A/N: I know the Warden's reactions in this are a little extreme, but for those who have read the Dresden Files know that this is exactly what they're like- especially Morgan. Some of them need a good arse-kicking, really. The segregation between Dresden-verse and Potter-verse is something I've had in mind all along, but it never really came up in DR. I hope it clears up a few things for you. Some of you may not like where this chapter leads, but c'mon, you know where this was heading. Don't worry; I have a really cool plot for Hogwarts, including some of the biggest twists of the entire series. I hope you enjoy the chapter.
The first thing Harry saw when he returned to consciousness was blackness. His vision had been totally obscured by a thick veil of cloth that hung around his head. It had a peculiar odour to it, of dust and mothballs, and Harry could detect the faintest hint of dried blood drifting into his nostrils. The cloth, combined with the sudden realisation that Meciel's burning presence had been blocked with some cold, hard mental intrusion and that there was a set of binders strapped his wrist, caused a feeling that Harry was not used to feeling.
It was fear.
Panic surged through his veins and he let out a loud groan as he clambered to his knees, trying to peer through the veil surrounding his face as he swung his head back and forth. He heard a small scuffle, like shoes on gravel, and suddenly something grabbed his arms and lifted him up. An instant later, the person was dragging him forward, Harry's feet automatically falling back into the familiar pattern of walking.
“What the hell is this?” Harry snarled, drawing anger from his fear and tensing his muscles.
He lashed out blindly, his fists and legs swinging through the air. He hit the person dragging him forward a few times and satisfaction flared in his mind as he heard a low growl of annoyance. Suddenly the person stopped and Harry stumbled. An instant later he was picked up and slammed into something hard. Pain flared across his mind and without Meciel to numb the pain, he let loose an involuntary gasp as the breath was driven from his lungs. He gasped, loud, hacking coughs filling his ears, and he was dimly aware of the person pulling him forward once more.
After a few minutes of involuntary follow-the-leader, Harry was brought to a place full of soft, muttering whispers. Despite his fear-wracked mind, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Some of the voices sprang at him and he recognised English, German and a few other foreign languages that sounded familiar. Suddenly he was knocked to his knees and he collapsed with a loud grunt, his body starting to ache from its rough treatment. Shivering with both cold and no little anxiety, Harry remained silent as the whispers died down, leaving a terrible silence. There was a faint scuffing noise, as if somebody had scraped something along the ground, and suddenly Harry's back was tingling as he felt some kind of magical ward surround whatever place he was in. It was then the people started speaking - in Latin.
Normally, with Meciel by his side, Harry wouldn't have had a problem. Meciel was quite capable of translating Latin- or any language really- and feeding the English translation into his mind almost instantaneously. Now, with Meciel locked away from him, Harry was virtually helpless as he strained his ears at the rapid flow of foreign phrases. A few words jumped out at him. He knew veneficus was wizard or caster of spells, magus was magic and mortis was death. One word practically leaped at him, however - denarii.
“You know, I'm not part of the Order of Blackened Denarius,” Harry said loudly and paused as the Latin chanting abruptly cut out. Gaining a little confidence, he continued, his tone reverting back to his normal, snide self. “We had a little falling out. The usually stuff, really, they tried to kill me, I strangled one of them to death…”
Suddenly something was prodded into his ribs and Harry grunted, trying unsuccessfully to move his hands back, which were still locked in the binder, to rub his sore chest. He scowled, an expression that remained unseen, and he tried once more to peer through the veil.
“I'm going to guess that you're the White Council,” he continued, his voice only hitched a little as he took a deep breath. “This isn't really necessary, you know. I'm sort of your friend. I kill vampires and I don't like dark wizards either. Mostly because they try to kill me- hey, you know that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“You detest dark wizards yet you use black magic?” A man growled into his ear, his voice rough, weary and spoken in perfect English, despite the crisp Germanic accent.
“Hearsay,” Harry shot back automatically. The pit of dread in his stomach was getting heavier and heavier as he realised just what might happen to him before this meeting was over.
The White Council was the true-wizard's version of the Ministry of Magic, complete with its own laws and rules. However, they were a little harsher in their punishments. That is, any violation of their seven most sacred laws would result in execution. In the seven years since Harry had picked up Meciel's coin, he had broken most of those laws on more than one occasion. He had, of course, been very careful and had been long gone when any of their soldiers- Wardens- had shown up, or he had been hidden behind wards when doing so.
Unfortunately, it seemed as if the White Council had finally caught on.
Suddenly he frowned-although the expression remained hidden for the White Council members around him. His wrists were chafing against the binders and both shock and fear flashed through his mind as he recalled the last time he had felt these binders.
“Apparently, you like black magic as much as I do,” Harry snarled, his fear jumping to anger in a millisecond. He held up his hands and showed the binders for all to see, dread throbbing in his stomach and rage flaring in his mind. “I remember these. These are the damn cuffs that Azzeh made, that Voldemort made! Where the hell did you get these!”
Harry heard more than a few shocked gasps from around whatever room he knelt in, before something hard and painful slammed in his back and sent him staggering to the ground. His face slammed against something hard and his eyes watered as his nose flared with pain.
“They were recovered from the remains of a dark ritual in England, “the Germanic man said coldly, more to the crowd than to Harry himself. “And it was revealed that they were designed specifically to restrain you. I am not surprised that you had something to do with that…carnage!”
Harry grunted as he was yanked back to his knees, just as somebody else started speaking- in English.
“Hang on, I know that voice!” The man exclaimed, his voice tantalisingly familiar to Harry's ears. “Take the hood off. Let me see his face.”
“Protocol says…” Somebody else started.
“Don't you want…?” The voice started again, exasperation in the man's voice, and Harry suddenly recognised it.
“Dresden?” He interrupted. “Is that you? What the hell is going on?
“You know him, Dresden?” The man behind Harry growled suspiciously and Harry heard Dresden heave a sigh.
“I might,” he said. “Take the hood off and I'll tell you.”
There was a pause, as if the wizard behind him was waiting for permission, and suddenly the veil of darkness was lifted from his face. Harry blinked and slammed his eyelids shut as light hit his sensitive eyes. He cursed loudly and ducked his head, rubbing his eyes on his shoulder and blinking quickly as he glanced back up. Dresden, clad in the grey cloak of a warden, was staring at him with shock and let out a loud bark of laughter after seeing his face. Next to him, Molly, clad in brown robes, was staring at him with nothing less than total surprise.
“This is the evil Denarian you've been harping about, Morgan?” Dresden laughed and looked incredibly amused.
Harry felt the man behind him shift on his feet and dared a glance upwards. The Germanic man was glaring at Dresden now, resentment and old mistrust sifting in his eyes. Harry gazed around the room, taking in what lay before him. He was kneeling down in a grimy, disused warehouse of some sort. Light filtered in from the panelled-windows, which were covered in dust. Surrounding Harry were at least two dozen men and women in robes. Some wore the grey cloak of the wardens; others wore robes of plain brown. At the head of this warehouse were seven seats, four empty and three occupied. The identity of those sitting in the seats was quite clear to Harry.
They were the Senior Council, the leaders of the most powerful true-magic organisation in the world, the White Council. One of the wizards was wearing a turban, hiding all but his glittering eyes. The other was a tall Native American man with a natural expression of kindness and gentleness about him. Sitting between them was an older man, who looked every bit the stereotypical wizard. With piercing blue eyes, a long white beard and a wrinkled, wise face, Harry knew that this man was The Merlin. Not the real Merlin, of course, but the leader of the Senior Council and one of the most powerful men on the planet.
Oh, goodie.
“Why am I not surprised that you are associated with this…thing,” Morgan spat out in disgust, giving Harry a sharp prod. Harry winced and glared at Morgan with furious green eyes- a glare that was quite ineffective given his current state.
“This is the mercenary that I hired to help me with those Vampire Counts in Indonesia,” Dresden explained quickly, his eyes flickering to the Senior Council.” Without him, those Counts would still be alive, their attack would have gone ahead as planned and half the people in this room would be dead- including you, Morgan.”
Morgan's face twitched as mutterers sprung up from the circle of wizards, all who peered down at Harry curiously. Harry, in turn, tried to calm his beating heart and gave a brilliant smile, winking and waving his bound hands. Morgan jabbed him in the back again and Harry winced, lowering his hands and watching as the Merlin raised his hand for silence.
“You claimed to have worked with this Denarian, Warden Dresden?” The Merlin said, forsaking Latin and speaking with a crisp upper-class English accent. For a moment, Harry thought that the older wizard looked a bit like Dumbledore before he spotted a flash of vindictiveness that flashed through the other man's eyes. “Have you been working for black wizards, Warden Dresden?”
The circle instantly went still and all eyes swung to Dresden, who straightened as he realised what the Merlin was doing to him. Harry frowned, and seeing that his only ally here was about to get slammed, took a deep breath and spoke up in his usual cocky voice.
“African-American wizards,” he interrupted loudly and gave an arrogant smile as the Merlin blinked. “Come on, I know you're upper-class British and all, but still, you can't just go around bagging black people anymore. You have to be a little more politically correct, since you're the leader….oh,” Harry trailed off and gave Merlin a wink. “I get it now…the “White' Council. Very clever, very clever indeed…”
“Hell Bells!” Dresden swore softly as he rubbed his tired eyes. “Potter, it might be a good idea for you to stop talking right about now.”
“Regardless of whatever jobs he may have assisted you with, this Denarian has broken the laws of magic several times,” The Merlin said severely. He peered down at Harry, who stayed very still as the Merlin kept talking. “We have records of your crimes from the past seven years. You have taken life with black magic, summoned demons from the Nevernever, and distorted all that this council holds true. You have hidden yourself well all these years and but your wards have failed you this time.”
An impending sense of doom grappled with Harry's heart as he listened to Merlin's proclamations. There were many true-wizards who were nodding in agreement to Merlin's words and only Dresden and Molly were looking conflicted. Harry, however, shrugged off his feelings and took a deep breath. He and Meciel had planned for something to like this. Hopefully it would work.
Hopefully.
“You don't have the authority,” Harry snapped and an arrogant smile flickered across his face when the Merlin looked amused.
“But we do,” The Merlin said, almost gently. “We are the White Council. It is our duty to enforce the Laws of Magic, to protect the normal population from rogue magic users such as you.”
“Protect them from warlocks and sorcerers, sure,” Harry said and levelled the Merlin with a withering glare, a glare that the powerful wizard seemed to find amusing. “But they're true wizards. They wield your magic. I don't.”
The circle erupted with whispers as the Native American man leaned forward, staring at Harry intently.
“Are you telling us, child, that you are a wand-wizard?” He asked in a deep baritone.
“Well, gee, and here I was thinking that the wand might have given it away,” Harry shot back sarcastically. “Since it's a....you know, wand and all.”
“If he is a wand-wizard,” the Native American man murmured softly. “Then we can not detain him.”
“This is outrageous!” Morgan snarled. “We have the evidence! He has committed murder using magic…”
“Wand-magic, Donald,” the Native-American man rebuked gently. “Magic that we have no authority over.”
Harry lifted his eyes upwards and saw that Morgan's eyes were bulging in the sockets. He winced when the man's grip on his shoulder tightened to the point that Harry knew he was going to have bruises tomorrow.
“I don't understand, Honoured Merlin,” mumbled a man from the circle, a waif-like wizard with grey hair and enormous spectacles. “What does his magical focus have to do with his crimes?”
“There are two types of wizards,” said the turban-covered man and the entire room stilled as a soft, enticing voice swept over the room. “There are those who draw magic from within and find power in our emotions, in life. That is us. There are also those who draw magic from an outward location, a realm of magic that they channel and utilise through their wands. These societies are segregated, kept apart by a set of ancient proclamations by the original Merlin.”
“I don't understand, revered Gatekeeper,” the greying wizard said, looking perplexed.
“Of course you don't,” Harry muttered. “Look at you- you just scream 'retard!'”
“Long ago, Merlin was responsible for both the development of the White Council and the unification of rogue wand-wizard tribes in Europe,” The Merlin continued, staring at Harry with cold eyes filled with a chilling anger.
“Can we make this go a little faster?” Harry offered and winced when Morgan's grip on his arm tightened. “Hey, this is my life we're talking about! I kinda want to know if you're going to murder me.”
Harry saw more than a few flinches at the word 'murder' and felt satisfaction flare up in his gut. However, the Senior Council did not look impressed.
“Merlin helped stabilise both factions and introduced a system of government,” the Native-American wizard said patiently. “He formed the White Council for us and the seven different Wizengamots for the wand-wizards. With this, he mandated that both parties had a separate role to fill in the world and declared that they would remain separate, independent from each other, so that if one were to fall, the other would remain.”
“Basically, it means that I'm immune,” Harry said with a self-satisfied smile. “It's probably why you don't go after the Dark Lords that get loose and try to off those poor, innocent wand-wizards."
“Indeed,” The Merlin said. “We cannot be expected to take care of the wand-wizard problems. We have enough of our own as it is.”
“Wand-wizard problems like me,” Harry said, emphasising the statement with a pointed look at the true-wizards that had encircled him.
“The real question here is not about what crimes this Denarian has committed,” the wizard with the turban- the Gatekeeper- murmured. “But if he comes under the jurisdiction of the White Council.”
His glinting eyes rested on Harry, who stared back defiantly. Behind him, Morgan literally snarled out loud and spoke up in a thunderous voice.
“He is a Denarian!” He growled. “And Fallen Angels come under our jurisdiction! I have never heard of a wand-wizard being host to one of the Fallen!”
“I have heard of three,” the Gatekeeper murmured softly and Morgan fell silent. “All fell to their kin in battle. Wand-wizards are notoriously hard to seduce and the Fallen do not reap the benefits for quite some time, unless, of course, the host is exceptionally powerful.”
Harry opened his mouth to speak, a superior smile stretching his lips, but he was interrupted as Molly, of all people, spoke up in his defence.
“He may be a Denarian…” she said, stammering slightly as the entire Council focussed their attention on her. Harry could feel a deep seated fear within her and made a mental note of it. Molly took a deep breath and plunged on. “He may be a Denarian but he is also a knight of the Cross.”
Harry opened his mouth again but was interrupted by a loud snort of disbelief from the man behind him.
“Impossible,” Morgan snapped. “A Denarian cannot be a Knight of the Cross.”
There was a round of murmuring agreements from the rest of the robed wizards, although the Senior Council remained silent and watched the proceedings with carefully constructed expressions.
“Why not, Morgan?” Dresden challenged and the murmurs died down. “We don't make the rules for the Knights. If God decided to make Harry here a Knight, then He must have had a reason.”
“We did find a sword among his belongings,” One of the wardens said, looking uncomfortable. “It was concealed in a wooden cane. We did not inspect it too closely, in fear of activating any curses or wards built into it.”
“I've seen him wield Fidelacchius and slice a vampire in two,” Dresden said. “He's a Knight- got it when he was clearing up that Outsider mess in England, the one where our Wardens didn't get there in time. Without Harry, we would have a Dark Lord with all the powers of an Outsider doing his best to conquer the world. We owe him.”
“He's a murderer,” Morgan barked coldly. “He has broken the laws of magic. You of all people know what that entails, Dresden.”
“You can't kill me,” Harry said firmly, doing his best to keep his voice level. Excitement was rushing through his veins- he might not be killed after all. “I'm a wand-wizard.”
“Can you prove it?” The Native-American man asked slowly.
“Sure,” Harry said with a cold smile. “Give me my wand and a few minutes alone with the dickhead behind me and I'll show you just how capable I am with my…wand.”
“Potter!” Dresden hissed, making a sharp motion with his hands. Harry narrowed his eyes but he let out a soft sigh and closed his mouth, knowing that the other wizard was right. He should probably keep the antagonising to a minimum.
“The real question,” somebody said and Harry looked up to see Gatekeeper talking, his soft voice silencing everybody. “What is a wand-wizard? Is it the ability to wield a wand? I too could do such a thing, although nothing compared to what our young Denarian friend here can. Am I a wand-wizard then?”
“Proficiency, perhaps?” The Native-American wizard murmured speculatively. ”What do the laws say about matters such as this?”
“We will finish the conversation without our guest here,” The Merlin suddenly spoke up. “He has not earned the right…or the privilege… to learn about White Council lore.”
“I agree,” The Gatekeeper murmured. “We should discuss this matter in private.”
“Very well,” the Merlin said and nodded past Harry's head at Morgan. “Remove him.”
“Hey!” Harry started but suddenly there was a flash of light in front of his eyes and then he knew no more.
Some time later, Harry found himself furiously pacing around the small, dingy room that turned into a make-shift cell. The rusted door tingled at the touch and Harry, even without Meciel, could faintly sense the powerful spells that had been woven into it. It was enough to make his hair stand up on end- all of it.
“I look like a bloody porcupine,” Harry growled as he attempted to flatten his hair with his palm. He glowered at the door with an annoyed scowl, idly kicking at the ground. He had been waiting for over an hour for somebody to come back and get him, and who knows how long he had been unconscious for.
The door remained obstinately closed and Harry heaved a sigh, resuming his pacing and shivering at the cold temperature in the room. His breath was coming out in little puffs of white mist and his toes were beginning to prickle painfully. Emotionally, Harry was a whirlwind of emotions, the most predominate being fear. Fear that the White Council would execute him. Fear that they would take Meciel away from him. Fear that he would never get a chance to talk to Meciel again.
His hands, still clasped in his binders, rose to rub his chest, his eyes distant. He had long since hidden the coin that housed the link to Meciel's spirit within his body, to make it harder for people to take it from him. He was a little unsure of the exact location of the coin. Meciel had once entertained Harry for several hours playing 'guess where I've shoved it this time' but Harry had stopped playing after he had felt a very cold sensation in the lower regions. After that, he had decided that it was best not to wonder where she had put it. Wherever it was, it was either well hidden or too much of a bother for the Wardens to remove it.
Of course, they could have also decided that since he was being executed, it probably didn't matter anyway.
Suddenly the door creaked open and Harry's heart jumped as two burly wardens, clad in grey cloak and silver sword, entered the room. Their faces were made of stone as they strode across the room and clasped Harry by the shoulders, almost painfully. A hood made of black cloth was shoved over Harry's face and suddenly his world was reduced to darkness, the sensation of his feet stumbling over cracks in the unseen floor and a strong scent of dust and faded blood. Dread crept in Harry's heart and suddenly he was very afraid.
Harry was led through a number of twists and turns until the tingle at the back of his neck told him that he was back in the large room again. He grunted as something slammed into the back of his legs and he dropped down to his knees, taking a deep breath and waiting with bated breath. There was an ominous silence before the grave voice of the Merlin lifted in the air.
“The Senior Council has judged the unique circumstances surrounding your case, Denarian, and we have reached a unanimous verdict,” The Merlin said and Harry waited, his heart pounding in his chest. “With Warden Dresden's testimony, we do find that you are indeed skilled in the arts of wand-magic.”
Triumph and relief burst out in Harry's chest and he almost sagged in relief. A smile was curling his lips from behind the black hood but it faded as the Merlin continued.
“However, there is no doubt that you are skilled in our forms of magic, especially in the deep, blackest aspects of the art,” The Merlin said and Harry heard the terrible judgement behind his voice. “That you have allied yourself with a Fallen merely emphasises this part.”
“But…” Harry started.
“As you know,” The Merlin continued, rebutting Harry before his words had even left his mouth. “The White Council and the wand-wizard communities are segregated and independent of one another. To belong to one group there are certain criteria that you must fulfil. In the case of the White Council, you must have the necessary strength and skill to pass our tests. You, Denarian, pass that aspect of our requirements, although you would fail with regard to your considerable lack of ethics.”
“The various forms of wand-wizard government and institutions around the world have different requirements than us,” another intoned in a smooth, deep voice, and Harry recognised it as belonging to the Native-American wizard. “In your case, we picked the British Ministry of Magic as the institution that we would apply to you. They decree that in order to gain the most basic of professions within the lower ranks of the Ministry, you must be recognised by the Ministry of Magic as a qualified wizard. In other words, you must have passed a series of examinations called Ordinary Wizarding Levels.”
“Because you are not a member of any educational institution that has the ability to grant you these requirements, it is the Senior Council's judgement that we find you to be under our jurisdiction and, as such, we accuse and hold you accountable to your actions,” The Merlin said. His voice appeared to be bored, as if he was used to such a mundane act, but Harry could sense the genuine distaste that the other wizard held for him. “It is the Senior Council's will that finds you guilty of breaking the Laws of Magic. The sentence of such a heinous crime is….execution, carried out by the sword of justice. Morgan, you may approach.”
Harry's heart was racing and icy cold feel, mixed with blazing desperation, filled his mind. He heard somebody approach him, their footsteps becoming ominous booms that counted down the seconds to Harry's death. Dimly, he could hear Dresden and Molly protest but most of his mind was racing to find a way- any way! - to prevent what was about to happen. The footsteps stopped and Harry could literally feel the body heat as Morgan towered over his blinded form. There was a chilling hiss of metal scraping on metal, a soft exhale of breath, a brush of air as something was lifted into the air- and suddenly, it hit him.
“Wait!” Harry called out desperately. “I am a member of an educational institution! I was a student of Hogwarts last year!”
“So we know,” murmured a voice that could only be the Gatekeeper.
“We did not think that it was a permanent position,” the Native-American wizard said in surprise. “Given that the academic year has begun and you have not attended.”
“I'm still taking the OWLs, though,” Harry said quickly, his heart racing madly. He could almost envision the gleaming silver sword ready to take his head off and frantically kept trying to talk, anything to stall. “Ask Dumbledore! Ask the Headmaster! He'll agree with me! I'm a wand-wizard!”
There was a soft burst of mutterings and suddenly the room was full of whispers. Harry waited with bated breath as the Senior Council was silent for a minute, his hands clenched tightly together and his muscles poised. If they refused to accept this then he was not going down without a fight. Finally, one of the members must have made a gesture to Morgan because Harry heard the hiss of metal against metal and suddenly the Warden was moving away. The Denarian Knight breathed a huge sigh of relief, barely noticing the trickles of sweat that were beading down his forehead.
“Very well,” The Merlin said reluctantly. “The revered Gatekeeper insists that we consult this 'Headmaster Dumbledore' on the matter. Warden Morgan and three others will escort you to this school of Hogwarts. If the Headmaster confirms your story, then you will be granted immunity from White Council prosecution, provided that you achieve your Ordinary Wizarding Level's by the end of the educational year. If you do not, you will be brought back here, tried and convicted.”
“So, what?” Harry said slowly. “You'll kill me if I don't do my homework?”
“Essentially, yes,” The Merlin said and Harry could envision the cold smile that had crossed the other man's face.
Suddenly Harry was yanked up off the ground and onto his feet. He winced, his kneecaps aching and his body almost shaking at the adrenaline rushing through his system. As Harry was forcefully turned around to leave, the Merlin's voice washed over the ears and sent a spike of fear down Harry's back.
“If you become a recognised member of the wand-wizard community, then the White Council will not pursue you for your past crimes. However, should a warden chance upon you causing harm against the innocent, know that they will not hesitate to strike you down where you stand, wand-wizard or not.”
With that, Harry was led from the room with relief dancing through his veins. A wide and unseen smile was stretched across his face but it faded as he thought about the next hitch in his plan. Would Dumbledore agree? Probably, Harry concluded, but what would it cost him?