Exchanges

Chapter two: The Doomsday Dread Project

The nature of the Avada Kedavra curse was quite frankly brilliant. It found the connection of the soul to the body and severed it, while taking the body out of time and shutting it down for as long as the caster could hold it there. If that is longer than ten minutes, the body is guaranteed to be dead when it comes back into time. The body will automatically reenter time after two hours or so out of it. It was a very difficult spell to cast because of the necessity of playing with time, and because it played with time, it was extremely difficult to find a countercurse--even Albus Dumbledore hadn't done it.

It was long ago discovered that the shutting down of the system--the stopping of the heart and so forth--took place in one fell swoop, not continuously. That meant that if you reengaged the body's systems and just kept it out of time, then you could hold a body in stasis for however long it took you to discover the cure--because no matter what, the soul was still removed from the body.

And that was the purpose of the Doomsday Dread project.

Harry Potter sat up in bed and stared at the window to his room. It wasn't a large window, nor did it have a good view; in fact, about the only thing he could see out of it was dark, given that it was very close to midnight and even the crazy old catlady had gone to bed ages ago.

There didn't seem to be anything about the window to excite the interest of any boy, not now, anyway. But that was okay; Harry was waiting for a time that wasn't now.

Midnight. Harry sat up straighter.

Tap. Something was out there, tapping at the window. Harry leapt from his bed to open it.

Into the room came several large birds. They were, as even an observer who knew only as much about birds as could be learned from watching Disney movies could tell, owls. And all of them had papers tied to their legs, envelopes clasped in their beaks, and/or packages supported between them.

Which was only reasonable. Every boy, especially Harry, deserves presents on his birthday.

From his best friend Ron, he got: multiple books on flying, his own copy of Quidditch Through the Ages included (because they had agreed that if Madam Pince saw them take it out one more time she'd probably bust a blood vessel all over her books), as well as He Flew like a Madman and Soaring Curses: A guide to jinxes, hexes, and other Dark Spells best performed on a Broomstick. From his best friend Ron's little sister, he received a small terrarium with a snake inside, which immediately complained about being cramped. From his best friend Ron's mother he got a cake and several jars of candied nuts.

From his other good friend Hermione, he got more books, this time on the Dark Arts, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the history of the Dark Arts. Not pleasant reading, but he thought they might come in handy.

From his Godfather, Sirius Black, he got yet another book. There was nothing on the cover, neither title nor author. He opened it to the first page, noticing a bit of char on edge of the cover.

The first page was completely blackened. As was the next, and the next. The fourth page was partially burnt, and then it became legible, a handwritten scrawl he thought he might of seen somewhere, although he couldn't think where.

--I think we'll be able to start working on the actual transformation tonight; all the research is (finally!) complete. You know, I don't think I properly appreciated having Moony in our group of friends until I started this thing; now that I think of it, though, I think we'd all be lost without him. He's the one who keeps us sane, not to mention the amount of style he puts into our pranks. Sometimes I think he's the best man among us. Hah! Take that, you self-depreciating werewolf chum! See if you can undervalue yourself around ME, why don't you! Heh. Should be going now, or I might get into trouble. And of course, I NEVER get into trouble. Ever. Really! Although for all the attention he pays to his class, I don't know if Binns would miss me...

Harry stared at the book for a long, long time. Having lost his parents at an early age, he was often desperate for memories and stories of them. This book, obviously a diary of his fathers (Harry knew Sirius' handwriting, and this wasn't it), meant more to Harry than most of the rest of his presents. Finally, he put it down, carefully, on his desk (after first propping The Standard Book of Spell, grade 2 under the leg so that it didn't slide off) and turned to the rest of the presents.

From his friend Hagrid, who was also one of his teachers at school, he got a large amount of fudge (which was good in taste, but not the normal texture for any sort of chocolate) and a large collection of wizard postcards, which were much more fun than muggle postcards because they moved. Nothing was written on any of them, but they were all rather good photography. He also got a rather stale cake.

All that was left was a very large package, and a card that said:

Harry--thought you might like to have an early-release version of all the stuff we were planning to sell this year. This isn't all of it--some of it needs a wand to reverse it, and we didn't want you to get in trouble for using magic out of school--but this is all of the temporary stuff. Plant it around the house; it should improve your summer.

Thanks again for the help, Harry.

--Fred and George, WWW

Inside, there was a large collection of food items, as well as some quills, several different types of parchment, a set of glass vials, and a small pillow. Each had a note pinned, glued, or otherwise attached to it explaining what it was and, more importantly, what it did, and everything had an elegantly scrolled "WWW" on it.

Snapdragon Black was in love. She knew it was irrational, but something drew her, made her feel welcome, adored... Yes, she was definitely in love with Hogwarts Castle. The arching ceilings, the cramped halls, the trick staircases, the hidden passages... they all called to her, made her feel, this is home! And then there was the feeling of safety.

Snapdragon had lived most of her life in danger. It was part of being an Auror's daughter: if someone wanted to make her mother back down, the way to do it was to threaten Snapper. So, by the time she got to school, she knew more curses that a few of the graduates, could out-fly anyone not on the Quodpot team, and always carried a spare wand.

She also had a dark blue belt in tai kwan do, and while she couldn't do anywhere near the amount of fancy work her next door neighbor (a very nice and unfortunately gay private investigator by the name of Tony) could, she could shoot a gun with a fairly good expectation that her bullet will enter somewhere within four inches of where she was aiming.

At Hogwarts, she felt safe. She didn't need all that. It was a very odd feeling.

On August 12^th, that feeling vanished. She felt threatened, in danger, and insecure. August 13^th, the danger feeling tripled. On August 14^th, the danger feeling went away, and she was left disoriented and worried.

Being the sort of person she was, she was also left reading the fifth-year's potions text; Hogwarts was way ahead of Mississippi Bay in that area.

Arthur Weasley, on the other hand, felt very threatened on August 14^th. This was because he had an inquiry at work on that day. Not the work that everyone knew about; the work that nobody knew about, even his wife, and especially not his children.

Arthur Weasley, for all his clueless fascination with Muggle machinery, had a deep understanding of magic. He knew how, and more importantly, why it functioned the way it did. That was why he was one of the heads of a top-secret project known as the Doomsday Dread project.

Nearly every other worker on the project worked in the Department of Mysteries full-time. Arthur was one of the few who didn't. And that was why he was facing the inquiry: they wanted to keep it all in the department, and he had to prove he was effective if he wanted to keep this job--and this was the one that was really paying the Hogwarts tuition.

Luckily, Arthur Weasley was not only effective, but he spent the entire night cracking the project wide open. If the senior official on the project chose to use his information, then the project could well be completed in less than a week.

Which, it turns out, is exactly what happened.

Harry Potter, on August 14^th, was feeling very depressed, repressed, bored, and every other emotion of similar flavor. He knew by now that the Weasleys were not going to be permitted to see him, and he couldn't write to Sirius, because not even Hedwig would deliver to a dog. He did owl Hermione and Ron regularly, but it just wasn't the same as a face to face chat.

About the only negative feeling he didn't have was hunger, and that was because his cousin had finally slimmed down enough to come of that diet. He was out of cake, though.

Harry got up, crossed over to the wall, and stood for a moment looking at the chart there. He picked up the marker from the floor (it had rolled off the broken-legged desk) and, slowly, raised it to the calendar.

Seventeen days left until Hogwarts.

Ginny Weasley ran around the Burrow, trying desperately to get her things in order. She had to leave for America much earlier than her brothers had to leave for Hogwarts, because Mississippi Bay school started much sooner than Hogwarts did, and because she needed to talk to the American Ministry people in private--unlike the students coming to Britain, she would not be taking a Muggle aeroplane. So, she raced around the Burrow collecting hairbrushes and unicorn horn and all the other things she'd be needing.

She skidded to a halt outside the kitchen, trying to remember if she'd left her hat there or on the stairs, when she heard voices.

"Molly, please. It's for your own protection."

"I realize that, Arthur, but I'm not sure it's right. It seems an awful lot like trying for immortality."

"Molly, it will only kick in if that particular spell is used; any other spell will pass right by."

"But..."

"It's perfectly safe, dear. And I do worry about you, especially with Ron being friends with Harry--"

"Arthur, do you mean to suggest that we should stop being nice to the boy?! I won't do it, Arthur, I won't!"

"I don't mean anything of the sort! Of course we should be nice to Harry, and I have no problems at all with Ron being friends with him--goodness, Molly, I like him just as much as you do. It does make us targets, though, and I'd like to take some precautions against that."

There was a long pause, and then her mother said, "Well... all right. But really, it had better not affect me much, or so help me..."

"It won't."

"Well, all right then."

Ginny frowned, and went back to looking for her hat.

Darkness... not total darkness, but the sort of darkness that you normally associate with unconsciousness. That's odd, he thought, I'm not unconscious... He opened his eyes and looked around. There was still mostly darkness, but there was a pale light in the corner of the--room? Was he in a room? He was, on a bed, too, no less. There was a... door, and the pale light was coming through it. He closed his eyes again. The last scene he remembered played through his mind, and his eyes snapped open again as he cried aloud the name of the person he knew was next.

Feet pounded in the corridors of wherever he was. Someone reached his door, and opened it enough to slip in, saying "Lumos!" at the same time. Instantly, the lights surrounding him turned on. In the doorway, a dark woman with large eyes stood in white robes, with papers and a quill floating next to her. She looked startled and excited, but not upset.

He started to swing out of bed, trying to get up and about, but she shouted "Stop!" at him and he realized that he wasn't wearing any clothes. She crossed the room to a bureau and took some robes from a drawer, and handed them to him. Then she smiled--it was a delighted smile, and reminded him of his best friend after the success of a prank--and turned around. He slipped quickly into the robes, and then said, "You can turn around now."

She turned, and said, "It worked! I can't believe it worked. After all this time!" She had a slight accent, that sounded Indian, but he couldn't be sure. "I will go tell the others and bring you some food and drink. Please not to leave this room?"

She didn't look likely to go away until he said he wouldn't, so he reluctantly agreed. She smiled again, nodded, and left.

Not having anything better to do, he looked around his room. Besides the bed and the bureau, there was a table--small, it was true, but big enough to eat at--and two chairs, one by the table, on by the bed. Everything seemed low-quality, very plain and not very good, except the bed and the chair next to it--as if he wasn't expected to use anything else.

He walked a bit around the room. The young woman had looked to be some sort of doctor, and seemed worried about something. Logically, that would be his physical condition. He wished he knew why she was worried, however; he felt fine, if a bit disoriented. He seemed, in fact, remarkably healthy.

Flash of vivid green light, high pitched laughter, blackness--

He started. "What was that?" His voice sounded harsh in the suddenly still room.

"What was what?"

He whirled and stared at the nurse in the door. She moved quickly into the room and felt his forehead, and then around his neck. He let her, and watched as several people, all of whom looked significantly older than he remembered them being, moved into the room.

"He's not feverish... Possibly just shock, I don't think he's dealt with what happened yet..." she announced.

"Good." George Canon was one of the highest-powered men there was in the area of life magic. He could cast any spell there was related to death or birth, and he knew the range of those spells inside and out. He was one of five people who the Dark Lord hadn't dared to touch for precisely that reason, although there were others he hadn't touched for other reasons... and two more specialists in life magic were with him.

He looked at them. "The project worked, didn't it?"

George nodded. "We just figured it out three days ago; it took two for the spell to work all the way through, we wanted it to be more thorough than it was fast... we also only tested it on you... you volunteered for testing, after all, and we didn't want to hurt everybody if it didn't work..." He trailed off anxiously, looking concernedly at him.

"That's fine. It's what I expected, really." He looked around the room. "Where's Jones?"

"He's out. Said he didn't want to be a target anymore, and what with what happened last June, none of us could really blame him."

"Star?"

"She's fine. Busy right now, though; got pulled off this to figure out what happened with You-Know-Who and how to stop him this time."

He looked steadily at George, then directed his gaze to the rest of them. Arthur Weasley, with his red hair and glasses... Eleanor Pip, who looked far too motherly for the sort of power she had... Julius Lestrange, so different from his brother... They were all there.

"All right. Let's wake the rest of them. And then you can tell me what you want me to do."

James entered the room where his wife lay, and looked down at her quietly. She wasn't breathing, or moving in any way; to all appearances, she was dead. He stood with the others in his group for a moment, then walked to her side. He sat in the chair next to her--again, the only piece of furniture that looked expected to be used--and held her hand in his. It was warm.

George started the spell-casting with a search spell. And part of a magical creature, whether puffskein, sphinx or witch, once separated from the magical creature, could not be destroyed; it was one of the fundamental rules of magic. Moved, killed, pulverized or otherwise broken, or even just hidden, the part could be, but still it would be itself. There was, according to Arthur, a similar law about energy in Muggle physics; however, he said, it was inaccurate. James had cut him off at that point; he had no desire to listen to lecture after lecture on inaccurate Muggle physics.

The search spell George was casting was searching for the soul of Lily. It took far too much time for James' taste, but that was probably because he was just going slowly.

The next person to cast a spell was Eleanor Pip. She and George had worked together for years, and they were closer than anyone else. Eleanor was casting a "call and capture" spell. This spell did have a big long Latin name, but it James always thought his version capture the essence of it just fine. This spell would bring the now-located soul to Eleanor, and she would seal it inside of something--in this case, a perfectly spherical globe of Amber, about an inch in diameter. (Eleanor had worked with other stones, but for some reason Amber worked best with souls, at least according to her. James would have been profoundly disturbed by the whole concept of locking a soul in a stone, except that he'd been through it, and didn't remember anything, so it couldn't be that bad.)

The next stage of the spell was the hardest, and George would be casting again, not needing to focus on holding the location of the soul once Eleanor had it in her globe. This was the stage that Arthur had solved. When the Avada Kedavra curse threw out the soul, it cast a seal on the body so that the soul could not re-enter. If the seal should break, however, and the soul not enter the body, then something horrible happened--James wasn't sure what, but the expressions on their faces when they told him something happened convinced him that he didn't want to know. They were somehow going to crack the seal--in and of itself a formidable task--and insert the soul nearly instantaneously."It's all a variation in how you crack it," said Arthur. He looked nearly as excited as when he'd enchanted Lily's toaster.

George cast the spell.

Lily glowed green. Some sort of forcefield rippled over her body, and then expanded slowly. Eleanor tossed the amber into it, and at once there was a flare of light, first the shade of the stone and then the vivid emerald in quick succession, and then it was gone. Lily spasmed, arced her back, spasmed again, and lay still.

"Now," said George, "we wait. That thing will reconnect her body and her soul, but it takes a while, and you have to be careful, or you can damage the magical abilities. It took us a full two days with you."

The Doomsday Dread project did have one unfortunate logistics problem: what were they going to do with all these people? (There were only about twenty revived participants, although the casting alone took five days to get everyone.) Certainly, there was no doubt that it was a good thing they were back from the dead... and they would certainly be helpful against the Dark Lord... but how to use them? They couldn't exactly be paraded out in front of the rest of the world; very few people knew about the Doomsday Dread project, and it was unlikely to be popular with the wizarding public.

It was finally suggested that the newly-revived participants in the project should go to someplace that was likely to be attacked, and certainly needed protection, where there were likely to be multiple civilians and not many competent wizards, and where there would be plenty of hiding places. Eventually, it was decided that they would split up, and some of them would go to one place, and the rest would go to the other.

The two places were Hogwarts, and Diagon Alley.