumbledore’s side, “we do not let Britain sweep it under an enchanted rug.”

Strong words. And Akingbade wasn’t done. He pressed for full ICW oversight of the homunculus suit, the infamous artifact sealed in Azkaban—a remnant of the ancient monster Ekrizdis, the demon behind the recent catastrophe that plagued the world.

The ruling, passed 13-7 with abstentions from Egypt and Greece, gives Britain until the Spring Equinox to come to a decision — Is Harry Potter a British hero—or a global pawn?

Harry Potter, true to form, refused to play.

“One doesn’t leave the key to a doomsday vault in a public museum,” he told the assembly, calm as polished steel. “I’ll protect it. Or destroy it. But you won’t touch it.”

Tensions, as expected, flared. And then—because what’s diplomacy without drama—Apolline Delacour stood and gloriously threw gasoline on the fire.

“Ze House of Delacour supports ze addition of ze Gatekeeper as a rank in ze ICW. And soon, through ‘is engagement to ma fille Fleur, our Houses will stand together—British and French, united.”

The timing of this “arrangement” has not gone unnoticed. Skeptics whisper about power grabs, dynastic infiltration, and the slow French annexation of Britain’s most promising magical talent. 

Speaking of dynastic infiltration, Regent Joshua Greengrass released a formal advertisement in the Daily Prophet, expediting the marriage of his daughter, Daphne, Lady of the House with Harry Potter. Readers will remember that Potter shares the Greengrass ancestry, and would have likely taken the mantle of the next Lord Greengrass post his marriage to the young lady. 

Does this marriage arrangement come as a response to growing uncertain conditions in Wizarding Britain? Or is it a countermove to the Delacours?

Meanwhile, Nicholas Flamel—yes, the Flamel, alchemist of legend and apparent Dumbledore confidant—is also making waves. Once whispered to be in secret talks to mentor young Potter, Flamel has now accepted a teaching position at Hogwarts.

Yes, Hogwarts.

He will be instructing in Alchemy, beginning next term—just as Delacour prepares her daughter to wed Britain’s most powerful wizard? Coincidence?

“The boy needs guidance,” Flamel told this reporter with an arch look. “And perhaps a little humility.”

Ah, yes. The ancient French method of guidance—via familial entanglement, political leverage, and terrifying educational credentials.

So where does this leave Britain?

Nowhere comfortable. Sources tell The Daily Prophet that Britain has until the Spring Equinox to respond to the ICW ruling. If they refuse to cede Potter’s guardianship to the international body, they risk a diplomatic freeze (and a possible expulsion from several alliances). If they comply?

Harry James Potter may no longer be British. Rumors have suggested that a new rank — GUARDIAN OF SCALES — shall be implemented, and Harry Potter might be enchained to it.

And with Azkaban transformed into a mythical gate, and whispers that the Gatekeeper can manipulate Reality itself, one must ask—

Is this a magical alliance?  Or the slow surrender of British sovereignty, dressed in silver robes and Delacour silk?

We’ll be watching.

—

More Inside:

• What Is the Homunculus Suit? (And Why Is Everyone Afraid to Touch It?)

• Is Potter Still Lord of House Black? The Politics of Allegiance

• Albus Dumbledore’s Political Gambit: Is the Supreme Mugwump Losing His Grip?

....

....

There were times when Daphne’s natural inclination towards cynicism served some larger, more enduring toxicity; a vast, chronic paranoia. Any rare glimpses of optimism were swiftly dealt with, a hex her mind and body leapt to attack, and thus were ultimately beaten into submission. Feelings of hope? Cancerous. There was a constant sensation for Daphne that if things seemed to be going well, half of her was sure she was in the process of being mightily tricked.

A sensation that Daphne was slowly getting used to. Far more than she would have liked.

Cursing, she  threw the Daily Prophet beside her, and yawned. Sitting on this mossy slab of Azkaban’s broken parapet allowed her little things to indulge herself in. She really should’ve thought this through when she decided to stay back at this… place. If nothing else, she could have at least fetched a few books beforehand just to cut short her boredom.

Then Dumbledore’s phoenix appeared in a burst of flames, and dropped a copy of the day’s evening prophet. So far, Daphne was confused if the immortal firebird was just thoughtful or had a mean sense of humour.

A few meters away, the Gate loomed—silent, humming with power, like it knew secrets and was smug about it. The mist drifted around her ankles in languid curls, and the sea was a distant, muted growl. All very dramatic. All very… Harry.

She glanced up from her idle spellwork just as a twist in reality snapped open and dumped him through—Harry Potter, Gatekeeper, Warlock, Anomaly of the Year, and current bearer of the world’s most constipated scowl.

He landed with barely a whisper, which meant it hadn’t been Apparition. It was his new trick—finding holes in reality and stepping through like he owned the place. 

Daphne raised an eyebrow and blew a lock of hair from her face.

His surly look intact, he dropped a parcel of food.

“That bad, huh?”

“Just because I brought a food parcel all the way from Geneva doesn’t mean it went bad.”

“Hmhm,” she said absently, unwrapping the parcel. “Sure doesn’t. So, I assume the summit went swimmingly. Did they crown you Supreme Tyrant of All Magic, or just ask for your autograph in blood?”

Harry didn’t answer. His eyes zoomed at the newspaper fallen beside her, and his scowl deepened. Exhaling, he just walked past her like a storm in black robes, jaw clenched tight, eyes burning like bottled lightning. Not a word. Not a glance.

His shoulders were stiff, the kind of stiff that said if one more person says the word ‘oversight’ I will hex them into next week. Daphne knew that look. She had seen it in mirrors, mostly during pureblood dinner invitations.

She rose smoothly, brushing invisible dust off her trousers, and ambled over.

“What are you going to do?”

Harry gave a short, bitter laugh. 

“What do you expect me to do?”

“To be honest, we did expect this,” Daphne said, folding her arms. “It’s what they do. Can’t make something, so they try to own it. And when they can’t own it, they want to regulate it, license it, study it. I imagine someone even suggested putting you under magical house arrest with a chaperone.”

“The Germans,” Harry muttered.

“Charming. See, that’s the sort of reason why I staked my ownership on you first. Before the others came rushing.”

He didn’t look at her for a long moment, and then snorted.

Daphne grinned. That Harry was still reacting meant the situation was still salvageable. She stood up and reached out, slipping her hand into his.

“Harry,” she said softly. “You’re not the problem. You’re just proof that they’re not the solution.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t let go either.

For a moment, they stood in silence—two specks of warmth beside a yawning, ancient thing that pulsed with breathless power. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I thought, as my owner, it’s your job now.”

Daphne smacked him lightly.

Harry took a deep breath. “The British Ministry has until the Solstice to make up their mind, so I suppose there might be an investigation, another emergency session, like they’re so fond of. Some of them are likely going to take this as the ICW, or worse, the French attempting to get their claws into British power structures. Doesn’t help that Apolline Delacour practically yelled at everyone about my impending arrangement with Fleur.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “I thought there was no arrangement.”

“There isn’t.”

“...”

Harry exhaled. “When I went to meet her at the Flamels, she surprised me with the life debt Fleur owes me. Somehow, she twisted my past interactions with the Delacour family into a marital arrangement. I… told her to owl Percy and have him look into things. I thought maybe with Percy and… and Sirius, I could get a stand-by on this madness, while processing the entire deal with Flamel. Then… St. Mungo’s happened.”

“And shit hit the fan,” Daphne surmised, scowling at the thought of that woman trying to influence her Harry. 

“I am guessing there will probably be some, like Madam Bones, and Dumbledore, who will voice in my favour. But in the end, it’s either agreeing with the ICW or risking international headaches, I guess. Needs of the many, and all that.”

“You’re forgetting the third bloc,” Daphne pointed out. “The sharks, the opportunists, the death-eaters and their sympathizers. They’ll probably fish you out to the ICW, either to curry favor with the ICW big leaguers, or reduce our own power base at the Wizengamot.”

“Of course,” Harry gritted his teeth. “Of course!”

Daphne pursed her lips, and grasped his arm tighter. “But you didn’t answer me. What are we going to do about this?”

“Well, I am going to lock the Gate for good. Set up defences, apart from whatever already exists. Then, we are going to return to Hogwarts, so that I can actually get started with some of the actual work that needs done. Let the Wizengamot make its move first, and then, we play.”

He pulled his hand away, stepped forward, and raised his wand. For the first time, Daphne noted that it wasn’t his yew wand, but a different one. Thinner, longer, a dark spindle of wood curved with ancient arrogance, with a bone-like texture. Knots ran down its length like vertebrae, seven in total, each humming with a pulse too steady, too calculating to be a mere enchantment.

She knew this wand. She had heard of it, read about it. Imagined it after learning of its presence.

The wand of Fate. Of Death. 

“Harry, is that the — the —”

“The Elder Wand, yes,” said Harry. “During the battle, Ekrizdis destroyed my wand. The sword of Gryffindor is many things, but it isn’t a substitute for a wand. I had to improvise.”

Of course. Only in Harry Potter’s mind could gaining allegiance and summoning one of the most dangerous artefacts in wizarding history could be termed as ‘improvisation’.

“And now… it’s yours?”

Harry frowned. “Unfortunately, yes.” He looked at the wand. “It’s a mysterious creation. It was almost like this wand was made for someone like the Eternum, a god that could use the raw power of Anima, the Family Magics… or Death, I suppose. Almost makes it up for being the temperamental beast that it is.  Honestly, I’d rather have my old wand any day.”

That, Daphne decided, said everything about the sort of monster that Harry Potter was.

“So, why not get a new wand?”

“I would love to,” he said, frowning some more. “But because of the way my fight with Ekrizdis ended, my bond with this wand has become… permanent. No other wand can bond with me, not until this exists. And also, I sorta kinda need it if I am to cast any standard magic.”

Right then, a flash of fire burst into the air, and Fawkes appeared, his crimson and gold plumage banishing the grey atmosphere all around. In his talons writhed Hecate, Harry’s beloved runespoor.

"Put me down you flaming rooster!" snapped the left head.

Ah yes, Daphne had almost forgotten about the locket she had gotten into the habit of wearing. A gift from her fiance, after they had discovered the Sunken Vault. It allowed her to access the Sunken Vault without Harry accompanying her, but she hadn’t known that it allowed her to translate Parseltongue to Queen’s English.

"Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me! I swear on my scales I will eat your tail feathers!" yelped the right head.

"My spine is bent in six places — six!" growled the center head, as Fawkes released her gently. The three-headed serpent slithered forward with theatrical indignation, coiling next to Harry’s feet.

He didn’t turn around.

"You're late," Harry said dryly, looking at Fawkes.

The firebird somehow managed to convey a ‘You didn’t say when’ expression in its expression, which was strange. It was a bloody bird after all.

"Feathers took its sweet time," added the right.

"Quiet," the center head snapped. "He is preparing."

Harry finally turned, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That’s right.”

‘...Harry? What madness are you contemplating?” Daphne asked warily, taking a step back.

‘Like I said, sealing the Gate from outsiders. But since I knew how relentless people can be, I’m going to set some protections inside.Something that can sense, react, and if needed, bite."

"We do bite," offered the left.

"Tear," said the right.

“Kill too, but will it be juicy?" asked the center.

“Umm… maybe,” said Harry, shrugging. “Hold still.”

He reached down, gently patting the runespoor’s long scaled back. She preened, each head trying to jostle the others for more attention.

“Grow.”

Daphne watched, mouth dry, as a rush of magic roared from his palm like a midsummer inferno. It wrapped around Hecate, cascading down her scaled length like she’d been set ablaze from the inside. All three heads hissed louder and louder, and suddenly, she was a flaming blur, a pillar of magic surging against the sky. The light widened in width and what appeared to be green lightning cracked in it. Daphne staggered back, as the pillar began to take the shape of something huge.

Something titanic.

And there she was — Hecate — each of her heads growing thicker than oak tree trunks, entwined against the magic pillar as she grew — twenty feet, thirty feet, fifty feet and she was still growing — climbing up and up the pillar like she wanted to touch the sky. The scene of blooming lilies filled the air, and with it came drizzle and the flickering warmth of an absent flame.

Far away, she thought she heard a bison roar.

Daphne looked up. And up.

And up.

“What in the world….” 

Easily seventy feet tall, the serpentine body wider than the Whomping Willow, bands of pearly silver coiled along her flanks, scales glamping with an oily sheen, shadows rippling through their patterns, and the three massive hoods, casting a shadow over the Azkaban Gate…. All those things were discomforting enough. But more than anything physical, this creature was horrifying because of the aura it exuded of sheer, mindless, impossible power. Like nothing Daphne had ever seen or even dreamed of in her blackest nightmares, like watching an earthquake, or staring into an oncoming hurricane, frozen in fear and awe by the unimaginable destructive potential and assured destruction.

A familiar? No. This was a destroyer. A being wholly specialized for the obliteration of life. A demon that was certain to feature in her nightmares for the foreseeable future.

And then the destructive titan lowered its massive hooded heads down, its three massive fork-like meaty tongues erupted from those gigantic maws….

Daphne screamed.

 — And swept them, head to toe, with its spit.

Harry laughed.

Daphne’s lips opened and said, “Buh -buh -buh—”

Too many competing objections, that was the problem. Every time she tried to say, ‘It could’ve killed me!’, the objection ‘This is impossible!’ demanded first priority and was then run over by ‘What the HELL WERE YOU THINKING?”

“You marked us, Speaker,” said the left head.

“And now we marked you,” said the right.

“Yes, with spit,” Daphne replied through clenched teeth.

“Hungry!” said the central head.

“Hecate,” murmured Harry. “Beast of the End. And this is your lair.”

He staggered, and nearly fell, but she caught him in time.

“You never do anything by halves, do you?” She demanded, exasperated.

“All-in, remember?” he said with a weak smile. He tried to stand straight, but his knees gave away. “Damn. Must have used up more than I expected.”

Of course he did! Daphne ranted in her head. Magic, she knew, was a physical exertion; there was a certain degree of sweat involved, and recovery between bouts of use was a necessity. She likened it to Quidditch — someone with natural aptitude could manage the fundamentals of their own specialty quite easily, perhaps without even breaking a sweat, like Harry was able to catch Longbottom’s remembrall while flying on a broomstick for the first time in his life.

But to become a professional Quidditch player you needed extensive training. As for other specialties outside one’s own, more of the same. You could certainly attempt to succeed in every position — seeker, beater, or chaser, but you could just as easily fall off the broom or injure yourself trying. 

The entire Gate pulsed with a magnificent thrum, the vibrations soaking into Daphne’s bones. 

“She’s stabilizing the field,” Harry murmured, watching the subtle interaction between his familiar and the Gate. “The Gate is… adjusting to her presence. That’s good. It means the bond took.”

“What bond?”

“I am the Gatekeeper, and Hecate is my familiar. Two separate threads connected to me. I Bound them together. The Gate now has a guardian that never sleeps, never falters, but doesn’t flare unless provoked.”

“Still hungry!” ranted the center head.

“Yeah, about that…” Harry murmured, levelling his wand at the tumultuous sea around them, and said, “Accio prey.”

As always, Magic didn’t care too much about semantics, and several sharks were pulled out of the ocean. Harry flicked his wand, and the prey went straight into Hecate’s open maws. Daphne watched with morbid fascination as the massive sharks — each of them perfectly capable of tearing into a regular-sized human, now being bitten and feasted with relish by the gargantuan predator looming in front of them.

“Yummy!”

“Delicious!”

“Still hungry!”

“Enough, you little child!” Harry chastised. “You’re a big girl. Go hunt something.”

Daphne shook her head slowly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips despite the absurdity of it all. “Harry Potter,” she drawled, half in wonder and half in reproach, “you’ve placed a massive, deadly serpent in charge of a magical stronghold. Do you realize what you’re doing?”

“Uh… guarding a critical location?”

“No,” she smirked. “You’re mimicking Salazar Slytherin.”

Harry groaned, running a hand through his messy hair, and for a moment, Daphne allowed herself a brief flash of exasperated fondness.

“Still, do I have to spell it out to you why it’s a bad idea to leave a XXXX, no, a magically enlarged XXXXX beast alone here at the Gate, by itself? The safety concerns —”

Her fiance shook his head. “She can handle herself. It helps that she’s invincible.”

Daphne wanted to point out that she wasn’t exactly talking of Hecate’s safety, but the last word took the wind of her sails.

“...Invincible?”

“Runespoors have magic-resistant scales, and it only grows more potent with size. Nothing but the darkest of magics can penetrate past them. So, I enchanted a layer of Death on her scales, just in case. And she’s bonded to me, which means not even the imperius can subjugate her mind. This place… it’s her lair now, so even if she goes out hunting, she’ll always return to this place, and it will always let her in.”

“Harry, you have a dome of Death surrounding the entire island, enough to make Albus Dumbledore feel like a muggle just by passing through it. And that was with Fawkes’s aid.” She looked at the mighty serpent that had started bickering among its heads. “Isn’t this… overkill?”

Harry blinked. “What are you talking about? The dome, all of this… Hecate, none of it is to stop intruders from coming in. It’s for stopping what might come out of the Gate from getting out!”